#this is my first time without knowing😭

[happypeachsludgeflower]

Ironically, after having obsessively listened to the entire saga on repeat last night, my favorite song was I Can’t Help But Wonder. It was my least favorite on my first listen through, but the more I listened to it and absorbed all the meanings and implications? I just. Loved it so much more 😭

There’s Odysseus finally meeting his son for essentially the first time (yes he held him as an infant, but he doesn’t know him as a person), there’s the fact that he spent twenty years wishing he could know his son. And then there’s Telemachus on the other side of the conversation who’s been dreaming of knowing his dad for twenty years and is worried his dad won’t love him?? Devastating. Imagine desperately loving and wanting to meet your child for twenty years and being told they worry you won’t love them??

AND THE LINE ABOUT ODYSSEUS TELLING HIS INFANT SON HE WOULD CAPTURE THE WIND AND SKY FOR HIM?? Guys. Odysseus literally captured the wind and sky to get home to his son and wife.

And then we have the reunion with Athena 😭😭 They don’t even talk about anything that happened?? I just imagine this scene of Odysseus saying, “Show yourself. I know you’re watching me,” just like he did when they first met, and neither of them say a thing about their argument, nothing about Athena fighting for him and saving him, nothing about everything that happened between the last ten years.

And without saying any of that, Athena goes straight into a roundabout way of saying, “You were right, I was wrong, and I led you astray.” She said, “I’m sorry,” without saying it. And there’s a beat of silence. Odysseus sighs. And essentially tells her, “No, you weren’t wrong. And I wasn’t wrong either. That world could exist somewhere far away, but it doesn’t exist here. I’m too old and tired to ever find it though, so you’ll have to make it exist someday for both of us.”

He forgives her in un-said words. It’s an absolution of the wrong Athena feels she’s committed. A goddess apologized to him, and Odysseus absolved her of her sins. Just. AHHHHHHHHHHH.

And then they part ways 😭😭😭 and there’s a tone in their voices that says it’s really their final goodbye this time. And they didn’t even say goodbye.

[umadosedepascal]

DIRTY HOLIDAY | Pedro Pascal X f!reader | One Shot

Written by Santa Trindade

Banner by @missyorkswhore

Made in Brazil

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x f!reader

Summary: You go with friends spend the holidays in Mexico, such a coincidence to be at the same resort as Pedro. What a world, so small huh?

wc: 3.7k

rating/warnings: [little surprising plot] [Pedro being Pedro][unprotected PIV][oral sex m/f] [alcohol comsuption] [Curse words]

a/n: C’MON GUYS. Do I need to explain myself after yesterday pictures and videos? NO. FUCKING HELL NO. wtf Pedro.. WHY is he so fucking hot??? WTF. 😭

You are going with your friends to Mexico to spend the holidays this year. It was a tough decision to make because you always spend the holidays with family, but this time you decided to try something new away from home since your whole family always judges you. Your dad always comes to you saying, “You’ve been drinking a lot, my baby; slow down…”

All you want to say is that you are a grown woman and do whatever you want, but every year you keep behaving as an angel to them.

You and your girlfriends get on the airplane on the 24th, heading to Mexico for 2 weeks.

All of you are very excited and feeling some freedom in the air.

“Hell yeah, the first thing we get there will be a round of tequila shots… you gotta deal with me…” and your friends laugh with your sassy attitude.

A promise is a promise. You check in, change to your bikinis, and go to the bar by the pool.

“Hey buddy, 3 shots of tequila, por favor?”

The barman looks at you with half-closed eyes. “ID first, my ladies; you look under 18…”

Although you are all over 27, actually, you three hand your IDs on the counter and look around the pool waiting for your drinks.

One of your friends comes to you and says, “Hey, isn’t that guy from….”

Your jaw drops, your legs start trembling and shaking, trying to hold on to something and not to fall… “YES?”

Pedro is lying down on a sun chair in red shorts, drips of water are running down to his bare chest, and he is really deep into a book.

“I need my shot RIGHT NOW!” You say loudly to your friends, trying to compose yourself at the same time.

They know you have a crush on him and talk nonstop about his work, so this is going to be a wild trip if you get to meet him even for a second.

“Second round is on me; let’s do it,” one of your friends says.

All you can think about is him. You don’t stop to look in his direction and try to plan how to approach without being a silly, stupid, drunk idiot.

The most down-to-earth friend of yours tries to calm you down, saying that you will have your chance, etc., but you are so far away in your thoughts that you ask for a large margarita and tell them you're going to take a sun chair as close as possible to him and see what happens.

“You crazy! But yeah, good luck; I hope he’s not a dick with you…” one of them tells you, hopeless, not trying to hurt your feelings.

“Dick? Yeah, I want some dick… You laugh, already buzzed, walking towards the chair right next to his.

As long as you get near him, by himself, still deep into the book.

You already worked up the courage and asked, “Hi, is this chair taken?”

He gives a side eye, looking at you from head to toe. “No darling, all yours…”

As you sit on the chair, you can hear your friends from the bar cheering like party animals.

You look at him saying, “Jeez, these people know how to party, huh?” Hoping he didn’t see you before taking shots with them a few moments ago.

“Yeah, yeah… young people... having their time…” he says with a smooth voice.

You feel relief because he didn’t see you before with them and anxious at the same time because YES, you could start a chit chat with him.

“Erm, yeah…” You don’t know how to keep this going and pick anything that you find inside your ecobag just to create other possible ways to talk.

Lay down on the chair, put on your Ray-Bans, and open the FUCKING MAP of the resort.

Jesus, what am I doing? Should I say I know him? Should I just ask what he is reading or maybe wait for another brief comment coming from him?

You can see by the side of your eye that from time to time he looks at you, but very, very fast, you just hold that giant map, feeling like you're on mushrooms with empty thoughts on your mind.

You’ve got your friends getting drunk and cheering for you from the bar and the hottest guy in the world by your side.

Think wisely…

You grab your drink from the side table and sip it.

“Is that good?” He asks you.

Pretending like you got scared, almost dropping the fancy glass on the floor… “Did you just.. talk to me? Um, well, I had better ones. But this one isn’t bad at all…” you describe your drink with a shy smile.

What the fuck did I say???

He chuckles, closing his book and now sitting down on the chair.

“Hm... 3-star review? I’m getting one myself; I like cheap stuff.”

You simply just give a “ha” to him as he stands up and walks towards the bar.

Your friends get wild; at this point, they might think he is going to talk to them for sure.

You immediately look at them trying to mimic something like, “Nooooo, noooooo, don’t say shit, you motherfuckers!!!”

You are in a panic because you know them and what they are capable of, especially under alcohol influence.

But they understand wrong; they know you always need a hand in terms of trying to flirt with someone else.

You see one of them approach him, saying something and looking at you at the same time.

You are screwed up. You know.

The only thing you can do now is wait for your end, getting big gulps of your drink and trying to calm down.

He comes back with a wild smile on his face saying, “I just met your friends over there; they told me things... you don’t need to hide anything…”

You sit down quickly. “What? Hahaha, they… They are buzzed; don’t believe in what they say…”

He keeps looking at you with half-closed eyes. “Hmm,” he sits on his chair sipping his drink and says, “Yeah, it’s not that bad at all…”

You simply don’t talk for some moments; your anxiety is building up like a pressure cooker.

Until then… “Hey Pedro… I’m sorry… I just wanted to say hi, but I’m already drunk, and I don’t know how to start a proper conversation. They probably told you I’m a sucker for you… and the ‘dick’ thing as well. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not a stalker; I don’t want to bother you. I just think you're awesome, and it was a stupid idea to come over right here, right now.” You run over words.

“Wow, wow, wow, they just told me to be nice to you, haha, because you care... about me.” Pointing to himself.

After you say all that with a flushed cheek, you let out a loud laugh looking at your friends that are already out of sight. You get more desperate saying sorry a million times, trying to compose yourself.

“What more did they say?”

“That you are awesome and know everything about my stuff, but with moderation… I don’t know what they meant, but yeah, I just didn’t catch your name…"

You tell him your name with eyes open and disbelief that your friends, for the first time, did a good job, but not you… not you.

“What’s the dick thing you told me?” He asks you with a smirk.

“Aaah, nothing… being a dick… that’s it.” You say, looking to the ground with shame.

He grabs you by the chin and says, “I would never be a dick to a beautiful girl like you…”

You feel a shiver down to your spine when he touches you like that.

Oh shit…I’m already wet without even getting into the pool.

“I, I think I need to… brb…” You leave everything behind and go straight to the toilet, locking the door and sitting there.

Breathe in, breathe out.Ok, I will just grab my stuff and disappear…What did I do?

As soon as you open the door, Pedro is there waiting…

“I usually don’t do things like that; it can be the vibe, my drinks, or even Xmas. I don’t know…” He says, grabbing your hips, pushing you back to the toilet, and closing the door behind him.

“Is that what you wanted? hm" He rubs his beard on your face, searching for your mouth.

He guides your hands to his growing bulge while running his right hand from behind you, rubbing one finger over your pussy.

You moan when he rubs his finger roughly against you…

“So wet already for me…” he says in between sloppy kisses.

“Since the moment I spotted you here, yeah…” you whisper, with both hands stroking his cock over the shorts…

Then Pedro takes you slowly to the sink and sits you there, spreading your legs…“Let me see what you got, beautiful… spread more…” putting your bikini bottom aside and lowering to the same level.

You grab his wet hair with one hand while he tongue darts you deep, sucking your lips and moaning low with pleasure…

You don’t even blink, just looking down at him savoring you, such a tease.

No fucking way this is happening…

You can feel his nose rubbing against your clit; you are getting close to the edge, but suddenly people knock at the door…

“Oh dammit…” You murmur disappointedly.

Pedro stops his worship on you and tells you with a low voice, “My room isn't far... want to see what naughty presents Santa has for you?" His fingers trace small patterns on your thighs, making you shiver.

“But we need to be discreet… What’s your room number? I meet you there…”

Pedro chuckled softly, his breath tickling your ear. "Discreet, huh? I like the way you think." He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your earlobe as he whispered, "Room 217, second floor."

Luckily nobody is at the door anymore, so you sneak out the toilet.

You try to find your girls just to quickly freak out and disappear again, but there's no sign of them.

You come back to the pool area, and Pedro isn’t there anymore; you bite your lip, get a deep breath, take your stuff, and go towards the elevator.

Room 217

You knock twice.

The door slowly creaks open, revealing Pedro standing there, his shirt half unbuttoned, revealing his chiseled chest. He's holding a bottle of tequila and two glasses. His eyes roamed over your body hungrily.

Stepping aside to let you in, he whispers suggestively, "Merry Christmas to me, indeed." He gently shut the door behind you, his free hand trailing down your arm. "Hope you like tequila..."

“Hm, yeah, better be careful… right?

Pedro's eyebrows shot up, a devilish grin spreading across his face at the memory. "Ah, but that was just a sample of what I can do sober. Imagine what I'm capable of now, all loosened up." Doing a little dance…

Then he pours two generous glasses of tequila, sliding one towards you before picking up his own. "I've got a list of naughty things I want to do with you..."

Oh, he wants to play a game…I’m just gonna faint 😮‍💨

“Oh… tell me more…” You push him to the sofa, sitting on his lap.

A deep, sexy chuckle escapes his lips as he lets you push him onto the sofa, his hands immediately finding your curves. "Mmm, you're being a naughty girl..." He takes a sip of his tequila, then offers you the glass. "You first."

“My list? With you... it is an extensive list. Better you tell me yours first…”

Pedro leans back into the sofa, a confident smirk playing on his lips as his hands continue their exploration of your body. "Well, since you asked..." He takes another sip of tequila, his eyes never leaving yours.

The motherfucker is a tease; I knew it… I knew it!!!

His hands wander up and down your body possessively as he continues. "I want to see those perfect lips wrapped around my... gifts." He punctuates his words with a gentle bite to your neck.

"Then I want you bent over this fireplace mantel while I take you from behind, watching your reflection in that mirror across the room.” His fingers trailed along your waistband suggestively.

“Wow…You really don’t waste time on your list, huh?” You start unbuttoning his shirt all the way down.

He chuckles, his eyes locking onto yours as he sees you unbuttoning his shirt, revealing his chest and abs one button at a time. He helps you finish the job, tossing his shirt aside. "Guess not..." He growls, pulling you closer.

Pedro's lips curled into a wicked smile as you slowly head down towards his chest, his hand lightly gripping the back of your neck.

"Well, since you asked so nicely..." you murmur approvingly, pressing your lips against his nipple.

He let out a low groan as you began to suck, his other hand coming up to gently stroke your cheek. "Fuck, just like that..."

You let out a soft laugh. “So… you like some worship on your nipples, huh?”

A deep, sultry chuckle escaped his lips, his voice husky with desire. "You're learning my secrets, aren't you?" His hand urges your head towards his other nipple. "Not just my nipples... but every part of me deserves some worship."

“That’s how I make my way down…” you whisper.

His breath hitches as you whisper your intentions, his body tingling with excitement. "Well then, I can hardly wait to feel those heavenly lips trailing lower..." He guides your face down his torso, his abs clenching instinctively under your touch.

As you kiss and nuzzle your way down his abdomen, Pedro's hands rest lightly on your head, his fingers gently guiding you. "Lower... lower... yes, just like that..." He hisses as your lips brush against the waistband of his red swim trunks.

