#tome likes it too for obvious reasons.

[irradiatedsnakes]

looking 4 ufos and also funny looking clouds

[fangdokja]

The cage he’s built for you is so beautiful, you almost forget it’s there.

❤︎ Synopsis. In a love that teeters between devotion and obsession, escape is futile—his jealousy isn’t just possessive, it’s a consuming force that leaves no room for freedom. With each calculated act, he dismantles your world, ensuring you’ll always belong to him, body and soul.

♡ Book. Forbidden Fruits: Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Alhaitham x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Diluc x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Zhongli x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Dainsleif x Fem. Reader

♡ Headcanons. Heart's Chains - Part 1

♡ Word Count. 2,801

♡ TW. dom + top + older yandere, non con, psychological manipulation and conditioning, suggestive themes, fear play, emotional manipulation and abuse, hints at rough play and sex, psychological and emotional trauma, isolation, monitoring, lack of boundaries, non con kissing and touching, forced relationship, BDSM, manipulation of circumstances, threats

♡ Alhaitham – The Scholar’s Cage.

“Your freedom is the illusion I designed for you. Do you see it now?”

Alhaitham’s jealousy is a quiet, suffocating force, crafted with precision and intellect. It doesn’t roar or rage, nor does it seek to overpower with brute strength. Instead, it threads through the very seams of your life, a methodical and unrelenting presence that tightens its grip with every passing day. His love is not chaotic—it is controlled, sharpened into something surgical, leaving no room for resistance.

You don’t notice it at first, the way he dismantles your autonomy. It begins with simple suggestions, his calm voice dripping with reason. “Why waste time with them? They don’t understand you.” A polite dismissal of your acquaintances, a small reorganization of your daily routine—all done under the guise of care, of making your life more efficient. Slowly, the world outside his orbit fades into obscurity, replaced by the inescapable reality of him.

Each step is calculated, deliberate, like the turning of pages in his meticulously annotated tomes. Alhaitham doesn’t need to raise his voice or resort to crude displays of anger. His jealousy operates in silken whispers, in arguments so flawlessly logical that to disagree with him feels like an admission of ignorance.

“You waste your time on frivolities,” he states, his tone flat but unyielding. His eyes pierce through you, sharp and unreadable. “Do you truly believe anyone else sees you for who you are? I’ve devoted myself to understanding you, shaping a life where your brilliance can thrive. What have they done?”

And when someone dares to overstep, lingering too long in your presence or speaking to you in tones he deems too familiar, Alhaitham does not act impulsively. No, his retaliation is an art form. The offending individual doesn’t disappear suddenly—that would be too crude, too obvious. Instead, they find their world unraveling.

A missed promotion, an inexplicable reassignment to a far-off land, their life tangled in bureaucratic webs they can’t escape. By the time they realize the Scholar’s hand in their downfall, it’s already too late. You notice their absence, perhaps even question it, but Alhaitham’s explanation is maddeningly irrefutable.

“They were a distraction,” he says simply, his voice devoid of emotion. “You don’t need people like that cluttering your life. Trust me, it’s better this way.”

He’s maddeningly composed, his jealousy cold and unyielding, a stone wall against which your protests shatter like glass. And yet, beneath his calm exterior lies a hunger so all-consuming it feels like an abyss, ready to swallow you whole.

In intimacy, that hunger reveals itself in the way his hands move over you—not hurried, but deliberate, like he’s studying you, mapping every inch of your body with the same precision he applies to his research. His touch is a paradox, both clinical and possessive, as if he’s documenting every reaction, every tremor, every gasp, to remind you that no one else could ever know you this intimately.

“You’re mine,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. His voice is steady, each word a carefully crafted statement of fact. “Not just your body, but your mind, your soul. Every thought you have—I’ve already claimed it.”

There’s no room for resistance in his embrace. When he takes you, it’s a symphony of control, every movement deliberate, every whisper a reminder of how deeply he owns you. He doesn’t seek to hurt; pain is a crude tool, unworthy of his intellect. Instead, his love is an overwhelming force, designed to erode your defenses until you can no longer imagine a world without him.

And when he looks at you, there’s something terrifying in his gaze—a blend of devotion and dominance that leaves you breathless. You see yourself reflected in his eyes, not as a partner, but as something precious, something he’s spent his life perfecting. And as much as you might wish to escape, a part of you knows the truth.

“You’ll thank me one day,” he says, his voice as steady as ever. “When you finally understand that no one else will ever love you like I do. Your freedom, your independence—they were illusions, distractions. I am your reality now. Do you see it?”

────────────

♡ Diluc – Ember’s Obsession.

“There’s a certain poetry in the way flesh burns. Shall I show you what it means to belong to me?”

Jealousy in Diluc is not a sudden blaze—it’s a simmering ember buried deep within his chest, smoldering until provoked. And when that ember finally ignites, it consumes everything in its path. His rage is a tempest of fire, and his vengeance is exacting, merciless, yet meticulously controlled. To call it passion would be a mistake; this is something darker, primal, and utterly destructive.

The tranquility of the winery is the first thing to vanish when his jealousy peaks. The birds no longer sing, the soft rustling of leaves becomes an oppressive silence, and the air carries the faint, acrid tang of smoke. The vineyards, once a symbol of beauty and life, become the stage for his wrath. The trespasser who dared covet what was his is gone before you even realize it, their existence wiped away as if they never belonged to the world.

When you ask, his eyes burn with an intensity that freezes you in place. There’s no need to raise his voice—his silence is deafening, his actions more eloquent than words. The blood on his gloves isn’t cleaned, the charred remains of their belongings left just close enough for you to see. He wants you to understand the cost of disobedience, of entertaining the thought of anyone but him.

“Why are you trembling?” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, like embers crackling in a dying fire. He steps closer, his gloved hand brushing your cheek, a tender gesture at odds with the ferocity in his gaze. “Surely, you knew how this would end. They weren’t blind. They saw you. And I don’t forgive those who covet what’s mine.”

When Diluc kisses you, it’s bruising, his lips pressing against yours with a feral desperation. His hands are hot against your skin, leaving an almost burning sensation in their wake, a reminder of the fire he wields and how easily it could destroy you. He holds you tightly, his grip a cage, as if you might vanish if he let go.

The manor becomes your prison, the towering walls that once promised safety now looming like an inescapable fortress. He replaces the staff with people who would die before they crossed him, their loyalty bought or burned into submission. Your freedom dwindles day by day—no visitors, no letters, no life beyond the world he’s carved for you.

Even in his tenderness, there’s a darkness that pervades. When he pulls you into his arms at night, the weight of his obsession is suffocating. His fingers trace the curve of your throat, his touch almost reverent. His words, however, betray his madness. “If you ever think of running, don’t. Fire purifies everything, even memories. You won’t last without me. And I won’t let you.”

He doesn’t need chains to bind you; his fire does that for him. You feel the heat of his wrath even in his absence, a smothering presence that lingers in every room. The scent of charred wood clings to your senses, a constant reminder of what lies in wait should you ever defy him.

Yet, in the darkness of his obsession, there’s a twisted beauty—a fervent devotion so consuming it becomes poetic in its destruction. Diluc’s love burns, and like moth to flame, you can’t help but stay, even as it threatens to destroy you.

────────────

♡ Zhongli – The Stone Emperor’s Dominion.

“Erosion affects everything… but my love for you will endure until the last star in the cosmos burns out. Whether you want it or not.”

Zhongli’s jealousy is an ancient, unyielding force, as patient and inevitable as the shifting of tectonic plates. It doesn’t erupt like fire or howl like the wind—it seeps into every crevice of your life, an invisible weight that crushes resistance beneath its relentless pressure. His love is not the passionate frenzy of youth but the solemn, eternal claim of an Archon who has witnessed millennia. To him, you are no mere mortal; you are an artifact of immeasurable value, something to be preserved and guarded with the ferocity of a dragon.

The world he creates for you is gilded, opulent, and suffocating. The room he keeps you in is not a prison at first glance—it’s a sanctuary, filled with treasures and comforts that most could only dream of. The air carries the faint scent of incense, rich and intoxicating, lulling you into a false sense of security. But the longer you stay, the more you notice the details: the impenetrable walls, the locks on the doors that click softly but firmly behind you, the way every window seems to frame the same unchanging landscape.

The jewelry he adorns you with is exquisite, every piece a masterpiece of craftsmanship. Gold cuffs around your wrists, delicate yet unyielding; a collar around your neck, encrusted with amber that seems to glow in the light. He drapes you in finery not to celebrate your beauty, but to mark you as his possession. Each piece is a reminder that you belong to him, that his touch lingers on your very skin.

“You are a treasure beyond mortal comprehension,” he murmurs, his voice a rich baritone that reverberates in your chest. His golden eyes, warm and commanding, hold an intensity that sends shivers down your spine. “And treasures must be protected. The world would destroy you with its greed. Only I can preserve your perfection.”

When someone dares to approach you with intent that Zhongli deems improper, the earth itself seems to revolt against them. Their screams echo through the mountains, raw and unrelenting, as the ground splits and swallows them whole. He doesn’t act in haste—his punishments are deliberate, poetic in their cruelty. He encases them in stone, their faces frozen in terror, their bodies turned into monuments to his wrath.

He brings you to see them, not out of malice but necessity. His explanation is calm, almost tender, as he gestures to the stone effigies lining the mountainside. “This is what becomes of those who fail to understand their place. Do not mourn them, my love—they were nothing but dust, unworthy of your light.”

In intimacy, Zhongli is an overwhelming force. His touch is unhurried but suffused with a quiet dominance that leaves you breathless. Every gesture, every kiss, is deliberate, as though he’s carving his presence into your very being. His hands glide over your skin like sculptor's tools, firm yet reverent, shaping you into something only he can claim.

“You are mine,” he whispers against your ear, his breath warm and steady. His voice carries the weight of an oath, a declaration that transcends mortal comprehension. “The stars may fall, the earth may crumble, but you will remain at my side. You will see eternity through my eyes.”

Even his affection feels like a trap, his love as unyielding as stone. There is no escape, no corner of the world where his reach cannot find you. He doesn’t need to shackle you with chains—his power, his presence, is enough to bind you to him. His jealousy is not a fire that burns hot and fast but an eternal petrification, turning you into a piece of his world, preserved forever within his grasp.

────────────

♡ Dainsleif – The Eternal Hunter.

“You think you can hide from me? You forget, little one—I was forged in the abyss. There is no shadow I cannot find you in.”

Dainsleif’s jealousy is a force older than time itself, a chilling void that consumes everything in its path. It is not fiery or chaotic but cold and relentless, like the creeping frost that settles over a dying world. His love is not the kind that comforts or soothes—it isolates, suffocates, and ensnares, binding you to him in a cycle of obsession and despair.

You only begin to understand the depth of his control when it’s far too late. Every path you walk, every whispered conversation, every fleeting thought of freedom—it all leads back to him. The world feels smaller with each passing day, the shadows deeper, and his presence inescapable. He is always there, watching, waiting, a hunter biding his time.

When he appears, it’s always when you least expect, stepping from the darkness as though he is the shadow itself. His eyes glow faintly, a piercing luminescence that chills you to the bone. Tonight, he drags behind him the lifeless body of the one who dared to think you could be theirs. Blood drips steadily onto the floor, pooling like spilled ink, staining the silence of the room.

“You thought I wouldn’t know,” he murmurs, his voice low and resonant, carrying the weight of centuries. His expression is calm, unnervingly so, but his eyes burn with quiet fury. “Did you think they could take you from me? That anyone could?” He steps closer, his shadow engulfing yours, his presence as suffocating as it is magnetic. “Not the gods. Not even death itself. You are mine, little one. And nothing can change that.”

Dainsleif does not rage or scream; his fury is measured, deliberate, and terrifyingly methodical. The evidence of his jealousy is etched into the world around you—a ruined village, a bloodstained battlefield, a silence that feels too heavy. He ensures you see it, ensures you know the lengths he will go to preserve his claim on you.

And when his hands touch you, they are impossibly gentle, the contrast as cruel as it is deliberate. He traces the scars he’s left on your skin—some visible, others invisible, etched into the deepest corners of your soul. Each mark is a story, a vow, a declaration of his ownership. His touch lingers, reverent and obsessive, as though you are a relic of his own design.

