#will determine the outcome of a chapter

[that-spider-fan-over-there]

I've been losing my mind over the idea of a Deku vs. Kacchan 3 or Deku and Kacchan-titled chapter since the last chapter and what could entail and I mean-

We have Izuku emotionally shutting down struggling with everything regarding not being able to truly save Tenko and slowly losing OFA vs. Katsuki being more emotional for Izuku than we're used to and not being able to use his own Quirk for now,

And we might get people walking on eggshells around Izuku because no one will say straight to his face the truth he didn't fucking win to save and Katsuki being desperate because he wanted Izuku by his side because he realized he wants Izuku by his side in anyway but doesn't even know how in a way outside of their rivalry or anything outside of All Might because he made their relationship like that and will never forgive himself for it,

And they'd accidentally put themselves closer to square one again because Katsuki is devastated their dreams are not coming true and doesn't wanna hurt Izuku but takes it too far and Izuku will not open up about how angry or mournful he is unless Katsuki forces him but being on the other side of the coin now he might think Katsuki sees him as weak again AND THEY NEED THAT BREAKDOWN IZUKU NEEDS TO OPEN UP BECAUSE KATSUKI IS THE ONE WHO CAN GET INSIDE IZUKU'S HEAD AND KATSUKI NEEDS TO KNOW IZUKU DOESN'T WANNA LEAVE HIM BUT THEY NEED TO KNOW WHAT ARE THEY OUTSIDE OF BEING RIVALS SO QUIRKLESS SPARRING IT IS-

And then I realized we get leaks in two days- Chapter 424 feels like it dropped yesterday, and it's necessary to address Todofam, Spinner and Himichako first because if we don't get the responses from the League let alone confirmation all of them survived or even slight Ochako and Shoto's thoughts on their fights, then we don't get to discern where Izuku and/or Katsuki might go from here and that's not even touching on anything regarding Tenko or OFA, or how UA is gonna deal with trying to readjust into a society that'll never be the same, they'll never be the same, I am Not Okay-

[allaboutthemoonlight]

How to Build Self Discipline

Cultivating self-discipline is the way towards personal growth and achieving long-term goals. To me, it’s really all about making choices that honor your well-being and identity.

Understand that self-discipline is about self love and respect

It’s not about punishment or deprivation, but rather caring for yourself enough to make choices that align with your long-term well-being and goals.

You’re showing yourself the respect you deserve by honoring and committing to changes you want to make.

It’s all about recognizing your worth and having the motivation and courage to pursue what’s really best for you, even when it requires a lot of effort and decision-making.

Frame your identity in a way that includes discipline

How we act directly ties to our identities and how we believe we are. If you believe you’re a successful individual, you’ll live a life framed by confidence and determination. If you believe you’re someone who is lazy and unmotivated, you’ll struggle to find the drive to pursue your goals and aspirations.

Gaining discipline is all about acting as the person you believe you are and moving through life in a way that’s consistent with your determined identity. The key here is to try to imagine who you are at your highest self in a disciplined state of mind.

To start this, ask yourself these questions and slowly arrange your life in a way so there’s no distance between who you are now and your highest self:

What does your day look like

What do you eat

What do you wear

What does your week look like

What does your work day look like

What hobbies do you have

What’s your morning and night routine

Who are you surrounded by

What do you say yes and no to

Have systems in your life

I recently wrote a post about habits and mentioned the idea of systems versus goals. Here, I want to delve a bit deeper into that concept within the context of self-discipline.

To me, another way to truly live a disciplined life is to establish starting systems, something that will propel you past hurdles and reduce the friction that accompanies change.

Let’s say you want to improve your eating habits and cultivate discipline in consuming less sugar while incorporating more whole foods into your diet. You could begin by implementing a system of prepping healthy snacks or meals in advance at the start of each week, or however you see fit. By having these snacks readily available, you eliminate the need for decision-making, making it easier to adhere to your goal.

Anything that serves as a reminder or facilitates consistent action toward your desired outcome is a valuable system in your life.

Be okay with not doing something and embrace the mindset of small wins

This may seem paradoxical in the context of developing self-discipline, but being okay with not doing something is crucial. There are times in life when we need tough love and motivation, but there are also moments when compassion is the driving force that propels us forward.

When you don’t follow through with something, whether it’s going for a run or preparing a healthy dinner, it’s important to be okay with it. You don’t need to shame yourself or feel guilty for not taking action because that will only reinforce negative thought patterns, making it harder to create the change you desire.

Consider this: if you miss a planned run and spiral into self-criticism, you’re more likely to avoid running altogether. However, if you approach the situation with understanding and compassion, you’ll be more inclined to try again next time.

This is where small daily victories come into play. Sometimes, all we need is one small step forward to develop a new habit and maintain consistency. Whatever you're striving to improve or change, if it feels daunting, tell yourself, "Just for today, I'll do a 15-minute workout instead of the full hour," or "Just for today, I'll read 5 pages instead of the entire chapter," and celebrate these as small victories. Doing so not only helps you establish new habits but also allows you to acknowledge the progress you've made and the trust you've built within yourself.

—Luna

[slytherinslut0]

MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Twenty Nine--Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

Tags: 18+, SMUT, Masturbation, PIV, Switch!Mattheo, Dirty Talk, (slight daddy kink. Like very slight.), Spitting, Unprotected Sex, Praise Kink, Degradation Kink, Cuddling, ANGST ANGST! ALSO: FLUFF! (WHO AM I???? AM I OKAY???)

FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

The following weeks slipped away like sand through fingers--one, then another, and then another--until the imminent end of the term loomed large, only just a little ways off in the distance. Graduation was within reach, a tantalizing yet bittersweet prospect.

The journey to this point had been a relentless climb, fueled by your unwavering determination. The culmination of hard work brought a poignant mix of accomplishment and trepidation. The future held its mysteries, and you were poised on the edge, anxious about its impact on the present.

Because in the land of the present, you and Mattheo were as well as ever. You'd managed to maintain your intimate secrecy, with Emily and Theo as the exclusive keepers of your shared secret. Within the last few weeks, they had evolved into an indispensable support system, adept at aiding your discreet escapades and providing cover when facing friends. Theo, a master of diversion, orchestrated opportunities for you to slip into Mattheo's dorm unnoticed, while Emily reciprocated the favour.

Looking back over the past months, a bittersweet resonance reverberated through your thoughts, acknowledging the imminent conclusion of your tutoring and mentorship with Mattheo. Curiously, the lines between mentor and mentee had blurred, giving rise to the notion that, in an almost poetic turn, he had undoubtedly become a guiding force for you, instead. The intricate dance of mentorship had taken an unexpected yet meaningful twist, leading to the most beautiful and memorable outcome you could have ever fucking asked for.

And in the crisp embrace of a warm spring evening, the sun gracefully dipped below the horizon, yielding its space to the emerging twinkle of stars overhead. Amid this celestial transition, you found yourself immersed in the task of crafting a report for Dumbledore, which was due the following week. This document sought to encapsulate your entire journey as Mattheo's mentor and your insights into his progress.

Yet, as your quill traced its path across the parchment, reminiscing about the last few months, an unmistakable ache kindled within your chest, as if hollowing your lungs from the inside out. In that poignant moment, the yearning to see a specific curly haired boy eclipsed all else, a sentiment that transcended the mere act of putting pen to paper. In an impulsive surge, your quill found itself abandoned on the desk as you swiftly slipped into your shoes. A brief word to Emily, notifying her of your absence for the night, preceded your motivated exit through the door.

After a determined journey through the solitude of the castle, you reached the imposing door of the Slytherin common room and urgently rapped your knuckles against its rough surface. After a brief moment of silence, the door creaked open, revealing Draco Malfoy peering down at you with his trademark disheveled blonde hair. His sly smirk assessed you from head to toe, an expression reminiscent of a devil reveling in mischief.

Before you could utter a word, he casually remarked, "He's in his dorm," signaling the direction with a subtle tilt of his head. "Little late for a mentorship meeting, don't you think?"

"Past your bedtime, is it?" You teased, gleaming with a smirk of your own. "Apologizes if I interrupted your beauty sleep, princess."

Draco's silver eyes sparkled with a blend of amusement and feigned offense. "Do you think all of this just happens naturally, little bird? It's hard work, being me," he quipped with a sly grin, willingly engaging in the banter. "But if you're here for a late-night rendezvous, who am I to stand in the way of true love?"

A huff escaped you as you tried, albeit unsuccessfully, to conceal your amusement. Without speaking, you pressed forward, gracefully brushing past him in the direction of the dorms. Upon reaching the entrance to the dormitory hall, you cast a glance over your shoulder, eyes twinkling with emotion as they locked onto his silver gaze from across the room.

You shot him a cheeky smile. "You'd be a fool to even try."

The retort lingered in the air as you continued your journey, leaving a trail of playful tension in your wake, fully aware of the fact that what you just did might not have been your most brilliant move yet. But moving forward without hesitation, you briskly made your way to Mattheo's dorm.

The anticipation propelled you forward, and with a swift motion, you tried the doorknob. Finding it unlocked, you let yourself in without bothering to knock. As you squinted, easing the door shut behind you, your jaw fell open as the dimly lit room revealed Mattheo reclining on his bed, bathed in the soft glow that echoed the reflections of the black lake, still fully clothed--except for his cock, which was fully erect, fist wrapped around the girth as he pumped himself, soft moans leaving his throat.

Almost immediately, lava had begun to flow out from your centre and filter through your veins. Steadying yourself, you stepped forward, admittedly slightly caught off guard by the sheer rawness of the scene before you. His eyes were squeezed shut, brows furrowed and lips parted, his breathing ragged and heavy as he lost himself in the pleasure coursing through his body. Your breath hitched, cunt clenching in want, and you drew nearer, slowly feeling all of the ounces of your sanity leave your body, quickly being replaced by a possessed, powerful need.

"Matty..." you whispered, cautious not to startle him.

His eyes shot open, surprised by your sudden presence, stalling his movements for a moment as he exhaled a shaky breath. When you smiled at him, your possessed eyes glimpsing his cock throbbing within his fist, the shock in his gaze quickly faded, replaced by a look of pure, hungered lust.

"Raven..." he murmured, his head falling back as he slowly resumed his ministrations. "Here to finish me off, sweetheart?"

A shiver coursed through your body as his words hung in the air, the palpable intensity of his desire washing over you like a powerful wave. Compelled by an irresistible force, you moved closer to him, drawn like a moth to a flame, surrendering to the raw power of his need. Without a second thought, your fingers sought the hem of your sweater, swiftly peeling it up and off your body. The room filled with the hushed rustle of fabric as you kicked off your shoes and deftly maneuvered the zipper on your pants.