You slowly peel back his zipper, the sound echoing in the room. Pedro's breathing grows heavier as you reach inside and wrap your hand around his thick, hard length. He lets out a low groan as you pull it free, his eyes rolling back in his head. "Fuck... oh god..."

Pedro's cock twitches eagerly as you firm your grip, the skin velvety soft, a prominent vein runs along the underside. The head is broad and round, flushed a deep red, with a tiny slit oozing with pre-cum. His hips giving an involuntary thrust forward, seeking more of your touch. "Don't tease me, beautiful..." He breathes out, voice strained with lust. "Put those gorgeous lips to work."

As you bob your head up and down, Pedro's hands tighten on your shoulders, his fingers digging into your skin. He starts to thrust gently…”Fuck... You look so beautiful with your mouth full of me..." He pants, his abs flexing with each thrust. His hands move to cup your jaw, his thumbs caressing your cheeks as he guides your movements. The wet sounds of your sucking fill the room, mixed with his guttural groans.

I take you out of my mouth for a few seconds. “You taste so good, but I don’t want you to reach the edge, hottie…”

His breath catches at your words. "Mmm, teasing me now? You know exactly what you're doing..." His tone is a mix of both frustration and deep satisfaction. "Yeah, don't make me come just yet…”

“Yes, let’s work on your list…” You say, sitting back on his lap, cleaning the corner of your mouth with his precum.

Pedro's eyes darken with desire as he watches you clean your mouth with his precum. "Fuck, you're so naughty... I love it." He reaches out and runs his thumb over your lips, spreading it around before leaning in to claim your mouth in a deep, passionate kiss.

“So…What did you say about the fireplace? Second of the list…”

Pedro smirks mischievously. "Ah, the fireplace... I was thinking we could move our little session over there." He stands up, lifting you with him effortlessly. "I want to bend you over the mantel and fuck you from behind, watching your reflection in that mirror across the room.”

Pedro carries you to the fireplace, setting you down gently on your feet. He spins you around and bends you over the ornate wooden mantel, the cool marble pressing against your skin. "Keep those elbows locked," he commands, a firm hand on the small of your back.

Not happy with that, you just suggest, “Why don’t you just take me to the bed?”

"Because the bed is too ordinary," Pedro murmurs, running his hands down your thighs possessively, "I want to do this here, where I can watch myself take you in the mirror." He steps back to admire the view, his eyes roaming over your arched back and rounded bottom.

With a mischievous tone, you ask him… ”and you like to watch yourself?”

"Right now I’d love watching myself fucking you," Pedro confesses, his voice low and husky with desire. "Seeing my cock disappear into your pussy, feeling your body shake as I pound into you... it's fucking incredible." He reaches out to run his fingers through your hair, tangling them in the loose strands.

"And the mirror," he continues, his other hand reaching out to the mantel to steady himself as he lines himself up with your entrance. "Watching myself push into you, feeling your tight little hole squeeze around my dick as I fuck you hard against the mirror... fuck, it's going to be perfect."

With a deep grunt, Pedro thrusts forward, sheathing his hard length inside you in one smooth motion. He pauses for a moment, savoring the feeling of being buried inside you before he starts to move, his hips slamming against your ass as he fucks you hard against the mirror.

"Look at us in the mirror..." He reaches around to cup your breasts while continuing his steady pace. "Watch how beautifully you take my cock. Those whimpers you're making... fuck, you're perfect." His pace quickens, his breath becoming ragged against your ear.

His fingers pinch and tug at your nipples as he fucks you relentlessly, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the room. The mirror fogs up from your panting breaths and his sweat, obscuring parts of the reflection but not enough to hide the lewd scene unfolding before it.

In between moans, you beg him to take you to the bed; you can’t stand your legs anymore with so much pressure.

Pedro growls, pulling out of you abruptly and spinning you around to face him. He lifts you up and carries you to the bed, tossing you onto it before climbing on top of you. "I need to be inside you again, now."

He settles between your thighs, his hard cock pressing urgently against your slick folds. "Wrap your legs around me," he demands, easing the tip of his shaft teasingly along your slit. As you comply, he grips your wrists, pinning them above your head with one strong hand.

Pedro leans down, capturing your lips in a fierce, dominant kiss. His tongue pushes past your lips, claiming your mouth as his other hand guides his cock to your entrance. In one powerful thrust, he buries himself inside you again, swallowing your gasp with his mouth.

He breaks the kiss, his eyes blazing with lust as he begins to move, thrusting into you with deep, measured strokes that make the bed creak beneath you. "Fuck, your pussy feels amazing," he grits out, angling his hips to hit that perfect spot inside you.

Pedro quickens his pace, his grip on your wrists tightening as he chases his release. The room fills with the sound of his hips slapping against yours and your breathy moans. "I'm going to fill you up so full," he pants, nipping at your jaw. One of his hands slides between your bodies, finding your clit and circling it with his thumb. "I want to feel you come on my cock…”

"Fuck, you're getting tighter... Is this what you need, baby?" His thumb presses harder against your clit as he fucks you with deep, forceful strokes, the intensity in his eyes unwavering. "Come for me..."

Pedro feels your walls clench around him, and he growls, "That's it, cum on my cock." He slams into you one last time, burying himself as deep as he can go. His thumb circles your clit frantically as his release builds. "Fuck, I'm close..."

With a loud grunt, Pedro explodes inside you, his cock pulsing as he fills you with his hot seed. His thumb presses hard against your clit, sending you over the edge as you scream in pleasure, your pussy milking his cock for everything he's got.

He stays buried inside you, his thumb slowly circling your sensitive bundle of nerves as he nuzzles his face against yours, breathing heavily. "Damn it, I will tell your friends you are amazing… they were right..." He murmurs, his voice muffled against your neck.

After a moment, Pedro slowly pulls out of you, his softening cock slipping free from your still-quivering pussy. He collapses beside you on the bed, pulling you into his arms and holding you close. "Can we keep up with this list?" You say.

He kisses the top of your head, his heart still racing from their intense encounter. "I think we should keep going, yeah. There are a lot more things on that list I want to try with you." He pulls out his phone and starts typing, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Hey, I need to check on the girls...” you say, worried about them being away for a couple of hours already.

Pedro looks up from his phone, his expression softening. "Of course, go check on your friends. I'll be here when you get back. But don't be too long, okay?" He says giving you a little wink.

As soon as you go back to your room, you find your friends passed out on the bed.

Well, I guess you will leave a note at the door saying thanks for the little help, and you guys will catch up on the next day because you won’t sleep in the same room for a while… The list is endless.

😈

————————————————

Thanks for being here and read our delusional fics, likes are appreciate, comments even more. If you want to ask anything, blast it!

[zorosangell]

hiii! hope you’re doing good and I’d like to give in a suggestion, could you make a fic about gnreader being choppers mother figure and both zoro and reader are fighting for the parental role 😭😭

(they later on share it lol)

⛥ﾟ・。 endgame

synopsis: prequel to inn -- when chopper asks about your past, zoro reminisces on your history together... and is reminded of exactly what you are to him.

cw: THIS IS A PREQUEL TO INN, fluffly fluff, comfort, takes place pre-timeskip during alabasta, young reader is so cute, protective zoro, ZORO IS WHIPPED, i really loved writing this.

a/n: i really, really loved writing this

"Hey, Zoro!" Luffy called, eagerly. "Look over here! Look at what we're doing!"

"We're training!" Usopp added, clapping his hands together.

Begrudgingly, Zoro looked up from Chopper's fur, glancing toward the boys, who were standing under a huge stream of water like it was a ninja's waterfall.

"Real funny," he nodded, sarcastically, before returning to what he was doing.

After saving the kingdom of Alabasta, the king invited the crew to the royal bath, hoping to clean up after dinner.

The young doctor had asked for help washing his back, and the swordsman played it off as having nothing better to do.

But, in actuality... he enjoyed helping boy, feeling a sort of fatherly obligation toward him.

"Zoro?" Chopper piped up, quietly, eyes trained forward as the man went back to carefully scrubbing his fur.

"Yeah?" Zoro hummed. "What is it?"

"Do you know why (y/n) acts the way she does?"

Confused, Zoro raised a brow, unsure of what he was talking about.

"What do you mean?"

"Well... you know," the boy slightly stammered. "She's so nice... and kind... she cares for me so well even though I just joined the crew."

He looked down at himself, making sure to choose his words carefully.

"Even Doctorine didn't warm up to me this quick... but she treats me like she's known me all her life. And I figured since you two grew up together, you could tell me why."

'So, that's it...'

Zoro nodded, finally getting the picture.

"I see what you mean," he confirmed, moving on to the boy's shoulder. "(y/n)'s always been like that... even when we were kids. There's no rhyme or reason to it."

He glanced up, the memories rolling back like calm waves after a storm.

"She just... is."

"I thought I told you to stop following me! Cut it out!" a ten year-old Zoro exclaimed, glaring at you sharply.

"But... you're bleeding..." a nine year-old you reminded, worried, as you tightly clutched the handle of your first aid kit. "Kuina beat you up really bad this time."

"Shut up!" he barked. "I don't need your help! Or anyone else's! I'm gonna get stronger all on my own!"

You flinched at his tone, but held strong, despite the tears welling in your eyes.

"Well, you can't be the strongest if you can barely lift your arms!"

Zoro's eyes widened, surprised.

In your months of chasing him, attempting to patch him up, you had never raised your voice.

Not even once.

"I believe in you! And I wanna help you! So let's make a deal!"

Brows furrowed with determination, you pointed at him, firm in your disposition.

"Every night, I'll patch you up, and help you out with normal stuff, like food and clothes! And in return, you work your hardest to become the strong enough to beat Kuina! Sound fair?"

"No!" he scoffed, incredulously, and incredibly confused. "Why are you doing this?! You don't even know me! What do you get out of that?!"

"I get to watch you!" you grinned, jumping at the chance to gush. "You're so cool! And tough! I'm no good at sword-fighting, but you're amazing at it! I can tell you're gonna be a really great swordsman someday!"

Happily, you looked up at him, your starry eyes bringing a faint tinge of pink to the boy's cheeks.

"And I wanna be there to watch the whole thing!"

For a moment, Zoro paused to think, weighing his options before caving with a sigh, unable to say no to your hopeful smile.

"...Fine."

"YAY!"

Without hesitation, you pulled him into an embrace, overwhelmed with joy.

"Hey! Hey! Hey! No hugging!"

Zoro chuckled, moving the scrub brush to the young doctor's head.

You were the strangest, most persistent girl he had ever met... but the only one that believed in him from the very beginning.

Even if it was at your expense.

"What were you thinking?!" a twelve year-old Zoro scolded, haphazardly applying band-aids to all your cuts and bruises. "You know Haru and Kenzo are stronger than you. Why'd you try to fight them?"

An eleven year-old you sniffled, using the back of your hand to wipe away the stray tears rolling down your cheeks.

"They were making fun of you," you mumbled, looking down at your lap. "They said three-sword style was stupid, so I tried to punch them... but I missed and they ganged up on me."

"Did they, now?" Zoro glared, turning to the two boys next to him.

Quickly, he struck them both in the back of the head, giving them two giant welts and adding to their multitude of injuries.

"What do you two say to her?!"

"We'wre sowwy..."

Chopper lit up, relieved to her you had no ulterior motive in your kindness.

"(y/n)'s been this nice all her life? Wow! I wish I met her sooner! She sounds like a really great friend!"

Zoro nodded, fighting off the small smile threatening to rise to his lips.

"I was lucky to meet her when I did... her enthusiasm always gave me something to look forward to."

He sighed, dreamily reminiscing on the thought.

"Even when the future was unclear..."

"I can't believe it! We're actually leaving!" an eighteen year-old you squealed, watching the island of Shimotsuki get smaller and smaller as you clung to the mast of your small fishing boat. "This is so exciting!"

"I know," a nineteen year-old Zoro agreed, watching with an air of pride. "Feels like a new chapter. One step closer to becoming the strongest."

You nodded along, until you were suddenly hit with a thought, which forced you to sit down.

"But... I can't help but wonder," you started, glancing up at him. "Why'd you bring me along?"

He raised a brow, confused, and silently asking you to elaborate.

"You know I'm not very strong. Hell, I can barely throw a punch," you reminded. "I won't be much of a help..."

"All those years ago... didn't you say you wanted to watch me become the Greatest Swordsman in the world?" Zoro asked, rhetorically. "You can't do that cooped up in a dojo."

Your eyes widened slightly, not expecting such a straight-forward answer.

"I promised you I'd work hard to become the strongest. So you better believe you're getting a front row seat," he smirked, plopping himself down next to you, slightly rocking the boat. "You're stuck with me, (y/n). There's no backin' out now."

You replied with a chuckle, carefully resting your head on his shoulder, blissfully unaware of the flush on his cheeks.

"Thanks, Zo'."

He nodded, slowly and warily looping an arm around your shoulder, letting out a sigh of relief when you didn't move away.

"Don't mention it."

"Wow! I'm so happy!" Chopper cheered, jumping up from his seat. "I'm gonna go dry off and give her a big hug to say thank you for all the stuff she's done!"

Quickly, he turned to Zoro, his blinding smile warming the swordsman's heart—though he'd never admit it.

"Thanks for telling me Zoro!"

Without a word, Zoro nodded, and Chopper zoomed off back to the rooms, leaving the man alone with his thoughts.

Glancing at the divider separating the men and women's bath, Zoro listened closely, tuning out Luffy and Usopp's roughhousing to see if he could hear you.

And he did.

From beyond the great wall flowed in your silvery laugh, the delightful sound hitting his ears like the world's greatest song.