“You see these marks?” he whispers, his voice a mixture of awe and menace. His fingertips graze the lines on your skin, the memories of his possessive love. “They tell the story of what you are to me. They are the proof of eternity, of something no one else will ever touch.”

There is a madness in his devotion, one born not of fleeting passion but of centuries of suffering and longing. You are his anchor, the one thing that grounds him in a cursed existence, and he clings to you with the desperation of a drowning man. Yet, his love feels like a weight, an unyielding chain that drags you into the abyss alongside him.

“Do you feel it, little one?” he murmurs, his lips ghosting over your ear as he holds you in an unbreakable embrace. “The weight of eternity? That is my love for you—boundless, inescapable, unending. You cannot run from it, and you cannot escape me. I will follow you through every shadow, every lifetime, until nothing remains but us.”

Even in intimacy, Dainsleif is overwhelming. His touch is both a promise and a warning, every caress laden with a sense of inevitability. He moves with a precision that leaves you trembling, as though every moment is calculated to remind you of his dominance. His kisses are slow but consuming, pulling you under like a tide, his words soft yet chilling as they thread through your mind.

“You can fight me, but it’s useless,” he breathes against your lips, his tone almost tender but laced with quiet menace. “You’re mine. You’ve always been mine. And the moment you tried to run, you sealed your fate.”

In Dainsleif’s arms, you are both cherished and caged, his love a prison of cold eternity. No matter how far you go, no matter how deep you hide, he will always find you, his shadow stretching across the expanse of time itself. You are his, and there is no escape.

────────────

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Forbidden Fruits: Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. Thank you.

General TAG LIST: @uniquecutie-puffs , @ikevampharem , @tnsophiaonly , @mokingbrd78k , @cooldeermagazine , @mimitk-blog1

[fireflysymphony]

Kinks I think Veritas Ratio would have

MDNI 18+ content ahead

A/N: I’m new to honkai and only started playing because of Aventurine, but I fell in love with this asshole along the way.

Word count: 1.9k

TW: GN! Reader (descriptions of female anatomy), bathtub sex, degradation, humiliation, hitting, spanking, spitting, non consensual explicit photo and video taking, pet / puppy play, caning, collars, Veritas being an insensitive asshole, not proofread, let me know if I need to add anything else <3

Bathtub Sex

I think this one is the most obvious, which is why it is first. If books and bathtubs are already his favorite things, why not add his least favorite to the mix too? His idiot partner! So he grabs his favorite idiot and drags them into the room with him. Making them watch as he disrobes and gets in the tub, the ghost of a satisfied smirk on his face as he gestures to them to come close. He knows what he’s doing and regrets it being a simple and mediocre way of getting what he wants, but you’re an idiot like everyone else. His expectations for you are even lower than most of the mediocre imbeciles he sees on a daily basis, so he doubts you’ll catch on as to the real reason he wants you to join him. You might think he just wants to spend time with you, but since when did the great Veritas Ratio willingly associate with idiots without something to gain? He wanted your body, but he’d make it look like you were the one who was horny all along.

—

The water was warm, almost steaming, and you wondered why Veritas wasn’t as flushed as you. He looked as perfect as ever, and despite what he thought, those Greek-like statues he crafted of himself would never capture the true essence of his beauty. Your innocent thoughts of his calculating amber eyes and the delicateness of his fingers as he flipped to the next page of his book soon turned vulgar. You wanted those eyes to only be focused on you, and those fingers to reach the deepest places inside of you. Those thoughts only worsened as your eyes fell past his waistline and past his hips.

“Veritas.” Your body squirmed, the warmth of your core growing as his eyes found your face. Only for a split second were they like the content and focused gaze he wore moments earlier while reading before they turned much harsher and stern, much like how he normally regarded you, but unlike normally, he managed to stare at you longer than a few seconds.

“Are you going to finish your thought? You’re lucky I’m giving you the opportunity to share your idiotic thoughts.” He demanded, his eyes retreating to the pages of his tome again. “Silence yourself. I don’t have time for the musings of someone like you.”

“But…I just…” you didn’t know if Veritas even saw you as a partner because you certainly weren’t an equal in his eyes. The way he conducted himself around you told you were like everyone else to him, but then he went and did random romantic things like sharing a bath with you or letting you sit on his lap while he tried to read. And admittedly, the sex was good too.

“But what, spit it out. Your charades are pointless!” He slammed his book closed with one hand, the sound of it snapping shut adding to his annoyed tone. He let the book fall to the floor outside of the tub, his attention solely focused on you now. “Now, speak up!”

He snapped in your face, making you shrink deeper into the water until the water’s surface began to bubble. Veritas only stared, unimpressed by the display, so he grabbed a handful of your hair and yanked you closer to him. “If you won’t talk, I’ll put that mouth to better use by shoving your head underwater and giving you a better look of what’s down there. Don’t think I didn’t see how you were looking at me, I already knew what you wanted before you even did, but I won’t do it until you use your words.”

You glanced away from him, lamenting your stupidity. It was obvious he knew, even from your barely spoken words you were so obvious with your intent, your thoughts written all over your face. “Veritas, I want you to fuck me. Please.”

“Unoriginal. Can’t you be more creative with your begging?” He pulled you onto his lap with an unenthusiastic look on his face. He held your hips to steady you before slamming you down on his already hard cock. “Just know, you’ll be the one cleaning up the mess in here once we are through, even if you can’t walk and have to lick the floors clean.”

Humiliation

It’s obvious that Veritas gets off on degrading you, so I didn't feel like an entire section on that would count for much. Along the same lines as degradation though, Veritas is fully aware of his superiority to you in, well, everything, and he doesn’t want the fact that you’re his fucktoy to get to your head. You’re still a buffoon like the rest of them, just more useful than the others that plague the universe. When it comes to humiliation with Veritas, cameras and videos are always a must.

—

His glob of spit ran down your folds, his phone screen flashing as he got a picture. He hummed in satisfaction, his hands kneading at the flesh on your ass as he examined the photo. “Do you have to squirm so much? The picture is blurry now.” He clicked his tongue, smacking your ass out of annoyance, the red mark of his hand already appearing.

“No matter, I suppose, can’t expect much from you.” He grumbled, leaving you bent over his desk and appearing in front of you. From the moment you walked into his office, you wondered why he had a random stand in front of his desk. Your eyes widened with realization as Veritas messed with it, and he turned around just in time to see the situation dawn on you. “Surprised? You really are just another idiot.”

He tilted your head up with his finger, and if you moved your head to the side, you could easily make out the red circle signaling it was recording. He dropped your face, and you were quick to try to hide it from the camera. Once he was back to his original position behind you though, Veritas yanked on your hair and make you look straight into the camera.

“Perfect. Now the world knows the face of the whore who gets dicked down by the doctor every night. Would you care to introduce yourself?” Your eyes widen, wondering if this is being streamed somewhere or if it’s just for his pleasure that he’s doing this. You tried to lower your head and hide your shame, but Veritas again yanked your head back up, your scalp feeling as if it might get pulled off.

“No, no, I don’t! Veritas, stop it. No recording. Please please…” Your pleas fell on deaf ears as Veritas only leaned down, his breath kissing the shell of your ear. “I’m not a professor who gives second chances, but for you, I’ll make an exception, try again.”

His hand descended on you again, this time hard enough to elicit a yelp from you, but you kept your hands on the front of the desk, curling your nails to dig into the wood. You knew you’d be in more trouble if you made a move or if you refused to say the words he wanted you to.

“I’m… I’m your idiot whore who you take pity on each night because I can’t get enough of your cock.” You managed to choke out to your face in the camera, the last sight you wanted to see at that moment. “I’m just a whore for you who wants so desperately to be fucked by you! So please…”

“Not the most eloquently said but it will do.” Veritas hummed, grabbing your reddened bottom and aligning himself with you, his tip sliding up and down your folds before shoving himself all the way inside of you. “But that’s right. You are my whore, my lover whose only true purpose is to be my cockslave. Now everyone knows it, so make sure to perform well for the camera, darling.”

Pet play (and punishment)

Veritas, with you, is more indulgent with his subhuman views of the rest of humanity. Much like how he was in Herta’s Space Station, he’s constantly trying to lead the rest of humanity like a flock of sheep, and what’s a shepherd without his still stupid but slightly more tolerable dog at his heel? That’s right, and you should feel honored to be considered by Veritas as something greater than part of a mindless flock of sheep. It doesn’t mean you aren’t still stupid in his book. Oh no, he’s actually more harsh with you than anyone else. You can’t teach sheep, but dogs can always learn new tricks. As for how to punish a bad puppy, spanking or caning are his go to methods.

—

“Kneel.” He demanded, pointing at the hardwood floor under his feet with his cane. When you weren’t quick to follow his random command, he used that same cane to smack the backs of your knees and send you to the floor. In the midst of your complaints and cries, he only stared with that same calculating look. “You didn’t obey my command quickly enough, so you faced the consequences. Get over it.”

He moved to sit down, laying his cane on his lap. He watched you writhe and get teary eyed, and the sight filled him with more excitement. He’d always find the smallest reasons to punish you just for that look of pain and defeat that told him he was in control. “Come here. And crawl.”

This time you were quicker to obey which almost pleased him just as much as punishing you did. Seeing you crawl up to him on all fours made him feel like some type of deity. He set his elbow on his knee, tilting his head in the palm of his hand to look at you. “Cute.” It was probably the single nicest word he had said to you in a week, and it made your heart flutter to hear someone like him say it.

“How do you feel about bells?” He asked, picking up his cane and using it to tilt your head up. You flinched at first but calmed down when he didn’t smack you with it. “I’m adding one to your collar so that way you can’t try to ignore or hide it. I can’t trust your dull mind not to remember that it’s on. This will be an exercise of classical conditioning though I doubt you can even comprehend what that is.”

“No! I don’t want that.” You shook your head. He even made you wear this awful collar in public which was already a nightmare to hide, so the bell would just make it worse! As soon as you got the words out of your mouth though, Veritas smacked the cane against your cheek, luckily not hard enough to lodge a tooth out.

“There’s another lesson in classical conditioning, maybe if I put it in simpleton words you’ll understand.” He cupped your cheek, digging his nails into the already bruising red flesh. He spoke in the voice one would use with a toddler. “Being a bad pet breeds pain, and pain makes you unhappy. Being a good pet breeds pleasure, and you like feeling good, don’t you? I know which outcome you’d prefer:”

He pulled back, patting his lap before leaning back on the couch. “But it doesn’t matter what you want right now. I have to punish you either way, so bend over my knee, pet. I know you're stupid but try to keep count. If you mess up, I’ll start over.”

Hope you enjoyed it! This is the first smut piece I’ve ever written, and I hope to improve with time! I didn’t get much time to write today, and I have plenty of ideas for a part two which might be coming soon. In the meantime, requests are open!!

[lassieposting]

Concept:

Post-tadpole, Tav offers to help Astarion find a way to walk in the sun again, and she starts by going to different libraries and repositories and archives around the city to look for books that might be relevant. Astarion, obviously, has to stay in the rental room with the shutters closed during the daytime, so he can't come with her.

At some point, this takes her up to the posh part of the city, where the fancy ✨ scholarly ✨ archive is. She remembers most of the walk - it's not too far from the graveyard Astarion took her to, in the neighbourhood where he once used to live.

And like, it's never actually occurred to her that he could still have Actual Blood Relatives still living? It's not a topic she's ever thought to raise with him. But she has to sign in and out of the archive, and she just happens to notice the name three or four lines above hers: an initial and a surname she recognises.

Ancunín.

The same name from Astarion's gravestone.

A parent? A sibling?

A niece or nephew Astarion has never even met?

Thus begins a secondary quest of trying to reunite a broken family. Astarion is willing enough to talk about the few memories he still has of the thirty-nine years he had with his family before turning - a drop in the ocean compared to the 200 years spent suffering under Cazador - but he shuts down when she nudges him towards the likelihood that Mr & Mrs Ancunín are still alive. He retreats back behind the selfish, catty survivalist he was when she first met him and claims he has no interest in ever reconnecting. The pain in every clipped syllable says drop it, so she does.