"I'll do more than finish you off, Matty..." you cooed, meeting his dark eyes as he watched you undress before him, his thumb swirling the bead of precum over the tip of his cock, his fingers tightening around the girth. "Were you thinking about me?"

"Mmm," he moaned, his hand slowly picking up its pace, leisurely moving up and down his shaft. "Always thinking about you, baby..."

Quakes of desire rattled your bones, and you moved closer still, now at the foot of his bed, focus switching between the black holes of his eyes and his thick, throbbing cock. As you let your pants slip from your waist and down your thighs, finding purchase on the floor at your feet, you wasted no time before crawling onto the bed next to him, bringing yourself to his side.

"Tell me," you murmured, trailing your fingers up the length of his strong thigh. "Tell me what you were thinking about, Matty..."

Mattheo shuddered under your touch, hissing in pleasure as he increased the pace of his strokes, his body writhing and twitching against his dark green sheets. You choked back a mewl, your pussy screaming in need for him as you watched the veins in his hand tense and contract, his eyes squeezed shut as his head fell back, jaw tensing.

"Your beautiful face...your perfect body..." he growled out, his voice hoarse with primal need, his throat torn with lust. "Your tight, wet little pussy, wrapped around my cock...fuck-"

A surge of intensity coursed through you, the clenching sensation echoing the burning passion that seemed to set the very walls of Mattheo's dorm room ablaze.

"Mm...you're in deep, aren't you, Matty..." you teased, teeth nibbling on your bottom lip, a playful smirk barely concealed. The words slipped from your lips like a whispered incantation, and you couldn't help but revel in the way his eyes fluttered open with a potent mix of lust and hunger. "Salazar himself couldn't rescue you from this, could he?"

"Six feet, baby..." Mattheo's words carried a reverent undertone, akin to a fervent prayer. "Can you blame me? Fucking look at you..."

"Six feet, huh?..." you purred, allowing your fingers to trail sensuously down his thigh. The ache between your legs intensified, a symphony of longing and passion propelling you into a frenzy of heat. "...not deep enough, I'm afraid."

Leaning over him, your lips hovered just above his, and a mischievous smirk danced on his lips. Shallow gasps escaped his throat as he slowed the pace on his cock yet again, as though he was edging himself, desperate to hang on, desperate to not cum on the fucking spot.

"Filthy girl..." he breathed, snuffing a groan deep in his throat. "Say the words and I'll go as deep as you fucking want, princess..."

"Not tonight, Matty," you smirked, softly pressing your lips to his, teasingly dragging your teeth along his bottom lip. "Let me take care of you for a change..."

The anticipation in the room was intoxicating, making you want to give in to every carnal urge you both had been holding back until now, the restraint between your bodies barely tethered.

"Let you take care of me?" he repeated, the challenge clear in his voice, his eyes locked onto yours as you reached over to stroke him, your hand gentle but insistent. He gasped in pleasure as you worked him, his dick throbbing, pulsing in your palm. "You think you can handle all of this?"

"All this time and you still underestimate me," you purred, clucking your tongue in feign disappointment. You swirled your thumb around the tip, painting more precum down his shaft. "Don't worry about me, Matty...just lay back and be a good boy for me."

"Shit..." he groaned, whimpering your name, thrusting up gently into your fist. "Call me that again."

"Good boy...so, so good..." you gripped him tighter, pushing the skin to the head, twisting your wrist. "You're so hard for me, so big..." a smirk pulled at your lips. "I bet you want to slide this pretty cock deep into my pussy, don't you?"

His eyes squeezed shut, a fervent nod accompanied by the grasp of his hands on the sheets beneath him as a guttural groan escaped. Enveloped in a pleasure-induced haze, he succumbed to the unyielding hunger that demanded satisfaction.

"Is that what you want?" you whispered, your voice tinged with a husky urgency, leaning in to brush his mouth. The words slipped past your lips, each syllable feeling foreign, as if your own voice carried the weight of unfamiliarity to your ears. "Do you want me to ride you hard, to feel my tight little pussy squeezing your cock?"

"Fucking hell..." he growled between kisses, his hard cock pulsating within your fist, he was close, you could tell. "...I've officially corrupted you, haven't I?"

"Damn right you have...you gave me permission to let loose, didn't you?..." you murmured, your lips falling toward his jawline, placing a trail of wet kisses along the ridge, slowing your motions on his dick. "Turned me into your filthy little whore...meant for taking your cock and swallowing your cum..."

"Oh my fuck-" he cried out in exasperation, his hands shooting to your wrists, pulling your fingers off his cock and directing you overtop of him, guiding you until you were straddling his waist. "Princess, you keep talking like that I'm going to fucking-"

Without giving him a chance to finish, you ripped your hands from his hold and brought them to his face, pulling his mouth to yours as you thrust your fingers through his messy curls. You rolled your cunt against his needy length, rocking your hips until the head of his cock met your clit--and you moaned into his mouth, his fervent fingers digging into your flesh with enough strength to make you wince, his pelvis jerking up against yours.

You slowly lifted one hand from his hair and moved it toward your underwear, shifting them to the side to reveal your wet heat. You let out a small gasp as your fingers slipped easily through your slick folds, collecting your wetness and teasing your pulsing entrance. As you continued to pleasure yourself, you broke the kiss and quickly brought your fingers up to your mouth, sensually sucking your own juices off of them as you held Mattheo's stare. His jaw tensed, eyes darkening with an intensity that held yours captive. Your gaze remained locked as you sensually swirled your tongue around your fingers, savoring every drop of desire before delicately pulling them free.

"My fucking Gods, Raven..." his body was tense with pleasure as he stared at you, his eyes ignited in a flame so hot you felt your skin sizzling. "You are so fucking hot...." he gripped your head, pulling you down closer to him, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, "let me taste you, baby."

His hands moved over your body, exploring every inch of your curves as he kissed you deeply, his tongue seeking out yours with a desperate hunger. Moaning, you braced against his chest, rocking your pelvis, grinding down against his cock, and he held you tighter, meeting you stroke for stroke, swallowing your kiss like he needed it to breathe, tasting your juices off your tongue. 

His hands found your chest, tugging down your bra to expose your nipples, and when the pad of his finger grazed the hardening, sensitive bud--you squeaked, breaking the kiss.

"Fuck...is that good, Matty?" You mewled, slicking your wetness along the length of his cock, feeling him pulse beneath you as he swirled his thumb over your nipple. "Or do you need another taste?"

"So fucking good, princess," he muttered, his eyes darkening with a primal hunger. "You already know I'll always need more."

A sly smirk crossed your face as you slowly traced your fingers down to your heat, sliding them back along your slit and collecting your slick juices yet again. Your eyes never left Mattheo's as you brought your fingers back up and sensually slipped them into your mouth, letting out a soft moan as you sucked them clean. With a sultry gaze, you leaned in close to him, grasping his jaw firmly.

"Open up for me, then, daddy," you whispered in his ear, your voice dripping with lust and desire. "Please..."

The sound of your own words sent shivers of excitement down your spine, and you could feel the heat building between your thighs as you teased him. Never in a million years would you have expected to say those words, and judging by Mattheo's reaction to them, neither did he. His eyes widened slightly, but he quickly composed himself, his jaw tensing with restraint as he fought off every single urge to flip you over and fuck you until you couldn't walk.

"Salazar save me..." he purred, slipping a hand into your hair, grip tightening. "As you wish."

As he parted his lips, sticking out his tongue, you leaned in closer, and with a seductive smile, you gathered your saliva and spat it into his mouth. The moment your spit connected with his tongue, you felt a surge of excitement course through your body, heightening the intensity of the moment. You weren't sure what the fuck had come over you tonight, but you were helpless to fucking stop it.

Mattheo's eyes flashed with desire as he swallowed your saliva, his tongue working to catch every last drop. It was completely, unquestionably clear that he was turned on beyond belief by your newfound confidence and boldness--unable to resist letting out a low growl of arousal in response. You grinned, pressing your lips to his in a soft, fleeting kiss.

"You're a fucking filthy little slut..." he growled, smirking as you giggled at his reaction, unable to control yourself. "So...so fucking filthy."

"Mhm," you mused through a smile, grazing your lips over his. "But I'm your filthy little slut."

A mischievous twinkle ignited in your eye as you leaned in, initiating a deep and passionate kiss. Your tongue danced with his, exploring the recesses of his mouth with fervor. The heat and passion intensified, a soft moan escaping your lips, signaling your body's eager response to his touch. His hands, once cradling your head, now roamed up and down your back, tracing every curve and inch with an exploratory hunger.

"Raven," he murmured, his voice a rasped, almost desperate plea. "As much as I'm loving this foreplay...you're driving me to the fucking edge of insanity here..."

"You always were teetering on the edge, Matty," you teased, a wicked gleam in your eyes. "I'm just here to push you over."

Smirking against his mouth, you brought a hand down, directing his cock to your throbbing entrance before finally, finally sinking down onto his thick shaft, gasping as you felt him fill you up completely. A deep, animalistic groan escaped Mattheo's lips as he felt you, tight and wet, enveloping him fully.

"Mmm, you're so fucking big, Matty..." you moaned, your voice filled with unbridled passion. "So fucking deep."

You savoured the feeling of being stretched to your limit, taking a moment to let yourself adjust to how deep and big he was before you slowly began to shift your hips, slowly began to ride him.

Mattheo's lips parted, chest reaching for air as he let you adjust, pulsing inside of you. "Mhm...all for you, my girl...fuck-all yours..."

Your movements were slow and tantalizing, your hips rolling gently as you rocked back and forth on top of him, stretching yourself open with his cock. You could feel him grow harder inside you with each passing moment, the sound of his low moans driving you wild with lust. Looking down at him, you could see the desire in his eyes, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he thrust up to meet your movements.

"Fuck-" you gasped as he rutted up into you, his movements turning more aggressive by the second. "All mine-all fucking mine..."

Mattheo's strength overwhelmed you--he slammed you from below, fucking up into you, forcing gasps and squeals from your lungs. Bliss blazed through your blood as the force of his thrusts throttled you, body quaking, breasts bouncing. His face was screwed in a twist of lust and effort, lip furled, strangled growls escaping his chest--he pumped hard, fast, pinching you in his hands as his own pleasure built.

"Fuck," he growled, "that's right--do you like that?"

"Yes...Gods-yes..." the words were as unfiltered as you were. "I love it..."

"Good--good girl." His stare devoured you while you rode him. "So beautiful..so perfect..." a hand glided up your side, cupping one of your tits. "And all mine..." he grunted, punished you with a particularly hard thrust-you yelped. "Say it."

