#threads of fate series

[arabellasleopardcoat]

The Hermit (Aemond Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: There is a blonde kinslayer in your bathroom. He appears to be your soulmate. It's worrying.

Warnings: It's Aemond. Sexual thoughts, mature language, canon character death. Yes! I killed Luke again.

A/N: Halloween celebration. Part 1 here.

There is something to be said about women with shrill voices. Perhaps, if Aegon were here, he would know the perfect jest to make. Not Aemond, though. Aemond only manages to groan and rest his forehead against the cool and humid surface underneath him.

“Who the hell are you?” The woman shrieks. Aemond is not sure exactly where he is, or how he got here, but it doesn't mean he will tolerate disrespect. He turns on his side and starts to get up. His head pounds more than it does on his bad days, when the migraines will start like icicles stabbing at his eye.

The woman is scantily clad, body wrapped in a towel that leaves little to the imagination. With how little modesty she displays, and those terrible manners, she can be nothing but a commoner.

Aemond tries hard to not stare. He is not like Aegon, panting like a dog after a pretty maid. All the thoughts of your beauty must be put aside, no matter how arousing the sight of your naked, soft body is to him.

“How dare you, peasant.” Aemond says, getting into a crouching position before standing. The floor feels slippery under his boots, which reminds him of Cole's teachings. A good swordsman must always be aware of his surroundings. Notice the ground under his feet, the enemies around and the allies near.

He is not sure what you are, enemy or ally. By the smell and looks of it, he seems to be in a bathing room. Your features are half drowned in darkness, the candlelight illuminating just the barest hint of scared eyes and a quirky mouth. You don't look like an enemy, but nor do you look familiar.

“I am Prince Aemond Targaryen.” You blink at him. Then, you blink some more. You offer your name in response, still a bit dazed. It's not one he recognizes, but at least, your shrieking has stopped.

“There was something in the bath.” You say, voice shaky. You do not seem to acknowledge his rank, which starts to irk him a bit. “I was drugged, and now I am hallucinating.”

Ah. Well, that's a bit more like it. If you say it figuratively, of course. If you are so impressed by him you think you are hallucinating, Aemond can forgive for it. He had heard tales of how much Targaryens impressed the common folk. It was not your fault that you were so impressed by royalty.

You step around him and grab your clothes. Aemond cannot help but admire the smooth expanse of your back, and how gracefully your shoulders flex and move when you pull a shirt over your head. It's an odd garment, probably made of linen, but in a loud color.

That thought makes him wonder if you are truly a peasant. Dye is expensive, and especially in the amounts needed to achieve such a garish color.

“That's not very proper.” He comments, as he watches the towel drop from your body. The faith of the Seven prohibits men and women watching each other in such a manner. But Aemond is unable to avert his eyes from the sight of you changing. The low light contributes to preserving your modesty and making him feel less guilty about looking at you in such a manner. His breath hitches at each new piece of you unveiled, from the soft curve of your breast, to the way your stomach moves when you bend.

“You sound so real.” You marvel, turning back to face him. You have managed to put on the shirt, which barely covers your thighs. Aemond wonders whose garment it is. A lover's, perhaps? Or a husband's? The thought angers him like no other, hands fisting by his side. The idea of another man having you does not sit right with him.

“I am real.” He is a tad offended. If this is someone's hallucination, it is his. Aemond cannot fathom a reason why he would be here, in such a strange bathing room and with an unknown woman. The idea of this being a dream has some merit.

One second he had been fuming in his room after making a particularly nasty toast to his nephews, the next he had appeared here. He must have fallen asleep over his desk. It would not be the first time.

“No, you are not. You are a figment of my imagination.” You reply, almost echoing his thoughts. Aemond fails at fully suppressing his amusement, the corners of his lips barely twitching upwards.

“Am I? I would think, if life was no more than a fantasy, it would not be one of someone as unimportant as you.” The concept is one he is familiar with. His long studies of philosophy have made him realize there is much he doesn't know about the world. The topic of differentiating reality from fantasy and the lack of a free will was one he was well acquainted with.

After the loss of his eye, Aemond had found little solace in the Faith, despite fulfilling his duties as a devout Prince. He often wondered if fate existed, and if that moment had been planted by the Gods to allow him to serve a purpose he had not yet discovered. There could be free will, everyone writing their destinies. Perhaps, nothing existed at all.

He didn't like pondering on that too much, though. It would make existence meaningless.

“Rude.” You mutter, hands going to your hips and making the horrible shirt you are wearing tense delightfully around your figure. “So the figment of my imagination has read Calderón de la Barca.”

Aemond blushes slightly. He has not read Calderón de la Barca. He prides himself on being well-read, but this particular author he had never heard of. It's interesting, though. If you know of an author Aemond doesn't know, it means that not only do you know how to read but that you are also highly educated.

Why? He wonders. What is so special about you, and your little peasant ways, to merit being more educated than a Prince?

“I do not know what Calderón de la Barca is, peasant.” He explains, feeling a tad embarrassed over the whole affair. Studying is his thing, after all. Aemond takes pride in excelling at all sorts of princely traits, and being well-read is one of the most important of them all. “But I am an avid reader.”

“My name is not peasant.” You give him an angry little huff, and step outside the bathing room. Aemond follows you. He figures, if he is in a strange place, it might be best to stick near. This feels too real to be a dream.