But then he asks her, very quietly, several days later, what the initial was. He doesn't really react when she tells him - there's no obvious recognition, and he doesn't ask any follow-up questions or try to discuss it further. He just goes back to his book. She watches him out of the corner of her eye though, as she skim-reads her own giant tome of magical artifacts. A very long time goes by before she sees him turn a page.

For a good long while, the family issue gets put firmly on the back burner. They have other shit going on. Sometimes, it's following promising leads on a possible workaround for Astarion's sunlight allergy. Other times, it's the kind of ugly, ragged-edged breakdown that so often follows a period of relative safety and stability after a major trauma. He's been running in survival mode for two centuries, and now he's finally starting to feel secure enough for the rest of his mind to come back online, and all the trauma he couldn't handle at the time, all the pain and fear and tangled emotions survival mode was protecting him from, is catching up to him. During those sporadic episodes, trying to keep him from falling apart is her top priority and, well, time gets away from them and by the time he brings up his parents again, months or more have gone by, and they have a fairly good idea of what artifact of daywalking they need to find.

By the time it comes to actually meeting with them, still more months have passed, and they have already found it.

It's horrible, and heartwarming, and heartbreaking, and healing, and hurting, and so many other conflicting things that for a while - a long while - Tav doesn't know whether she actually did the right thing encouraging him to reach out to long-lost loved ones. It's a mess of moments that makes her heart ache for a dozen reasons. She finds out that Astarion looks most like his mother, but has his father's nose. She holds him for hours while he shakes and sobs into her shoulder because they never even left the city, they were here the whole time, and they never found him - and he's so angry and full of grief he doesn't know what to do with himself. She accompanies him to the home he was raised in, and the once-familiar surroundings jog memories he thought lost for good - he's glassy-eyed, recounting them to her, but she's fairly sure it's the good kind of glassy-eyed, so she doesn't mention it. She tries to make conversation at family dinner while he stares at his hands in his lap, dissociated, looking even more uncomfortable than she feels, utterly lost in a world that once fit him like a glove. There are a lot of feelings to try and mediate. They are all hurt, all damaged, all afraid, all looking for the ghost of a loved one in the face of a stranger.

But, eventually, there is a day where she overhears Astarion having a conversation with his father, and he sounds like himself - not the persona he puts on in public - and his father laughs at something he says in a way that's entertained rather than awkward. There is a day where his mother reaches out and he doesn't shake his head or step away - he lets her hug him goodbye. They have not slipped back into the graves they crawled out of in each other's lives - they are all very different people now - but they are learning new ways to fit together, and he seems to be pleased about it.

So she thinks, yeah, it was worth it.

[luminecent-sky]

Divinely ordained

A/n: yes this is for my birthday, i mean it's also sagau sooo

I did not finish neuvi's part, feel free to request more

Diluc

Did… did he just hear you right? He's your favorite?

His heart soars, he feels warm and giddy, like a hearth giving warmth to a home, it's almost too much, to hear the words again falling from your lips, reaffirming your earlier statement, before he jolted, wilting like a flower deprived of sunlight. Hadn't you once abhorred him? Ignored him for some petty reason after he had caught that glimmering golden star in his hand.

To gaze upon your flustered visage as you admit how petty and immature it had been to be angry at him for such a trivial thing… he thinks it was all worth it. Every bit of suffering and pain, the scars that marr his form, all for your gaze, your attention.

Keep looking at him like that, with that flustered gaze and those apologetic words,

Keep looking at him.

He puts a hand to block his face, hoping that the blush on his cheeks isn't that obvious —it clearly isn't working, his whole face is almost as red as his hair— that he isn't looking like a fool in front of his deity.

Both of you are just staring, tension building as the silence goes on for longer than either of you would like,

You break first, a nervous chuckle bubbling from your throat as you approach, holding his face gently, repeating yourself.

"I- i guess i can stop hating you for that… you are my favorite after all."

Ayaka

She may just die here, held in your embrace as the sun bears down on you both.

A light blush creeps its way onto her pale skin, obscured by her fan while she tries to wade through the thoughts flooding her mind.

She always knew of your favor towards her, evident in the blessings and artifacts she was bestowed with. All she is, and will ever become is for her deity. And this blatant admittance is something she will treasure forever, like the first and last falling petals of the sakura trees.

So please, if it isn't much of a bother… Please keep telling her that, keep speaking in that lovely voice, those utterly captivating words that even the Archons would beg and grovel for.

If only time could stop at this very moment.

Keep talking, keep those words of praise flowing from your divine mouth, and allow her to bask in it.

It's all she needs, all she's ever craved. What else was there in life to achieve now that she holds your favour?

You move to repeat your words, letting them wash over her like the cool stream water.

Her worries seem so far away now, all her duties pushed to the side for something that has now become a routine.

The people of inazuma can wait just this once, she has given her all to her duty, her family and the nation.

Rest has never been more alluring than now.

“...i think we can rest for just a little longer, no?”

Alhaitham

He must be dreaming, he muses, relishing in the way your breath fans his face.

After all, how else could he justify your sleepy murmurs, the serene declaration of the obvious favouritism he had witnessed directed only at him.

His day had been too good to be true, he thinks.

Kaveh had not woken him up with the usual clamour, in fact, the blonde was asleep, not in a hangover way, but honest to god asleep.

His work was also light, even if he barely did much anyways. It seemed like the universe itself decided to smile upon him and give him this.

And then he was summoned, aparently you had decided that perusing through the house of daena and looking through old tomes and various stories was the retinue for the day.

He never imagined that you would be quite interested in the old books, but as the scribe and only available person that day — never mind the fact that you had asked for him, he would never know — he supposed that his work was light enough that he could help you.

But here the both of you were, in a private room, with bookes piled up to your noses and your sweet whispers gracing his ears.

The library's curfew could be broken, just for once, just for you, he hummed,

After all who would question the creator on why they were here so late anyway?

Hours would pass and he would just sit there, admiring your face.

“I- uhh i didn't say anything embarrassing while i slept right?”

[grimalkinmessor]

The parallels between Tsubomi and Reigen drive me so fucking insane you have no idea like—that shit had to be at least SOMEWHAT intentional even if not in a specifically romantic way.

For one, Tsubomi and Reigen are two of the only few people that call Shigeo "Mob" consistently. (Yes Tome also calls him Mob eventually but she starts out calling him Kageyama-kun and likely picks up "Mob-kun" from Inukawa or Reigen later on). We don't know how Reigen started calling Shigeo "Mob", though we can assume that Tsubomi was likely part of the group of kids that originally misread Shigeo's name as Mobbu to begin with so she's less of a mystery on that front. Maybe Reigen saw it written on his backpack or his shirt tag and started calling him that too, or maybe Mob even just told him that that's what everyone else called him and was what he prefered to be called at the time. Either way, it's a little odd that Reigen's one of the only people who use that nickname when we don't really get a reason why beyond "it can also be read like this", especially since Reigen is a grown man with (presumably) full literacy of kanji and would know how to read it.

Then there's the other obvious parallel that's made in the show; how Tsubomi and Reigen treat Mob. How they see his powers. They're not special, they're just a part of him. Nothing to be scared of—even though they kind of,,,,are lmao. The fact that Tsubomi continues to sit in the park even though a literal hurricane is approaching because she thought Mob sounded upset on the phone happens at the same time Reigen goes sprinting full-tilt into said hurricane because Mob is in trouble always stands out to me. It's less obvious than Mob's own words: "She never treated me any differently because of my powers" "Master never treated me any differently..."—but it's still a pretty blatant parallel to me.

Not to mention that both Reigen and Tsubomi's personalities are actually very similar as well! They're both described as people that hide behind a mask, a facade, while still being brutally stubborn. If Tsubomi doesn't want to do something, she's not gonna do it. While Reigen is more laid back because he's used to getting his hands dirty for work (money), he's still very stubborn himself when he doesn't wanna do something. He'll find a way to wriggle out of it and talk circles around you if you let him. Dimple even says that Tsubomi is the type of person who can't be swayed by words or peer pressure. She and Reigen were actually, again, two of the only people brainwashed through airborne Vibes™ instead of through food like everyone else. The biggest difference between them on this is that while Reigen lies fairly blatantly, Tsubomi seems to only lie through omission. Tsubomi is more of an introvert too, compared to Reigen's extrovert (though you could argue that both of them are good with people, with the only difference being that Reigen enjoys being the center of attention while Tsubomi presumably does not).

Plus they're both pretty goofy too once you think about it lmao. They're both prideful and hate to be humiliated, but they also care a lot about their public image and how people perceive them. Every time the scene with Tsubomi and her friends outside cleaning up leaves comes up, her expressions and panic always remind me of Reigen. And then there's Mob, calm and unjudgemental, willing to help her with no questions asked. Mitigating her humiliation, just like he does for Reigen :)

Another thing that always strikes me is how Mezato says, "If you can accept her for who she really is..." followed by Reigen's echo during his confession: "This is who I really am". Mezato essentially tells Mob that Tsubomi isn't who she seems on the outside and that if he wants to be accepted by her, he needs to also be ready to accept her as well. Which, we don't get to see much of Tsubomi's life outside of Mob—wow just like Reigen—so we don't ever really know who she is beyond that outer mask, but we see her slowly opening up to Mob later, as a friend. But the fact that Reigen's own confession mirrors Mezato's words to Mob about him accepting Tsubomi always makes me vibrate in place a little like,,,Confession Arc my beloved 🙏

I don't know man, there's just so much there, it makes my head spin. I could go on and on about it but I better cut myself off because if I don't I'll start crawling on the walls going feral about it because what, what was the point of this if not to make it clear that the relationship between Mob and Reigen is supposed to parallel his relationship with Tsubomi like what do you MEAN—

[darkkitty1208]

So this post may be a little all over the place cos the brain is scrambled but i'm rereading the spinoff and got to this bit:

I love this scene because it's obvious that Reigen despite his often questionable decisions KNOWS when to draw the line and proves yet again he actually has a good moral compass. He may not always be honest but he has good intentions most of the time and always knows the right thing to do. He tricks people not to scare them but to "expel those fears".

Another thing I love is the little detail of Serizawa's reaction in the background. It can literally be interpreted as either "Serizawa doesn't think this is a good idea but doesn't know how to express his opinion" or "Serizawa isn't opposed to the idea of keeping Tome around and doesn't want to scare her away" which. Ough *clutches chest* seripapa & tomedaughter my beloved.

Also it's interesting that it also implies that, for a moment, Serizawa genuinely thought Reigen was about to consider tricking another teen, but then immediately Reigen confirms that he wants to "have a proper talk with her", and this to me I think shows that Reigen has really learnt his lesson from Mob after that whole psychic tornado and destroying half the city lmao. Which is likely the reason why this happens later on:

AND!!!! HNGHH!!! IT'S JUST!!! He doesn't. Want to lie anymore. He's seen the way keeping the truth from Mob for so long affected him, and he doesn't want to make the same mistake with Tome. Sure, that makes her disappointed and hurt and all (isn't that familiar?), and he probably expected that it'd successfully drive tome away from s&s, but isn't that a good thing? Isn't that what they planned to do? Keep Tome away from the dangers his job comes with? (Isn't that familiar?) But then Tome returns anyway. Because Tome admires and looks up to him for more than just his "psychic powers", and because she genuinely likes Reigen as a person. (ISN'T. THAT. FAMILIAR?)

That's also not mentioning the development Tome went through from the "everybody's a dull and boring goody goody and I'm too different to hang out with them" mentality to the "everybody has their quirks and differences and shouldn't be ashamed to share them" mentality.

The thing is that it's also the same development her friends go through, and isn't it brilliant that despite how easily they can just go with the usual "quirky different girl can't fit in" trope, they decided to go against that and show that Tome CAN make friends even with her unconventional interest, because everybody has an unconventional interest and that's okay to have. It goes with how MP100 as a series is a commentary against stereotypical manga tropes by extending it to the spinoff. There's just a level of awareness in the way it's written that isn't deluded by those stereotypes.

Anyway if you haven't read the spinoff already READ IT. IT'S SO GOOD.