Closing his eyes, the swordsman rested his arm on his knee, and his cheek in his palm, allowing himself to fully experience its beauty.

God, he was so in love with you...

Words couldn't even begin to express.

You were the most consistent thing in his life.

His personal nurse.

His number one supporter.

His best friend.

His childhood crush.

If he was being honest, he didn't know where would've ended up if it weren't for you, or the person he would've turned out to be.

You taught him the value of kindness and compassion at such a young age, and were never afraid to wear your heart on your cheek if it meant pushing him closer to his dream.

And you knew him so well.

He couldn't have found a better partner in crime if he'd searched for a thousand years.

Muscles relaxing, a small smile rose to his lips as your laugh floated into the air once again, accentuated by the occasional, adorable snort.

There was no one else in this world for him.

There would be no one else in this world for him.

You were absolutely, positively, without a doubt... his endgame.

[starry-miki]

⭐️ Gift 2 for @sane-omblog ! In participant of @obeymeholidayexchange ⭐️

Prompt! “Purgatory hall squad in matching sweater for Christmas”

(Click for clearer version idk how to fix it ;-;)

💕 I would like to first say thank you to @ephie-om for both helping me with what Simeon would be doing and also “encourage” me to keep this piece and finish it all the way though! And i would also like to thank my sprint squad too; yall help me stay productive and I finally would like to thank @aspiringtrashpanda for the creation of this event, I’ve had a wonderful time meeting so much new people and gaining new moots and seeing my older ones too!! I love y’all so much!!! 💋🫶🫶💕

Now onto this piece thoughts and comments, other info and bonuses! (Kinda Long?)

After 9 crashes on procreate and hours of labor I would love to present you, your 2nd gift Ne! I decided to go a little all out for this one since I know I wouldn’t have enough time to do the 3rd gift 😔 (more details below)

Frankly I’m surprised it turned out alright, since I completely forgotten how to render more uhhhh more extravagantly?? and the last time I actually fully render was about roughly in May for Ven congrats gift?? So basically this was running on Christmas prayers and hopes and dreams LMAOOOO

⭐️

Cookies! You may notice each cookie looks a bit different, which each character decorated each others cookie!

Simeon did Solomon’s cookie,

Luke did Simeon’s cookie,

Raphael did Luke’s cookie

and you already know which one old man made drew it with my left hand (let’s be honest it’s the best looking cookie and the best looking thing in this entire piece I’m make it as my profile pic)👁️👁️

⭐️

Here is a full view of the piece without the cookies surrounding I forgot to save a non filter version of it but I have some snippets when I was sending it to one of my acquaintances but I guess of only old man and Raphael?? (But Raphael came out so cuteeees 😭💕)

⭐️

So the 3rd prompt details I’ll talk about it on my side account in a new post. I probably have it up some time in the next few days if not def sometime on first week of January, it also got a backstory to it LMAOO

💕 Happy holidays again Ne and I hope you enjoy your presents! And I hope the new year brings you joy and wonderful new things for you!! 🐞💋💕

[haobubbles]

Riize when you argue and they have to go on tour

genre: fluff, crack n kinda angst?

tw: no foolproof read!!, cursing

roxy yapps: i publicily apologise for taking so long to post smth😭 with my exam's week and now christmas (having family over ALL THE TIME) i haven't had time but well, here it is!! enjoy and if u can leave some ideas for req!!

── . ★ shotaro

after the attitude of fans at the airport and the fight he had had with you, this boy was quite a mess and was in very low spirit.

known as probably the most energetic boy on this earth, that day he would catch their fans by surprise when, even if his performance was astounding, he sounded more tired than usual and he clearly had his mind somewhere else. when he closed the door of his room in the hotel, after the concert, he made sure to send an apologise to briizes on weverse. without a second thought (after cheking the time of your country ofc) he called you.

"if you just need to, pretend we're fine until i come back home. i can't perform knowing i've fucked up and haven't made things right"

── . ★ eunseok

after having a fight with you, eunseok sent you a message about his departure for the tour, and as he didn't receive any message back, he second guessed that you needed your space, which he decided to give. he was sure you'd reach out when you felt better but the wait was slowly killing him.

on stage, he wouldn't seem as if he just had a fight with his significant other, although he kept on thinking about his electronic device, and if it had buzzed with a message of yours. he definetely acted flirty with the camera, sending flying kisses or winks in hopes you were watching it at home and you knew they were for you.

seeing your messages on his lockscreen made his face lit up instantly, which even if he knew he would be made fun of later, he couldn't care less.

eunseok: did you see me on stage? all those flying kisses and winks were for you

── . ★ sungchan

would definetely be pouty and with big ass moodswings.

on stage, he would be the sungchan everyone knew and loved, however, on backstage he would be (for the couple minutes they have) pouty, with his eyebrows furred and maybe even moody.

his teammates would probably need to take part in it by telling him how much you miss him. then he would call you with all his confidence built up and he would curse them out loud for setting him up.

"well, now that i've called you, let's just fix things okay? i miss you and i dont want to be abroad while having an on-going fight with you"

── . ★ wonbin

number 1 sulky boy. he would be confident about you two fixing your diferences but he hated the thought of getting on stage and being in a fight with his first and most important supporter.

either spam messages or he would go silent because he'd be too scared to say something or do things to worsen the situation. however; he wouldn't wait for you to make the first step.

would deadass indirectly tell you things during his speech "don't forget to tell your loved ones how much you appreciate them, no matter if you're arguing or phisically distant from each other.."

would leave everyone stunned and would low-key be very proud of himself when he would see your message "call me when you have some time x"

── . ★ seunghan

another boy with speeches however, he would take your arguing as a possibility to get you back, so he would put up a romantic act just for you to see (even if he was in front of thousands of people)

woulnd't be too worried because he was confident in deeply knowing you. he knew how you acted when you were mad and how he was supposed to act

"i've started listening to (your fav song) recently but i think it lacks some reasoning, could someone explain it to me?" "can i marry you? oh no, no, my heart can receive all the love from everyone but it can only give it to one person back"

── . ★ sohee

he would be lost. not only about what to do, but not talking to you and being currently not in good terms, it wrecked his routine and his "normality" so he wouldn't be sure on what to do.

i feel like he would need to talk it out with another member to ask for advice on how to make things right. he would be too shy to act bold by hismelf, so that's why he recurred to talk with euseok during the flight. even if the older member told him to just call you and have a proper conversation (which he of course would do) he dedided to add his own touch.

during the concert, he would say some words or constructions you usually used and poses and gestures you usually made. he just wanted to show you that even if he hadn't reached out, he kept you wiht him everywhere, everytime, no matter what.

"please call me or text me when you can. i miss you so fucking bad and i refuse to go on like this"

── . ★ anton

wheni tell you this boy would risk losing his flight because he didn't want to leave while you hadn't fixed things.

if he did really had to leave (or they just obligated him), he would be all the time sending you reassuring messages about how much he loves you, or maybe some memes to make you laugh.

on stage, he would be bubblier and happier than usual, but he would go viral for singing a snippet of 'the reason' of hoobastank. when the fans would ask him later on about why did he choose to sing it, he would dismiss the topic by saying that he just felt like it.

"i hope you liked it..i bet you'll even like it more when you know the boys have been making fun of me for 15 mins now"

[peggyao3]

Relic - Pt. 18 "Universe"

PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Unnamed Ambiguous FMC

SUMMARY: This chapter is dedicated to the quantum spirits.

TAGS: Third person POV, she/her AFAB FMC, explicit sexual content, smut, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex, Porn with Plot, Feyd-Rautha's black cum and big cock, Praise Kink, Body Worship, angst/hurt and comfort, drama, fluff, plans within plans, implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced abuse, Trauma, mentions of suicidal thoughts, Healing, Strangers to Lovers, falling in love, Vulnerable/ Emotional/Possessive Feyd, Feyd is a sweet baby who did nothing wrong and I WILL pamper him, nurture not nature, Stockholm Syndrome but in a consensual way, lucid dreaming, Implied/Referenced Cannibalism, murder, teaching the universe about feminism, female rage, Frank Herbert would frown, No actually he would kneel in front of me, putting the science and the porn in sci-fi, angst with a happy ending

WORD COUNT: 5k

A/N: It's a Christmas miracle! 🎄 The final chapter is ready just in time. And, my God, I'm so emotional about it 😭 It hurts to let it go.

After finishing this chapter, you might want to re-read a certain part of a certain other chapter, because of reasons 🤭

If there ever pops up a 19th "chapter", don't be surprised! If it happens, it's going to be a bit of art for this fic 💖💖💖

My biggest thank you goes to @/ClockworkSiren, once again, for beta reading this whole thing and letting me borrow our lovely babies Alyth and Michael and turn them into Lilia and Mikhail ❤️😭

Reposted from my Ao3💕| Masterlist | Relic Masterlist

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

← Previous Chapter

"So, this is it?" She gazes out the window, engines rumbling under their seats. "The Maldives of Giedi Prime?"

"What was that, darling?" Feyd's hand is heavy on her knee, the coolness of his wedding band seeping pleasantly through her gown. His bald head thuds softly against the back panel as he follows her gaze.

The black, oily waves of the svart valta lick at the pale coast of the peninsula below. White sand stretches between tall, chalky cliffs that stand out of the landscape like the unearthed bones of an ancient beast. According to her interface, they're still 150 meters above the ground.

"The Maldives," the relic mutters pensively. "They were an archipelago on Earth, a popular honeymoon destination. Never been there. They were flooded around the time I was born."

"Honeymoon," Feyd repeats the foreign word that lacks a proper translation in Galach, but with the individual words grafted together, it sounds cute. He likes it. "M'gonna drink your honey as soon as we touch down. Until the moon comes out?"

His wife snickers warmly and her breath fogs up the window. Feyd's hand slides to the inside of her thigh, squeezing the soft flesh above her knee.

"Not if I drink yours first," she teases, though her musing gaze remains on the lurid landscape below, abyssal wave hungrily trying to scorch the peninsula of Telkel. From the tasu aurinkosesti, they had flown east to reach one of the most remote Harkonnen settlements on Giedi Prime. Looking at the undulating mass of radiation, she wonders: "What color do you think it'd have under a yellow sun?"

"Don't know," Feyd hums. "You're the scientist. Green, maybe? Or brown."

He had explained to her earlier that the settlers had tried to reintroduce fish to the sea here in Telkel. The giant, corroding basins along the shore remain, but their filter systems have been shut off for decades. To cultivate fish that can not only survive but thrive in the heavily polluted waters would take some serious scientific effort that the late Baron Harkonnen didn't think promising enough to chip his budget for.

"We could have gone to Lankiveil," his woman briefly pouts, though her eyes betray her fascination as the village below increases in size. "I would die to dip my toes into an ocean without having them singed off. Or for some fresh air and a walk among pines. I never had much of that on Earth either."

Feyd hums, contorting his torso to press his cheek against hers as they both gaze out of the same window. Long, pale fingers play along her ribs. "The waters on Lankiveil would freeze your toes off, but… We'll go there," he promises with a low whisper. "Or any other planet you want. The universe is practically ours now." 

Practically. Perhaps after a week of writhing on top of each other in damp sheets, their thirst for revenge will return.

The conversation between Feyd and his brother after the ceremony had been brief, but Glossu had formally invited the both of them to Lankiveil, the snowy, tranquil home of Feyd's early childhood and a place full of emotional debris. But he would rather not elbow his way through the wreckage on their honeymoon.

The aircraft touches down on a bleak landing pad between low buildings that look like matchboxes among the unforgiving landscape. A small committee of a dozen Telkelis awaits the daunting visitors from Barony, their massive aircraft ink-black and shiny, factory new, among the dusty grey architecture and pale hills. The sharp wind of rotor blades makes the Telkelis' drab trousers whip around their legs.

Lilia quickly maneuvers to the other side of the passengers' cabin after prying the hem of her Lady's travel mantle out of Glugo's many finger-toes. The garment has the same functionality as her wedding down, but simpler and more practical.

"You'll get your plushies back when we're inside," the handmaid tries to soothe the wistfully glugging creature. "They're in the suitcase— Oh! Not that one."

But Glugo has already wrapped four out of eight hand-feet around the handle of Mikhail's personal suitcase that the guard had refused to deposit in the cargo department because old habits die hard. As a former resident of the slums of Ganpolis, he prefers to have his belongings where he can see them.

Feyd-Rautha clicks his tongue while Lilia helps his wife into the shiny mantle and gloves, concealing her from head to toes.

Outside, scalding wind carries the sound of distant, crashing waves and the scent of bitter salt. The relic has to hold onto her husband's arm as she sways on the iron footsteps of the aircraft. Behind them, guards spill out of the second cabin, half of them heading straight to the cargo compartment where her cryo pod is stored. She is quite like Mikhail in that regard. 

The committee bravely keeps a stoic face and  doesn't flinch at the disturbingly cute sight of an eight-arm-legged creature toiling away with a too heavy suitcase and refusing a desperate guard's help.

Leaning towards his wife, Mikhail whispers: "My chair's inside that thing!"

Feyd's nostrils flare as he struts towards the gathered dozen with heavy, leisured steps, clutching the hand of his wife. His other hand lifts to shield himself against the glaring sun and the tip of his thumb subconsciously slides against his ear where an inconspicuous black button pierces his antihelix. To the unsuspecting eye, it looks not too different from a regular transponder with an unconventional placement, but what it really contains is a tiny loudspeaker and a chip with just enough memory to run the script that detects the voice.