“I never said it was.” It comes out stunned. He can't help it, too busy staring at his surroundings. Now out of the bathing room, Aemond realizes this place must be your chambers. There is a love seat, some padded chairs, and even a small dining area. Odd appliances clutter the entire place, like a strange gray box that almost looks like an upright coffin and a black and sleek rectangle over a table. He is either dreaming, or in a foreign place.

He sticks very closely to you. You walk towards the door, grabbing some strange keys from a tray. They look much smaller and shiny than what Aemond is used to.

“Should I drive?” You muse aloud. The question is clearly not meant for him, since he has no clue what you mean. “No, best not. I need help. I doubt that's safe.” You put the keys down and yet again, open another door.

Aemond is starting to marvel at the sheer amount of space your chambers have. This is rather uncommon for a peasant. That, combined with your education, must mean you are something more. A courtesan, perhaps? One of the expensive ones, like in the Free Cities. Not something so crass as the dancer his Uncle had kept, though.

You step outside, Aemond still following. At that, you scowl.

“Of course he follows, he is a hallucination.” You mutter, and Aemond cannot help but laugh a little. It seems you have yet to let go of that particular theory. The two of you step into a hallway of some sort, where numbered doors stand. You knock on one of them, still in your flimsy clothing. Now that he realizes you are about to see someone else, he has the strange impulse of covering you up.

“Here.” Aemond says, taking off his outer layer and wrapping it around your shoulders. “You are too undressed.”

Another woman, much older and dressed in even stranger clothing, opens the door.

“Oh, dear. Have you locked yourself out again?” She says, before you even get a chance to speak. She ducks back inside her chambers and appears again with a key and a handful of brightly colored papers.

“No, I… I think…” You start saying, but the woman ignores you and turns towards him. She clearly senses his importance or recognizes him.

“Here.” The woman says, thrusting the bright papers that seem to have something tiny inside, in Aemond's hands. Some sort of tribute? Aemond has seen how the commoners shower Helaena and his mother in flowers when they get the chance to see them. “These were meant for the children, earlier, but your costume is very nice. You are dressed as the guy from that series, aren't you? My granddaughter is all over him.”

Aemond gapes. He is not sure if he has ever heard a sentence as nonsensical as that, and he speaks with Helaena daily.

“You can see him?” You ask, sounding alarmed. You step backwards, nearly colliding with him. Aemond takes the chance to grab you by the waist. He is starting to get the feeling something is very wrong. Costume? Series? What in the Seven Hells is going on?

One thing is clear. He is not letting you leave him alone now.

“Of course I can.” The older woman says, turning towards you with a worried frown. “Are you alright?”

Your face crumbles. Aemond squeezes your waist. He hopes you get the unspoken signal.

“She is.” Aemond quickly says. He has never been good at lying, dammit. “She is going as that… “

“Oh, the one in the movie.” The woman says. Aemond is not sure about what a movie is, but it seems to make sense to her, even if she is embarrassed by it. Perhaps, she doesn't know what movie he is referring to, and frankly, neither does he, but does not want to embarrass you.

Aemond lets the woman open your chambers' door with her key, keeping you in place with a tight grip. You squeak a bit, but otherwise remain quiet, too shocked by your realization. It helps that his arm on your waist squeezes harder each time you are about to spout some more nonsense.

“Am I dreaming?” You ask him, when he gently leads you back inside. You are shivering a bit, either from the shock or the cold. Aemond looks at you, barelegged and barefooted, and frowns.

“I understand your occupation must have ridden you of your modesty, but it does not make you immune from the cold.” He says, in a disapproving tone.

“My occupation?” You echo. Your eyes narrow. Aemond coughs, awkwardly.

“You know.” Suddenly, the artwork displayed on your walls is very intriguing. It's a very well achieved rendition of the countryside. He wonders who painted it. They must be talented.

“I do not know.” Your voice is firm. Aemond wishes you didn't make him say it. “This is bizarre enough as it is. Tell me.”

“That's not a way of speaking to a Prince.” He barks because he might find you fascinating, but you are getting ahead of yourself. Aemond is not about to tolerate being disrespected, not even from a pretty face. “A courtesan such as yourself should know better.”

You make a wheezing sound, as if you are being strangled. It's rather attractive.

“I am no courtesan!”

“To me, you look like one. These chambers are filled with rare artifacts and instruments.” Aemond walks towards the strange love seat you own and sits on it. The seat is much more plush than what he is used to, but to his disappointment, not made of real leather.

“So?” You arch an eyebrow and go sit in one of your chairs. His cloak parts slightly as you draw your knees up, allowing him to see the bare skin your shirt does little to conceal.

You level him with a strange look. Your head is tilted to the side, as if curious, but your eyes seem wary yet.

“You are pretty and lack modesty.” Aemond watches right back. It's evident many powerful men would offer just anything to have a night with you. Ever since that incident when he was thirteen, he has avoided whores. Courtesans, though, are something he could be interested in. Taught in the arts of conversation, they served as companions as much as bed warmers. It would not be strange if he were to become your patron. “And are oddly cultured.”

“Because this is not Westeros.” You yawn. Your eyes are exhausted. Aemond is not sure of the hour, but he finds commendable the fact that your chambers are so well lit, without a fireplace in sight. The thought distracts him from the fact that you are not a courtesan, and he will be unable to have you as he had hoped for.

“I had supposed I was far from home. But that far?” He asks you.

“That far.” You smile at him. It does not reach your eyes, expression troubled. “So we both abandoned the theory of this being a dream.”

Aemond hums, thoughtfully. Then, another thought occurs to him.

“There were many candles in your bathing room, and it smelled like herbs. Are you a witch?” A witch could also be hired. Useful, too.