[shigayokagayama]

ok all the people saying that they felt like the alien arc ruined the flow of the ending is kind of fascinating because to me to always felt like kind of the perfect set up for the confession arc?

like on top of being lighthearted and low stakes compared to the arcs surrounding it (can you really imagine the emotional turmoil of going right from the broccoli arc to the confession arc???) the character arcs that takenaka and tome go through directly mirror what mob has been going through.

takenaka realizing his powers arent a burden and can be useful is a realization that mob has already come to and tome realizing that SHES not a burden and her friends like and support her for who she is and shes allowed to have her own wants and needs is the journey that mob is just about to make

also them actually meeting aliens is kind of important for a less obvious reason but one you come to after rereading/rewatching this series waaaaaay too many times

every main character gets what ive been referring to in my head as a “want vs need” arc: teru with his introduction, ritsu with the big cleanup arc, reigen with the separation arc, dimple with the broccoli arc, tome with the alien arc, shigeo with the confession arc. all of these arcs, to some extent, take a character and give them what they THINK they want to see what they really want.

teru’s is a bit of a deviation because he has what he thinks he wants from the beginning: popularity, people respecting and fearing him. but through his breakdown you see what he really wants, what he really needs is self confidence. and then every arc follows that same sort of pattern: ritsu wants powers, but he really wants his relationship with his brother to go back to how it was. reigen wants to be someone (popular, famous), but what he really wants is to be something to someone. dimple wants to be a god, but what he really wants is to be acknowledged.

and then we get to tome. tome wants to meet aliens so damn bad. she thinks that all of her time with the telepathy club has been wasted, that they dont really care about her or her interests and have just been using her to laze around and goof off and shes running out of time to get what she wants. when her friends invite her to summon aliens with her, she thinks that theyre messing with her, or shes tricked them into going along with her delusions, or theyre doing this out of pity, or anything to convince herself that what she wants isnt important and she should just give up and go back to not acting on her wants for the sake of everyone elses comfort.

and learning takenaka is actually a telepath through him reading her mind dispels some of that, sure, and if they hadnt met aliens it wouldnt have been a waste of time because it was something they all did together which is what counts. but them actually meeting aliens and going on a ufo and then doing the exact same thing theyve always done together, laze around and eat snacks and play games, was what she needed to realize that none of their time was wasted. she wanted to meet aliens, and like every other characters arc before her she got that, and through getting it she realized what she really wanted was to spend time with her friends before she graduated and didnt get to see them as much.

[fanficapologist]

Of Dragons and Maelstroms: Aemond POV

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter One

“You have each other. It would be nice if Helaena had a companion too.”

His mother’s words echoed in her chamber as the family sat down to eat their dinner. The King was not present of course. On the evenings he was well enough, he dined with Rhaenyra and her brood. Other times, he remained in his chambers being attended to by the Maesters. Aegon, engulfed in his cups, exuded the air of a habitual indulger, even in his young age, his shimmering silver locks catching the candlelight. Meanwhile, Helaena remained withdrawn, her violet gaze fixed on a tome detailing insects, intermittently glancing up between bites.

In stark contrast, Aemond’s unwavering focus on his mother painted him as the epitome of diligence, his attentiveness a testament to his filial devotion. It did irk him though. Aegon and Aemond did not have each other. Far from it actually, they could not have been more different. Aemond spent most of his time in his history and philosophy books, or with tutors attempting to master High Valyrian. Aegon, however, spent most of his time abed. And even when he was awake, he would terrorise the servant girls, secretly making his way down into Flea Bottom, or stealing wine from the kitchens.

Aemond wondered if things would have been different if Daeron had remained in Kings Landing, alas he was destined for Oldtown. From what he understood, it was a political strategy to ensure House Hightower maintained power as hosting a Prince of the Realm was a high honour. The brothers exchanged letters sometimes, but it was not like a physical friendship in the Keep.

The second son often found himself at the butt of his elder brother’s jokes, relentlessly teased for not having a dragon of his own to command; an injustice in Aemond’s eyes. Why should Rhaenyra’s very obvious bastards have dragons yet Aemond did not? Even Helaena had a dragon! Granted, she never spent a great deal of time with the beast. But still, they were Targaryens, and Targaryens were meant to have dragons. Nevertheless, Aemond just wanted to belong. They were supposed to be a family. Their father ignored them enough so they should at least stick together. Yet Aemond always found himself the odd one out.

“I need you to make her feel welcome and be on your best behaviour. Aegon,” Queen Alicent commanded with a warning, her brown eyes glaring at her oldest son.

Aegon rolled his eyes. “Why me?”

“Because you treat the servants horrendously already,” Alicent reasoned, taking a bite of her food. Aemond looked ahead at the empty chair in front of him, the chair that was meant for Viserys, but was mostly always empty. Perhaps it would be nice for the chair to be filled.

In the vast expanse of the throne room, every corner was adorned with intricate craftsmanship and lavish ornamentation. Gilded pillars rose to meet the high ceiling, where frescoes depicting ancient legends stretched across the expansive canvas. Golden sconces cast a warm glow upon the marble floors, reflecting the flickering light of the numerous candles that lined the room.

Alicent and her children, resplendent in their fine green attire, stood in a line, awaiting the arrival of their guests. Alicent's gown, intricately embroidered with delicate patterns of ivy and emerald thread, spoke of her Hightower lineage and refined taste. Aegon's doublet shimmered with silver accents, catching the light with every movement, while Helaena's gown, adorned with subtle hints of amethyst, complemented the violet hues of her eyes. Aemond, ever the dutiful son, wore a crisp green tunic embellished with subtle motifs of dragons, a symbol of his family's legacy.

As the grand doors creaked open, the imposing figure of Lord Jasper Wylde strode into the room, his presence commanding respect and deference. His short dark hair was meticulously styled, while his neatly trimmed beard added an air of gravitas to his countenance. Dressed in robes of turquoise and gold, embroidered with intricate patterns reminiscent of ocean waves and sunbursts, he exuded an aura of authority befitting his station.

Beside Lord Jasper, a young girl emerged, her presence a stark contrast to the solemnity of the room. Her dark brown curls tumbled in tight ringlets down her back, framing a cherubic face alive with curiosity and excitement. Clad in a matching ensemble of turquoise and gold, her dress sparkled in the ambient light, accentuating her youthful exuberance. With hands clasped together in anticipation, she approached Alicent and her children, her eyes alight with the prospect of meeting her new companions.

“Podgy thing, isn’t she?” Aegon snickered down Aemond’s ear as they approached, earning a smack on the back of his head from his mother. As they neared, Lord Jasper executed a deep bow, a testament to his reverence for the crown. The little girl, following her father's lead, curtsied gracefully, her demeanor mirroring his humility.

“Lord Wylde,” Alicent's warm voice echoed across the chamber, her regal presence welcoming them.

“My Queen, My Princes, Princess,” Lord Jasper acknowledged with reverence, his voice carrying a note of gratitude. “I must thank you again for this tremendous honor. May I present my eldest daughter, Lady Maera.”

Maera's face lit up with a radiant smile, her chubby cheeks flushed with excitement. “I am pleased to meet you all,” she said with youthful exuberance, her eyes bright with curiosity.

Alicent returned the smile, her heart swelling with joy at the sight of another young girl in the castle. “How old are you, sweetling?” she inquired, her tone gentle and inviting.

“Nine, your Grace,” Maera replied, her voice steady and polite, a reflection of her upbringing.

“She looks big for nine,” Aegon remarked with a mischievous smirk, his voice laced with playful teasing as he leaned towards his brother, Aemond.

“Aegon,” Aemond chided firmly, his gaze shifting to Maera, empathetic to her plight as she navigated the unfamiliar courtly environment.

However, Maera seemed unfazed by Aegon's jest, her composure unshaken as she turned towards him, curtsying once again with a twinkle in her eye. “And you must be Princess Helaena. I will be delighted to braid that unruly hair of yours,” she quipped, her words causing Aegon's smile to falter and even coaxing a giggle from Helaena, a rare and precious sound in the solemn halls of the throne room.

Lord Jasper's firm grip on Maera's shoulder sent a jolt through her, prompting her to whirl around and shoot her father a reproachful frown, silently demanding an explanation for his sudden intervention. “Forgive my daughter, my Prince,” Lord Jasper interjected, his tone carrying a hint of apology as he addressed the royal family. “Her mother has passed, she has no older sisters, and my wife has her hands full with her own children.”

He leveled a stern gaze at Maera, silently conveying his expectations. “Having many older brothers means she does not know the ways of a Lady. I am hoping that is something she can learn under your care, my Queen.”

Alicent nodded understandingly, her expression sympathetic as she regarded Maera. “Most definitely, my Lord,” she assured him with a gentle smile, extending her reassurance to the young girl.

Feeling the nudge from her father, Maera snapped back to attention, realizing her duty as a representative of House Wylde. With a graceful curtsy, she turned towards Princess Helaena, her movements guided by her father's silent cue. “Princess, in honor of our new friendship, I have brought you a gift you may enjoy,” she announced, her voice tinged with earnestness.

Lord Jasper's gesture summoned a squire who presented a small wooden box, a token of House Wylde's regard for the royal family. Aemond couldn't help but roll his eyes at the sight. What could a minor house possibly offer to a Princess of the Realm?

As Maera opened the box, revealing its contents, Helaena approached with a mix of curiosity and skepticism, her violet eyes alight with wonder. “Ugh, is that shit?” Aegon blurted out in disgust, earning a reprimanding dig from his mother.

“No!” Maera retorted defiantly, her cheeks flushing with indignation at Aegon's crude remark. She watched intently as Helaena reached into the box and delicately stroked the elongated brown lumps nestled within.

“They are chrysalises,” Helaena declared with a mixture of fascination and delight, her initial skepticism giving way to genuine intrigue.

Lord Wylde's laughter rang out awkwardly, breaking the tension that lingered in the air. He bent down to Maera's level, his expression a mix of amusement and mild reprimand. “What happened to the bracelet you made her?”

Maera shrugged nonchalantly, her tone matter-of-fact. “That? Oh, it was awful,” she declared with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Also, why would a Princess need a bracelet from me? I bet she has hundreds!"

Aemond couldn't help but chuckle to himself at Maera's boldness and unfiltered honesty. She was a refreshing departure from the usual courtly decorum, clearly intelligent and unapologetically herself.

Before Lord Jasper could issue a warning, Princess Helaena's voice cut through the conversation. “I do not recognize the pattern on the shell,” she observed, her curiosity piqued.

“They are called Perisomena. I do not think you have them in King's Landing,” Maera replied with a mischievous grin, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “We have lots of them in Rainwood, so I thought I would bring you some. I understand you have a keen interest in insects.”

Helaena's face lit up with genuine excitement at Maera's thoughtful gesture. “Yes, I do,” she admitted with a shy smile, her fingers brushing over her cheeks in a subtle display of uncertainty. “I have accumulated quite the collection.”

Maera's enthusiasm was palpable. “Truly? That is incredible! Do you have any beetles from Essos? My brother says in his letters they are much more colorful in the East.”

“Indeed. Would you like to see them?” Helaena offered, her eyes bright with anticipation.

“Yes, please!” Maera replied eagerly, her excitement evident in the way she bounced on her heels. Helaena seized her by the forearm, leading her away from the throne room to her chambers, the excitement evident on both girls’ faces as they shared a secret moment. Glancing over her shoulder, Maera waved goodbye to the others with a warm smile. Her gaze lingered on Prince Aemond, who returned her smile shyly, their eyes meeting briefly before she turned away.

As Maera’s head turned, Aemond’s attention was drawn to the striking silver streak entwined with her dark locks. He had never seen anything quite like it before, and though it was unusual, it only served to enhance her unique beauty in his eyes. A sense of intrigue sparked within him, igniting a newfound curiosity about the enigmatic girl who had just departed.

A chuckle escaped the Queen’s lips. “Gods be good. That went better than expected.”

“Indeed, my Queen,” the Master of Laws smiled. “I know my daughter is a little rough around the edges. But she will be a good companion to the Princess. Hopefully she will be able to bring her out of her shell.”

The days passed swiftly, and Aemond found himself immersed in the solace of the library, a break from the company of his brother or tutors. Rows of towering bookshelves lined the walls, filled with ancient tomes and scholarly volumes. The scent of leather-bound books and parchment permeated the air, mingling with the faint aroma of beeswax candles that flickered on ornate brass sconces.