"Welcome to Telkel, my Lord, my Lady." The committee bends their knees and salutes. The clumsy tension in their limbs gives away that they didn't have to salute to authority often in their lives out here in the godforsaken wilderness.

"Thank you for having us."

If it weren't the young Baron's very own raspy drawl speaking, the Mayor of Telkel would have never believed that 'thank you' would be the first words coming out of Feyd's mouth. The Mayor's daughter had cried in the morning, certain that Feyd-Rautha would behead her father for something as mundane as the driveway to the villa being too crooked or the bad condition of the weather-beaten landing pad.

"It's an honor. The entire village is ecstatic, my Lord." Still hunkering down on one knee, the man's smooth brows suddenly shoot up in horror. "Congratulations!" He blurts. "On your marriage!" He'd meant to say this in the very beginning. Helplessly, his pale eyes snap from Baron to Baroness.

"Thank you," the Lady speaks from behind the curious veil and her voice sounds kind and human. "Why don't you stand up. Don't hurt your knees."

Feyd-Rautha casts a threatening glance at Mikhail, so the guard doesn't blurt out that 'the Lady could print y'all some chairs.'

The Mayor and his people shuffle, straightening their bodies into the sharp wind.

"Oh, my Lady, our knees and backs are used to it." The older man points a scarred thumb behind his shoulder, where the inkvine plantations are beyond the village border. This is how Telkel gets by now, hovering over the maws of poverty at the whims of Giedi Prime's rocky soil and erratic volcanoes.

The Lady lets out a sympathetic sound and the Mayor can't help himself. The next words just come tumbling out. "It'd be an honor to show you around the plantations and the old basins, if you'd like. Never seen them in action, but my father did. For a year or so, they had a relatively stable population of Tilapia in there."

"I'd love to see them. Actually, if I could have some water samples, maybe I could—"

"Not now, sweetling," Feyd's grating voice chastises and he squeezes his wife's gloved hand, compressing her wedding ring between her fingers. "The villa is prepared?"

"Yes, my Lord. The maids and workers you sent have been very thorough. Radiation-proof window panes, fresh paint. Even got some imported plants. My daughter picked them." The renovated villa is now considerably more homely than the Mayor's own residence. "Shall we head there?"

Despite its forlorn ugliness, the relic finds Telkel and its grey, flat buildings among chalky hills oddly charming. Even if she'll be covered from crown to toe in her lead-painted mantle, she swears she will go to the beach — if Feyd lets her out of the bedroom — and feel the sand underfoot, hear the massive waves trying to swallow the shore. Compared to Barony and the roiling industrial trenches that stretch across most of the northern hemisphere, this is a natural paradise.

"Guess we won't be seeing ya for a while, eh?" Mikhail leers, freshly painted teeth brilliant in the glaring sun as he leans lopsidedly against the grey pillar of the villa's roofed porch. Lilia harshly pinches his side, between the plates of his armor, but the apples of her cheeks round up with laughter. Sometimes it still scares her how openly her husband jests with Feyd-Rautha, a man who used to be known first and foremost for his quick blades and unstable outbursts.

The welcome committee has left them ten minutes ago and the guards currently come shuffling out of the building, having deposited the Baroness' priceless sarcophagus in the room adjacent to their honeymoon suite.

"You may join us for meals," Feyd concedes, grinning.

"Meals as in…?" Mikhail cocks a hairless brow.

"Oh, absolutely not!" The relic gasps and her guard breaks into raspy laughter, lungs expanding in crunchy hops.

"Dun' worry. I wouldn't share my woman anyways. Not even with you, m'Lord. Aight then, see ya in a week, eh?"

Wiry arms curl around Lilia's thighs and the scrawny guard hauls his wife quite easily over his shoulder. She calls him a prat between giggles, and a mongrel, but Mikhail already makes a sprinting beeline for Glugo who still stubbornly drags his suitcase down the freshly paved pathway to the guest house.

"They'll be fine," Feyd-Rautha soothes his wife's veiled, lingering glance. "Look at me." His gravelly timbre demands for her undivided attention and her eyes follow his magnetic pull.

Pale fingers sprawl across her sternum, urging her backwards. Even through the lead-painted layers, she feels his possessive touch singe her skin and bones. Unwittingly, her feet pass the threshold of their holiday abode and the door closes at her husband's back.

Inside, silence embraces them. This place is only for them, where they need to be nothing but lovers. Color provided by golden glow globes fades into Feyd's pallor, the softest notes of pink on cheeks and lips, and blue framed by dark blonde lashes. 

The building is brutalist in its arches and pillars, but less suffocating than the palace. The welcoming range of non-colors and sharp angles creates actual depth and contrast, not like the bulbous pyramid interior that reminds of  a termite burrow, or the innards of a giant insect. Bright daylight streams through the thick windows, fading into glowglobe haze.

Something about this place evokes… Nostalgia.

"You're blushing, husband," she teases, though her hammering heart under his palm betrays her own butterflies.

"Off with that thing." Feyd-Rautha has already mapped out the buckles that keep her mantle fastened and strips it off her frame quicker than she would have ever managed. Her gloves land on the same shiny pile and she hooks her bare fingers into Feyd's belt loops, turning her husband around his tall axis to walk him up the curved stairs. Those pretty eyes could eat her alive, oozing lust like blue honey.

Neither of them take note of the gentle, green fern that line the staircase in tasteful pots.

"Off with that thing." The woman's fingers glide under Feyd's lapels and over his smooth shoulders, slipping his ornamental jacket off his arms. The expensive garment flutters over the banister and he remains in a sleeveless tunic and trousers.

"So, now that you're my wife, will you stop taking that potion?" Feyd leers at her stomach once they've reached the top, his tone playful. The hand that lunges to smack him atop the head is one that he had predicted, and so he dodges it masterfully and dances behind her. Hard, strong arms curl around her middle, lifting her off the ground until she breaks into gasping giggles and demands to be let down with kicking feet. The hem of her gown slides up her shins.

Feyd grins, feeling the plushness of her breasts against his forearms. "What a rare pleasure to have you in a gown, my darling" he purrs.

"For this special occasion, I thought I might as well," she huffs with laughter, accepting her airborne fate.

"I like it. It's practical."

"Practical for you, not for me."

The garment is a classic cut worn by Harkonnen noblewomen, flattering and intricate in the way it curls around her bosom and hips in obsidian black, nothing like the stiff latex and see-through plastic of the former Baron's palace servants.

"Don't worry, you won't have to wear it for the rest of the week, my darling. You'll wear nothing but sweat and cum on your pretty skin. Or maybe some blood. I didn't bring a coffer full of toys for nothing."

"I hope some of them are for you."

"More than you'd think," he purrs, pink lips pressing against her neck. "And some of the blood will be mine."

"Oh? We could start now." The woman twists out of his grasp, turning and grasping his lapels. Her lips find the crescent scar on his clavicle, pretending to delve for a kiss when she really pinches the thin layer of skin over the bone between her teeth. Feyd grunts, shamelessly pressing his confined erection against her navel.

"Let's go, my darling." He seizes her hand, his whole universe, and opens the door.

🎶🎶🎶

"Look, doesn't this remind you of something?" His wife's voice whispers to him excitedly and Feyd-Rautha tilts his head, brows furrowed.

"What do you mean?"

"Look!" Her ringed hand slides out of his grip and he chases after it viscerally, nearly overwhelmed by the sudden discomfort of having no soft palm against his own. She shouldn't be slipping away from him at all on their honeymoon.

But then, recognition carves into him, serrated blades that tear his guts open with a monstrous sense of deja vu. His head spins as he advances into the room.

Feyd's feet step on polished parquet and his gaze swivels around, scanning the surroundings which he thought he would never see again. There are white curtains fluttering by the window, a king-sized bed carved out of white marble, a black comforter tucked around the mattress and blue pillows are lined up against the headboard. A real fern grows in a terracotta pot in the corner.

Horrified, Feyd's head snaps back to his woman, suddenly recognizing the  Harkonnen gown wrapped around her curves. He finds her eyes brimming with meaning. 

She clutches his wrist hard, nails digging into tender skin, and it is like some sense of frantic, mutual understanding settles upon wife and husband. Her features soften and she looks at him, seemingly confused.

"I don't recognize this place," he lies. His heart clamors like a captive beast.

"Me neither." She pulls her hand away and takes a step back, her cheeks hot and her head dizzy as the universe's mysterious gears rotate around them. But she masks it well.

"I'm dreaming, aren't I?" Feyd rumbles, tracing his fingertips over the cool, smooth marble bedpost. It feels so real. It is real and always has been real.

"I don't know. I feel so awake." 

A flash of warmth blossoms in Feyd-Rautha's chest as he regards the woman he has seen so many times before, in visions and reality. Curiously, she moves around the light-flooded bedroom. Sunlight filters through the curtains, temporarily robbing her flesh of color. A frown decorates her brows and she turns back to face him. Years of comfort reside in the way she moves and Feyd chases after her with measured steps.

"What's your name?" He asks. She tells him only a forename, no House, because she has none, unfamiliar sounding, because the name was given to her 24,000 years ago. "I've never heard that name before," Feyd confesses, standing mere inches away from his wife. Her pretty face is craned upwards to meet the alluring gaze of his eyes. She would describe the color as baby blue. The prettiest shade in the world.

"And what's your name?" She breathes. No matter what this is, she has no reason to be nervous. It already happened.

He hesitates at that. Feyd-Rautha Rabban. But ultimately, he stays true to the script. "Feyd." 

The name sparks no judgment on the woman's features and he remembers the flood of immense, stupid relief and how he had concluded that there is probably more than one person in the universe named Feyd, that Harkonnens all look the same to foreigners. To talk to a person who only knows Feyd, not Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen had been his lifeline out of the gluttonous maws of death.

"Feyd," she repeats, suddenly giggling.

He too is in the mood for giggling, but he didn't giggle then, so he doesn't giggle now. Feyd leans an inch closer, eyes rapidly dancing across her mirthful face.

"Feyd as in you will fade away when I wake up?" She covers her mouth now, still laughing. Something compels him to laugh as well because all things considered, this is still a funny joke, even though neither of them will wake up. 

Or will they?

No. No, they won't.

The pressure against the apples of his cheeks doesn't feel so unfamiliar anymore, as the corners of his mouth lift into a wide grin. His lips part and what escapes him is a small haha.

Suddenly, the woman flinches and her smile drops. Perhaps she had the same thought as he did. She catches herself quickly and remembers: "Sorry! I just—"

"What? Oh, the black teeth? People usually find them very pretty where I'm from, desirable even.” Feyd closes his mouth. He's still unsure if laughter suits him, but his woman seems to like it. Always has.

"Oh, no, please keep laughing!" She wraps her hand around Feyd's wrist. So smooth, every part of him. She wants to curl against his body and rub her cheek against his pallid flesh. Even now, his features are still outlandish to her, strikingly pretty. The pale skin, so light that it almost looks translucent, the entirely bald head and lack of brows.

She should have always known that he's not a figment of her imagination, because she couldn't have imagined someone so pretty.

Encouraged by her touch, Feyd smiles once more and it has never been easier. It feels so good. He looks away from his woman who still holds his wrist and finds a mirror on the far wall. He looks foreign to himself, his cheeks not in the right place, but he's gotten more used to it.

"If I pinch you, will you wake up?" She teases, pinching his skin without waiting for his answer. She seems fascinated by the small blotch which decorates his wrist where she poked him with her nail, twisting and turning his wrist and hand like he's an interesting specimen. Of course she would look at him like that — his little scientist, life saver, love of his life.

Even though this is not a lucid dream, Feyd knows he doesn't have to worry about what he does, not with her. She has loved even the most unlovable parts of him. He feels compelled to do things he would have never done before her, such as dismantling the walls around his soul with laughter.

Even though this is not a lucid dream, she knows she doesn't have to worry about what she does, not with him. She also feels compelled to do things she would have never done before him. Such as getting married to the apocalyptic soundscape of an erupting volcano and adopting a lovely freak of immoral genetic engineering.

"So, Feyd…" She purrs his name like an exotic, amusing thing. "What would you like to do?"

Feyd pretends to be taken aback by the question, because no one ever used to ask him that. Not like that. "What would you like to do?" He coos, slinking closer with rolling gait and a small smirk on his serpentine features. He knows the way her pupils dilate well.

"There's a bed in the room, so…"

Feyd leers, smile turning wolfish. Yes, he will fuck his wife senseless. He might even fuck her so good that his own climax jostles him awake and out of whatever the fuck this bizarre simulation is. Which, upon second thought, would ruin his life.

She speaks again, moving her lips closer to his, pretty lashes lowering so they almost kiss her cheek bones "...So perhaps that means we should sleep."

Feyd acts baffled, then rumbles: "I won't sleep in my sleep."

"I meant sleeping with each other."

Of course she did. Feyd's hairless brows shoot up and something light flutters in his stomach when she starts giggling again, attempting to turn away as if suddenly bashful about her own words.

"To the bed, you confusing woman," he orders with a low growl and there is not even an ounce of resistance when his hands wrap around his wife's shoulders, nudging her backwards, so her knees bend around the mattress of their honeymoon bed and she sinks down.

Her husband's face hovers directly over her and she admires the dip of his cupid's bow and the soft curve of his jaws. So pretty. She reaches up and cups his cheek and the way his bone structure slots against her palms feels just right, always has.