“No. But I knew one.” Your smile turns a little strained. Aemond frowns. No witch, no courtesan, then what? Just peasant? You look too unique to be part of the common folk. Not to say, too healthy and clean.

A witch. You had hired a witch, and a good one, considering Aemond was here. That was not commoner's behavior. They were too fearful of the Faith of the Seven to do so. Besides, it was expensive.

“And this witch of yours, she brought me here? For what purpose?”

“She is not my witch.” You answer, before hesitating. Your lips move, but it takes a while before you make any sort of sound. “And the ritual, it was not to bring you. It went wrong.”

“Wrong?” He tries prompting you, but you only scowl at him. “Answer me. Answer your Prince.”

“You are not my Prince.” You say, resentfully. Aemond had not thought he would like his women a little defiant, but he is quickly figuring that a little fire can be nice. He wonders if you are that assertive in bed, too, and cannot help but smirk. That must be why his uncle loves mouthiness. “It was supposed to bring love into my life.”

“That's interesting.” That makes Aemond peer up. He looks you over, with new interest. While a bit too immodest for his liking, you are pretty and educated. You would make a good wife, once he taught you proper behavior. Your lack of good breeding, though, that was an issue. “You are bright. And gorgeous, too.”

“Thank you?” You ask him. Aemond beckons you over with a gesture, curious to see if you obey.

You get up from your seat and walk towards him. You stand in front of him, hands twitching and rumpling the fabric of his cloak. Nervous, Aemond thinks, and smiles a little. You are a twitchy thing. It makes him feel better about his nerves when faced with such a pretty woman.

“Do you think, perhaps, your witch mended the bridge between us?” Boldly, his hand goes to your waist once again. You do not fight his grip. Instead, you lean into it. Aemond brushes his thumb softly near your ribs, making you shiver.

He understands now why Aegon likes women so much. Your body is soft, and you go pliant in the most delicious way. You don't feel threatening, either, like the whores at that godawful brothel. Aemond is clearly the one in control, and he delights in it.

“Bridge?” You say, swaying a little. It might be the exhaustion he detected in you earlier, or you might be made weak by his touch. Aemond finds it interesting regardless.

“The distance. If you are meant for me…” He doesn't finish the thought, but he caresses your waist again, this time moving possessively to your hip. You are so soft, wearing his cloak and smelling of him. So vulnerable and small, despite how smart you are. How could you not be meant for him?

“Dubious.” You frown, and Aemond does not like that answer, so he jerks you slightly forward. You stumble into him, between his spread legs. “Hey!”

Aemond ignores your protest, pulling you in until he has you nearly on his lap. You struggle, but quickly fold, letting him do as he pleases. He wonders if you would let him pull you until you are sitting on his thigh, but does not dare try.

“This is not normal, in my world.” It's far-fetched, even in a world with dragons. Aemond knows magic exists, but he has never seen such a powerful display. A spell so powerful to bring him to another world, just using herbs and candles? It sounds unbelievable. He has always been a rational man, a calculating one. But there is something in his gut telling him that you speak truth.

“I realize.” You place a hand on his shoulder, steadying yourself. This time, he does pull you to sit on his lap. If Aemond were not paying so much attention to your face, he would miss it. This close, though, he notices how your eyes flutter closed in delight at the touch. It only lasts a brief moment, but Aemond can tell how much you like it.

He wonders if you are like him. Lonely and unused to touching another for the sheer pleasure of it all. He feels strange. Never before has Aemond felt such a strong urge to touch a woman, much less one he barely knows. Yet, there is something about you that makes him feel like throwing rationality out of the window.

The smell of your hair is intoxicating. He can't help himself, he has to take a deep breath of it. Gods, you smell good enough to eat.

“Do you think we were destined to meet?” As soon as the words leave his mouth, Aemond knows he has ruined it. Your body tenses up, and you nearly fall off his lap. He wraps his arm around your waist, but you jerk away.

“I have to show you something.” You say, getting up. Whatever it is, it makes you uncomfortable. It's all over the tense line of your shoulders, the furrow of your eyebrows.

You take a small artifact from one of your many tables. It's a slim rectangle that lights up when you touch it. Your thumbs press it at an alarming speed. Noise starts pouring out of it, voices and music.

“… AT JUST 9 DOLLARS AND 99 CENTS…”

Aemond scrambles back on your love seat, scared by the sudden onslaught on his senses. You do not seem worried, though, merely making an annoyed face.

“Here.” You say, as you do something with your artifact and turn it to face him. It displays a storm. Aemond pays close attention to it, fascinated by the fact you seem to own a pocket sized window.

Then, he sees something he recognizes. It's Vhagar's body, she is flying somewhere. His eyes leave the artifact to meet yours in disbelief. You purse your lips and gesture for him to keep looking. Your face is oddly anxious, and your hands keep squeezing his cloak.

Aemond focus back on the device. He sees himself, chasing his nephew. He sees Vhagar opening her mouth and… Aemond throws your artifact against the wall, getting up in a hurry. He is filled with rage, stalking towards you.

You move back, as if sensing the danger in the room. Aemond grasps you by the arm, his grip so punishing your skin goes white under it.

“What sorcery is this?” He snarls, towering over you. You look at him, all big innocent eyes, and it only angers him more. “Huh? What is this, you wench?” Aemond throws you to the love seat, making you fall into it with a yelp.

“It's… I…” You hesitate.