Aemond settled into a cozy alcove, the soft glow of candlelight illuminating the pages of a tome written in High Valyrian. The book, its pages weathered with age, contained intricacies of the ancient language spoken by the noble houses of Valyria. With furrowed brow, Aemond traced the elegant script with his finger, committing the words to memory as he jotted down notes in a leather-bound journal beside him.

His quill scratched across the parchment, capturing the nuances of pronunciation and grammar, as he diligently practiced the tongue. With each stroke of the pen, Aemond delved deeper into the mysteries of High Valyrian, his thirst for knowledge driving him to master the language of his ancestors. He was not sure if this was genuine interest, or a way to prove himself, but it was a skill that would surely make him stand out as opposed to just being labelled ‘the second son.’

Delving into the intricacies of dragon commands, he was interrupted by the soft patter of approaching footsteps. Glancing up from the pages, he beheld the sight of Lady Maera standing a few paces away, her presence unexpected yet oddly intriguing.

“Good afternoon, my Prince,” Maera greeted him with a radiant smile, executing a polite curtsy with practiced grace.

Returning her greeting with a nod of acknowledgment, Aemond couldn’t help but feel a sense of curiosity stir within him. Why had she sought him out? What prompted her to engage in conversation with him? Though he resolved to maintain his composure and politeness, a subtle wariness lingered in his demeanor. “Should you not be with my sister?” he inquired, his gaze returning to the pages of his book, his curiosity veiled behind a façade of casual indifference.

“The Princess is in an embroidery lesson with her Septa,” Maera explained, her fingers fidgeting nervously with the folds of her sleeves.

“And you do not partake?” Aemond questioned, his puzzlement evident in his tone.

A blush painted Maera’s cheeks as she emitted an awkward giggle. “Truthfully, I am terrible at it. I do not think I possess the fingers or patience for such a skill,” she admitted candidly, her vulnerability shining through her words.

Aemond couldn’t suppress a genuine laugh, the sound rich and warm as it filled the air. Lord Jasper Wylde’s intentions to refine his daughter’s ladylike qualities were evidently not misplaced, but Aemond found himself appreciating Maera’s candidness and authenticity. There was a refreshing genuineness about her that resonated with him.

However, what caught him off guard was the sudden closeness of the girl, who scooted herself into the alcove next to him, her turquoise skirts rustling softly as she settled into a comfortable position. Aemond’s cheeks flushed slightly, his heart skipping a beat at the unexpected proximity.

“What are you reading?” Maera asked inquisitively, her green eyes sparkling with genuine interest, drawing Aemond's attention away from the words on the page and meeting her gaze head on.

Aemond drew in a steadying breath, his violet eyes meeting Maera's as she leaned in, her curiosity palpable. “It’s called Fire and Blood: A full history of House Targaryen,” he replied, his voice steady despite the slight flutter in his chest.

Maera's eyes widened with interest. “You enjoy reading about your ancestors?” she inquired, her tone laced with genuine curiosity.

“I think it’s important to remember the past, as well as learn from the mistakes of old,” Aemond declared, his conviction evident in his words.

As Maera nodded in agreement, she leaned in even closer, her proximity causing Aemond's breath to catch in his throat. He couldn't help but notice the subtle scent that enveloped her – rainwater with a hint of vanilla – a comforting aroma that stirred something within him. He watched intently as she squinted her eyes, studying the text on the page with keen interest.

“It is written in High Valyrian,” she concluded with a determined nod as she leaned back, her observation leaving Aemond momentarily stunned. Even Aegon struggled to identify some of the words on the page, yet Maera seemed to discern the language effortlessly.

“How do you know that?!” Aemond asked, a frown of suspicion creasing his brow.

“I am learning,” Maera stated with a raised brow, taken aback by the Prince’s reaction.

“Are not,” Aemond challenged teasingly, shutting the book abruptly to shield its contents from her view.

“Am too!” Maera retorted, her voice rising in defiance as she stood up from her seat, crossing her arms in a display of determination.

“Prove it,” Aemond challenged with a playful smirk, his gaze locking with Maera's as they stood poised on the edge of a friendly competition of wits.

Maera’s initial reaction to Aemond’s challenge was one of outward fluster, her cheeks flushing with uncertainty at the unexpected request from the prince. Despite her momentary hesitation, she squared her shoulders and jutted out her chin with determination, accepting the challenge laid before her. “Nyke gūrēñagon kesrio syt issa muñnykeā ȳdratan,” I’m learning because it was my mother’s language, she stated confidently with a cheeky shake of her head.

Aemond’s initial shock was palpable, his eyebrows shot up in surprise, and his lips parted slightly in disbelief as he watched her form the unfamiliar words with ease.The flicker of curiosity that had ignited within him earlier now blazed into a roaring flame of intrigue, his admiration for the young girl deepening as he realized the depth of her knowledge and skill. Her smirk widened at his reaction.

“Impressive. But your accent could use some improvement,” the Prince remarked with a playful glint in his eyes, a hint of teasing in his tone.

Maera simply laughed, her amusement bubbling forth like a spring. “Such criticism, and yet I have yet to hear you speak it,” she countered, her tone light and teasing.

Aemond couldn’t help but bite back a smile before responding in High Valyrian, “Nyke sepār gūrēntan ao kostagon ȳzaldrīzes ziry rȳ,” I am just surprised you can speak it at all, his words laced with a mixture of admiration and surprise.

Lady Maera hummed thoughtfully, uncrossing her arms as she took a step closer to him. “Good, but I do have one improvement you could make,” she remarked, her tone shifting to one of encouragement.

Aemond’s brow furrowed in curiosity. “Oh?” he prompted, intrigued by her suggestion.

Maera leaned in, her playful jab in his shoulder accompanied by a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Speak it with more confidence, or else no one will be able to hear you. You are a Prince, and should be proud you can speak the language so well,” she advised, her words carrying a genuine sincerity that resonated with Aemond.

Aemond’s mouth practically fell open at Maera’s straightforward yet uplifting feedback. There were no veiled compliments or hidden agendas, just pure honesty and positive reinforcement. They shared a moment of laughter, the tension dissipating like morning mist under the warmth of their burgeoning friendship. As they stood there, Aemond couldn’t help but wonder if this was what it was like to have a true friend within the confines of the Red Keep – someone who accepted him for who he was and encouraged him to be the best version of himself.

The moment between the friends was shattered by the sudden clamor of books crashing to the floor and the sharp rebuke of the Maester echoing through the library. Startled, Aemond and Maera turned their heads towards the source of the disturbance, their camaraderie momentarily interrupted by the chaotic disruption.

Emerging from behind the shelves, Aegon staggered slightly, his state of slight drunkenness evident in the unsteady sway of his movements. Aemond couldn't help but sigh inwardly at the sight of his older brother, his heart heavy with a mixture of frustration and embarrassment. If the natural order of things had prevailed, Aegon would be the heir to the throne instead of their older half-sister Rhaenyra. Thank the Gods that would never happen, Aemond thought.

With a careless disregard for his surroundings, Aegon reclined back in the alcove, propping his dirty boots on top of the cushions without a hint of respect or consideration. Aemond and Maera exchanged a knowing glance, their silent communication betraying a shared sentiment of disappointment and exasperation at the elder Prince’s behavior.

“What are you two doing in here?” Aegon slurred, his words dripping with mockery as he let out a drunken giggle. “Reading dirty books?”

Before Aemond could formulate a response, Maera interjected, her voice steady despite the underlying tension. “Prince Aemond has been kind enough to give me a tour of the library, my Prince,” she declared, her tone laced with a hint of defiance.

“Awww, that’s so sweet,” Aegon sneered mockingly, his theatrics accompanied by exaggerated batting of his eyelashes. “Have you got your eye on her, Aemond? Perhaps when she flowers, you could ride her like the Pink Dread. She’s certainly built like him,” he added with a cruel laugh, his words dripping with venom.

Aemond felt his frustration simmering beneath the surface, his cheeks flushing with indignation. He could sense Maera’s questioning gaze upon him, but the memories of the Pink Dread – the cruel jape gifted to him – stifled his urge to confide in her. Instead, he redirected his attention to his brother, his voice tinged with thinly veiled irritation. “What are you doing in here?”

Aegon’s response was dismissive, his tone dripping with arrogance. “I am bored, dear brother, so I have come to seek entertainment,” he replied with a nonchalant shrug.

“Entertainment? You do not strike me as the type of person to find that within a library, Prince Aegon,” Maera retorted with a teasing grin, her boldness and fire evident in her words.

Aemond’s initial grin widened as he observed Maera’s boldness in teasing Aegon, a rare display of defiance against his usually unchallenged older brother. Her ease and fiery demeanor in addressing Aegon sparked a sense of admiration within Aemond, who found himself silently cheering her on.

However, Aemond’s grin faltered and his heart sank as Aegon leaned forward and cruelly grabbed a fistful of Maera’s hair, pulling her close with a mixture of confusion and malice evident on his face as he studied the mixture of colours.

“What is with this silver bit in her hair?” Aegon demanded, his fingers still tightly knotted around Maera’s locks, his drunken haze masking any sense of empathy or restraint. Aemond’s eyes widened in disbelief as he witnessed the older prince’s callous actions towards his friend.

Watching Maera’s reaction, Aemond’s heart twisted with a mixture of anger and sympathy. Despite the obvious pain inflicted upon her by Aegon’s rough handling, Maera remained resolute, her jaw clenched and her gaze unwavering. Determined not to give Aegon the satisfaction of seeing her falter, she refused to utter a yelp of pain, though tears welled in her green eyes, betraying the hurt she endured.

Aemond felt a surge of protective instinct rise within him, his fists clenching at his sides as he struggled with the conflicting emotions swirling within him. “Let her go, Aegon,” he demanded, his voice laced with barely contained anger.

His older brother simply laughed, his breath hot against Maera’s face as he leaned in closer. “Oh, my little brother is so taken with you. You are his delicate little flower. His Mayflower! Yes, I like the sound of that!” Aegon’s words were laced with mockery, his grip on Maera tightening despite her struggles.

Maera wriggled and twisted, attempting to free herself from Aegon’s grasp, but his hold remained firm. Aegon sighed theatrically, turning his attention back to Aemond. “If you can answer my question, Aemond, I will let her go,” he declared, his tone slurred with the effects of his drunkenness.

Aemond huffed in frustration, his mind racing as he searched for a response. He doubted his brother’s sincerity, but he couldn’t risk Maera’s safety by ignoring the demand. “She has a rare pigment condition. The reason the streak is silver is probably due to the fact she’s part Targaryen,” he stated firmly, his words carrying a note of authority.

Aegon’s surprise was evident in the faltering of his grip, allowing Maera to yank herself free and take refuge beside Aemond, who cast her a reassuring glance before turning back to his brother. He could still see traces of Maera’s brown and silver strands wrapped around Aegon’s fingers, a stark reminder of the confrontation that had just unfolded.

“You? You are part Targaryen?” Aegon questioned incredulously, his tone laced with skepticism as he eyed Maera with suspicion.

Maera could only nod in response, her composure regained as she stood tall beside Aemond, her gaze steady despite the lingering tension in the air. Aegon hummed dismissively. “I don’t believe you,” he retorted, his arrogance palpable.

“Have you not been listening at our dinners?” Aemond shot back angrily, his frustration bubbling to the surface.

Aegon snickered, his laughter tinged with disdain. “Of course not,” he replied flippantly, his disregard for their family’s conversations evident in his dismissive tone.

Aemond's frustration boiled over, irritation clear in the furrow of his brow as he realized he was the lone listener during their family's evening gatherings. “We all share the same great-grandfather, Aegon. Lady Maera is the granddaughter of Archmaester Vaegon,” he retorted, his voice edged with annoyance at his brother's ignorance.

Aegon's eyebrows shot up in surprise, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “Oh, so you are not a real Targaryen then, are you?” he teased, directing his mocking gaze towards Maera.

“Neither are you,” Lady Maera hissed back, her voice tinged with defiance as she brought her hair around her shoulder, stroking it soothingly. “You’re part Hightower,” she added with a pointed emphasis, her words a sharp retort to Aegon's taunts.