Feyd pounces on her like a tiger and the strength and weight of the hard muscles concealed by a black tunic and slacks becomes evident. Heat pools into her abdomen instantly, caged under the man of and from her dreams who is made of flesh and blood, smells like it too. A familiar note of something leathery and metallic clings to him.

There is no need for a prelude, because they've loved each other a thousand times, in the past and the future. Feyd's lips kiss her decolletage before they find her throat and by the time they've found her lips, the hard ridge of his cock is pressed against her core which is only covered by the fabric of her dress, ridiculously easy to access.

Practical for him, as he said.

Why not, she thinks. It's not like the world is going to come collapsing down on them. Right?

Why not, he thinks. Even if the world comes collapsing down on them when they're done, it would be worth it.

Her hands curl around the back of his head gently and Feyd wants to weep at how soft her touch is, almost like she's worried of hurting him. He loves her nails in his scalp as much as he loves the loving dance of her fingertips.

She rolls her hips against his pelvis, ever amazed how hard his body is. A small grunt escapes her husband's mouth and mingles with the sloppy kiss which is all soft lips and saliva, leaving her open-mouthed and softly moaning for more as her core yearns for friction.

Feyd-Rautha is ever amazed by how soft and pliant her body is, breasts and stomach like a pillow for him to snuggle. And her little cunt is already grinding against his crotch. Under different circumstances, he might have had his fun right away, but that's his wife and her squirming hips are too tempting not to spoil her rotten before he fucks her. He reaches down, long fingers gliding up the curve of her thigh where the dress has pooled around her hips. Instinctively, her leg curls up higher, knee pressing against his ribs. Feyd works her underwear halfway off her rear, needing to get up to slide it off fully.

"If this is a lucid dream, I should be able to make myself wet with a thought," she muses as Feyd scoots down and freezes halfway, before he can settle down between her thighs, hard cock straining against his trousers.

The brief moment of hesitation is all it takes to throw him off the track of time that has carved its way through the universe.

"But it's not a lucid dream. They were visions all along, weren't they?" Feyd blurts, deviating from God's wicked script. For a moment, they both stare at each other in terror, as if expecting the universe to disintegrate and crush their souls into one smoldering singularity in space-time. 

But nothing happens.

Nothing at all.

The relic shuffles up slowly, tugging her dress down her legs and sitting back on her haunches.

"What is going on?" Feyd hisses, scared that the quantum spirits in the walls are listening. "What the fuck was that?"

He has never been so grateful to see the spark of knowledge in her eyes.

"That was our past, present and future."

"So, are we in a— a fucking time loop? Are we gonna wake up and go through hell again? Will I have to wait another eternity for the Guild to pluck you out of space?!"

"No!" She curls her arms around his shoulders and lays her forehead against his. No, my love… But it is a loop of sorts." Rapt fingertips glide slowly to the crescent scar on Feyd's pallid clavicle, inflicted by herself a few months back, first noticed by her 24,000 years ago, when Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen was not even a spark among the stars. "We could have never ended up together if we hadn't already seen us be together in the past, but what we really saw back then was our future. Weren't we the greatest actors? We were so good, we convinced even ourselves."

The terrible, beautiful Ouroboros has finally come to devour its own, cosmic tail and a shudder of awe passes through the two souls who straddle the starry serpent's undulating neck. From the macroscopic cosmos to the microscopic one within their bodies, it makes even their molecules tremble, even the quantum particles that make up the endless void of every ounce of matter, every brain, every soul.

"But I messed it up," Feyd insists. "I said the wrong thing. Why didn't we see ourselves having this conversation during our first dream? Why didn't we wear our wedding rings then?"

"There's never just one future." She kisses him on the lips, stealing his anxious breath for but a moment.

"How many?"

"Many." The engineer laughs, hands trailing up Feyd's neck to cradle his jaws. Panic fades from his gaze and flows into blue-eyed petulance. "Are your scientists aware of the many-worlds-theory?"

"Do I look like I know?" Strong hands hold his wife's face in a gentle vise.

"In quantum physics, a particle always has two states at once until it is observed. Then, its waveform collapses and it becomes one of the two states. But what happens to the other state?" She pauses, closing her eyes. "It exists too, but in another world. That is the many-worlds-theory.

With every decision we make, every beat of a butterfly's wing, every quiver of a molecule brushing against another, a new world branches off. That makes a tree with infinite branches or a delta with infinite rivers, rolling onwards and onwards since the birth of the first atom. Among this… infinity—" Her breath shudders in trembling reverence. "—there are branches in which we said it just right, because we knew what to say. Branches in which we saw exactly this conversation, or never found each other at all."

"So, why are we in this one where every vision of us acting was aligned perfectly? How probable is that?"

"As probable as any other nexus of visions. One infinity can't be bigger or smaller than another." A small smile plays around her lips. "Some say, the entire universe in itself is a simulation. For all we know, we could just be figments of someone's imagination, or pixels on a computer screen. Perhaps it would have been a less exciting story to tell, if it happened any other way."

The relic briefly turns her head to look at you — yes, you — quantum spirit in the walls.

"And why us?"

She is so happy that her husband's spark for science has finally been ignited, even if just for a few heartbeats — or a few beats of a butterfly's wings.

"When I was with the Bene Gesserit, they called it prescience. They said it's genetic and that my genes allowed me to survive millennia in cryo sleep." She sighs with bitterness. "If my own family has an aberrant sequence in our DNA, we might as well be the ancestors of— of everyone versed in prescience."

And the cause for so much suffering. 

Feyd sees it in her eyes, that flame of intrigue followed by the need to explore and sink into the inland empire of her mind and the ancient technology that's fused with her, a place where he can't follow. So, he tilts her face upwards in both loving hands and kisses her hard before breaking away with a coy grin.

"Are you saying you're my great great great aunt?"

"Yeah!" She blurts out laughing. "I think I am."

Giggling, she goes back in, throws her arms around Feyd's neck and topples him on his back, tangling her legs with his like their threads of fate.

In their angry daydreams, they have pictured themselves in red and gold as the king and queen of a new, better empire, handing out guns and bombs to the revolution.

But in their hearts, they're just a girl and a boy. An astronaut lost in space and a man who has yet to discover his destiny beyond being the unwilling prince of a noble House.

From now on, their future is theirs, and despite all the rights and wrongs, it boils down to a single question.

What do they want? A war to make the universe anew as they see fit? Or maybe just a universe as big as they are. Maybe just—

Peace.

Caught in the riptide I was searching for the truth There was a reason I collided into you Calling your name in the midnight hour Reaching for you from the endless dream So many miles between us then Now you are always here with me Nobody knows (nobody knows) why (why) Nobody knows how, and This feeling begins just like a spark Tossing and turning inside of your heart Exploding in the dark Calling your name in the midnight hour Reaching for you from the endless dream So many miles between us then Now you are always here with me Oh, inside me I find my way Back to you, back to you Calling your name in the midnight hour Reaching for you from the endless dream So many miles between us then Now you are always here with me Two words In your hands, in your heart It′s one (whole) universe You are always here with me

- Here With Me (Two Worlds) by Susie Suh

FEYD TAG LIST

@nostalgichoya, @forgedfromthestars, @sweetiee-o, @missbingu, @minedofmoria

@sebastianswallows, @charmingballoon, @flower-frog, @welliah, @aoi-targaryen

@coastalcowgirl35, @esolean, @szapizzapanda, @tatertooted, @sunny747

@ughdontbeboring, @meetmeatyourworst, @gravesdiggergirl

A/N: Thank you from the bottom of my heart for accompanying me on this writing journey ❤️ I'm a little heartbroken that it's over 😭 I had expected to be more relieved, but I'm actually so sad right now. Proud and happy but sad 😭 

If you enjoyed reading this labor of love of mine, please do let me know in a comment, if you can find the time 🫶🏻 No matter if you have or haven't commented before, I'm going to be so grateful about every thought, every reaction. Comments are genuinely the most rewarding thing when publishing my stories, much more so than hits and kudos, because fanfics (in my opinion) are to be relished and not consumed  🫶🏻

I'm not ready to say goodbye to the Dune universe. I have more stories in mind. The idea that I've been mulling over would be the largest, longest and most complex work that I've ever written. I'm talking about heavy world building, an entirely original planet and population, a much more depraved Feyd-Rautha and female protagonist. I've already been teetering at the border of an OC with the reader character in this one. For the next one, I would cross that line for the first time and go for an OC, make the FMC as fleshed out as Feyd is. The story would have a heavy emphasis on religion, corruption kink and cannibalism. It'd be a dove that's almost dead. Basically, all the world building would be my excuse to write deranged, blasphemous, messy smut. It definitely wouldn't be everyone's cup of tea. However, I wouldn't wanna start posting before I've written the entire thing, which might take a long time, so as not to put too much pressure on myself. Can't disappoint anyone if I'm only writing for myself for the time being ❤️

I also have a smutty F/M/M threesome oneshot cooking in my brain, one of the men being Feyd, the other being a surprise 🤭

Annndd I also have two other Feyd oneshots (that have been on ao3 for ages) to upload here, which I'll probably do within the next weeks.

If any of this sounds like something you'd enjoy, feel free to subscribe to me as an author on ao3 to receive email notifications, or follow me here on Tumblr 🫶🏻 I would be so happy to see you again, all of you 💕

[yandere-kokeshi]

Hey!! I know its kind of a weird ask but how would yandere dad ghost react to discovered that his kid has a terminal sickness.

— Yandere Dad! Ghost reacting to his kiddo being diagnosed with a terminal illness

Warnings: Yandere platonic behavior, huge angst, Teenager! Reader, details of being sick and death.

A/N: Not a weird ask at all!! I enjoy these types of angst asks 😭. Enjoy!!!

Dad! Ghost is… distraught. More than he can relate to any other word. He’s quiet, too quiet for anyone’s comfortableness. His throat closes up, eyes gone wide, brown pupils staring at the doctor, as he begins to feel his hands shake uncontrollably. Even if he held his wrist to straighten it out, like his life depended on it, it’d still shake in fear.

He recognizes it for what it is—adrenaline, the body's reaction to stress. He hasn’t felt this type of panic since he left home. What a fuckin’ joke. But life is, isn’t it?

His body just feels numb. A way too familiar feeling he had in his chest, just sitting there occupied before you came into his life. It’s unfair. Extremely so, but he just accepts it. He’s straightforward—asking how much time you have left with an unreadable expression. He doesn’t fight with the doctor or even try to negotiate if there was a cure—both of you know there isn’t one, and that’s the hardest part for him to accept.

Anger is the first of the few emotions he feels. Not at you, but rather at himself. He forgets to breathe, feeling his chest tighten at the thought of you leaving. Dad! Ghost prides himself on taking care of you. Better than anyone, better than how he was treated growing up. When he took you as his, he promised to care for you—dedicated to your health and safety. And now, he’s failed at the most important section as a parent.

The first thing he asks is just for a hug. He doesn’t force you, but you can feel the rawness in the question. The desperation. The loss of something of his yet again. It’s a tight embrace, his fingers digging into your back. He needs to feel you, living and breathing, accepting the fact that he won’t be able to at some point. He’ll be asking for them a lot, especially for the first few months when your health begins to deteriorate.

In a way, Dad! Ghost softens—way more than his usual softness toward you, almost where it’s uncomfortable. It’s another façade, a mask behind his regular fatherly ways, to hide his pain from you. Like a marble statue slowly crumbling away.

He lets you stay up way later, trying to make the best of it with you. The two of you watch all types of TV shows, laughing at the comedy. Getting your favorite takeout every week, eating it whilst watching some of his and yours favorites. Taking you to visit different countries and states if that’s what you decide to do—even if it’s out of his comfort zone. He takes so many pictures of you, living in the moment and trying not to think negatively.

He doesn’t tell the team about your diagnosis, but somehow, they know. They always do. It’s the signature distance he has with them—even Laswell messages are just left on read or answered late, a lack in his communication. They all mourn equally, being there for him, for you. But at some point, Dad! Ghost will just break without you here.

—

Masterlist || Reblogs, comments, and likes are very much appreciated!! Stay well!!

© yandere-kokeshi 2024 — Do not copy, modify, edit, repost, or use my works for ASMR readings, tiktoks, or other content.

[speaknow-sw]

THE POET AND THE ROSE

Content : light description of injury, stitching. Plot with plot.

A/N ; Sooo here I am with chapter 2 and I’ve decided to say : FUCK THE HATERS !!! Here’s a 4.1k word king chapter WITHOUT smut for the real people pleasure. Anyway guys I swear I’m getting better with English poetry but this chapter really shows that English is not my first language. 😭 (just let you know that I’ll still cross post this story on ao3)

꧁ Chapter 2 : Bound in Silence ꧂

From the Lays of General Anakin Skywalker, XIII century

"Two hearts bound by duty’s chain,

Silent as the falling rain.

Walls we’ve built, cold and high,

Guard the truths we both deny.”

As the days turned to weeks, the initial passion and tenderness shared between you and Anakin faded like a distant memory, replaced by an unsettling void. He was consumed by his duties as General, often riding out at dawn to attend to the needs of his men and the villages under British protection. You were left to navigate the labyrinthine castle and the complexities of the British court alone.

The castle was a sprawling, ancient edifice filled with echoing corridors and shadowy alcoves. The air was always thick with the scent of beeswax candles and the faint, lingering aroma of history. The servants regarded you with a mix of curiosity and wariness, unsure of how to address the French princess who had become their lady.