“Answer my question!” He barks at you, making you flinch. You hug your knees to your chest, making yourself smaller. He regrets handling you so roughly immediately, and tries to smooth you over, running his hands over your arms. You slap his hands away.

“Your future.” You finally speak, face dropping into a sad frown. Your voice is barely a whisper. “It's your future.”

Upon hearing it, Aemond feels like he is losing his mind. He has always known his anger is destructive, but had never truly grasped the bounds of it. His mouth hangs open.

Turning into a kinslayer is turning into the most accursed man in Westeros. Killing his own blood is a crime that not even the most dishonorable common criminal would dare to attempt. It is something only the truly wretched are capable of.

For someone so smart, Aemond can surely be foolish. How could he let himself be blinded by his anger so? His hate for Lucerys might be strong, but he can't believe he had lost control of Vhagar in such a manner.

By the Seven. What would it mean, for his family, if he did this? War, surely. His mother would never hand him over to the justice Rhaenyra would surely demand, and that refusal would cost them their lives. That, in turn, would cause a war.

A war. Hm. Was it really that wrong, though? There would be a war anyway, once his father passed. There was no way that Rhaenyra was going to take the throne without a fight. Aegon was a much better option to rule the Seven Kingdoms, if only by the fact he was a man.

Women were not made to rule. Just look at you. No matter how smart and educated, you had been reduced to a frightened, quivering little thing after getting screamed at. What prevented from the same being done to Rhaenyra? His uncle had an even worse temper than him, he probably decimated his wife daily. It would be him who truly ruled. And no matter how skilled a swordsman, Daemon was not fit to be King.

“I killed him?” Aemond asks you, eerily calm. His tone is even. It feels as if the words are coming from someone's else mouth.

You shrink more into your seat.

“You did.” You say, quiet as a mouse.

Aemond could not help but feel the smallest satisfaction over it. Lucerys had it coming. He had ruined Aemond's life, after all. And not only had he taken his eye, but he was also a bastard. Bastards were put to the sword, everyone knew that. Aemond had just accelerated the inevitable.

It had been a matter of time. Truly. His lips curl into a smirk.

“Good.” He answers, with a viciousness that surprises even him. “Good.”

“I do not think…” You start saying, in a brave attempt for such an easily frightened little thing. Aemond brushes your hair back from your face. Your next words die in your throat.

You tremble. Poor thing that you were, all tangled up in morality. You surely read too much philosophy books, it got you all confused. It didn't matter. All theories crumbled after their first brush with reality. You would learn.

“You will learn.” Aemond sits down next to you, pulling you for a hug. “You are mine, after all.”

You struggle. He squeezes you slightly harder, and you go limp.

“You are my woman now.” Aemond explains, patiently. He is willing to teach you when the two of you go back to Red Keep. But not before he gets as much useful information as he can extract out of your pretty little head. “And you need to be good to me.”

He kisses your temple. You look up at him, eyes all shy. Aemond leans down and kisses you. You are terribly pale, lips barely moving against his.

“You are never letting me go.” You say, as if in a daze. Aemond smirks. It is a show of your intellect, that you realize all on your own that you have doomed yourself.

“Of course not, wife. You are all I need.”

[pharawee]

"You! I recognize you. Don't hide. I remember your face now."

—KIDNAP THE SERIES · Episode 01

[respectthepetty]

Century of Love is committed to the Red Thread of Destiny, so regardless if Vee is Vad or not, the colors are telling me that they are meant to be together.

It's fate.

[tabunierka]

🍃The Red Thread of Fate

I love stories with kindred spirits💞

I'm really looking forward to the continuation of TMF!!!!

[heretherebedork]

The same hands that put those cufflinks on Qian now hold a bracelet from Qian. They are connected, wrist to wrist, pulse to pulse, the red thread between them now laid out in silver and black, in the darkness that Qian holds tight to and the brilliance that Yuan has always brought into his life.

[becauseimanicequeen]

I already mentioned this in part 3 of my series on Ming and Joe's colors, but, seriously...

Am I seeing things?

Or am I completely delulu?

Or am I seeing things?

Tell me I'm seeing things!

And I don't mean the pretty boys (even though I see them too)...

I mean other things...

Even if those things are small...

I am seeing things, aren't I?

Duh, Joe, I'm talking about the red!

Please, don't look at me like that, Ming... Because I'm pretty sure I'm seeing it...

Whether it's thin or thick...

You do too, don't you?

I mean, I'm fine being delulu too...

But I see the things...

No matter how small or big they are...

I'm definitely seeing things...

Welcome to my delulu world.

[bakugoushotwife]

Threads of Fate 2// s. gojo x fem!reader

a/n: a short cute dialogue loaded chapter mostly from gojo's perspective to bridge the gap!! prepare for the next chapter to be a lil crazy!

wc: 3.9k

chapter one // chapter three

series masterlist

chapter two playlist

Your energy field was already detectable on the training grounds. He hates that the dorms are so close. Feeling the warm hum of your electric energy roused him from the only peace he had—sleep. You were puzzling him. He usually understands everyone upon first meeting, and until now, Suguru had been the only person able to squeeze past his barriers and surprise him. He was different, of course, his support and ability to tolerate the Gojo clan’s star certainly landed him a spot as Satoru’s closest friend. But you…you show up to Tokyo with some sort of comprehension of who he is and what he is capable of, yet your confidence remains unwavering despite it all. You were brand new and all alone, you overpowered him in front of his sensei and his best friend without a sweat. He had never been beaten before. He managed to take it like a champ in front of you to not add to your satisfaction, yet it was all he thought about. He couldn’t escape your visual ability, and if you can simply repress his ability to use infinity then you would always win.