"Yours-" you howled, a sharp gasp fleeing your chest as his rough hand pulled back and smacked your ass, his strokes deep and powerful. You could feel his hips slamming against your body, the force sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. "All yours, Matty!"

He growled, seething, teeth barred in a snarl as he smacked your ass again, sending a jolt of pain and pleasure shooting through your body. You cried out, arching your back as he urged you on with each smack.

"Don't hold back, baby," Mattheo growled, his voice filled with raw desire. "I want to hear you scream my fucking name...let them know who you fucking belong to."

With those words, he pumped into you harder and faster, his body slamming against yours so hard that the bed began to shake, headboard slamming against the wall with every thrust. You could feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, teetering on the brink of ecstasy.

"Fuck! Mattheo!" You moaned, your voice breaking with pleasure. "Please! Don't stop Matty-fuck-"

"Fuck," he growled again. "You're so fucking tight..." his pace switched, and he rammed your cunt with brutal, deep strokes, striking your cervix with white streaks of pain. "You take my cock so fucking well baby...so fucking perfect..."

"Matty-" you gasped, quaking, clit screaming for attention. "Please-"

"Fuck-" he hissed. "My filthy fucking slut wants to cum, doesn't she?"

Without waiting a singular moment for your response, Mattheo groaned, shifting you off of him until you found yourself on your back against the soft expanse of his sheets. Like a starved animal, he wasted no time at all before he climbed back over you, peeling your legs wide, both hands gripping your thighs and pushing them back against your chest before he split you back open, cock cleaving your cunt in one deep, harsh thrust. In pleasure, you sobbed.

"Mhm...such a good girl..." he cooed, eyes dark and hungry as he shifted a hand to your head, cradling the back of your neck as he leaned forward and pressed his forehead against yours. "My perfect girl...my fucking perfect little cumslut..."

Whinging, you gasped, lost in the depth of his eyes as he fucked you harder, deeper, his hand leaving your leg and snaking down between your thighs, harshly rolling over your clit. You cried out, clenching and convulsing against him as he fucked you into the mattress, his eyes never once leaving yours, each stroke bringing new, desperate breath to your lungs as you felt him building your orgasm block by block, thrust by thrust.

"Is that what you are-shit-" Mattheo groaned, deep and low as his hand shifted to grip your jaw, pinching your cheeks together. He slicked your clit while he fucked you, the sensations warm and wet and spinning you to the height of euphoria. "Say it."

"Yes-fuck-" you practically screamed, unable to break your eyes from his, the eye contact alone nearly pushing you over the edge of bliss. "I'm yours! I'm your fucking cumslut-"

"Cum-fuck-cum for me," he ordered through barred teeth, "cum on this fucking cock..."

Like his perfectly trained pet, you obeyed, falling over the edge of ecstasy, pleasure coursing through every inch of your body as you cried out his name. Mattheo groaned, breath sputtering in his lungs, lids squeezed shut as he continued to pound into you relentlessly, his own climax fast approaching. With one final thrust, he let out a low growl and came inside you, filling you with the warmth of his release, his forehead resting against yours, your pulses pounding in pace until he had regained enough composure to push up and pull out.

As he reclined back on his bed, Mattheo drew you into an intimate embrace, enfolding you securely against his chest. Beneath your ear, his heart throbbed with a rapid tempo, and his breath, hot and laboured, danced against your skin. In a shared moment of quietude, words became superfluous. Both of you lay there, intertwined, finding solace in the cocoon of each other's arms.

In the aftermath of your intimate embrace, Mattheo's voice sliced through the tranquil stillness with genuine curiosity.

"Why did you come here tonight?" His words hung in the air, laden with a desire for understanding. "Not that I'm complaining, I'm just-"

Your smirk adorned your lips as you shifted, peering up at him. "I just missed you."

He blinked, a faint flush tinging his cheeks. His hold on you tightened, one hand delicately weaving through your hair.

"You missed me, huh?" Amusement danced in his tone, a smirk crawling across his perfect plush lips. "Poor little bird. Helpless without me."

A scoff escaped you, but the grin betrayed your playful facade. "On second thought, I take it back-"

"Nope," he interjected, his fingers gently arranging your hair behind your ear. "Too late for that, princess."

You huffed, eyelids fluttering as you reveled in the warmth of his body, nestled in his secure embrace. "Perhaps you're right...but let's not forget that you were the one jerking off while thinking-"

"Touché," he responded, his nails digging into your scalp, a playful attempt to silence you. "It's just...you know the boys will have questions tomorrow...there's  no fucking way they didn't hear us."

You captured your lip between your teeth, a moment of contemplation enveloping you as your fingers traced aimless patterns over Mattheo's chest. The room held a quiet intimacy, interrupted only by the gentle caress of your touch.

"Good," you finally responded, your voice dipped in a low timbre. "I don't really care anymore, Matty...I just...I just want to be with you."

"I know..." he cooed, his fingers tenderly weaving through your hair, fingertips massaging your scalp. "Just a couple more weeks...then we don't have to hide anymore."

His words carried both a promise and an underlying uncertainty that resonated with you. Graduation loomed on the horizon, a gateway to a future fraught with unknowns. As he spoke, a pang of apprehension gripped you. The freedom from secrecy seemed tantalizing, yet the uncertainties beyond graduation loomed like a shadow in your thoughts.

"I started writing your mentorship report for Dumbledore tonight," you softly admitted, the words carrying a whisper-like weight. The pending admission feeling like pulling teeth from your gums. "That's why I came...it, um...it made me anxious...worried."

"Worried?" he repeated, his head nuzzling against yours. "Why?"

A fragile silence lingered before you whispered, "I just don't know what's going to happen to us after this... I mean, if I get a job here and-"

"Shh, Raven..." he murmured, pulling you impossibly closer. "Doesn't matter where you are, where I am... we'll make it work."

Your heart fluttered, a mix of uncertainty and hope intertwining. "Will we?"

"We will," he assured, pulling the sheets up and over you both as if creating a cocoon of reassurance, "nothing could ever keep me from you..."

You shifted once more, your gaze rising to meet his, a newfound warmth enveloping your entire being, surpassing the comforting embrace of any blanket or the flickering glow of a fire. Your eyes locked onto him, taking in the sight before you--his lids rested gently closed, long lashes casting delicate shadows on his flushed cheeks, while his fingers continued their soothing journey through your hair.

It was a tableau of serenity, a moment where you witnessed Mattheo in a state of unparalleled contentment and relaxation, radiating a happiness you had never seen him wear so vividly.

"How can you be so sure?" you murmured, almost afraid to disrupt the tranquility that surrounded him.

"Because we've weathered it all already, and just look at us..." he responded, his smile radiating, even without opening his eyes. "Besides, where else could I go? Who else could I love but you?"

A gentle chuckle, laced with both disbelief and affection, escaped your lips. You couldn't fucking believe that this was your life, you couldn't believe that this was the same man from a few months ago.

"Are you feeling okay?..." you teased, the playful incredulity in your voice echoing the rare and serene side of him that unfolded before you. "Who are you, and what have you done with Mattheo Riddle?"

"What can I say, Raven," he murmured, the softness of his tone carrying a hint of vulnerability. "You've changed me."

You scoffed, suppressing a full-blown giggle. "I didn't change anything; you did that all yourself."

"Save the modesty, princess," he husked, a subtle edge of desire in his voice. "You could change the fucking world with your hands behind your back."

"My Gods, Mattheo..." you breathed, your entire body tingling. "If you wanted me to get on my knees for you all you had to do was ask."

With a tender smile, Mattheo shifted you onto your side, drawing you closer. He settled behind you, his face nuzzling into the curve of your neck. One arm slid gently beneath your head, cradling it, while the other wrapped around your waist in a comforting embrace. You melted into him, pushing back against his body as tight as you could.

"This will do, Raven," he murmured, his warm breath caressing your neck. "But if you keep pushing your ass against me like that, we're going to have a problem."

"Mm," you smirked, relishing the tightening grip of his hand on your waist. "Not a problem that we can't fix."

He huffed, choosing to remain silent, but you could feel his grin against your skin. A brief pause hung in the air, the room submerged in a serene stillness. Beyond the window, the black lake flickered in the moonlit night, its waves reflecting the shimmering light like liquid silver.

Breaking the quietude, Mattheo's voice, a soft murmur, rekindled the conversation. "You know," he said, his words carrying a wistful note, "the only time I ever slept well was when you were in my arms."

"Why?" you inquired, your voice a gentle prompt, as curiosity laced the quiet exchange. "Do you usually have trouble sleeping?"

"Usually," he sighed, a blend of fondness and vulnerability threading through his words. "Yet another part of me you seemed to effortlessly fix."

A brief pause enveloped you both, the stillness broken only by the rhythmic cadence of his breathing, the rise and fall of his chest against your back. As you felt him slowly surrender to the embrace of sleep, his grip on you loosening, a smile of contentment graced your lips.

"Sleep," you whispered, your voice a gentle reassurance, barely audible in the quiet room. "I'll fend off the bad dreams if they dare to approach."

“My fierce little protector.” He huffed, his voice a deep, raspy drawl. "I'm so fucking in love with you."

Your heart warmed, melting at his words. "And I'm fucking so in love with you."

[regressionschool]

Maturity Test Part 3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Anna, Lilly, and Olaf arrived at the reclassification center, the atmosphere tense with anticipation. The building, sleek and modern, loomed ahead, its polished glass reflecting the bright afternoon sun. The trio stepped inside, the cool air conditioning a stark contrast to the warmth outside. The reception area was quiet, a few others waiting with the same mix of nervousness and hope that hung around them.

They were guided to a private room where the reclassification tests would take place. The room was simple, with a few chairs, a large table, and several machines designed to assess the various levels of maturity, competence, and independence.

Olaf fidgeted nervously, clutching Lilly’s hand for comfort. Anna watched him with concern, noticing how little and anxious he seemed. This was a far cry from the Olaf she remembered from their school days. Beside him, Lilly exuded calm, her presence a constant reassurance for Olaf.

Rebecca entered the room next, her demeanor noticeably different from the last time Anna had seen her. Today, she wasn’t in her usual thick diaper but in pull-ups. She hadn’t worn one in so long, and the idea of showing off her “potty training” skills made her feel like she was on top of the world. Even though she hadn’t sat on a toilet in five years, she still clung to the hope that this was her chance to prove she was ready for a little more maturity. Her eyes lit up when she saw Anna, and she ran over, her pull-up crinkling as she moved.

“Anna!” Rebecca called, throwing her arms around her friend. “I’m so glad you’re here!”

Anna hugged her tightly, a mix of relief and sadness washing over her. Rebecca looked so proud in her pull-up, but Anna knew this reclassification would determine her fate—whether she’d remain in pull-ups or be placed back into diapers.