Aegon's temper flared at her words, his fists clenching at his sides as he stood up from his seat, his towering form casting a menacing shadow over them. “I am more Targaryen than you,” he snarled, his voice dripping with venom as he advanced towards them.

Maera stood her ground, her stance defiant as she positioned herself protectively in front of Aemond, much to his shock as he attempted to pull her back. His heart raced with a mixture of concern and bewilderment at Maera's audacity, her willingness to stand up to Aegon both admirable and disconcerting.

“Only because of your ridiculous hair. You won’t even be the King,” Maera sneered, her words cutting through the tense atmosphere like a knife, her defiance unyielding in the face of Aegon's fury.

Aegon's anger reached a boiling point, his face contorted with rage as he struggled to find words to match his escalating emotions. “You insolent little-”

“Enough!” a voice boomed from around the corner, cutting through the heated exchange like a sudden gust of wind.

From behind the shelf emerged old Maester Mellos, his weathered features etched with annoyance at the disruption of his previously quiet library. Aemond and Maera clasped their hands together, their heads bowed in a display of respect and contrition, each feeling a pang of guilt for their role in the altercation. Aegon, however, scoffed at the old man's interruption, his defiance evident in the dismissive curl of his lip.

“My Prince,” Maester Mellos addressed Aegon calmly, his tone tinged with authority. “The Queen knows you are back. And she is looking for you,” he added sternly, his words a clear indication that further disobedience would not be tolerated.

Aegon huffed in annoyance and stormed out of the library, his departure leaving behind a palpable tension that hung thick in the air. Maera and Aemond released a collective breath they hadn't realized they'd been holding, their shock giving way to nervous giggles in the aftermath of the altercation, but their levity was short-lived as they were promptly chastised by the stern old man.

“This is a place of study, not a nursery. You must keep noise to a minimum,” Maester Mellos admonished, his tone carrying a weight of authority that brooked no argument.

“Yes, Maester,” Maera replied with a sickeningly sweet edge to her voice, her contrition palpable as she met the maester's stern gaze. “It will not happen again.”

The old man huffed in response before retreating back to his desk, leaving Maera and Aemond to pick up the fallen books scattered by Aegon's drunken stumbling, restoring order to the quiet sanctum of the library.

Once the books were back in their rightful places, Maera broke the silence, her voice soft with gratitude. “Thank you, my Prince, for sticking up for me as best you could,” she murmured, her eyes reflecting a mixture of appreciation and lingering unease.

Aemond smiled sadly and nodded, his gaze flickering with a hint of regret. He wished he could have done more to protect her, but the reality of his brother's towering aggression loomed large in his mind, rendering any attempt futile.

He watched as Maera made her way over to the alcove, gathering Aemond's scattered belongings before approaching him with a quiet determination. “And thank you... for remembering my mother, and our shared blood,” she confessed softly, her vulnerability shining through in the tremor of her voice. “In truth, I don’t get to talk about her often. I don’t think my father likes it.”

Aemond accepted the items from her, their fingers brushing in a fleeting touch that sent a jolt of electricity coursing through him, his heart pounding loudly in his chest. He cleared his throat, struggling to maintain his composure. “Like I said, it is important to remember history,” he replied earnestly, his words carrying a weight of sincerity as he met Maera's gaze with a shared understanding of the significance of their shared heritage.

As they exited the library and made their way down the corridor, Maera couldn’t contain a mischievous giggle bubbling up from within her.

“We should get him back for that,” Maera chortled with a twinkle of mischief in her green eyes.

Aemond watched her with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. “What do you suggest?”

“Well… the Princess has a millipede we could use.”

Before he could fully comprehend her intentions, Maera grabbed his hand, sending a jolt of nervous excitement coursing through him. Feeling her touch, Aemond’s palms grew sweaty with anticipation as they ran down the corridor together, their fingers intertwined in a silent pact of solidarity.

Despite the lingering tension from their encounter with Aegon, Aemond couldn’t help but feel a glimmer of hope blossoming within him for the budding friendship he shared with Maera. In that moment, as they raced through the castle hallway hand in hand, Aemond dared to believe that perhaps the pair of them had found a kindred spirit in one another.

Notes: Thought we could all use a break and have some fluffy baby Maemond as well as Aemond’s perspective on everything. But to do that we gotta go right back to the beginning. So I’ll be posting these intermittently, probably maximum get about ten chapters out of him. But yeah, this was nice to write. Aemond POV chapter three though is going to be back to our usual nasty dark horrible shit 🤣 Also points to everyone who can point out callbacks from previous chapters 🖤

Tags: @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @saltedcaramelpretzel @marvelescvpe @manipulatixe @watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek @0eessirk8

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

[raayllum]

The high mage office becomes a bit of a ramshackle, afterwards.

The first and most obvious reason is that, while spacious, it was only really meant to accommodate one mage and possibly an apprentice at a time—not three mages, piles of books and magical objects stacked ceilings high.

That, and the youngest of their little club has by far more clutter than Kpp'Ar or Viren ever did, the eldest mage thinks.

Callum is quick witted and talks too much, otherwise staying silent for hours, out of studiousness or bother, eyes hard whenever he looks at Viren.

His old apprentice is the most out of place, perhaps. Viren has forsaken dark magic, a path Kpp'Ar never thought possible, especially with what Viren had imprisoned him over. But Viren throws the books of dark arts only sour looks and dour frowns, reluctant to even touch them never mind read them. He and Claudia are alike in that way, Kpp'Ar supposes, seeing how they've grown side by side now as adults. They're no longer dark mages, but they refuse to try their hand at primal magic and arcanums, either.

For Claudia, Kpp'Ar thinks it is a lingering trace of stubbornness and pride. For Viren, it's likely fear—for if he can't connect, then he is shut off from magic forever. And if he can, then all the pain he caused and dark roads he took might've been avoided.

He helps out, mostly, running messages—taking letters to the rookery, labelling bottles, taking the messiness of Callum's notes that Kpp'Ar's eyesight is too poor to make out, and turning them into something coherent. Not unlike the work he'd done when he was an apprentice, if muted and with a hesitance rather than a persistent, desperate hunger.

And for the first time in a very long time, Kpp'Ar is a student.

Not officially, of course. Callum is the only official high mage among the three (or four) of them, and he's never taken on an apprentice before. Nor had he taken Kpp'Ar on when the old man had expressed a desire to learn primal magic—to see the world and his work again anew, with his unexpected second chance.

But you don't become a mage if you aren't observant, and intelligent, and driven, and able to learn at least a little from example. Kpp'Ar needles him about the arcanums he holds, which Callum is more than willing to spout nonsense about to someone, the nonsense gradually making more and more sense. Dark magic is about ingredients, the way machines are about gears and cogs. Primal magic is about connection, and cycles, a bridge, the same way a puzzle serves to be one: one for humans to solve from a Maker, whether that's magic or or the all forsaken All-Mother in Kpp'Ar's mind.

A puzzle he will, with gnarled fingers and a grizzled face, grasp one day with as much certainty as his jewelled cane.

Callum finds him one day, pouring over Earthblood tomes, and raises a brow and a cup of tea to his lips. "Didn't expect to find you in here so early."

"Shows you still have much to learn," Kpp'Ar mutters, turning the page. He squints, the candle growing dim.

Callum snaps and the flame sparks, emitting much more light. Some of his headache clears away. "If you're really set on an arcanum," Callum advises, jerking his head, "maybe think about the Sun."

Healing, vision, light.

Kpp'Ar eyes the candle.

"Perhaps," is all he says, and maybe he still has some pride of his own—he's more than double the boy's own age, after all, even with thirteen years lost to that accursed coin.

But then there are much worst things than taking advice—like taking the wrong advice.

That's another thing their little club has in common, he supposes.

[utilitycaster]

could you elucidate on why coffeelocks are bad actually? my friend is a bit obsessed with them right now and i’ve never liked the specific build but i’d love to have concrete reasons that aren’t just opinions!

YES. Somewhere in my archives I think I actually did the math on like, how many short rests you have to take for this to pay any dividends, and it was a LOT, but that was during full lockdown iirc and you do not have to do this much work.

The basic gist of coffeelock for those wondering is that warlocks recharge spell slots on a short rest, and sorcerers can convert sorcery points into spell slots and vice versa. The idea is that if you take Pact of the Tome and then Aspect of the Moon as an eldritch invocation, you never have to long rest again and can just farm sorcery points/spell slots for 8 hours each night.

Now: the most obvious issue is that any reasonable DM who hears about this will look at you and say "I don't care if it's technically legal, I think it's annoying and I'm not going to let you do it." But let's assume your DM does not shut it down.

You have infinite spell slots at level 5. You are warlock 3 sorcerer 2. You know 7 spells total, which is what you'd know had you leveled to level 5 in either of these classes, except you also know 6 level 1 spells and 1 level 2 spell, max. Someone who leveled normally would have fireball, or dispel magic, or counterspell, and if they were divine soul they might even have revivify, but not you! This will eventually get slightly better at higher levels but if you're the party's main arcane caster this sucks and if you're in a party with fewer than like, five people, or perhaps a really caster heavy party, you're putting a lot of burden on other people to do the utility early on so that your dumb ass can cast magic missile 20 times a day or whatever.

I don't actually care for sorlock just generally, in the absence of coffeelock bullshit. Yes, it depends on the same main stat, but a bard or paladin combo will actually significantly broaden your repertoire. Sorcerer and Warlock have a LOT of spell overlap, and metamagic is one of those things that is like, super clutch 0.1% of the time and the rest of the time it's like oh ok (though I guess as a coffeelock you're not even really using metamagic! total waste of being a sorcerer, which is the weakest caster already! great job.). Meanwhile, two of the big strengths of warlock are 1. eldritch blast, a cantrip you can already cast infinite times without spell slots, and 2. eldritch invocations, which you have to level in warlock to get. Dipping into sorcerer means fewer invocations. Basically, all multiclassing is a trade off and I feel like this is at most the sum of its parts, certainly not more. I also think it's very tricky to play this in a way that is narratively interesting and makes sense for your character while also abiding by the specific leveling requirements of coffeelock. This isn't an issue in a one-shot but also in a one-shot you simply might not even take a long rest which renders the entire thing useless.

You have to take Pact of the Tome, which means you are spending all this time and effort and build for infinite spell slots but also you have, without any racial bonuses, literally 9 cantrips (ie, at-will spells) at level 5. And none of them are dispel magic, because that is too high for you for at least another 2 levels and that's only if you choose to continue in warlock. Also, actually, until you reach L9 in specifically divine soul sorcerer, you don't have greater restoration as discussed, so yeah your DM can just be like "oh you don't have to sleep but you do still gain exhaustion."

I lied and I did some math. So: you are a L5 coffeelock. let's say you have exhausted all your resources on day 1. You sit down for your little bullshit 8 short rests. You can never have more than two sorcery points, because the PHB page 101 says that you can't exceed the number of sorcery points shown on the table for your level. So every hour you convert one L2 spell slot (recharging) into a L1 spell slot (non-recharging), and repeat this (you can't convert both at once! because then you exceed two sorcery points!) and you end the night with 14 L1 spells and your two L2 warlock spell slots. If you are lucky, you might get like, one short rest if there is a monk or wizard or fighter in the party and they don't hate you so much that they're willing to go without ki points/second winds/arcane recovery, and they might. I guess you just stockpile low level spells indefinitely until you have to sleep finally? if you have a week of downtime do you just. walk around with hundreds of first level spell slots and not think this is the dumbest shit of all time? ooooh look at me i can cast fucking...detect magic for 24 hours straight. can't dispel any of it though!

Leveling up is a bitch too if I recall. You need to level up in sorcerer to get more points so you can eventually convert to higher level spells, and the exchange rate is not generous (like, if you're not sleeping, it's ok, but it's not in your favor as shown with the L2 to L1 conversion) and imo warlock is the superior class, and you're probably not really taking advantage of metamagic anyway so you're barely reaping the benefits of being a sorcerer except for flexible casting. Do you feel good about this? Is this fun for you? Your entire table is watching you count out your spell slots each night and hoping fervently you get audited by the IRS in real life but man you sure showed them by being able to cast chromatic orb a lot!