But instead of anger or the desperation to get better, he feels ridiculously intrigued. The way your energies reacted to each other was like nothing he’s ever seen before, sparks of red and green flying around you both just from the simple brush of shoulders. It had changed him, the feeling of what he could only imagine was your energy seeping into his. It was warm, it felt like it was choking him in a way, but it was enjoyable all the same. Enjoyable? It was bothersome. That’s more like it. He wonders if his eyes could adapt to yours, then he could block your attempts. Or maybe he could postpone your activation of them somehow, make you fight him hand to hand…

“She’s already out there training…” Suguru mumbles tiredly, his bunk right across from his own but much closer to the window. 

Satoru scoffs. He knew that already. He wonders if you could feel his presence too, and what you were thinking about yesterday. He decided the possibility of this being an innate technique of yours was slim to none. Though he didn’t know why your cursed energy stopped in your head at the time, his Six Eyes still alerted him to the weirdness of it. Of course it was later revealed that you have your own special eye, but the rest of you seemed relatively normal. He surmises that the natural effect you have on each other is not under your control after all. Though he’s still not sure what to make of it, and that alone freaks him out moderately. 

“She needs it.” Satoru says, extending a long and sinewy arm to feel around his bedside table for his glasses. His other hand rakes the sleep off his face, revealing his annoyed features. 

Suguru smirks. “You got your ass waxed yesterday, are you sure you don’t need it?” He teases, leaning against the window frame to watch your graceful form move along the training dummies, using various weapons to hone in your accuracy. 

He rolls his eyes, sliding his wire frames up his nose and giving his best friend a dissatisfied look. “You’re pathetic.”  

“What, because I can recognize power when I see it?” Suguru raises a brow, his sleepy eyes still reflecting his amusement from yesterday’s events. 

“No, because you’re drooling over the chick already. I’m your best friend! Support me!” He whines, reaching for his uniform with a bratty sigh. 

“I do support you, I support the pretty lady too.” He chuckles, biting his lip as he watches you aerobatically move around with a bo staff. “Don’t act like you haven’t been thinking about her ever since that happened…” Suguru dutifully called out.

Satoru clicks his tongue. “Only ‘cause she’s weird.” He pouts, throwing his socks at his best friend. “Just go propose already, this is ridiculous!” He groans helplessly. 

“I might.” Suguru chuckles, swatting the socks away and chucking them back at rapid speed. “If there wasn’t something interesting happening between you two already.”

The long and lean teen gasped at the insinuation and wrinkled his nose with disgust, huffing and tugging his socks on. “You’re mean! She’s so not my type.” 

Suguru snorted “I’m sure. Fine, more for me.” He chuckled, peering back out the window. He chuckled and shook his head. “I’m sure my efforts are useless though, she literally sparks around you. You get everything.” He slouches back into his bunk. 

Satoru didn’t know how to describe how that made him feel. He felt a pang of jealousy, but he didn’t know if it was toward you or Suguru. This was so annoying. He figured you’d be a pain to train with no matter what, simply because you weren’t him and not as talented. But since it’s become clear you’re just as talented, if not…stronger at the moment. The idea irritates him and excites him at the same time. He has shouldered the burden of being the Gojo clan’s Chosen One since his birth. It’s hard to be raised with the idea that you will be society’s greatest weapon, the only thing that stands between a great evil and humanity. The idea that he didn’t have to do that alone, or even have someone to help him during that time was almost too good to be true. He knew he had Geto’s support, and he was strong too, but everyone could tell it was different for you two. 

He raked his hands over his face. “Well I definitely didn’t ask for whatever this shit is.” He grumbles, pouting as Suguru also steps out of bed to get ready. 

Suguru chuckles to himself, looking at his lanky friend strewn over his bed in clear dread of sparring with you this morning. He had never been challenged in this way. Suguru was amused. As badly as he wishes he could be more of a challenge for the boy he loves, he doesn’t stand a chance at any real defeat of him. Maybe he was jealous of you for being able to do that so easily, or maybe he was entranced by you for it. He couldn’t quite tell. In any event, it was obvious that Satoru and Y/N were fated to know each other, for better or for worse. That would be determined. 

“Hey, maybe if you don’t brush your teeth this morning you can use that hot breath as a weapon.” Suguru suggests with a shit-eating grin. 

Satoru snarls. “You’re funny this morning. Save it for your girlfriend.’

“She’s your girlfriend, you’re the ones assigned to be together.” 

“Jealous?”

“A little.” Suguru kicks Satoru’s shoe as he pulls on his shirt, just in front of the snow-haired boy. “It doesn’t matter, she likes me more anyway. Do you have a plan?”

He holds his hand up and waves it side to side, as if to say yeah maybe no kinda. 

Suguru raises his brow. “So no.”

“So kinda! I was thinking if I can tire her out she won’t be able to use her weird eyes on me.” The boy defends, getting to his feet too. As he stands, he catches a glimpse of you meditating. You look so peaceful, not at all like the snarky American protege he met yesterday. You look relaxed too, notably unafraid. It almost gets to him. You don’t even have the excuse of being ignorant. You know exactly what he can do, and you know you can beat him. You confuse him, but he doesn’t hate it, somehow, despite how badly he pretends to.

Suguru seems unimpressed by the idea. “How do you plan to keep her from just…using them? She knows she can’t hit you until she has them on.” 