“You look great, Becky,” Anna said, smiling warmly. “How are you feeling?”

Rebecca grinned, her excitement palpable. “I’m gonna be a big girl again, Anna. I just know it!”

Olaf, on the other hand, was much quieter. His pull-up was already starting to feel damp against his skin. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his thumb creeping towards his mouth before he caught himself.

Lilly, standing nearby, exchanged a knowing glance with Anna. The stakes were high for all of them, and while Rebecca’s enthusiasm was endearing, Anna couldn’t shake the worry gnawing at her. The reclassification tests were unpredictable, and the outcome was never guaranteed.

Soon, the testers arrived, ushering each of them into separate assessment rooms. Anna felt a pang of anxiety as she watched Rebecca and Olaf disappear behind the doors. She and Lilly were led to their own rooms, where they were quickly and efficiently tested on their maturity, decision-making skills, and ability to handle adult responsibilities. The process was routine for them, and both women were confident in the outcome.

After what felt like hours, Anna and Rebecca were finally reunited in the main room, where the results were to be announced. The atmosphere was thick with tension as the testers entered, carrying the documents that would determine their futures.

The head tester, a stern-looking woman with a clipboard, began reading out the results.

“Anna,” she said, looking up briefly before returning her gaze to the clipboard, “remains classified as an Adult.”

Anna let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, relief flooding through her.

“Rebecca,” the tester announced next, her tone neutral, “has been reclassified as a Preschooler.”

Rebecca’s face lit up with a mixture of pride and relief. “I did it!” she whispered excitedly to Anna, practically bouncing in place.

But as they celebrated, the evaluator’s expression turned more serious. “There’s just one issue,” she said, her tone somber. “Rebecca, since you’ve been reclassified as a preschooler, you’ll need to have a caregiver assigned to you. Unfortunately, the regression school nursery is only for toddlers, so if you can’t find a caregiver, you’ll have to stay classified as a toddler.”

Rebecca’s joy faltered, her face falling as the weight of the situation settled in. “But… I don’t have a caregiver,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I don’t want to be a toddler again…”

Anna’s heart ached as she saw the distress in Rebecca’s eyes. She couldn’t bear the thought of her friend being forced back into toddlerhood after all the progress she had made. And in that moment, the decision became clear.

“I’ll be your caregiver, Becky,” Anna said softly, reaching out to take her hand. “You don’t have to go back to being a toddler. I’ll take care of you.”

Rebecca’s eyes filled with tears, but this time they were tears of relief. “Really, Anna?” she asked, her voice wavering. “You’ll be my mommy?”

Anna nodded, squeezing Rebecca’s hand gently. “Yes, Becky. I’ll be your mommy, and I’ll take care of you, just like you deserve.”

Rebecca threw her arms around Anna, hugging her tightly as she buried her face in Anna’s shoulder. “Thank you, Anna,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “Thank you so much.”

As they embraced, Lilly returned with Olaf. Lilly couldn’t contain her excitement as she led Olaf back towards Anna and Rebecca. Her eyes sparkled with a mischievous joy, and she was practically glowing with pride as she looked down at Olaf, who was now waddling awkwardly beside her, his thick diaper forcing his legs apart. The word "Toddler" was emblazoned across the front of his diaper, a clear indication of his new classification.

“Oh, Anna, you won’t believe it!” Lilly gushed, her voice brimming with excitement. “Olaf had a little messy accident during his test. It was so unexpected, they had no choice but to regress him further!” She let out a lighthearted laugh, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Isn’t that just adorable? He’s officially a toddler now, and I have to say, he looks so cute in his thick diapers, don’t you think?”

Anna looked at Olaf, her heart sinking as she saw the expression on his face. His eyes were wide and glistening with unshed tears, his bottom lip quivering as he processed Lilly’s words. The weight of the situation seemed to crush down on him all at once, and his thumb, which had been hovering near his mouth, found its way between his lips.

But even the comfort of his thumb wasn’t enough to hold back the flood of emotions that had been building inside him. His eyes welled up, and within moments, the first tear slipped down his cheek, followed by another, and then another. Before anyone could react, Olaf began to sob, his small shoulders shaking with the force of his cries.

“I-I don’t want to be a toddler!” Olaf wailed, his voice muffled around his thumb as he buried his face into Lilly’s side. The tears came faster now, streaming down his cheeks in a torrent of grief and frustration. “I-I’m not a baby… I’m not…”

Anna, feeling her own heart ache at the sight of Olaf’s anguish, stepped closer, her hand reaching out to rest on his shoulder. “Olaf,” she said softly, trying to catch his tear-filled gaze. “It’s okay to be sad. It’s a big change, and it’s okay to feel upset about it.”

But then, something clicked in her mind. She remembered Lilly had done something before the reclassification that she hadn’t paid much attention to at the time.

Earlier that day, when they were getting ready to leave for the reclassification, Anna had seen Lilly give Olaf a suppository. Anna hadn’t thought much of it, assuming it was just something to calm his nerves. But now, as she watched Lilly’s calm demeanor in the face of Olaf’s accident, it all made sense.

Anna’s eyes widened as the realization hit her. Of course. It was why Lilly hadn’t been worried about Olaf making it through the reclassification without an accident. She had planned this all along, ensuring that Olaf would be humiliated and further regressed. The suppository would have ensured that Olaf’s body would betray him, no matter how hard he tried to control it.

She couldn’t stay silent any longer. What Lilly had done wasn’t just manipulative; it was cruel. "Lilly, what the hell were you thinking?" she snapped, her eyes blazing as she glared at her. "That suppository was not to calm Olaf down, was it?"

Lilly paused, looking up at Anna with an expression of feigned innocence. "Anna, what are you talking about? I’m just taking care of Olaf, like any good mommy would."

"Don’t play dumb with me!" Anna shot back, her voice rising. "You knew exactly what you were doing. You set him up to fail! You wanted him to mess himself right at the reclassification, didn’t you? So that he’d be more dependent on you, sure to be reclassified as a toddler."

Olaf, who had been lying quietly, now looked up at Anna with wide, confused eyes. He hadn’t connected the dots, but now, hearing Anna’s words, a look of realization slowly dawned on his face. He turned to Lilly, searching her face for any hint of denial, but found none.

Lilly’s expression hardened, the pretense of innocence slipping away. "And what if I did?" she said coolly, standing up and facing Anna with a defiant tilt of her chin. "Olaf needs someone to take care of him. He’s happier this way, aren’t you, Olaf?"

Olaf didn’t answer, his face a mix of shame and uncertainty. He wanted to protest, to say that he didn’t need this, that he could manage on his own, but the truth was, a part of him was scared. Scared that without Lilly’s constant care, he would be lost. The dependency that had grown between them was undeniable, even if it wasn’t something he had chosen.

Anna’s anger only grew at Lilly’s cold response. "You don’t get to make that decision for him, Lilly. You’ve been manipulating him, controlling him, and now you’re pushing him further and further into regression just so you can have control. It’s not about what’s best for Olaf; it’s about what you want!"

Lilly’s eyes flashed with anger. "You have no idea what it’s like, Anna. He needs me. He can’t take care of himself—"

"But he could try!" Anna interrupted, her voice filled with frustration. "He was doing fine before, and now he’s so dependent on you that he doesn’t even realize when he’s wetting himself. That’s not care, Lilly. That’s control."

Lilly opened her mouth to retort, but Anna didn’t give her the chance. She turned to Olaf, her expression softening as she addressed him. "Olaf, listen to me. You don’t have to do this. You can still make your own choices. You can still try to be independent, to be more than what she’s trying to make you."

Olaf looked between the two women, his heart pounding in his chest. He felt torn, confused, and overwhelmed. The reality of what had happened was sinking in, and he didn’t know how to process it. Part of him wanted to cling to the comfort that Lilly provided, but another part of him was angry—angry at himself for being so easily manipulated, and angry at Lilly for doing this to him.

Lilly’s voice cut through his thoughts, sharp and cold. "Olaf, don’t listen to her. She doesn’t understand. She doesn’t know what’s best for you like I do."

Anna shook her head, tears of frustration and anger brimming in her eyes. "Olaf, please. You deserve better than this. You deserve the chance to be more than just… this."

But before Olaf could respond, Lilly turned and marched toward the center’s entrance, pulling Olaf along with her. Anna followed, her heart pounding with a mix of determination and fear.

When they reached the reclassification center, Anna didn’t hesitate. She stormed up to the front desk, demanding to speak to someone in charge. The receptionist, startled by her intensity, quickly made a call, and within minutes, Anna was ushered into an office where a stern-looking official sat, waiting.

Anna didn’t waste any time. She laid out everything she had witnessed, her voice trembling with anger as she described how Lilly had manipulated Olaf, how she had purposely sabotaged him to ensure he would regress further.

The official listened carefully, her expression grave as Anna recounted the details. When Anna finished, there was a long pause, the air thick with tension.

Finally, the official spoke, her voice measured and calm. "This is a serious accusation, Anna. If what you’re saying is true, it goes against everything we stand for in this program. We aim to support individuals based on their needs, not to force them into a classification that isn’t right for them."

Anna nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. "Olaf deserves the chance to be more than what Lilly’s trying to make him. He deserves the chance to choose his own path, not to be manipulated into one."

Olaf was led into a small examination room, looking more anxious than ever. Lilly tried to maintain her calm demeanor, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes.

The officials began their examination of Olaf, asking him a series of questions while conducting some basic tests. It was clear that Olaf was uncomfortable, shifting nervously as he answered, his gaze flickering between the officials and Lilly, who stood nearby, her expression unreadable.

One of the officials, a stern-looking woman with sharp eyes, took a sample from Olaf to test for any foreign substances. Lilly’s face paled slightly as she watched the process, but she kept her mouth shut, not daring to say anything.

Anna, who had been waiting outside the room, was finally called in after what felt like an eternity. She walked in, her heart pounding in her chest, wondering what they had discovered.

The lead official, the stern woman, looked up from the results, her expression grave. "Anna, we’ve completed our tests, and it appears that there were indeed traces of a substance in Olaf’s system—something that would have induced a bowel movement."

Anna felt a mixture of vindication and anger surge through her. She glanced at Olaf, who looked bewildered and on the verge of tears, and then at Lilly, whose composure had finally cracked. There was fear in her eyes now, a fear that she had been caught.

"Lilly," the official continued, turning her gaze to Olaf’s so-called caregiver, "do you have anything to say for yourself?"

Lilly opened her mouth, but no words came out. She seemed to struggle for an excuse, for some way to explain away her actions, but she knew there was nothing she could say that would justify what she had done. Her silence was damning.