At court, the British nobles eyed you with a combination of disdain and fascination. Whispers followed you through the grand halls, and you could feel their judging stares boring into your back. Not a single soul approached you, and you were left to wander the lavish rooms alone, a solitary figure amidst the glittering tapestries and ornate furniture.

Anakin's absence left you with an aching emptiness in your chest. You found yourself longing for his presence, for the warmth of his touch and the depth of his gaze. But as the days stretched on without a word from him, you began to wonder if you had imagined the connection between you.

Late one evening, as you sat alone in the grand library, poring over a dusty tome, you heard a soft knock at the door. Startled, you looked up to see a young page standing nervously in the doorway.

"Your Highness," he stammered, his eyes downcast. "Lord Skywalker left you a letter."

Anakin's name sent a jolt of anticipation and trepidation through you. You set down the book and rose to your feet, taking the letter with trembling hands.

My wife,

I have news from the front. The Scottish have launched a surprise attack on a village near the border. I need to lead my men and repel the invasion. But I cannot leave without ensuring your safety.

I have arranged for a contingent of my most trusted men to remain here and protect you in my absence. They will be stationed around the castle and will escort you wherever you need to go within the palace walls. Additionally, I have instructed the head of the household staff, Lady Fawcett, to assist you with any needs or concerns you may have during my time away.

I regret that I cannot be here to attend to you personally, but I assure you, your safety and well-being are of the utmost importance to me. I expect to return within a fortnight, barring any unforeseen delays or complications on the battlefield.

In my absence, I would ask that you remain within the castle walls and avoid drawing undue attention to yourself. The British court can be a treacherous place, and as my wife, you may face opposition and resentment from those who oppose our union.

I have also left instructions with the royal treasurer to ensure you have access to any funds you may require during my time away. If there is anything else you need, please do not hesitate to send a message to me through one of the soldiers I have assigned to your protection.

I know this is not the honeymoon either of us envisioned, but I assure you, my thoughts will be with you always. I will return to you in approximately three nights.  

Yours,

Anakin Skywalker

General of the British Army.

The days dragged on, each one blurring into the next as you wandered the castle's endless corridors, your footsteps echoing in the cavernous halls. Anakin's letter, once read, now felt cold and impersonal, a mere formality to satisfy some sense of duty rather than a heartfelt expression of devotion.

As the week mark approached, you found yourself retreating to the castle's art studio, a room filled with dusty canvases and faded paints. Here, amidst the splattered palettes and rough sketches, you discovered a solace you hadn't known before.

You threw yourself into your work with a fervor bordering on mania, the frustration and loneliness that had been building inside you pouring out onto the canvas. Vibrant strokes of blue and gold swirled together, each brushstroke a testament to the tempest raging within your heart.

Days turned to weeks, and the paintings began to pile up around you - landscapes of the French countryside, portraits of imaginary figures, and abstract interpretations of the emotions you couldn't voice. The servants whispered amongst themselves, marveling at the princess's talent and the raw, almost desperate passion in each piece.

Yet even as you lost yourself in the throes of creation, a part of you remained acutely aware of the emptiness that had taken up residence in your chest. The ache of Anakin's absence was a constant companion, a dull throb that refused to dissipate.

You longed for his touch, for the warmth of his hand in yours or the strength of his arms around you. But as the days stretched on without a word from him, you began to wonder if you had imagined the connection between you. Perhaps it had been nothing more than a fleeting moment of passion, a dream that had slipped away like mist in the morning light.

The frustration grew with each passing day, a bitter taste on your tongue that no amount of paint could sweeten. You had married a stranger, a man who seemed more at home on the battlefield than in the castle with his new bride. The realization stung, a painful reminder of the gulf that yawned between you.

Late one evening, as you stood back to admire your latest work - a swirling tempest of emotion rendered in shades of black and crimson - you heard a soft knock at the door. Startled, you turned to see one of Anakin's soldiers standing nervously in the doorway.

The soldier stood at attention, his eyes downcast as he delivered his message. "Your Highness, I am to escort you to the small gathering of ladies in the rose garden."

With a sigh, you set down your palette and followed the soldier through the winding corridors of the castle. As you approached the rose garden, the tinkling laughter of the ladies reached your ears, a discordant sound that set your teeth on edge.

You entered the garden, the heady scent of roses thick in the air. The ladies, a gaggle of British nobles, fell silent as you approached. They regarded you with a mix of disdain and curiosity, their eyes raking over your paint-stained dress with disapproval.

You took a seat on a wrought-iron bench, feeling the weight of their stares and the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. The conversation continued in hushed tones, but you caught snippets of rumblings about French unrest and discontent with the treaty.

"...heard whispers of rebellion in the countryside..."

"...the common folk grow weary of British rule..."

"...perhaps it is time we remind the French of their place..."

The words sent a chill down your spine, and you hugged your arms around yourself, feeling suddenly exposed and vulnerable.

As the gathering drew to a close, you excused yourself, eager to retreat to the solitude of your chambers. You bid the ladies goodnight, but your words fell on deaf ears as they continued their hushed conversations, oblivious to your presence.

The castle halls were quiet that evening, the distant sounds of servants preparing for supper muffled by the thick stone walls. You had wandered further than usual in search of solace, your thoughts preoccupied with Anakin's sudden departure and the icy distance that lingered between you. It was this distraction that led you down an unfamiliar corridor near the great library—one you rarely visited.

As you turned the corner, the low murmur of voices caught your attention. Instinctively, you pressed yourself against the cool stone wall, heart quickening. Voices carried easily through the narrow passageway, and you strained to make out the conversation.

"You can't keep delaying," came a sharp, familiar tone. It was your father’s emissary, Gaius. His voice carried the edge of urgency, as though chastising his companion. "The treaty is nothing more than a formality. It served its purpose—peace to distract the British, but the real work must begin."

"I understand, but you underestimate the General," a second voice replied, smooth and measured. You recognized Count Aulbry's distinctive cadence— the French nobles who had attended your wedding. "Skywalker is no fool. He’ll sense something is amiss before long. And the princess..." Aulbry let the word linger, almost derisively.

"The princess is irrelevant," Gaius interrupted impatiently. "She was always a pawn in the larger game, and she’s played her part. Her marriage softened the General enough to open the gates. We’ve bought time, and that’s all we needed."

A cold chill ran down your spine. They were speaking of you—of your marriage. A pawn? Softened the General? You pressed your hand against the wall to steady yourself, swallowing the lump rising in your throat.

"But what of the King ? The Scottish ?" Aulbry asked, his voice low now, almost conspiratorial. "He’ll have to act soon, or it will be too late to reclaim what is ours."

Your father's name was not spoken aloud, but it didn’t need to be. You knew in that moment that the treaty—your marriage—was not the olive branch you had believed. It was a strategy, a ruse.

"He’ll act," Gaius said, his voice cold with certainty. "And when he does, Skywalker won’t see it coming. The King and his allies knows where their loyalties lie, as do we."

A heavy silence followed, broken only by the sound of retreating footsteps. You remained pressed against the wall, your breath shallow, every word reverberating in your mind. The betrayal was clear, but the full scope of their plan was not. Your father’s emissary and Count Aulbry were working together, and worse, it seemed your father himself might be complicit.

The castle gates creaked open as the thunder of hooves filled the courtyard. You stood atop the stone steps, clutching the edges of your shawl against the biting wind, your heart racing with a mixture of relief and apprehension. Anakin had returned. The news had come just moments ago—a British victory against the Scots. Yet whispers of injuries had reached the castle before him, carried by grim-faced soldiers.

When he rode through the gates, you felt your breath catch. Anakin sat slouched in the saddle, his usually rigid posture softened by pain. His tunic was darkened with blood near his shoulder, the shaft of an arrow protruding from his back. Dirt and sweat streaked his face, but his piercing blue eyes were sharp as ever, scanning the courtyard with the wariness of a man who never let his guard down.

"Bring a medic," you called to the nearest servant, your voice firm despite the growing knot in your chest. Without waiting for a reply, you descended the steps quickly, your skirts swishing against the cold stone.

Anakin dismounted slowly, his movements deliberate but betraying the agony he must have been feeling. His jaw clenched tightly, and he ignored the outstretched hands of the knights who came to steady him. His gaze flicked to you briefly as you approached, and though his expression remained stoic, you could see the faintest flicker of something softer in his eyes—relief, perhaps, or simply acknowledgment.

"You should be resting," you said softly, stepping closer.

"I'm fine," he replied, his voice rough. He moved past you toward the castle, but his steps faltered. Instinctively, you reached out to steady him, your hand brushing his arm.

"You're not fine," you insisted, your voice firmer now. "Let me help."

He stopped, his back to you, tension radiating from his frame. For a moment, you thought he might refuse outright. But then he nodded, almost imperceptibly, and allowed you to guide him inside.

From the Lays of General Anakin Skywalker, XIII century

“Pools of depth where truths reside,

The storm within I cannot hide.

No blade, no shield could pierce me through,

But her gaze undoes what war can’t do."

In the warmth of his chambers, you worked quickly, dismissing the servants to care for him yourself. He sat on the edge of the bed, his armor discarded in a heap on the floor. The sight of his injury was worse than you’d expected—the arrowhead was embedded deeply, the skin around it swollen and angry.

"You shouldn’t have ridden all this way with this still in you," you murmured, gathering the supplies from the table.

"I’ve had worse," he replied tersely, though his voice lacked its usual sharpness. He avoided your gaze, his focus fixed on the floor.

You said nothing, dipping a cloth into a basin of warm water and beginning to clean the blood around the wound. He flinched slightly at the touch but didn’t pull away.

"Hold still," you said gently.

His lips pressed into a thin line, but he obeyed, his breathing shallow as you worked. You couldn’t help but notice how tightly wound he was, his body tense even in his exhaustion. Yet beneath that cold exterior, you felt a strange tenderness—a sense of trust he didn’t know how to express.

When you began cutting away the remnants of his tunic to access the wound better, he finally broke the silence. "You shouldn’t be doing this."

"I’m your wife," you said simply, glancing up at him. "Who else should care for you?"

He didn’t respond, his jaw tightening again. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the way he seemed to battle his own instincts—to push you away, to protect himself.

"You don’t have to bear everything alone, you know," you added softly, focusing on the arrow. "Even generals need someone to lean on."

The words hung in the air, met with silence. But when you looked up again, you found his gaze on you, and for the briefest moment, the walls he kept so carefully constructed seemed to crack. There was something unspoken in his eyes—gratitude, perhaps, or respect.

"It’ll hurt," you warned, gripping the shaft of the arrow carefully.

"It already does," he muttered.

You worked quickly, pulling the arrow free in one swift motion. He hissed sharply, his fingers digging into the bedsheets, but he didn’t cry out. Blood welled up immediately, and you pressed a clean cloth to the wound, holding it firmly to staunch the bleeding.

"Almost done," you murmured.

He didn’t reply, his eyes closing briefly as you worked. When you finished cleaning and stitching the wound, you sat back with a sigh, your hands trembling slightly from the effort.

"There," you said, your voice softening. "It’s done."

He opened his eyes and looked at you, his expression unreadable. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Then, almost imperceptibly, he nodded.

"Thank you," he said, his voice low and gruff.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make your heart ache. You knew he wasn’t used to this—to someone caring for him, to someone seeing the man beneath the armor. And though he didn’t say it, you could feel his respect for you growing, like a quiet ember in the cold.

"Rest," you told him, rising to your feet. "You’ll heal faster if you let yourself."

He didn’t argue, his gaze following you as you gathered the bloodied cloths and stepped toward the door. Just as you reached it, his voice stopped you.

"Stay."

It was a single word, spoken softly but with weight. You turned back to see him watching you, his defenses lowered just enough for you to see the man behind them.

You nodded and returned to his side, sitting quietly as he drifted into a fitful sleep. And though he didn’t reach for your hand, you stayed close, your presence a silent promise that he didn’t have to face his burdens alone.

From the Lays of General Anakin Skywalker, XIII century

Her touch is the breeze, her voice the stream,

A melody woven through my dream.

Yet when I reach, she fades from sight,

A phantom born of longing’s light.

The morning was heavy with fog, the sky a dull, oppressive gray. The castle bustled with preparations for Anakin’s departure, servants hurrying to pack his provisions and polish his armor. You stood near the hearth in the solar, wringing your hands as you listened to the muffled clamor from the courtyard below.

He would leave again, summoned back to the battlefield, back to the unending war that seemed to consume every fragment of his life. And once again, you would remain behind, alone in the echoing halls of this castle.

You turned toward the desk near the window, where a stack of parchment and a few books sat in neat disarray. Among them lay a small leather notebook, its cover smooth and worn from use. You had left it there days ago, a forgotten remnant of your attempts to sketch or write, your restless mind unable to find focus.

The door opened, and you turned to see Anakin stepping inside. He wore his traveling cloak, his broad shoulders stiff with the weight of command. His gaze swept over the room, landing briefly on you before shifting away.

“I leave within the hour,” he said, his voice flat, as if delivering a report rather than a goodbye.

You nodded, your chest tightening. “I see.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. He moved to the window, staring out at the courtyard below where his men were assembling. His presence filled the room, a storm contained within the man. You wanted to say something—to ask him to stay, to tell him to be careful—but the words lodged in your throat.

Instead, you stepped forward. “I’ll have the servants bring your things.”

“I’ve already seen to it,” he replied, his tone distant.

Silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating. You turned back toward the desk, unsure of what else to say, and ran your fingers over the leather notebook.

“Is that yours?” he asked suddenly, his voice breaking the quiet.