He hums, going to brush his teeth explicitly because Suguru made a remark about his breath. Suguru had a point. In that case, he would have to enact Plan B. He stares at himself in the bathroom mirror, toothpaste foaming out of his mouth. He will just have to take your attacks until your eyes drain your cursed energy. He’ll have to force you to use your second form on him, the much more painful version of your controlling cursed threads. He’s not sure how he’ll do that, but he’s sure he can figure out a way to force your hand. He would best you this time, and he wouldn’t take any mercy during this fight. He couldn’t let you walk around thinking you were invincible. He spits out the toothpaste, rinsing his mouth out and finding his reflection once more. He was the strongest in the world. He had to remind you of that. His eyes steeled over with determination. 

“Are you ready Suguru?” He asks knowing full well the man was nowhere near ready. He steps aside, letting the other man have his bathroom time. Suguru hummed, brushing his hair. Satoru never really had to work on his appearance past getting the sleep out of his eyes and running a hand through his tresses. He didn’t think Suguru needed to work very hard either, though maybe the brush was necessary since his hair was past his shoulders. He shrugs, leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded over his chest as he waits. 

“I have a backup plan.” He adds as Suguru begins his skincare routine. Satoru rolls his eyes, but doesn’t actively comment this time around. “I’ll just have to let her use her eyes and tire herself out on me. Don’t freak out when you see that.” He chuckles, knowing how sensitive Geto can be at times, especially when it relates to him. 

“Can’t you just put her in your Unlimited Void?” The other boy asks as he moves on to brushing his teeth. 

“Could, but I don’t have enough control over it. I could kill the brat.” He groans immediately, wishing that was a viable option. He had been practicing the finer details of his Unlimited Void, but as it stood right now, anyone that entered it would most likely die immediately. 

Suguru hums, clearly displeased by the arrangement. He wanted to see you come out on top, but he wasn’t keen on watching his best friend be brutally injured. From how Satoru explained your second form, Suguru was sure you’ve killed people before. He wipes his mouth and sighs, giving Satoru a dissatisfied look. “If you’re sure.” 

Satoru beams. “Never fear, Suguru! You know I can handle anything.” He says, clapping his friend on the shoulder, and striding for the door. That much was true, Suguru does know that Satoru Gojo can handle anything. He cherishes him for that, yet he didn’t want the boy underestimating his opponent. Satoru makes a show of flinging their dorm door open, almost forcibly carefree in the way he strolls to the training grounds. 

Your energy prickles his skin as he gets closer to you. It’s intense, it’s white hot and almost unbearable if it didn’t feel so good. It was addicting in some weird sense. He knows you feel him too, for when he rounds the corner he sees your eyes find him instantly. He smirks broadly; you narrow your eyes and grimace. Suguru just closes his eyes and tilts his head to the side as he grins and waves. 

“L/N-san! Ohayō!” He calls out, elbowing Satoru to say some sort of greeting. He doesn’t; he only strides forward with his hands in his pockets, a forced smirk adorning his features. You’re a better actress than he is, for you're able to walk closer to them, looking rather undisturbed aside from the light sheen of sweat coating your skin. The potency of your energy was too much for him to ignore, and he found himself craving to touch you. Not in any perverse way, though he wouldn’t necessarily be opposed, he just felt as if the feeling of your skin on his could possibly cure this intrusive energy field you’re affecting him with. 

You pop your knuckles and come to a stop just a few feet away from the pair. You keep your eyes trained on Geto, unable to predict yourself if you look at Gojo. You know that’s going to be an issue, considering the matter of your sparring and ultimate goal of training alongside him, but you’ve felt the vibrations of his energy all morning and you know the desire you have to get closer to him can only result in disaster. You’ve never heard of something like this before, and you’ve texted your brother to do some research for you. Until you hear back, you have to keep up this facade. You force a cocky grin to Suguru. 

“Oh please. It’s Y/N, you don’t have to be formal with me, Geto-san.” You assure him, smiling at the way his cheeks show his interest in you. 

“Then just call me Suguru.” He insists, and Gojo fakes a barf. 

After he’s done gagging, he rolls his eyes. “You two are disgusting. Please, stop making out in front of me.” He smirks, giggling to himself as Suguru’s eyes grow wide and you roll yours. 

“Oh whatever, I know you’d love to watch that.” You wink, still keeping your gaze on the flustered Suguru. He notes your confidence and decides to build on it, nodding his agreement. 

“Maybe if he wins this sparring session you can let him see.” He jabs you in the ribs, walking ahead to clear your training dummies away. Gojo’s nose crinkles at the tables being turned, and if he didn’t want to impress you and embarrass you at the same time, perhaps he would sulk about the remark, but instead he pretends to hurl again, ignoring the nasty flames of jealousy splitting his insides. Confusingly, he doesn’t know who for, once again, and he just feels silly and embarrassingly stupid. Why would he be jealous of such a thing? Meanwhile, the other side of him is wildly intrigued by the prospect. He can’t help but feel a sense of ownership over you both, though you’re brand new and annoying to him. Suguru was his best friend, and you were…his weird energy person. 

He begins to stretch, watching you do the same thing. You’re not very tall, and it’s clear that you’re probably stronger than you are fast, built curvy and compact like a wrestler or gymnast. You keep your hair tied up, you’re smart. In fights like these and the real cruel world, your pretty curly locks were only going to be a weapon. He thought Americans were dumb, and perhaps that was still the case. Though that meant he’d have to admit that you’re exceptional, and he’s not sure he can do that just yet. Feature wise, you’re his opposite. Ego wise, you’re his match. Power wise, he would find out soon. 