Anna took a deep breath, trying to keep her emotions in check. "This isn’t just about what happened today," she said, addressing the officials. "Lilly has been manipulating Olaf for a long time, keeping him dependent on her, making sure he doesn’t have the chance to grow up and live his life."

The officials exchanged glances, clearly concerned by what they were hearing. The lead official nodded. "We take these kinds of accusations very seriously. We’ll need to conduct a full investigation into Lilly’s actions and her treatment of Olaf."

Olaf, who had been quiet up until now, finally spoke up, his voice shaky. "I... I didn’t know. I thought Mommy was just helping me..." He looked at Lilly with wide, tear-filled eyes, confusion and betrayal written all over his face.

Lilly’s eyes softened, and she stepped forward, trying to reach out to him, but the officials quickly intervened, keeping her at a distance.

"Olaf," Anna said gently, stepping closer to him, "you didn’t do anything wrong. We’re going to make sure you’re taken care of, okay? No one’s going to hurt you."

Olaf nodded slowly, but it was clear that he was struggling to process everything that was happening. His world was being turned upside down, and he didn’t know what to think or who to trust.

The lead official turned back to Anna. "We’ll be taking Lilly into custody for further questioning. Olaf will be placed in temporary care while we complete our investigation. Thank you for bringing this to our attention, Anna."

Olaf's eyes widened in panic as the officials began discussing his placement in temporary care. The very idea seemed to terrify him, and he instinctively reached out for Anna, his hands clutching at her arm with a desperate grip.

"Anna, please," he whispered, his voice trembling. "I don’t want to go with strangers. I want to stay with you... and Becky. Please don’t let them take me away."

Anna's heart broke at the fear in his voice. She knew how much Olaf had come to depend on Lilly, as manipulative as she had been, and the thought of being taken away from the only familiar person left in his life was clearly overwhelming for him.

She turned to the lead official, her voice steady but firm. "Olaf doesn’t want to be placed in temporary care. If it’s alright, I would like to take care of him instead. He can stay with me and Becky. I know how to take care of him, and he’ll have someone familiar around."

The official looked at Anna thoughtfully, then back at Olaf, who was still clinging to her. "You’re sure you can handle this, Anna? Taking care of someone in Olaf’s condition is a big responsibility."

Anna nodded, determination shining in her eyes. "I’m sure. I’ve known Olaf for a long time, and I want to make sure he’s in a safe and loving environment. Becky’s at the regression school, and she’d be thrilled to have Olaf stay with us. She’s always wanted a sibling."

The official considered her words carefully before finally nodding. "Alright, Anna. We’ll grant you temporary guardianship of Olaf, provided you meet the necessary requirements. We’ll conduct regular check-ins to ensure his well-being."

A wave of relief washed over Olaf’s face as the official agreed. He squeezed Anna’s hand, his fear slowly subsiding. "Thank you, Anna," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Anna smiled down at him, brushing a stray tear from his cheek. "Of course, Olaf. You’re going to be okay. We’ll get through this together."

The official began preparing the necessary paperwork, explaining the responsibilities and conditions of temporary guardianship. As she handed the documents to Anna, she also retrieved Olaf’s reclassification report.

"Now, Olaf," the official began gently, "I understand you were hoping to be reclassified as a preschooler again. But after reviewing your test results and observing your behavior, we need to have an honest conversation."

Olaf looked up, a flicker of hope still lingering in his eyes. "Yes, I... I tried really hard to stay a preschooler. I didn’t even... I mean, I tried not to have any accidents."

The official’s expression softened as she continued, "You did your best, Olaf, and that’s something to be proud of. But the truth is, even if you had managed to keep your pull-up clean and dry, your overall regression has reached a point where we would have had to reclassify you to the toddler level."

Olaf’s face fell, his hopes crumbling at the official’s words. He stared at the floor, his fingers nervously playing with the hem of his shirt. “So… I’m going to be in diapers again? Full-time?”

The official nodded sympathetically. “Yes, Olaf. You’ll be placed in the toddler category, which means you’ll be wearing diapers full-time and receiving the care and supervision appropriate for that level. I know this might be disappointing, but it’s what’s best for you right now.���

The official finished with the paperwork, handing the finalized documents to Anna. "We’ll keep in touch to monitor Olaf’s progress and ensure he’s adjusting well," she said kindly. "If you have any concerns or need assistance, don’t hesitate to reach out."

Anna nodded, thanking the official for her help. She then guided Olaf out of the room, holding his hand as he waddled toward the car.

[youremyheaven]

Vedic Astrology Observations

1. Punarvasus tend to be very spiritual if not religious. They find peace in prayer. Another thing I've noticed is that they are very sexually conservative (probably because of their cat yoni). Mariah Carey, Punarvasu Moon was a virgin when she married her first husband and waited until marriage to be intimate with her second husband as well. She was engaged to James Packer for 18 months and they reportedly never had a physical relationship.

Miranda Kerr, Punarvasu Moon was in a relationship with Evan Spiegel for 3 years and waited until marriage. Drew Barrymore, Punarvasu Moon has said that she's been celibate since her divorce in 2016.

2. Mariah Carey, Punarvasu Moon speaking of the nature of light & time , her memoir has multiple chapters titled with light-related names and even sooo many of her songs , including Butterfly (Punarvasus are connected to butterflies)

3. Moksha gana nakshatras embody the trickster archetype. They also often argue or provoke people simply for the heck of it. 2/3 Moon ruled naks (Rohini & Hasta) are Moksha gana and it makes sense as to why they fuck with people just because they can, they have nothing to gain from it and it serves no purpose, they're evil for the heck of it. They'll go to any length to ruin you even if they ruin themselves in the process.

Moksha means liberation in Sanskrit (Sanskrit is a classical language like Latin that is pretty much only used in a scholarly context) and is one of 4 purusharthas or motivations assigned to the 27 naks. The others are artha (wealth) kama (pleasure) and dharma (duty). Moksha would be located at the very top of Maslow's hierarchy of needs, which means an individual with Moksha gana naks has transcended all the other base level motivations of accumulating wealth, seeking pleasure and doing one's duty. What is left to do now? If an individual is evolved, they actually seek liberation through their spirituality but if they are not, not only are they unbothered by any ordinary human motives, they lack the ability to devote themselves to anything ordinary because they simply dont care about getting a job or building a house or whatever. this means they also kind of exist beyond normal social norms?? go up against a Moksha gana native/Moon dominant person and the kind of arguments they'll use against you will reveal this nature of theirs. like they will have zero issue using your every vulnerability and insecurity against you just to win an argument or put you down. they hate to look "weak" so they will tear you apart just because they can, with no regard for any history you share. there are people who defend this by saying "oh well i was mad" babygirl everybody gets mad, but if someone isnt raising their voice, being petty or singling you out and bringing up your past to make you crumble, its not because they're incapable of it, its because they have principles.

Moksha gana naks love to play devil's advocate.

4. Rahuvians have bad memory, they probably repeat the same stories in different ways every few weeks lol

5. Saturnian women often marry billionaires according to Claire Nakti and I recently found some more examples of that:

** Mariah Carey, UBP Sun was engaged to Australian billionaire, James Packer who used to date Miranda Kerr, Pushya Rising (both these women are also Punarvasu Moon), Miranda is now married to the CEO of Snapchat.

** Lisa Manobal, UBP Sun is dating Frederic Arnault, a French billionaire

** Elle Macpherson, UBP Sun was in a relationship with Arpad Busson with whom she had 2 kids (he's not a billionaire but he does have a net worth of $500 million)

6. Nominative determinism, literally "name-driven outcome", is the hypothesis that people tend to gravitate towards areas of work that reflect their names.

but i thought i'd use it in the context of astrology and how most people are subconsciously given names that reflect their nakshatras

ex: Angelina Jolie

the name Angelina is an expansion of Angela which is derived from the Greek word Angelos which means "Angel" or "messenger". Angelina has Revati Moon which is a deva ("godly" nakshatra) and Jolie is the French word for "pretty" and Angelina has Venus in 1h and is Pushya Rising (these were two of the biggest beauty indicators according to Claire's research)

(its so cute to me that her name is literally Angel Pretty bc damn right she is)

Yara Shahidi (Revati Moon)- Yara is the name of a water spirit and in Portuguese it means "Water lady" (Yara has stated that her name means one who is close to your heart, but names can have several different meanings) and Shahidi means "witness" in Persian. I feel like all of that really ties together with Revati being in pisces rashi and the last nakshatra that is "witness" to everything else etc

[rubycruzin4abruzin]

Forbidden Crown - VI

Summary: You and Kit have begun planning your escape, but each predicted outcome seems to be more torturous than the last…

Pairing: kit tanthalos x princess!reader

Contains: kissing, implied public sex, angst, panic attacks, hints at character death

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: I have been so insanely busy (I’m an actress and I have been booked and blessed) so I wanted to get out a short chapter for you guys. There should be two more after this, enjoy! :)

“Look at this,” Kit thrust a book under your nose, pointing at the open page.

You leaned back, blinking as your eyes focused on the scripture. “What, pray tell, am I beholding?”

The two of you were sprawled out on the stone floor of the castle’s library, surrounded by open books, maps, and weathered scrolls. No one used the library much these days—the twins had long since finished their schooling, and the rest of the palace was far too busy with wedding preparations to concern themselves with reading—so it was the perfect place for you and Kit to hide away and plan your escape. Even so, you kept to the back corners to evade any prying eyes.

”Information on the Lovedu People of South Africa,” Kit explained. “They’re a tribe that permits the matrimony between two women. Offspring of such unions are even deemed the heirs of the ‘female husband.’”

“Kit,” you had to laugh. “We are not fleeing to Africa.”

“Why not?” Kit pouted.

You reached for a crumpled T-O map, pulling it towards you and smoothing its worn surface. “Because we…” you pointed to Europe “…are here, and Africa…” you traced southward to the African quarter, “…is over there. There’s an entire Mediterranean Sea between them, and we have no means to cross it.”

Kit grumbled something indistinct as she pulled the book back. She knew you were right, but that didn’t mean she liked it. You giggled at her petulance, kissing her cheek in an attempt to brighten her spirits. “Let’s agree: if by chance you find a ‘sapphic tribe’ within Europe, count me in. Until then, let’s continue seeking a more feasible escape route.”

She seemed content with your reply, turning your jaw towards her and returning your innocent peck with something deeper. You sighed into her mouth, drawing closer to her. Any and all books and research were quickly abandoned as you lost yourselves in each other. Your hands were all over her, traversing her body with the same fervent determination as she had that night in the garden. Subdued sounds spilled from her throat as your lips trailed from hers, strewing kisses down her jaw and neck before dipping below her belt.

This time, it was her turn.