Also you can't use items that recharge on a long rest, only ones that recharge at dawn. Sucker.

This is all very long because I think coffeelock is an annoying build for people who think they are smart and really aren't, but the gist is that you trade away a great deal of your utility, ability to help the party, and ability to do anything except cast rather low-level spells in comparison to what everyone who made better decisions is doing. Also it's LAUGHABLY easy for the DM to fuck this over for you within the bounds of the rules even if they allowed it. Your patron gets annoyed that you're only leveling in sorcerer. Levels of exhaustion. Your patron, who communicates through dreams, straight up abandons you because you're not picking up their calls. You keep being put in positions where your 75 first level spells won't do shit and a single third level spell would. They taunt you with items that recharge on a long rest.

It's just...well, quantity over quality. Shein haul ass character build.

[obxismylife2]

Hi, can I request Rafe being super mean during you know what👀 Thank you!!!

I was lying on the couch eating popcorn. It was a rainy day and I had nothing to do, so I stayed home all day and watched TV.

I mean, I didn't lounge around all day, I went golfing with Topper and Kelce in the morning because Rafe was busy through business, so they offered to take me instead when they saw my sad face.

It was great with them, I never thought I would say this, but I really enjoyed the morning. I was a little insecure and shy at first, but a few games later I let go of my nervousness and had a normal conversation with them, like I would with pogues.

We talked about all sorts of things, like Topper telling me how he met Sarah, and Kelce telling me how he got so drunk at a party that he didn't even remember that he had thrown the party. In those few hours, I realized how much fun they were. I mean, when the pogues aren't around, otherwise they make fun of them, and I don't like that.

I do have fun with pogues, I'm from The Cut too, so I grew up with them, but for some strange reason one of the Kooks, specifically the King of the Kooks himself, Rafe mother fuckin Cameron, found a crush on me.

It was at a party that Sarah was throwing. She invited me to it, and then she ran off with Topper and left me alone at the bar. Then Rafe showed up out of nowhere and originally wanted to leave, but he was intrigued by my dress. The tight red dress with narrow straps that Sarah had lent me paid off. And how did that end? With sex in his bed.

For the next few weeks, we hung out, and Rafe told me I was the first girl he'd ever had feelings for. I felt the same way, so we made it official. But just to our friends and families. I didn't want to tell the pogues yet. And Sarah promised not to tell them, she said it's our thing and that she'd stay out of it. I appreciate it since she's dating John B, my older brother.

Yeah, you're right. My name is Y/N Routledge. John is the best brother I could ever wish for, but sometimes when I was just chatting with some guy he always somehow drove him away. It's a little bit annoying, I mean I don't remember a time when I had a really good talk with a guy. But I'm not blaming him. I'm his younger sister and he has to protect me.

I heard a click coming from the front door, which then opened with a small creak and a male figure entered the villa. In the hallway, she set down her bag, stumbled out the door behind her, and dispersed into the living room.

"Rafe!" I screamed and immediately jumped to my feet to hug him. "Hey princess" he wrapped his arms around my almost naked body, the only thing I was wearing was his over-sized T-shirt and red underwear, and gave me a kiss on my forehead. "How was your day?" I asked as we pulled away from each other and together sat down on the couch. He rollend around on the couch and I laid my head down on his chest, resting my palm right above his heart while he pulled me closer to his body with his strong arm.

"Everything was going great, until I was worried that I accidentally went to another building. Ward even complimented me" it was really nice to hear that his jackass father said something kind to Rafe. His favorite child has always been Sarah, which led to Rafe's drug addiciton, but he's clean now that I'm with him, and Wheezie's sneak outs every night as she doesn't want to hear him talking so lovely about her older sister.

"And how was yours?" he leaned down to kiss my cheek and I smiled at that. "It was awesome! I went golfing with Kelce and Topper and then I just watched some movies" I was saying that with a huge smile on my face. Rafe noticed that and lifted up a little.

"You what?" he sounded a little annoyed and mad at the same time , it sent shivers down my spine. "You were out with Topper and Kelce?Why-why would you do that?" Rafe knows how much I don't like them so it was obvious tome that he'll react like that. "They originally came to see YOU, but when I told them that you're out of town on a business trip they offered it to me so I won't be alone here all day. And I'm glad they did it 'cause now they both seem very nice" Rafe's eyes widened more and more with every word that left my mouth and his mouth slightly opened.

"So you're telling me that you had a nice day with my two best friends and didn't even bother to inform me? You know that Topper has some kind of a crush on you, right?" yeah....that complicates this situation a little but it's nothing I won't be able to fix with the right words and actions.

"Of course I know that, but you don't have to worry. I'm only yours, Rafe" I sat straddling him and pressed myself as close as I could to the belt of his pants. His hands ended on my hips giving them a little squeeze.

"I swear to you, I'm not attracted to him" I started kissing his lips not letting him say aynthing, but he took my face into his large boyish hands and pulled away. "I hope you didn't do anything with him" gosh I love those boss games. "What if I did?" I asked innocently tilting my head to the side to look like an innocent devil. Rafe smiles mischievously and tightened his grip on my hips.

"Then I'll have to punish you for cheating on me" his smile widened so his white teeth were looking right at me. He knows what this kind of smile does to me. I immediately felt wetness dripping down on his pants.

He laughed at that and slipped his hand between us to find my already throbing clit covered with my slickness and waiting for his touch.

"Bet Topper doesn't make you this wet" his deep voice in my ear made me more horny than before. I bit my lip as the tips of his fingers touched my wet entrance. I closed my eyes and threw my head back. He slowly entered me with two fingers and pushed them so deep that I could feel them in my lower abdomen.

"Oh, fuck, this doesn't seem like a punishment" I cursed, opening my mouth and eyes to see him smirking at the way my hips were moving towards his fingers.

I grabbed his face into my palms and brought him to my lips. He didn't hesitate on slipping his tongue through my lips, wanting to taste every inch of my mouth.

My hands moved to the back of his head were my fingers tangled between his hair. I tugged on them a little when Rafe's fingers started moving much faster than my body could take at that moment. "No, Rafe. Please stop" I grabbed his wrist and tried to pull his hand from me, but he was stronger, obviously, and didn't let me do it.

And that's when it dawned on me. This is the punishment. He wants me to beg him to stop. But I won't do that. I'm not that type of person who gives up that easily right before the end. I'll have to stick it out.

He doesn't respond and just kept going on bringing me to my high. My throat was literally burning from my moans and screams. It felt like swallowing iron nails. Like a snap of my fingers, I cum on his hand and pants with a huge loud scream, gripping onto his shirt. When my breathing calmed down I opened my eyes lazily and looked him into eyes.

"Don't you dare ever say you slept with Topper" he said sternly, taking his fingers out of me and bringing them to his mouth. He sucked on them, tasting the drops of my pleasure while giving me straight eye contact.

I watched him and wanted to get up from his lap but he brought me back down and smashed his lips onto mine. He didn't give me a chance to protest and threw me on the couch so my back landed on the soft material of the couch. He pulled my t-shirt, well his t-shirt, over my head, quickly bringing his lips back to mine as he threw my t-shirt and I quickly unbutton his shirt.

I caught my breath as he pulled away, leaving sloppy kisses on my jaw and neck as he uncliped my bra, sliding it down my arms as he immediately brought his hand to massage them, smashing his lips against mine again.

I moaned into the kiss as he rolled my nipple in his fingers, causing him to groan. I bit my bottom lip as he woughly yanks my thong off, leaving me completely naked while he still had his clothes on.

"Fucking slut" he said against my lips, making me smirk as I spread my legs for him. His eyes scanned my lips, not on my face btw, and licked his lips. He climbed between my legs unzipping his pants. He then grabbed both my wrists and tied them together above my head. "Keep them there" he said, leaving a kiss on my lips and getting off of me.

"Oh, god I'm so excited to watch you lose control while I fuck the shit out of you for even being with Topper while I'm not home" He said it so passionately and sparingly, I was a little afraid of what would come next, but at the same time I was excited, full of energy, sexual energy.

"Now I'm kind of sorry I turned Topper down when he tried to touch me," I wanted to tease Rafe a little, but not too much. He knows full well it's just our game.

"Yeah? You'll see that when I'm done with you, you'll still be glad to be able to say how glad you are that you turned him down" I watched as he pulled down his pants and underwear in one swift motion as well and climbed back onto the bed. While he took off his clothes, I watched his every move and pressed my knees together. Just the sight of his muscular body did wonders to me.

"Guess this isn't how it's going to work, pussy," he grabbed my ankles and pulled my legs apart in a violent motion. He leaned in just above my face and gently brushed his lips against mine. He cupped my face in one hand and gave my jaw a little squeeze.

"Don't you even think about making a sound," he said through clenched teeth, and before he let go of my face, he squeezed my jaw again before pulling away from me and lying down in front of me.

He threw my thighs over his shoulders and within seconds I felt him tongue-fuckin me while two of his fingers slowly entered me. I closed my eyes ejoying that feeling but at the same time I knew I won't be able to shut my mout as he's so skilled. I whimper as Rafe's tongue was bringing me again to my high. I was surprised my body gave in and I was about to cum again, but Rafe stopped his actions at the wrong moment and I let out a frustrated sigh.

He grabbed my hips and in one swift move I was laying on my belly. He brought his hands to my ass, massaging it before he smacked it, causing me to squeal a little, while I was fighting for my balance as my wrists were tied together. I felt him leaning above my lower back where he left wet kisses and then bit on my flesh.

"Rafe-" I begin to say before he smacked my ass again, squeezing it afterwards. He noticed my fighting with the belt and turned me back on my back.

"Shut your fuckin mouth, slut. I'll do to you anything I want to make you realize that no one, I repeat, no one will ever touch MY own whore. You're fuckin mine. you understand that?" I slightly nodded my head and he grabbed my jaw again and looked me straight in the eyes. He smacked my cheeks a few times before he set my sights on himself.

"Open your mouth" he ordered and I did as told and stuck my tongue out for him as I knew what he was going to do. He spat into my mouth and kissing me hungrily afterwards.

I moaned into his lips as he suddenly rubbed his dick against my clit and teasing my entrance, feeling how wer I am for him. Again. "So fuckin wet, and only for me" he groaned, immediately thrusting into me, not giving me a chance to adjust as I squealed from the overwhelming pleasure.

"Oh my- shit, Rafe" I yell, trying my best not to move with my hands as Rafe told me. But it was almost inpossible. Rafe noticed my struggling with my arms and pinned them to the couch above my head himself, giving me a free one way ticket to heaven of pleasure.

"You like that? You like when I'm fuckin the shit out of you?" he breathlessly moaned, panting afterwards as he gripped onto my hips tightly and continued to pound me.

"Yes, fuck!" I moaned loudly as a knot started to form in my stomach, shutting my eyes tightly as my mouth staid agape against his neck. He reached his hands to my wrists and untied them just to put my hand on my stomach na pressed his large hand on it.

"Do you feel that? Do you feel how deep I'm fuckin you?" I could only manage a small nod of my head, I was completely out of my senses.

Not only had I already cum once, but I'd almost climaxed a second time, and just when I was within reach, Rafe had thwarted me, and now here he was slamming into me as hard as he could to punish me for daring to go out with Topper when all three of us knew full well that he liked me.

Rafe smiled at what he was doing to me and to make matters worse, his hand pushed through the gap between our bodies and began rubbing my clit to make me reach my high faster.

"Oh god, Rafe, I'm gonna cum" I say, bitting my bottom lip and throwing my head back, if that was possible since my whole body was pinned to the couch by Rafe's weight.

"Me too, princess" he responded, looking down at his dick going in and out of me and rubbing my clit, I shut my eyes tightly, abou to release on his dick. "No, open your fuckin eyes. I want to see your face when i make you cum"

He said loudly, and I snapped my eyes open, keeping eye contact with him as high-pitched moans came out of me and I orgasm on his cock, my legs shaking. "Yeahhh, that's it, goo fuckin girl" he praised, watching me go limp as he still slowly thrusted into me. Without warning, he wrapped his arms around my waist and began pounding into me as fast as he could, wanting to release.