You disguise your gaze as you watch him. You were sure he devised some sort of plan to keep you from using your Quelling Eyes, though you had come up with many different angles to come after him with. If everything went according to your plans, you wouldn’t have to use your second form or Domain, you could stick strictly to your visual powers and First Form: Puppeteer’s Threads. 

It was mostly a sleepless night for you, unable to shake the consuming heat of his energy no matter the fact he was a floor below you and sleeping. Even out here on the training field, you couldn’t escape it. You watched the sun come up that morning in an effort to clear your mind, but everything was fruitless. Even as the air lost its chill and the morning sky became blue and fiery orange, all you could think about was the diaphanous blue eyes that grinned up at you, even after losing. You were right, looking at him made things much more difficult. It felt like there was a rope embedded in your stomach and he held the other end, tugging you toward him mercilessly. He gives you that enigmatic smile, lowering his black lenses to show you his glowing eyes. You figure that means his infinity is already hard at work, not that he wouldn’t turn it on as soon as the fight officially started anyway. 

“Ohayō, Dallas-chan.” He says, shamelessly looking you over. “You ready for revenge?”

You give him a matching haughty grin. “Luckily I don’t have to prepare for that.”

He chuckles at this, moving closer to you. In his mind, it’s hard to see anything outside of you. His vision with his Six Eyes was complicated. He could see Cursed Energy very well, and the outlines of figures, but sometimes he felt like he saw like a bat. He wasn’t able to make out features often, not while in use, but with you, that too was different. He could make out your smile and the twinkle in your eyes. He couldn’t resist the magnet drawing him to you, and it was clear then that he couldn’t hurt you. 

He didn’t want to. This realization softens his features a bit, and you’re taken aback. His energy thrums around you, it’s so palpable it starts to spark again, and it feels like your head is in a vice grip. As he gets closer, you almost want to step back to avoid exploding, convinced that’s what would happen if this pressure kept building. He was no better off, except the pressure felt clasped around his heart. He could feel every beat, the pulse sending his blood was notable as he kept walking. 

“I–I don’t know if you two should fight like this…” Suguru says, watching red sparks fly from Satoru and green ones from you, the two converging to make bright flashes of yellow light the closer you two got. It resembles lightning, and it bolts around the two of you, now just inches away from each other. 

Satoru nods. “I agree. I think we should look into this..” He suggests, amazed at the light show. Your eyes reflect the jolts of energy and your own awe, lips parted in wonder. Surely this was unheard of. He reaches his hand out to you. “Touch me. I have a gut feeling about it.” 

You look at his large palm, glancing up at his eyes as if you needed a final push. You had felt the same insatiable desire too, though you figured contact could go really well or…really not. 

You sigh, and nod, lifting your grip towards him. For a moment, the both of you bite your lips in anticipation. Suguru looks around nervously, noting the approach of your sensei. You shake, and Satoru craves the relief he knows will come. But Yaga interrupts, yelling loudly. 

“Do NOT touch!” He says, and you fall back a little out of surprise. Gojo looks dissatisfied, his hand falling to his side. He doesn’t know how to argue, and he certainly doesn’t want to beg for your hand, but the feeling he was fighting was growing so insufferable he had to do something about it. Yaga appears in between you, and that forces you two just far enough apart that the sparks die down. 

“What’s going on, Yaga-sensei?” Suguru asks, perplexed by the literal fireworks he saw happening before him. 

You, breathless just from the intensity, nod your seconding of the question. “Yeah, I’ve never seen or heard of this before.”

“It hasn’t happened for several hundred years.” The man gruffs, taking in the sight of the two of you. He couldn’t believe what he was witnessing. “The two of you have a connection imbued into you from the gods. The two of you…are meant to be side by side.” 

Satoru’s eyes widen at this. He was certain of his own power, his own ability to endure whatever life threw at him alone. Though, he would be lying if he said he wasn’t intrigued by this fated connection. “What does touching have to do with it?”

“Touching consecrates this bond, you two will boost each other’s abilities from then on, it’s stronger than Y/N’s connection with her twin.” Yaga explains, nodding toward you. “You’ll share cursed energy, you won’t be able to use your powers on each other, ocular or technique. And of course, you’ll be tied to each other for life.” 

“And if we don’t?” You ask, eyebrows raised in interest. 

Yaga tilts his head to the side. “The Ito won’t go away, it will continue to pull at you. But, it’s so rare…this has to be reported to the Higher Ups. They’ll want to see the two of you immediately.” Yaga shakes his head. He knows what to expect. He knows you’ll become a target here, too, and Satoru’s troubles will only grow deeper. 

The aforementioned man groans at the thought. “So what, I’m forever linked to Miss Americana here, and now we have to go before the Higher Ups to see if they’ll let us do what…literal fate wants us to?” He rolls his eyes and looks at you with a different glint to his eyes. He seems annoyed still, though not with you. Maybe he knows about this Ito that you’re so unfamiliar with. You know enough Japanese to get around, though you’re still regularly taking lessons, you still haven’t learned what this means. So you look up at him and shrug. He knows you don’t get it, but on this trip to Headquarters, he would explain everything and he would keep you safe from the Higher Ups’ wrath that’s sure to follow. They already held disdain for him because of his rebellious streak, he could only imagine how they would treat you. 