As time went on, your search for a relocation proved to be increasingly futile. Each kingdom researched was either too far away or too risky. You had exhausted all options and were growing increasingly desperate, and the weddings were but a fortnight away.

During a particularly sleepless night, you settled into the Great Hall with a map of Andowyne stretched across the long table, lit by candlelight. Your brow furrowed in frustration; each habitable area of the landscape had been dismissed for one reason or another. At this point, you and Kit were beginning to embrace the possibility of crafting a hovel to live in the Wildwoods.

You pinched the sides of the map between your fingers, holding it up in front of you when the flickering candlelight pierced through the paper, revealing something secret. At some point, someone had taken this map from the library and folded down the top right corner, concealing its contents from the rest of the surface. With curious fingers, you unfolded the corner, smoothing out its crease to reveal drawings of mountains, springs, and even a castle, all labeled with only one word:

Nockmaar.

Before you could even begin to wrap your head around this unveiled secret, you heard footsteps echo from outside the room. You froze, breath stilling as you waited for the footsteps to reveal their source. Could it be Kit, searching for a midnight tryst? Or perhaps Airk, coming back from a dalliance of his own?

Instead, Sorsha’s face appeared in the doorway, illuminated by her own candlestick. She donned a silk nightrobe over her chemise, with a slightly startled expression upon seeing you.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said, eyeing you curiously. “What are you doing awake?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” you answered truthfully.

“Neither could I,” she replied. “I suppose wedding planning has us all a bit perturbed.”

You sucked in your cheeks and nodded, accepting the half-truth.

“Perhaps one of the kitchen maids could bring you some warm milk? I was about to request some myself…”

“What is this place called Nockmaar?” The question slipped out before you could stop it.

Sorsha was taken aback, almost dropping her candlestick. “Pardon?”

“Nockmaar,” you repeated, smoothing out the map’s creases. Sorsha moved closer, examining the worn paper, and you saw no path of retreat remaining. “I came upon this map of Andowyne, and this corner had been folded away. Was it deliberate?”

It was difficult to tell in the dim candlelight, but Sorsha’s face seemed to pale. Her eyes glassed over as she brushed a fingertip over the creased corner, almost as if it would burn her. “Nobody visits Nockmaar anymore.”

“Nobody?” You asked, your interest piqued.

She shook her head. “Not anymore.”

“Has it become inhabitable?” You knew you were pushing, you knew you would get the scolding of a lifetime if your mother caught you questioning your host, the queen, this way. But you couldn’t help it; if there was a chance at a livable location for you and Kit, you had to know.

“Not necessarily,” Sorsha gazed upon the illustrations with a sadness behind her eyes. “Many moons ago, my mother, an evil sorceress, cursed Tir Asleen and used Nockmaar as her new site of power. She enslaved the locals, the nomads, and forced them to build the castle.”

“Do the nomads still reside?”

“It’s a desolate land. My mother was defeated long ago, and with her went the enslaved locals. Terrible, really.” She seemed to get lost within the cartography before snapping back to reality. “It wasn’t her fault. Not completely. She was abducted by order of the Wyrm. They radicalized her, gave her unnatural powers, they…” tears brimmed her eyes. She took a step back, wrapping her nightrobe tighter around herself with a trembling hand.

You immediately stood up, pulling out a chair for Sorsha to rest in. “Your highness, my apologies, I…”

“Have nothing to apologize for,” she finished for you. “It’s quite alright. You didn’t know.”

“Still,” you insisted, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. Although you technically hadn’t done anything wrong, guilt still gnawed at your stomach like a wererat on the innards of a well. You had distressed the Queen of Tir Asleen, your future mother-in-law. If your mother had been awake…

“The castle is believed to be cursed,” Sorsha stated, almost out of nowhere. “Impenetrable walls oozing with bad magic. No one’s been there in years.”

You had to know. “Is the castle truly cursed, or is that simply a belief?”

She turned to you, fear striking her umber-brown eyes. “I wouldn’t want to be the one to find out.”

“You have an entire castle you’re not using,” you confronted Kit the next morning after finding her reading under the big tree in the Tir Asleen garden. The lush hedges and blooming hellebores had sort of become a sacred oasis for the two of you—where you made your first friend, had your first kiss, shared your first… everything.

She looked up from her book—a new treatise on European tribes—and cocked her head. “How do you mean?”

You moved to sit next to her, reaching over and closing the book in her lap. “I know where we’ll be going.”

Kit’s eyebrows arched in intrigue. A fervent smile spread across your face. “Nockmaar.”

Her face immediately fell, eyes widening in dismay. “Nockmaar?”

“Your grandmother once had a castle up there, now long abandoned. It would serve as the perfect refuge. Of course, we may have to travel a bit for trips to the market…”

You continued explaining details of the plan you deemed to be brilliant, but Kit’s attention waned. Your words sounded distant—muffled, as if you were holding her head underwater. She stared into nothingness, eyes shrouded in a veil of fog.

“It’s uninhabitable,” she said finally.

You frowned. “It’s desolate. There’s a difference.”

“It’s cursed,” she finally looked at you, her face a ghostly pallor of fear.

“That’s but a legend; we cannot know for certain.”

“My grandmother had that castle built once she was indoctrinated by the Order of the Wyrm. I lost my father to the Wyrm. I cannot…” She trailed off, her breath quickening as the weight of your request settled upon her. “My grandmother… the demon queen… I bear her blood… it lies within me, waiting to be unleashed…”

“Kit…” your voice cracked as tears traced her cheeks. You had never seen her like this—terrified, her vulnerability exposed without her usual armor of anger—and your heart ached with guilt at having been the cause of such distress.

“What if the Wyrm awaits the return of the demon blood? I would become the new harbinger. I would be enslaved. I could destroy Tir Asleen, endanger my family, and…” Her eyes locked with yours again.“…you. I don’t want to hurt you. If I were to ever lose you…”

“You wouldn’t lose me,” you interrupted, gently squeezing her upper arms and pressing your forehead to hers. “And you wouldn’t hurt me, I know you better than that.”

“I wouldn’t be myself…”

“I would love you however you are.”

Despite your attempt at sweetness, her shoulders still deflated. “You’re not understanding…”

“Here’s what I do understand,” you leaned back, cupping her face in your hands. “Even if there is a chance that Nockmaar is cursed, and the Wyrm resides there, and it awaits a new harbinger… it’s still the safest option we have.”

Your words sank into Kit’s mind like a ship with a cracked hull. As much as she hated to admit it, you were right. Again. There was a possibility of Nockmaar being cursed, but remaining here was even more perilous. If the two of you were ever… discovered, you could be forced into pilgrimage, imprisoned, or even executed. Wyrm aside, Nockmaar was a vast, empty land; you could wander for miles without running into a single person, making the prospect of getting caught almost negligible.

As she gazed into your pleading eyes—her own filled with resignation—she realized how much this meant to you. In the fifteen years you’d known each other, Kit had always been the one to wield the scepter. You were younger, and even if not by much, Kit felt as though it was her duty to impart wisdom upon you. She had been your first kiss, introduced you to the forbidden texts, taken your innocence, always the one leading you into mischief under the precedence of ‘excitement’. But now, you were making a decision for the both of you, and you showed no signs of retreat. The sweet little girl Kit fell in love with had vanished, and been replaced with that of a woman—still sweet, but opinionated, clever, with the impenetrable strength of the Nockmaar castle walls. And in that moment of realization, Kit fell in love with you all over again.

“And if I awaken one morning,” she said slowly. “My eyes cold, and my face a cracked and stony gray?”

“Then I’ll love you all the same.”

“No,” she whispered, taking your hands in hers. As much as she could admire your newfound resolve, Kit was still Kit—willful, defiant, and famously unyielding. “I need you to promise me something.”

You surveyed her expression with unblinking eyes, waiting for her to continue.

“If that were to happen, if you roll over in our bed to find I’m no longer myself…” she swallowed. “I would need you to end my life.”

“What?!” You gasped, perhaps louder than intended.

“We’ll swipe a sword from the armory and take it with us. I’m sure you’ll be able to carry a sword now,” Kit said with a lopsided smile, recalling how the heavy metal fell from your grasp the first time you held a sword.

Of course, you weren’t one to find that amusing. “Kit, I cannot… I mean… to end you… Kit, I…”

“Princess,” she whispered, wiping away the single tear that had fallen from your cheek. “I would rather die by your hands than by those of an executioner in the Tir Asleen dungeon.”

And suddenly, it was Kit’s turn to be right. In either case, you risked witnessing Kit take her final breath, but the slim chance of it happening at Nockmaar was far more appealing than the strong certainty of it happening if you stayed. Perhaps you two hadn’t quite thought through the ramifications of fleeing, but then again, time was of the essence.

“Very well,” you agreed with a sniff. “I promise.”

Your voice cracked on your last word before beginning what was possibly the ugliest cry of your life. Kit held you in her arms, rocking you back and forth beneath the protective shade of your favorite tree. Neither of you spoke, only the sound of your uncontrollable sobs echoed through the garden as the weight of your life-altering decisions settled upon you.

One fortnight.

Two weeks.

Fourteen days until the weddings, and one less until your escape. All you could do was savor the time you had left as you prepared for what was bound to be a torturous existence.

Tag List: @chloepricesgirl @canmargesimpson @yourelliewillms @valenftcrush @camilleee222 @prettygirlfemme @slaytillieswooo @lovinglynny @joanvisitsrome @athenalive @mih11 @j-pacifica @everybodyhatesari @vii-ofswords @sofi4v13 @detmarmalade @at1nyzen @ikyk-leeknow @ingigisworld

[anim-ttrpgs]

Why So Much Combat in an Investigation Game?

Just about every time someone picks up this rulebook, we get asked “There’s more pages dedicated to combat than investigation. If this game is about investigation, why are there so many pages dedicated to combat?”

There are two answers, which are really two explanations of one answer.

The first is verisimilitude. Eureka wants the players to have a very believable and grounded experience with combat in the game, which is not something that most players and Narrators are able to consistently improvise off the top of their heads, so the rulebook provides detailed guidelines for this in the form of its combat rules. Combat in real life is also very dangerous and deadly, and survival of it often has less to do with an individual’s skill at throwing punches and more to do with their preparedness and knowledge to just not get into a disadvantageous position in the first place.

The second reason is Eureka is a game, and it's a game about investigation. Eureka wants the investigators to be investigating, not punching and shooting their way through all their obstacles. To this end, Eureka has to make punching and shooting into something very dangerous to the survival of the investigators, to discourage it as a solution in all but the most desperate circumstances. However, if combat is to be deadly, it also needs to have a lot of depth and strategic possibility, or else it wouldn’t be fun–and as a game, Eureka is meant to be fun. Rolling a couple dice that you and your character have little control over the outcome of, then finding out that they are just dead for a (believable) post-hoc reason, isn’t very satisfying.