You glanced over your shoulder, surprised. He was watching you now, his blue eyes sharp and curious.

“Yes,” you said softly. “I haven’t used it much. It’s… just for thoughts. Or sketches.”

He stepped closer, his gaze flicking to the notebook before returning to you. “You don’t mind if I take it?”

The question caught you off guard. “Of course not,” you said quickly, holding it out to him.

He took it from your hands, his fingers brushing yours briefly. The touch was fleeting, but it sent a ripple through the air between you. He studied the notebook for a moment, his expression unreadable, before tucking it into the satchel at his side.

“Thank you,” he said gruffly, his voice softer now.

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Be safe, Anakin.”

His gaze lingered on you, and for a moment, you thought he might say something more. But then he turned, the storm in him retreating behind the cold armor he always wore.

When he was gone, the solar felt emptier than ever.

The clatter of hooves and the creak of carriage wheels echoed through the courtyard as Anakin prepared to depart. You stood at the top of the stone steps, watching the controlled chaos below. Knights in polished armor mounted their horses, squires hurried to secure provisions, and the castle staff bustled with last-minute preparations.

Amidst the activity, something felt off—a subtle tension in the air that you couldn’t quite name. The nobles gathered near the gates, their expressions carefully composed, but their whispered exchanges carried an undercurrent of unease. You noticed Count Aulbry standing apart, his sharp eyes scanning the soldiers with a calculating gaze. Your father’s emissary, Gaius, was there as well, speaking in hushed tones to another courtier. Their conversation stopped abruptly when they caught you watching, their smiles too quick, too polished.

Your heart tightened. Something was amiss, though you couldn’t say what.

Anakin emerged from the castle, drawing your attention away from the murmurs. Clad in his black cloak and gleaming armor, he exuded an unshakable authority, even with the strain of war etched into his features. He strode to his horse with purpose, but there was no mistaking the stiffness in his shoulders, the weight he bore with every step.

He mounted his horse with practiced ease, turning briefly to glance at you. His expression was unreadable, the familiar walls firmly in place. You took a step forward, wanting to say something—anything—but the words caught in your throat.

“Take care of yourself,” you managed finally, your voice soft.

His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, and though his face remained stoic, there was a flicker of something in his eyes—something unspoken. He nodded once, then spurred his horse forward.

You stood frozen on the steps as the company filed out through the gates, the sound of hoofbeats fading into the distance. The nobles watched the procession with guarded expressions, their whispers resuming the moment Anakin was out of sight. The unease in your chest grew, but you pushed it aside, unwilling to let it take root.

Later, the castle felt unbearably quiet, the emptiness pressing down on you. Restless, you retreated to your chambers and pulled out your paints, hoping to find solace in the familiar rhythm of brushstrokes. You set up your easel near the window, where the light spilled across the stone floor, and began to paint.

Anakin’s image filled the canvas—or it started to. You outlined the broad sweep of his shoulders clad in armor, the sharp angles of his face illuminated by the faint glow of the morning sun. Your brush moved with care, attempting to capture the power in his posture, the way his cloak billowed in the wind as he rode away.

But as the hours passed, your strokes faltered. The lines blurred; details escaped you. How could you fully capture the depths of a man who revealed so little of himself? His eyes, always so distant, defied your efforts to bring them to life. Frustrated, you set the brush down and studied the incomplete image.

His figure was there, half-formed and waiting, as though suspended in time. The armor gleamed, but the face remained unfinished—a shadow of the man he was, elusive and untouchable.

You sighed, running your fingers lightly over the edge of the canvas. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t complete. And perhaps it wouldn’t be until he returned, until you could see him again and fill in the missing pieces.

For now, it would remain unfinished, just as so much between you did.

As the hours of his journey stretched into days, Anakin rode under the steel-gray skies, the leather notebook tucked securely in his pack. When the campfires burned low at night and the world grew quiet, he would open it, the blank pages staring back at him like a challenge.

His hands, so used to wielding a sword or penning commands, hesitated over the delicate task of crafting words not for strategy, but for her. Yet as the nights wore on, the words began to flow—hesitant at first, then with more certainty.

He wrote of her eyes, of the way they softened when she spoke. He wrote of the fleeting moments of her laughter, of the way her presence lingered like a melody long after she left a room.

The words he wrote were not for her to read, not yet. They were for himself, a small rebellion against the man the world demanded he be.

And as he closed the notebook each night, he wondered if she would ever truly know the depths of what he could not say.

From the Lays of General Anakin Skywalker, XIII century

"Amid the clash of steel and cries of war, I dream of hands that harm no more. The world is cruel, but she is kind, A gentle balm to a soldier’s mind."

[maniwannadiezz]

Thank you. You make me feel sane for hating on vivs art😭 (she did influence my art in middle school, but now I see all the issues with it)

no problem! I think her art had a lot of bad influence on newer artists simply because at first glance it’s appealing and people like you (and me) thought why can’t we just copy it and go from there? Welllll problem is that just copying an artist will lead to you consuming and producing the mistakes they make or not fully grasp why they exaggerated something the way they did. Unfortunately those anime hating art teachers held some truth in their words, just copying right off of another artist without fully understanding the rules of art will lead to getting stuck.

I’ve gotten “stuck” before, my art deformed contorted to the style and gave me a mess where the heads were too big and the proportions too wonky when I could have spent my time understanding anatomy and proper colouring techniques. Of course there’s nothing wrong with just wanting pretty looking art and nothing more but if you want to expand and not hit a ceiling it’s better to learn the rules before you break them. You’ll probably learn things you never knew you never knew! Find things about your style you never dreamed you could have drawn before and expand into your OWN person and your OWN artist, instead of being the vivziepop drawalike.

DECONSTRUCTING VIVZIEPOP ARTISTIC ISSUES WE MAY HAVE CONSUMED AS CHILDREN (if her art has improved I haven’t seen but I will give her the benefit of the doubt! So let’s just isolate this to the past for US ex hazbin artists to understand where our problems truly began)

Anatomy: Vivziepop has a habit of not properly following even the anatomy of her own drawings let alone anatomy rules at all. I had to bend and meld what I thought a limb may look like from its transition from in front to behind a limb (like the legs) since the lines didn’t properly match up. Arms change size, legs have no knees, one thigh thicker than the other and hands that have fingers which melt into the palms.

you could say it’s stylistic, but considering she’s ONLY ever drawing stylistically whether she liked to or not this bad anatomy has become a crutch and down fall. If she wished to draw more realistically I will assume she can’t or can’t anymore…

Here’s a draw over. You can keep the stylistic effects while keeping your anatomy at least somewhat readable, especially the hands 💀

Shading: shading plays a huge role in not only give us context to the image like where the light source is coming from but also the shapes of the body. the body is comprised of different shapes (cylinders for arms and legs, circles and ovals for head, different planes for the face) with shading like vivziepop’s we don’t know where the light is coming from but also the shading blends into the drawing as visual noise, or worse makes things look flat and lifeless. Her legs especially are shaded as if they are two pieces of paper sticking out from under her dress.

Colours: we all know her main appeal in art is her colours, but designing your piece by just how pretty you can make all the colours also is ignoring fundamentals in what makes your art from good to BEST. With too much of one shade your whole piece blends together in the eyes of the viewer. With not enough contrast in the right areas you will have a focal point that bounces around (like us her chest the focal point? It’s the darkest spot on the piece! Or is it all those eyes that clutter up the whole drawing with the random stripes in the back…. Ouch! I can’t tell what’s what!)

conclusion: I leave you and others with this quest, you wanna get better at art? Take a moment to critique even your own favourite artists. You can have inspiration of course but question their decisions before blindly hoping on the hype train. Or you could be consuming their own mistakes and end up STUCK, like I was, like many have become.

Give critiquing these pieces a try, deconstruct them, trace them (don’t post) see where the lines match up- do the limbs look as if they existed behind the limb or do they go to a void and come up the other side a completely different size? You tell me…

[ast4tarion]

i've always wondered what it'd be like to be dating daisuke and curly at the same time ngl 😭 like idm either fluff or smut. i js wanna see hcs of my two bfs HSJSH

afab reader pls!

hell yeah, we love polyships here! I gave you a bit of both for flavour

HCs for dating Curly and Daisuke at the same time:

(SFW)

it doesn’t feel right to choose just one of them when you clearly have so much love for both of them

you explain the concept of polyamory to them, and they’re both curious but on board

At first alone time happens individually with both your boyfriends, but over time the idea of group dates becomes more familiar

Curly’s alone time with you is on the quiet and calm side, he stresses himself out a lot as captain so destressing in the form of cuddling and reading is his favourite

Daisuke’s alone time with you tends to be more activity-based, playing a video game or a card game or just sitting on your backs and talking about whatever comes to mind

At first Daisuke feels admittedly a little awkward about kissing you in front of your boyfriend, but it becomes like second nature when Curly establishes that he doesn’t mind working on something at his desk while you two are making out on his bed

Daisuke and Curly aren’t in a romantic relationship with each other, but they care for each other a lot as metamours

They definitely team up when it comes to things involving you, like teaming up to plan anniversaries or birthdays for you

Daisuke is the most physically affectionate out of the three of you, very touch centric guy

(NSFW)

in order of highest to lowest sex drives it goes: Daisuke, you, Curly

sometimes you’ll come back from a date with Daisuke covered in hickeys on your neck and shoulders that Curly lightly teases you about

One of your favourite things about having more then one partner is experiencing the differences between what turns them on

Having sex with each other together initially feels a little daunting, but quickly becomes really fun

Curly enjoys penetration the most so he likes to fuck you while Daisuke uses his fingers on your clit or chest

Daisuke loves fucking Curly’s cum back into you, either using his fingers or dick to push it back into you

They mostly focus on your pleasure as Curly enjoys being a bit of a service top and Daisuke goes either way but leans more towards topping when he’s with you and Curly

Daisuke does find out however that he is quite turned on by the fact that he knows what his Captain’s cum tastes like leaking out of you

They did hook up once without you, which you were ecstatic to find out they bonded!

Hope you enjoyed these!

[neptunescore]

Please elaborate on carlandoscar.. I would love to hear your thoughts and I want to be convinced

Hello nonnie<3

God I have so much to say, like their dynamics just make so much sense??

First of all, just the absolute poetry that is their current stages of life. I don't know if that's the sentence you'd use to explain it, but. just listen:

Oscar- what might be

Lando- what is / what could be

Carlos- what could've been

Bc isn't that what they are.

We all know Oscar is championship material; he's got the mentality, and his racecraft and understanding of the car just gets better, especially considering the fact that it's literally his second year in F1.

Lando is the one who is, right now. He very nearly got his first championship this year, and he's just getting better. I've also written 'could be' mostly bc of the fact he still isn't a champion yet, but even with all my mclaren haterism, I do know it's a very realistic possibility.

Carlos, on the other hand, is all spent potential. Not necessarily wasted potential, bc I do feel he made a name for himself, but he's spent all his potential in teams that never gave him a proper chance to compete. Like with Renault and Mclaren it was the car, and with Ferrari it was the car AND the team's clear show of favour (not said in like a bad way, more so in a sad way). And obv torro rosso was smthng else.

So, just. The combination of these 3 different stages is so compelling to me.

Next, we have their relationships with each other.

With Lando and Carlos and all their history, as well as them still being so close with each other, while Oscar and Carlos are always making snide remarks about one another. Except. Then you have Carlos calling them 'magnets' and Oscar only speaking up when Carlos does smthng small on track, and suddenly. They're giving each other fist bumps. They're smiling at each other when their eyes lock. They're following each other on instagram. And they're talking.

And ofc, you also just have Lando and Oscar. Lando, who will take any chance he has to tease Oscar. And Oscar, who will keel over and die with laughter at anything remotely funny, Lando says. Lando, who gave oscar his Sprint win without even being asked. Oscar, who's followed team orders with no complaints to make sure Lando stayed in championship contention.

They're just so perfectly intertwined.

Now, on to my more rpf thoughts.

I honestly fully believe that while Lando and Carlos have been friends for much longer, Oscar and Carlos would get together first. I can totally see both of them being forcefully/coincidentally put into situations where there is no choice but for them to talk. Over time, I think they just start to enjoy it. Like first, they feel genuine irritation with each other over their stupid arguments. Now, they're having fun. They like getting on to each others nerves. It becomes a sort of game.

This just keeps happening until one day they take it too far, stumble into uncharted territory, then stumble into each other, and then just stumble into bed together. Come morning, Oscar is waking up to the smell of freshly made pancakes, and him and Carlos are arguing about toppings and, well. It just feels natural. It clicks. They're together now, and neither of them even has to say it bc the other one just knows.

Lando is much more complicated. Honestly, I think he'd have a whole crisis about it. First, he'd go thru the 'wait, am I G-A-Y???' breakdown during his F2 years. Then, he'd go thru the 'ohmygod I LIKE CARLOS?!?' breakdown midway thru their second year together in Mclaren. And I can totally imagine him having his, 'wait why do I think Oscar is cute and why am I still not over Carlos why is this happening to me.' breakdown during the summer break after Oscar's first year.

Honestly, I've already written way too much now😭 if yall are still interested and wanna know how I think Lando gets with them just leave me an ask and I'll respond to that bc this is WAY to long. And if you're interested in their relationship/bedroom dynamics, then feel free to ask abt that too bc I have put MUCH thought behind it😭😭😭

Anyway, I hope this convinced you at least a little bit nonnie<3

[official-cvntified-gay]

Hi, I'm new to this, I was wondering if you could make a Larissa × reader. where the reader is a married mother and her daughter attends Nevermore and Larissa falls in love with her one day she summons her to her office with the excuse of talking about the reader's daughter but it will all end in something obscene? although at first the reader resists.