He looks over at you, and groans. It would be something stupid like this, you’re his freaking soulmate, basically. He’s not necessarily disappointed by this revelation, maybe annoyed yet again that he’s forced into a position that he doesn’t care to be in at this point. Maybe he had feelings for you that he’d been grappling with already, maybe he was being  childish by protesting, but he scrunches his nose up anyway. “An Ito? To the American? Is this a joke?”

You cross your arms over your chest and shake your head. It wasn’t exactly like you had seen this coming either. Sure, you realized his beauty the moment you saw him but his personality was insufferable, and you know he thinks the same of you. Surely you would be at each other’s throats at every waking moment, not the truest form of allies that could possibly exist! You huff. “How’s this even possible?” 

Yaga hums, satisfied to see such a strong connection between the two of you, but nervous at the same time for what’s to come from it. “The powers that be must think the two of you need each other, and that the world needs the two of you. You two should get to HQ as quickly as possible, and remember, do not touch without their permission.” He says, nodding to the two of you.

“Can Suguru come with us?” Satoru pouts, not wanting to be left alone with a girl. He knew he was good looking, but he didn’t know how to interact with a beautiful woman, especially one that’s basically willed to be his. 

Yaga shook his head. “I have missions for Geto-san to complete on his own. This is a mission for two. Now get going.” 

The two of you match dreary sighs, and make eye contact. Your eyes narrow, and then his eyes narrow. 

“Let’s go–”

“Let’s get going–” 

Suguru snickers at the two of you talking over each other. He gives Satoru a knowing look and sighs. “Good luck, Dallas-chan.” 

tags: @aepinkoutsold @purpleguk @ddora-kken @naorizenin @enflamedmusings @getosbigballsack @fadingpalacebonkpsychic @staygoldsquatchling02

[everythingdnddd]

Okay possible unpopular opinion? thought? curiosity? something here lol

I'm relatively new to the religious lore so there's fair chance I'm missing things, but the potential of the Vax / Raven Queen pairing seems a little... Don't get me wrong, I cried my eyes out at every stage of the end, but does no one else feel like Vax's story was equal parts tragedy and ascension?

Idk, the final deal he makes with her is laced with sadness for sure, but also with... potential? Loneliness? I don't even mean it in a ship way. There's just this element of melancholy companionship and comfort that's so intriguing to me. Vax who just SEES the people in his orbit and cares so deeply about them, who has come to terms with and learned to appreciate her purpose, finding his place at her side, while she's an even more solitary figure, shadowed and mysterious, but also profoundly purposed and caring in her own way. Parallels. Parallels in their stories. Parallels in their character details. There's something so Hades and Persephone about the overarching image of the two of them, but with all the details twisted toward different themes. Or maybe the same themes, ancient or modern. I don't know.

Again, it's not even a ship thing. I'm just... Thoughts. Open-ended thoughts. Idk.

[kazemi-tan]

Red thread of destiny.

[rosaacicularis]

please elaborate on your jimmy angst pretty please

ok ok since you asked so nicely 😌😌

at the start of third life the watchers give jimmy a choice, an ultimatum if you will. he could go about the death game normally… or he could cut his golden thread shorter than everyone else’s. it would keep everyone else alive as long as he survived. he could live and postpone the inevitable for everybody… so of course he did it. and then he died and everybody else did too…

the watchers gave him a second chance, a second death game, a shot at redemption. he cut his golden thread again, determined to actually do it this time. he died again, and everybody else did too.

the third time, when he walked up to his golden thread, it was intertwined with someone else’s. the watchers wouldn’t tell him who it was, or why everyone was paired off… he didn’t want to cut someone else’s thread short alongside his… but they could keep each other alive! and he could finally prove to himself everyone that he could survive. tango killed him first, but the guilt still settled in his heart.

he was given a fourth chance, he took it, almost habitually. he really felt like it was his chance, he had twenty four lives for void’s sake. even if he died first, they’d all live long, prosperous lives and he would too! it was perfect… until he had seven minutes left and he was bargaining for his life (everyone’s lives) so desperately…

and a part of him… such a selfish selfish part of him, was always relieved that he died first because he never had to live in a world without anybody… they might’ve not always had him but he always had them.

[legendaryrooftopscene]

between us said "fuck you if you want to understand what the fuck win was talking about with the red thread conversation we didn't bother to show you, watch until we meet again"

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Threads of Fate (HOTD x Reader)

Summary: An act of kindness leads you to a misterious stranger who offers to lift a block on your love life. Feeling lonely during Halloween, you decide to give it a go. Now there is a blonde corpse in the middle of your bathroom, and it turns out the corpse is not really a corpse.

A/N: A choose your own adventure to celebrate Halloween. Modern reader x HOTD.

Possible pairings: Daemon Targaryen x Reader, Rhaenyra Targaryen x Reader, Aemond Targaryen x Reader (You get to choose your ending)

Chp 1: Ace of cups

Chp 2: The Empress / The Devil / The Hermit

[juzorei]

"An invisible 𝗿𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱 connects those who are destined to meet, regardless of time, place or circumstance. The thread may stretch or tangle, but 𝗶𝘁 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗻𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗯𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗸."

.

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙍𝙚𝙙 𝙏𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙤𝙛 𝙁𝙖𝙩𝙚

.

PATPRAN. OHMNON

I HAD TO DRAW THIS. They are meant to be, both OhmNon and PatPran. 😭❤💚🌍

[respectthepetty]

Red Thread of Destiny

As fate would have it

[dawnlit-elayne]

why does fate theseus look more like achilles than fate achilles. something is not adding up.

[cervideity]

ALFIES TORMENTOUS NIGHTMARE

alt. drawn like this then modified.