Eureka wants the party’s skill in investigation to determine their survival in combat as much as if not more so their Firearm or CQC skills. This is how these two philosophies on combat rules writing come together. The depth and realism of Eureka’s combat rewards preparedness with survival more than it rewards raw stats, and the emphasis on investigation creates preparedness.

It is the investigation that tells the investigators that the building next to the warehouse where the gangsters are hiding out has a fire escape they could use to jump across to the warehouse roof, and from that they can sneak to a loft that will put them directly above the villains—and it is the intricacy and extensiveness of the combat rules that dictate that by being on the loft when they attack, which they got to by investigating, they have a huge advantage, but still no guarantee of survival.

They have the element of surprise which will allow them to attack first and also opportunity to make a Stealth Attack, and then once that is over, they still have cover while the gangsters have none.

The reason Eureka dedicates so many pages to combat despite being an investigation game primarily is to elevate and supplement the investigation gameplay by providing a real sense of danger as well as providing the Narrator a wide range of game mechanic tools to raise the stakes and provide obstacles, and provide the investigators and their players a wide range of game mechanic tools which they can use to cleverly overcome those obstacles.

We have provided a simplified set of “Basic Combat” rules, but these are an optional rule, with the default and intended way to play being to use every mechanic afforded to investigators and NPCs to the fullest degree.

[There is also a secret third reason why Eureka dedicates so many more pages to combat than to investigation, and it's because at the time of writing this, the chapters covering investigation have been copy-edited, while the chapters covering combat have not yet been. The copy-editing process reduced the page count of the investigation sections by about 25%, and will do the same to the combat sections when we get around to it. By the way,(You can also get the latest PDF for FREE for a limited time by joining the A.N.I.M. TTRPG Book Club!]

Elegantly designed and thoroughly playtested, Eureka represents the culmination of three years of near-daily work from our team, as well as a lot of our own money. If you’re just now reading this and learning about Eureka for the first time, you missed the crowdfunding window unfortunately, but our Kickstarter page is still the best place to learn more about what Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy actually is, as that is where we have all the fancy art assets, the animated trailer, links to video reviews by podcasts and youtubers, and where we post regular updates on the status of our progress finishing the game and getting it ready for final release.

Beta Copies through the Patreon

If you want more than just status updates, going forward you can download regularly updated playable beta versions of Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy and it’s adventure modules by subscribing to our Patreon at the $5 tier or higher. Subscribing to our patreon also grants you access to our patreon discord server where you can talk to us directly and offer valuable feedback on our progress and projects.

The A.N.I.M. TTRPG Book Club

If you would like to meet the A.N.I.M. team and even have a chance to play Eureka with us, you can join the A.N.I.M. TTRPG Book Club discord server. It’s also just a great place to talk and discuss TTRPGs, so there is no schedule obligation, but the main purpose of it is to nominate, vote on, then read, discuss, and play different indie TTRPGs. We put playgroups together based on scheduling compatibility, so it’s all extremely flexible. This is a free discord server, separate from our patreon exclusive one. https://discord.gg/7jdP8FBPes

Other Stuff

We also have a ko-fi and merchandise if you just wanna give us more money for any reason.

We hope to see you there, and that you will help our dreams come true and launch our careers as indie TTRPG developers with a bang by getting us to our base goal and blowing those stretch goals out of the water, and fight back against WotC's monopoly on the entire hobby. Wish us luck.

[sunderwight]

crack scum villain theory: there is no "original" Shang Qinghua

how this works is, neither the world of SV nor the world of PIDW actually existed in any tangible sense before Airplane died. Airplane dying was actually the catalyst for the system, and whatever unfathomable cosmic entities are behind it, to recreate the world from the novel. that's why Airplane transmigrates into an infant, and also why the world mostly follows canon up until Airplane interacts too much with actual plot-relevant characters, and accidentally butterfly effects Shen Jiu into a fatal qi deviation. At which point the system determines that a dead Shen Qingqiu makes fulfilling the basic story requirements impossible or at least dangerously low in terms of odds, and brings in the second play (User 002, Shen Yuan).

SY is able to earn more points from the system than Airplane, but that's mostly thanks to his proximity to the protagonist not actual preferential treatment, and he seems to have more concrete restrictions on his behavior and limits on his mobility (OOC lock, entering into an already-established character, and of course being forced to ensure that Luo Binghe goes into the Endless Abyss) (this does make it ironic that he ultimately changes the most things). whereas Airplane seems to have more freedom to do as he pleases. the system doesn't even seem to dock him points for accidentally contributing to the death of a vitally plot-relevant character.

so the SV world was originally supposed to more or less just be the same as the PIDW world. it didn't change to any significant degree until Shen Jiu died.

I suspect, then, that the PIDW world which followed canon didn't exist as any kind of separate reality until Shen Jiu died of a fatal qi deviation and had to be replaced. at which point the system -- perhaps hedging its bets -- created two splintered timelines. one being the original sandbox for Airplane to play in and continue to alter, the other being a manufactured reflection of the story's original outcome, possibly to serve as some kind of emergency back-up character bank or reference outline.

which means that the PIDW version of this reality isn't a full and cohesive world. though of course the people there don't know that. it's mostly just a tool for the system, which is why we first encounter Bingge being utilized as an enforcer. Bingge and everyone else who exists in the PIDW reality, they all remember their past as the story and are at the end point of what Airplane had written, but none of it actually happened. they instead sprang into existence at their narrative end point.

since the Shang Qinghua of Airplane's novel died well before the end of the story, characters in the PIDW have various recollections of a "Shang Qinghua" and his death, but they are vague and ultimately do not reflect the tangible events of a world the way that the SV timeline does. they are artificial memories based on a story. PIDW Shen Jiu likewise never really existed, although SV Shen Jiu did. similarly, all the history of the SV world that supposedly happened before Shang Qinghua was born never actually happened either. that's all constructed as well, which means that in a weird kind of a way, no one in the world can actually be older than Shang Qinghua either. they can only have manufactured memories that give them that impression. which means Airplane is the oldest being in that entire universe. he'd even be older than his own parents, because they were created to be his parents the moment he was born.

so there's no other Shang Qinghua. everything prior to Airplane's transmigration in the SV world and prior to the last PIDW chapter in the PIDW world is like when a video game designer seeds a dungeon with a skeleton and a bunch of notes about how some lone adventurer got lost and died there. at no point in the game was there ever actually a live adventurer in place of that skeleton.

that's "original" Shang Qinghua. he doesn't exist, because in one reality he's only ever been a version of Airplane, and in another he's a skeleton in a video game dungeon.

[calliopefiction]

Misplaced

Misplaced is a fantasy romance IF wherein your choices not only determine your own fate, but that of an entire kingdom. Let me take you on an adventure filled with both whimsy and tragedy alike.

The current public demo goes up to the end of Chapter 8.

The demo on Patreon goes up to the end of Chapter 9.

The Story:

For decades, the human kingdom of Gaiapeia has been in conflict with the fae living in the surrounding lands. There's no end in sight - in fact, an outright war seems more likely with each passing day.

You are the child of Lady and Sir Grahm, a noble family who has been serving the crown for generations. Eager to follow in your father's footsteps, you have been training for years to become a knight worthy of being Prince Az'Lean's Champion - his right hand, his closest confidant, the one who protects his life from the growing danger of the fae.

When the time finally comes and you are chosen for the position, it's a dream come true. You couldn't be happier, but just one day later on your 21st birthday, a terrible truth is revealed to you.

You are a changeling - a fae child that was smuggled into a human family with only one purpose: to gain the prince's trust and use it against him.

A war between humans and fae is slowly but surely brewing, and the outcome depends entirely on your choices. 

Will you choose a side or try to make peace? 

Will you embrace what you are or reject it? 

And who will you let in on your secret?

Features:

Customize the appearance of your MC, play as non-binary, female, or male and romance whoever you like however you like, including the option of asexual or queer-platonic relationships.

Enjoy the story without having to worry about stats - you will be a competent knight no matter what. There is no failure or success, only different choices and their outcomes.

Shape your personality, and your trustworthiness, with your actions. How other characters feel about you will change depending on how they perceive you.

Pick a side early on, play the long con, or refuse to make a choice at all. There are multiple split paths that will feature the same romancable characters - but their relationship to you might vary greatly (including villain romances).

Romance:

Vynn (nb): A fellow knight and your best friend

Unlike you, Vynn isn't a knight by choice and doesn't care much for fighting. They'd much rather be a bard if they could, seeing as they love playing the lute, spinning epic tales, and generally being a source of levity. They are fiercely loyal and good-natured, though there is that bit of resentment that will never quite leave their heart.

Az'Lean (m): The prince and the one you are sworn to protect

At a glance, Az'Lean is the very picture of a fairytale prince: charming, chivalrous, and powerful. He is an excellent fighter, loves animals, and prefers to be treated like an equal. Anyone who cares to look will soon notice the darkness lurking beneath that shining exterior, festering ever since the death of his mother.

Maeve (f): A powerful dryad and your teacher on the ways of the fae

Maeve is usually playful and soft, though she can get eerily intense at times. As much as she cares about decorum and courtly things, she finds joy in the simplest pleasures and easily turns into a giggly mess. For all her humour, you can never quite tell if she is being serious. Sometimes it feels like she's just playing with you.

Thianne (f): A sorceress and one of Az'Lean's most trusted advisors

Thianne is intelligent and hard-working, though sometimes at the expense of her own well-being. Although she comes across as abrasive and rude, she is always willing to help those who need it. Her dry sense of humour and brutal honesty have endeared her to just as many people as they have made her enemies.

Lester (m): A half-fae and servant in the castle

As with most half-fae, Lester's presence isn't entirely welcome, and his reasons for being here seem deeper than he lets on. Lester is known for his mischief and his crude humour, often pulling pranks that border on malicious. Despite the way he presents himself as laid-back and uncaring, it's clear that there's a lot he isn't opening up about.

Warnings:

This story contains potentially triggering content. There will be graphic depictions of violence, death, discrimination, body-image issues, mental illness (including panic attacks, suicidal thoughts and paranoia), discussions of genocide, war, and terminal illness. 

Discretion is advised. More warnings might be added at a later date.

Support:

Thank you so much for showing any interest in this project at all! If you would like to receive biweekly update posts, participate in polls, and get access to bonus short stories, consider supporting me on Patreon.

[cupidcures]

When Tulips Kiss | Hwang Hyunjin SMAU

CHAPTERS: 𝜗𝜚 TWENTY-EIGHT | TWENTY-NINE | 𝜗𝜚 THIRTY

WORD COUNT: 3k (not proofread)

CONTAINS: profanity, mentions of insecurities, mentions of cheating, soft boy hyunjin finally appears!

the second time?