"Fuuuck, Rafe, stop! It's too much" I yelled as he overstimulated me. "You can take it, princess. I know you can take it like the good slut you are" he said, putting my legs over his shoulders, giving me a whole new angle. He pounded into me harder as he smacked my ass, causing me to whimper.

"Do you think of Topper right now? Do you imagine him fucking you instead of me, huh? Do you want to scream his name?" I don't know what's gotten into Rafe that he's suddenly mentioning his best friend during sex, but whatever.

"No, Rafe. You're the only one I've ever screamed for like that. You are the only one I want to fuck for the rest of my life" he chuckled at my comment and continued to pound roughly into me.

"Who do you fuckin belong to?" he groaned, tightening his arms around my thighs as he felt his high approaching. "Fuck- you, Rafe! Just you!" I responded, finally being able to untied myself as he released in me, moaning and whimpering as he rode out his high. Our sweaty bodies sticked together as he loosened his grip on my thighs and slowed down his pace, cockwarming as he leaned down to kiss my hair.

"You okay, princess?" he asked and gently brushed back a strand of my hair that had stuck to my face. It tookh me a moment to answer him as I tried to catch my breath.

"Yeah" we both laughed at my exhaustion and he slid his cock out of me and put my legs on the couch. He collapsed next to me and wrapped one arm around my waist pulling me closer.

"I love you, Rafe"

"I love you, princess"

[asteracaea]

Hello! This ask is way too long, I apologize 🥲

This is about your post regarding the albatross, and @bettyshoweduptotheparty’s addition (I wanted to send this ask to both of you but I prefer being anonymous, sorry I’m shy); if either of you (or anyone else) want to talk about this song, please do, here’s your excuse to do it. Mainly 2 things I wanted to talk about / ask.

1. So, I didn’t know the original line from romeo and juliet, and I hadn’t understood the line “a rose by any other name is a scandal”, and now I’m wondering if the reason I don’t understand many lyrics is that I’m missing the reference. I’m sure it wouldn’t be the only reason, my interpretation skills are rather limited, but I would love to find out. So if anyone wants to make a list off the top of their head of taylor lyrics that reference something, I would love that so much. If anyone would like to do it, please include the obvious ones, good chance of me not knowing it (wish I could blame it on english not being my first language but, again, probably not the only reason). But anything from english literature, and references to popular sayings, I probably won’t know even if it seems obvious. Of course this would be an extremely long list and very time consuming to make, that’s why I’m asking if anyone can add some that they remember off the top of their head. I would absolutely not oppose if someone wanted to make a complete list, though.

2. After gaining some insight on the rose line, I wanted to understand it in the context of the song etc etc and once again my (lack of) interpretation skills are failing me, so if anyone can help me out with the meaning of some other lyrics in this song. “Wild winds are death to the candle”, I figure it’s a popular saying (like “one bad seed kills the garden” in the next part), but I don’t really understand what point it’s trying to make. Next we have “one less temptress, one less dagger to sharpen”, “only liquor anoints you”, and the one I’d like to know the most: “devils that you know raise worse hell than a stranger”. Also the whole bridge (😭 look, I said the interpretation skills were poor) “and when that that sky rains fire on you, and you’re persona non grata, I’ll tell you how I’ve been there too, and that none of it matters”.

Okay, I guess this is it, I’m sorry it’s so long, I really won’t hold it against you if you just delete it.

Goodbye <3

oh dear sweet anon, your ask is not too long and i am very happy to respond! i'm sure @bettyshoweduptotheparty will be as well! thank you for writing!

taylor references so many things in her lyrics, and they often have multiple layers and interpretations, and that's what makes it so fun for me to contemplate and discuss them - i'm always discovering new meanings, even years down the road! and our wonderful brilliant mutuals here on tumblr are constantly discovering new meanings and drawing parallels that really deepen and enrich my experience of taylor's songs. i've been here 4 years now and i won't be leaving because i'm constantly learning about linguistics and art and symbolism and (lgbtq) history.

her music is amazing because it can be enjoyed on a surface level of fun and beautiful music, but you can also dive down the rabbit hole and learn things that are so much more complex and nuanced and universal than just what people she's dated or who she's writing about. imo, she is so much more brilliant than most people realize rn. it's funny because she's like the most popular successful beloved artist in history and yet i don't think most people even begin to know how brilliant she is, or appreciate the art she's been making!

i'm not sure if a comprehensive list of references exists yet, but that's definitely something i would love to do someday! can you imagine the tome... but i think tumblr is a living evolving compilation of references like that. taylor herself has said that she puts easter eggs into her art that people won't understand for years (as we have seen with things in rep, now knowing her conflicts with BMR and SB) and things about her private life that we cannot know now that she may or may not share with the world at a later date.

but i think you may be asking about literary and idiom/phrase/language poetical references? some people may have already created masterposts and analyses of individual songs and lyrics, and if anyone has or knows of any offhand please send them my way and i'll reblog them! but yeah, we're all collectively constantly finding new references which is why i can never leave this hellsite 😂 i'm constantly learning! and especially with this heavily poetic and linguistically dense new album, i'm sure we'll be mining it for YEARS! and that is just so fun and exciting and beautiful to me.

i hope i didn't go off on too many tangents! and you've inspired me to want to start an intensive comprehensive analysis of ttpd and all her music! so yeah in conclusión, that's a great goal, to make a compilation!

[peaches2217]

♥ do you still got more expectant mareach headcanons?

...how many do you want, Anon? Because I have an entire tome's worth of them.

♥ - Family headcanon (Brainrot Edition!)

Peach becomes incredibly emotional starting around her second trimester. Her lifetime of royal training ensures she maintains a proper and dignified public appearance, but when she's not in public? Expect her to start crying with little provocation. The chefs prepared her favorite dessert for tonight's dinner? Tears. Toadette brings her a glass of water just as she notices her throat's getting dry? Tears. Mario calls her Peach instead of amore/tesoro/amata/cara/dolcezza/principessa? Tears. Eventually no one bothers asking why she's crying unless she's in obvious distress, they just keep a few tissues on hand at all times and let her cry it out, and then she’s good to go.

It should go without saying that Mario's protective nature increases tenfold during this time too. It's a nearly year-long period where he really doesn't even leave the castle grounds unless Peach is by his side. His reasoning is as rational (it's important that she doesn't push herself for the sake of their child's health, so if she starts feeling unwell or needs to rest he can step in for her at a moment's notice) as it is emotional (he will literally get sick to his stomach if he feels like he's strayed too far from her and nothing will right that feeling except for laying eyes on her and seeing for himself that she's safe). It's easy to poke fun at Peach for getting so emotional, but frankly, Mario's emotions get heightened just as much.

While we're talking heightened emotions, one day Peach is lying in bed, resting off a particularly bad case of morning sickness, and Toadsworth brings her some soothing tea. Being tired and nauseous and a tiny bit delirious, she responds with a soft and quiet "Thank you, papa."

It's the first time she's ever called him that. Cue the manliest, most hysterical tears in the history of Toadkind.

[justices-blade]

“ Good day, Edward. Are you enjoying the Winter Festival? ”  Pelleas greets the brunet.  “ As you can probably guess, I'm here to see you about that. If I'm entirely off-base with my choice of present, my apologies, but given your interest in it when we went to the illusory realm, I couldn't help but wonder. ”

With that, he offers a wrapped present box to Edward. Inside is a basic Light tome stacked below a journal. The journal already has a half of its pages filled out.

“ When I first got here, Micaiah and I had tried to study each other's magic types. I find the time she gave to me incredibly invaluable. I don't think I would've learned any light magic if it hadn't been for her help and her notes. So... I wish to bequeath them to you now, Edward. That journal should have transcriptions of our studies. It's mostly grammatical things about the Ancient Language and how to channel it when it comes to Faith in particular. 

“ I'd like to support you however I can, going forward, whether it be for this or anything else. I swear to you my intent not just as a man of Daein but also as... well, perhaps this doesn't sound as impactful as I thought it might, but... myself. ”  Slightly embarrassed by his own clumsy declaration, he presses forth anyway.  “ I-In any case, if you're not attempting to study it at all, hopefully the journal should still be able to serve its original use as, well, a journal, hahaha... ”

Edward, as always, perks up as Pelleas approaches; and for yet another year does Pelleas manage to find him first rather than the other way around. "Happy Winter Festival, Pelleas!" rings out in return, clear as a bell. "I've been having a ball! So, what'cha got for me?"

It's obvious he doesn't mind, though. This is always better than letters and parcels left behind, sentiment through the words of another— He's always loved contact, connection, and this is no different, pleased to be treasured enough to be sought, no matter the reason. He takes the present with bright gratitude, again not hesitating to crack it open and take a peek...

"Oh!" Edward can't help the excited noise as he flips open to a filled page, poring over familiar handwriting, words crystallising after a moment of squinting focus— He'd already be able to get a lot out of this since it supplements grammar where he waffles by in Faith rather than Light with nothing but instinct, because things always made the most sense when it was one of his dearest people saying it...

But these things aside, it's more than just that: It's notes, it's observations of two trained, different minds, it's warm conversation between two hearts he holds dear, their back-and-forth weaving a net of understanding of more than just subject material. This, too, is something he loves. After a moment, Edward closes the box and hugs it to his chest, beaming.

"Well, if I wasn't before, I definitely am now!" His fingers drum against the wrapping paper, warming briefly with Faith, humming with delight.

"My scores in all the technical stuff are kinda rotten, so this is a huge help... I'll make sure to come looking if I ever need help with this," his fingers tap against the parcel again, more insistently, "or anything else, really."

"And same goes for if you ever need me too—" He tucks the present under his arm, pounding a fist to his chest,

"For anything, as Edward!" mirroring Pelleas' declaration with as much weight as the mage had given it to him.

"Speaking of that." Pointer finger raised, 'wait up', as he stows the gift in his satchel and rummages for one of his own— Out comes something decidedly less boxy, some soft thing kept in a festive paper bag. When Pelleas opens it, he'll find a scarf and a matching pair of short, fingerless gloves, white material stitched with blue in a style he might recognise from elsewhere— Stain-resistant, comfortable and warm, functional and sentimental all in one.

"Here!" he says, simple and vibrant as ever. "Again: Happy Winter Festival, Pelleas!!"

[calamitaswrath]

Cal Lucia plays Fire Emblem Path of Radiance: Chapter 27

Oh, so this is the big one. Time to fight the Black Knight. . . everything's already pointing to it.

And Ike finally gets to have a nice conversation with Mist about their father! She honestly has been out of the spotlight a bit too much for my liking, but I do still very much appreciate that she is getting this kind of scene.

Speaking of - base conversation with Titania, where Ike gets to fill her in! Love that my wife she is getting some attention after all these chapters. And it's a really nice character building moment not just for Ike, but for Titania as well.

Now, as for the actual gameplay. . . treasure chests there, so that means I gotta bring Sothe. Who I haven't levelled even once. It'll be fine. . .

. . .Until it wasn't. In an attempt to get Sothe out of the range of an enemy mage with one of these super long-range tomes, I put him in the range of an enemy swordmaster. Starting again!

Okay, I have no idea what's going on with my units, but. . . for some reason, on my second go at this chapter, they just kept critting. Or in the case of Nephenee, critting or activating Luna. And in general, Nephenee really has just been tearing this chapter up like it's nobody's business, all while drawing plenty of attention from the enemies due to that one skill I gave her. I honestly wouldn't be surprised if by this point, she has already surpassed Jill as my strongest unit! Which, I should point out, she managed even though I only resetted her bonus experience level-ups a few times towards the beginning.

Still had some close calls on this map becaues Titania took a bit too much punishment, but with some more creative maneouvers, I did manage to clear the map. Now, for the second part. . .

. . .Welp. I was streaming this for a friend at first, and I didn't realize that Ike can't activate Aether at a range until she pointed it out to me. In my defense, Ike never really had a ranged weapon before, so I couldn't really have noticed - but still, those were the first three or so turns of this map where he couldn't really do much damage to the Black Knight. And while Mist had no problem taking out the reinforcements, Ike still didn't activate Aether in the remaining turns. So, I got the "castle collapses, Nasir and Black Knight get buried under it (totally for reals)" ending.

So, uh. Ena is Nasir's granddaughter?? I mean, it was obvious that there'd be some connection between them, but that's definitely not what I would have expected.