You can make Larissa G!P or not, it's your decision, I'm sorry if something is not understood, English is not my main language😭

CLOSE masterlist

pairing: larissa weems x fem! reader

warnings: infidelity, smut

wc: 1300+

note: sorry anon this took way too long, life got in the way, do hope you enjoy this<3

❝How dare you assume I would accept something like that!❞

❝Well... the way you clench your pretty thighs said so.❞

Your heels clanked as you walked through the quad of Nevermore, its familiarity seeping into your mind, reminiscing about your time there. You had a soft little smile as your eyes examined the changes of the academy.

Your eyes lit up as you saw an old friend, your smile widening as you were about to walk to her when a rough hand on your waist stopped you. "This way," your husband said, not even waiting until you got a word out of your mouth before he was leading you toward the direction of the Principal’s office. You winced as you felt his calloused hand caress your skin against the fabric of your dress. You kept up appearances, knowing you had a reputation to uphold. You smiled at the other mothers who were trying to get on your good side, aware of your influence. Even after all these years, you still had to pretend for your parents’ sake.

"Please take your arm off me," you whispered with your practiced smile still etched on your face. He gave you a sharp glare, and you backed down, knowing this would end in an argument.

The office was grand, much like you remembered it from your own days at Nevermore. Principal Larissa Weems greeted you with her usual poised elegance, her tall frame commanding the room with ease. Her blue eyes sparkled with a mix of curiosity and admiration, a glint of something unspoken that sent a shiver down your spine as they lingered on you.

After a formal exchange about your daughter’s progress, Larissa’s gaze occasionally flicked toward you, her focus lingering a little too long on the way you crossed your legs or the softness in your voice. She addressed both you and your husband with politeness, but there was an undeniable tension in the room. You noticed the way her lips curled slightly whenever you spoke, as though she were holding back something unsaid.

When the meeting concluded, she rose to shake your husband’s hand, her expression neutral. But when she turned to you, her touch lingered a second longer than necessary, her eyes holding yours with an intensity that made your pulse quicken.

Over the following weeks, your paths crossed with Larissa more often. Whether it was at school events or casual encounters in town, she always found a reason to speak to you. Her comments were never overt, but there was a warmth and familiarity in her tone that left you unsettled—and intrigued.

It was during one such meeting, at a parent-teacher gathering, that she leaned in closer than necessary, her voice low as she said, "You look stunning tonight." The words sent a shiver down your spine, and for the first time in years, you felt truly seen.

When the next parent conference day came, you made the decision to attend without your husband. It wasn’t a deliberate act of defiance—it was simply easier that way, or so you told yourself. Yet, as you walked into Larissa’s office alone, you couldn’t ignore the flutter of anticipation in your chest.

She greeted you with a smile, her gaze softer than before but no less intense. As you discussed your daughter, the conversation gradually shifted, the professional tone giving way to something more personal.

"You’re an incredible mother," she said, her voice warm. "But I can’t help but wonder... do you ever take time for yourself?"

You hesitated, her words cutting deeper than you expected. "I—It’s complicated."

Larissa leaned back against her desk, studying you. "Is it? Or have you simply convinced yourself that it has to be?"

Her words stung, and you felt your defences rise. "How dare you assume I would accept something like that!" you snapped, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and vulnerability. A hint of denial washing through you even though from miles away anyone can see it.

Larissa’s lips curled into a knowing smile. "Well... the way you clench your pretty thighs said so."

Your breath hitched, her audacity leaving you momentarily speechless. The air between you crackled with tension, and for the first time, you didn’t move to deny the truth in her words.

"Larissa," you began, your voice faltering, "this isn’t... I’m married."

"To a man who doesn’t deserve you," she countered, stepping closer. "You deserve to be loved, cherished, wanted. And I see you, every part of you that you try so hard to hide. Let me show you what it feels like to be truly seen."

Her words unraveled something inside you, years of pretending and suppressing your own desires crashing down all at once. When her lips met yours, you didn’t pull away. The kiss was slow and deliberate, her hands cupping your face as if you were something precious.

Her lips moved against yours with a patience that unraveled your control. She guided you gently toward the couch, her hands exploring your waist and back with reverence. The soft rustle of fabric and the warmth of her body against yours sent a thrill through you, making it impossible to deny how deeply you wanted this.

"Tell me to stop," she murmured against your lips, her voice thick with restraint. Her blue eyes searched yours, giving you one final moment to back away.

But you didn’t. Instead, you leaned into her, a silent plea escaping your lips as her arms enveloped you.

Larissa’s hands slid up your sides, her touch igniting every nerve ending. Her lips trailed along your jawline, leaving a fiery path that melted away every hesitation. The way she whispered your name made you feel like the center of her universe, each syllable dripping with longing and adoration.

Her fingers grazed the sensitive skin of your arms before tangling in your hair. She kissed you deeply, her movements slow and deliberate, as if she wanted to memorize every curve and contour. You responded in kind, your hands finding their way to her shoulders, then her back, pulling her closer until there was no space left between you.

"You’re so beautiful," she breathed, her words sending a shiver down your spine. She pressed gentle kisses to your collarbone, her touch both reverent and electric. Her movements were unhurried, as though she wanted to savor every moment, every reaction.

Your breaths mingled as the room filled with the quiet hum of your shared passion. Time seemed to stand still, the outside world fading away until only the two of you remained. Her touch, her scent, her warmth—they consumed you entirely.

Her hands moved lower, sliding under the fabric of your dress, and you didn’t hesitate. You allowed her to pull you closer, to feel every inch of her against you. You felt every press of her body, the heat between you building with each passing moment, each movement. It was overwhelming, intoxicating.

"I want you," Larissa whispered, her voice thick with desire, her hands roaming your body with a sense of urgency, as though time was running out and she needed to savor every moment.

You responded in kind, your hands pressing against her back, pulling her closer as you lost yourself in the sensation of her body moving against yours. The way she kissed you, touched you, made you feel like you were the only thing in the world that mattered, was intoxicating. It was everything you had been searching for, everything you had been missing. The warmth, the passion, the freedom to finally let go.

When your bodies finally intertwined, when you were both gasping for breath, tangled together in the aftermath of your shared release, you realized something profound: you had let go of more than just the moment. You had let go of the years of fear, of pretending to be someone you were not. In her arms, you found the freedom to be yourself—raw, real, and completely alive.

As you lay there, wrapped in her arms, the weight of it all settled over you. “I can’t keep living like this,” you whispered, the words heavy with meaning.

Larissa’s arms tightened around you, her voice steady as she replied, “Then don’t. You don’t have to.”

And for the first time in years, you allowed yourself to believe it. There was hope now—hope for a future where you didn’t have to hide anymore, where you could finally be free.

[xmimikyuxxx]

”Good boy si.”

CW: Smut(MDNI), Anal, Dirty talk, Handjob, fingering (M receiving), Downgrading/Degrading, Possessive!Reader, Biting, Swearing, Small dick!ghost, Shy!Ghost, Submissive!Ghost, Dominant!Reader, MLM/BLB, Breeding kink(?), Big dick!Reader, Male!Reader, Unprotected sex(WRAP IT UP BEFORE YOU FUCK IRL.), any others please let me know.

Author’s note: Yes, Simon does have a small dick in this, but it’s just due to what I was thinking of. It’s 6:22AM let’s see when I finish it.

you and Simon had been dating for a few years, you had always been top, tonight you really REALLY needed him. He was in bed, scrolling on his phone. You climb up behind him, pushing your bulge against his plump ass. He shutters and moves back against you “B-Babe..” he mutters, you wrap your arms around his waist. Sliding your hand down his pants to start teasing his 3 inch cock. He was always insecure about it, but ever since you met, you made sure to worship it. Even if you didn’t like it at first, you fucking love his dick now. You start to palm him through his boxers, kissing his neck. He whimpers, bucking his hips up against your hand. You push his jeans and boxers down, grabbing the lube from the side table, he gulps and looks up at you. As you smirk, you whisper into his ear “you gonna behave for me si?” The way you whisper and mumble into his ear sends shivers down his spine. He nods eagerly and spreads himself open for you. You grab onto his hips, pulling your swollen erection out of your now tight jeans and boxers, you slide two fingers into ghost, wanting to make sure he’s perfectly prepped. Once he’s fully prepped, you spit onto your hand, sliding the spit onto your cock, sliding it gently into his tight walls, his cock already leaking precum. You grab onto his hips, smirking “Aww..you can’t even take a bit of fingering without wanting to cum? That’s so fucking pathetic.” He whines and starts moving himself up and down, you push his hips against your own, biting and kissing his neck “Mine. You belong to me.” Ghost whimpers and cums onto your chest and his stomach, you smirk and lick it up, continuing to pound into him, making sure you let him ride his high as you approach your own. You whisper into his ear “fuck, even if men can’t get pregnant, I’m sure as fuck gonna try and get you pregnant.” You grab onto the back of his neck, slamming into him sloppily, you cum into him, he whines and grabs into your back, digging his nails into your back “f-fuck!” He yells, cumming again. You continue to pound into him, making sure every drop of cum is staying inside him, a white ring showing at the base of your cock. He looks up at you with those stupid, perfect eyes, you swear you could immediately cum again right then and there. You slowly pull out, letting the cum drop off of your tip, you lay down, pulling Simon against you and cuddling into him, yawning. You kiss his forehead before you realize he’s already asleep. You smile and start dozing off yourself.

Author’s note: It’s now 6:43AM. I’m sorry it sucks this is the first time I ever wrote smut😭 you all have a good day, eat and drink water!! I love you guys!! Stay safe and always, make sure to take care of yourself my loves.

~Signing off, Mushroom/🍄

[ghostnotoast]

I'm having withdrawal symptoms from waiting for the new episode to come out, and this has been buzzing around my head since this part came out (also I wanna talk about my wife Lily)

Relistening to this part twice made me cry I'm not even gonna lie but weirdly enough it made me think of the end of season 1 where John gets a taste of being the king for a split second but then chooses to go back to Arthur. After he returns, he says:

"But it was in that time in the hospital, that month alone. Trapped in this body without you, when something changed"

"I found meaning. I found that the challenges of life within the boundaries of death were not only acceptable, but could be meaningful. That without a purpose I could forge my own. Is that humanity?"

Don't get me wrong, I don't think it was Lily who was fully responsible for giving John humanity - if anything, that's the mistake Arthur makes in season 3 when comparing John to Yellow (which John calls him out for). It was Arthur who laid out the pieces, and Lily was basically the one to make it click.

Buttt I think reducing John's reason for humanity to only one thing is almost a disservice- because developing a sense of self is so much more complex than that.

It was Arthur's love, it was the stories and thoughts he would share with John, it was being in awe of seeing trees and nature again after so long of living in the dark, it was hearing music, it was listening to the radio, it was the joy he felt after they complished something and he was finally able to feel something other than fear, it was seeing the wraith help them, it was holding a cute baby and picturing her future as a pianist, it was seeing her mother and recognising that she had just lost something priceless, it was having to hold onto hope that anyone is capable of redemption, it was defending and having empathy for the widow despite what Arthur had said.

The last moment is paralleled in season 3 with their conversation about Yellow. Listening to all these makes me realise just how much Yellow missed out on.

Arthur no doubt played a massive role in helping John find humanity and meaning, but honesty? I don't know if purely being with Arthur is what made John who he is. John himself has a conscious and had to make decisions on his own and, on multiple occasions, fights Arthur about ideology with basically little to no outside influence (e.g, their infamous first divorce).

Despite all that though, I still do think Arthur was one of the biggest reasons, I mean just look at Yellow 😭 I'll write an entire essay about him one day

But this entire yap session was basically me trying to imagine what exactly was so special about that month at the hospital because let's be real if I were John I would go crazy BUT sometimes i just imagine John being there, in a hospital without Arthur, being able to do nothing but think

He thinks about the bright clear blue sky he saw, a bird that landed on the windowsill when they were at the library, he thinks about how alive this world is compared to where he came from, he thinks about the radio that's playing, he thinks about the piano, and then he thinks about Arthur

And I imagine he looks at Lily, at her tending to them, at her chatting to them, at her turning on the radio for them so they're not bored and even though people would call all these extra bits of care pointless - she does it anyway, and she does it for them, and John is there to witness this, and that's the moment where it clicks.

I imagine it sort of being like being moved back to see a finished puzzle and finally understanding what you've been making this entire time after spending so long up close looking at individual pieces

And I think that's what the witch didn't understand about John's story. Lily's care was the climax of John becoming John, and even though John acknowledges that for her it was probably another Tuesday - it still doesn't dampen the fondness and love he has for her, he just loves for the sake of it

[dixidin]

I was blasting millionaires while finishing this (my arm was cramping so bad for some reason)

SCENE TRANSFEM ALEX!!! (aka Lexi :3)

@rattfreakk This is actually a gift to you because you're so cool and I actually screamed when I saw you followed me back (just imagine the loudest muffled scream of OH MY GOD) (anywho love your designed and just went with that the whole way)

If you repost this on another website, please give credit. Do not put my art in any ai or repost it as your own work. You are free to use this as a pfp as long as you credit. Any like or rebblog is greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading! -dixidin

[mangosaurus]

Jurassic World: Chaos Theory - Cabin Attack Clip ☆