“Wow… And here I thought you guys were actually getting somewhere.” Changbin sighed disappointedly while shaking his head at the same time. “I gotta give it to you though, you’ve got some fucking balls. I think the guy deserved the beating for instigating shit like that, to be honest. He was provoking you and he simply got what he was asking for, it was clear he wanted a reaction out of you.”

After Jeongin had left, the rest of the guys went inside Hyunjin’s room, demanding an explanation. So here they were, giving him their commentary and opinions on what happened.

“I was on your side up until the part you said you called Y/N a bitch and lashed out at her as well. You can’t blame her for checking up on the guy, he took a lot of hits, and MAYBEEEEE you went a little overboard. But like Changbin said, he was asking for it. Though, she could’ve done something to defend you.” Felix butted in as Hyunjin sat there quietly, nodding with each comment his friends add on.

“I wish I could take everything back. Well actually, I could live with knowing I beat Heeseung up twice, but hurting Y/N? Holy shit I’m literally setting myself up for failure.” Hyunjin covered his face with his hands and dragged his cheeks down, groaning.

“You should apologize as soon as possible. Even if you think she won’t forgive you, it’s better to apologize as soon as you can, rather than wait it off.” Chan patted Hyunjin’s back in comfort before smacking the back of his head.

“Hey!”

“Don’t start complaining now, that was barely anything compared to what you did to the poor dude.”

“Yeah yeah.. What do I even tell Y/N? She probably doesn’t even wanna talk to me.” Resting his chin on his hand, Hyunjin’s mind flashed with outcomes one after the other of what could end up happening when he apologized.

“If you really want to make things right, you need to tell her everything. And I mean EVERYTHING. Stop pussying out of telling her your side of what happened in high school. If you told her from the very start and if you weren’t stalling, this all could have been avoided. In fact, I’m almost positive that she would have stood up for you when Heeseung started talking all that shit.“ Minho rolled his eyes as Chan nodded at him in agreement.

“Tell her everything that you felt too. Not just what you think happened. You need to be clear with your feelings and how your mind processed everything. Be vulnerable with her, and she’ll open up to you.” Chan offered additional advice. “And for fucks sake, do NOT do this over text. This is something that is meant to be talked about IN PERSON.”

“She would probably slam the door in my face if I showed up. She definitely hates me now,” Hyunjin mumbled and pinched his nose bridge in annoyance, but he wasn’t annoyed at you. He was annoyed at himself.

How could he have been so reckless to break down all the progress the two of you had built up together?

“So what? Face it. At least you could tell yourself that you tried, and at least you could let her know that you’re trying to make things right.” Felix put his hand on Hyunjin’s shoulder with a determined look. “And don’t give up so easily either! I believe you can make things right!”

“Yah! You’re Hwang Hyunjin and you could get any and every girl you want, remember?! You got this! You can get your girl back, even if it takes longer than usual!! You just need to put in more effort!” Changbin joined in with Felix on the encouragement whilst wearing a smile on his face.

“She’s not just any other girl though. She’s everything to me and I can’t bear to think of the fact that I even hurt her. I fucked up really badly. I’ve already lost her once, I don’t think I can handle losing her again.” Hyunjin wallowed in his sadness as Minho let out a rather loud groan.

“Oh shut up and get your ass off the bed. YOU. ARE. GOING. Right now. You don’t wanna lose Y/N? The longer you wait to see her and apologize to her the more time you give her to slip through your fingers. Get your sorry ass up and show her just how sorry you are.” Minho grabbed Hyunjin’s car keys and shoved them into his hand before dragging him out of his room, through the hallway and the living room, and practically throwing him outside of the house.

“GO. APOLOGIZE.” Minho shouted sternly for the last time before slamming the door in his face.

Hyunjin blinked in surprise, not expecting this to happen at all. Despite that, he composes himself together and gets inside his car to rush on campus—to your dorm room—praying to anyone, anything up above who would listen to his hopes of you letting him explain everything.

~

Chuu was in the kitchen talking to her girlfriend on Facetime when she heard the knocking on the door entrance. Glancing at the top of her phone screen to check the time, it read that it was 11:23 PM.

“What the fuck? Who could be knocking at this hour?” Chuu whispered over the phone, her grip on it tightening subconsciously.

“Huh? Is everyone in the dorm already there?” Sooyoung, her girlfriend, asked in concern.

“Well, no. But they said they’ll be gone for the weekend. Should I open it?” Chuu looked at the door nervously, a small shiver running up her spine.

“Check through the peephole just in case. Be careful.” Sooyoung warned as Chuu nodded and slowly crept to the door, peeking out through the hole in the door.

Standing there was Hyunjin who was checking the watch on his wrist. Chuu watched him intently, confused as to why he was there.

“It’s just Hyunjin, Y/N’s… friend? I guess you could say that?” Chuu was still unaware of what happened that day, and so she still thought you and Hyunjin were friends. She watched Hyunjin look down at the floor and turn away. It wasn’t until he started walking away that Chuu finally opened the door.

“Hey, you here for Y/N?” She called out as Hyunjin’s head perked up, turning back around towards the dorm.

“Yes, actually. It is okay if I could come in and talk with her?” He asked awkwardly and fidgeted with his fingers, nervous that he’d get rejected without even having the chance to see you face to face. To his relief, Chuu nodded at his request and opened the door wider.

“Yeah, sure. She’s in the room, by the way. Don’t do anything inappropriate.” Chuu pointed her finger at his in an accusatory way but laughed right after, indicating that she was just joking around.

Hyunjin laughed along with Chuu a little bit before giving her his thanks and making his way toward the door of your room.

“Okay sorry Honey, I let him in but I’m back now~” Chuu hummed contently and went back to talking with Sooyoung.

Meanwhile, with Hyunjin, he knocked on your door softly so as to not startle you. “Y/N? It’s me, Hyunjin. Can we talk? Please?” He spoke in a gentle tone and waited for a reply. He was met with silence instead, so he considered just walking away and giving up. That was until he remembered his friends’ words to him.

“And don’t give up so easily either! I believe you can make things right!” Felix’s voice echoed in his mind.

“The longer you wait to see her and apologize to her the more time you give her to slip through your fingers. Get your sorry ass up and show her just how sorry you are.” Then Minho’s voice echoed.

They were right, he couldn’t back away now and risk losing you. Not again. Not ever.

“Y/N, I’m coming in, okay? Tell me now if you don’t want to see me tonight and I won’t. But I’ll be back tomorrow.” Hyunjin speaks out and still, no response. So he does what he said he would do, and he opens the door to the bedroom, only to find it empty.

Eyebrows furrowed in confusion, he looked around the room—which wasn’t even big, to begin with—for you, but you were nowhere to be found.

He sighed in disappointment and started to walk out to leave until he heard the door to the bathroom open, and there you were.

You stood there, frozen in shock as you made eye contact with the boy. If you had known that Hyunjin would be there waiting for you, you would have brought spare clothes to the bathroom and changed there instead. But you didn’t know, so you were standing there in a damp towel, water droplets pittering on the floor from your hair.

“I… wow.” Hyunjin’s mouth was agape and blood rushed to his cheeks seeing you. It’s not like he hasn’t seen you like this before. He has literally seen you naked before, but you still had the same effects on him, as if it was his first time seeing you like this. His mind went blank. Or maybe into a frenzy? Either way, he wasn’t thinking straight as he gawked at the sight of you. He was telling himself to look away, but his body wasn’t obeying him.

You stood there with a red face that matched his before grabbing the closest plushie to you and throwing it at his face, smacking him. “Turn around!!” You squealed and tried covering up as much as you could, but there wasn’t much you could do with a towel.

Hyunjin’s eyes widened as he snapped out of it, quickly turning his body around and squeezing his eyes shut.

“Shit… I’m so sorry holy fuck shit damn oh my god.” He cursed as embarrassment overcame him. ‘How long was I staring??? She probably thinks I’m a pervert now. Great!’ Hyunjin thought in his head, mentally losing it.

He heard rustling and shuffling of things behind him before you cleared your throat.

“Ahem.. You can turn around now.” You crossed your arms as Hyunjin turned to look at you with an embarrassed expression on his face.

“What did you need to say?” You got straight to the point and Hyunjin gulped nervously, mentally preparing himself for any possible outcome that may happen from this conversation.

“I’m… Sorry.”

“Is that seriously all you have to say?” You raised an eyebrow and scoffed in irritation.

“No! I mean, no. Sorry for raising my voice.” He licked his lips and took a deep breath in before exhaling.

“I’m so sorry for what happened today. I know I’ve already said it, but I truly am.” He started off apologetically. “I don’t know what came over me, I don’t know what possessed me to say those awful things to you. No words can describe the extent of my regret, I’ve never wished for anything more than to take back the words I said to you. They don’t reflect on what I feel about you at all, not even close.”

Your face softened a bit and you walked towards him, sitting down on the bed as you patted next to you, and he, almost instantly, sat down.

“I believe you. But It still hurt to hear those things, you know?”

“I know. I wish I didn’t hurt you. But fuck, it hurt so much to see you choose Heeseung over me for the second time. I cou—“

“Stop right there. The second time?” You looked at him in confusion, and he looked back.

“The first time was in high school?” He stated, or questioned. He stated it more so to ask if you were aware, but you stared at him, lost.

“…Huh?”

So you didn’t know. He was wrong all along. He doesn’t think this a lot, but this is one of the few times he was glad that he was wrong.

“Back in high school when we were together. I came in a little late for our daily meet up, and I saw you in the library with Heeseung.” Hyunjin clenched his fists at the memory, looking away so you wouldn’t be able to see his face.

“You two were whispering in each other’s ears, laughing. I wasn’t able to hear what you guys were talking about except for one thing. He asked you out on a date, and told you to keep it a secret from me and to make an excuse as to why you couldn’t hang out with me that day. Then he asked for your number, and you gave it to him. I left, because I didn’t want to hear any more. That’s when I started ignoring you. I started pushing you away because I was hurt. I didn’t want to talk to you because I knew that if we talked, I would have automatically forgiven you and I would've let you keep hurting me. I would've let you continue to cheat and I would've pretended to be oblivious to it because at least I got to have you in some way. So I ignored you to spare myself. I lacked the self-respect to confront you about it.” You heard Hyunjin sniff, so you gently grabbed his chin to make him face you, a singular tear running down his face.

He was crying.

You gave him a small, but sad smile. “I wish you would’ve told me, I would have explained everything. Hyunjin, we were talking about you. In a good way, of course. He was asking you what presents to get you for your surprise birthday party the following day. The “date” he asked me on was so we could look for gifts to give to you together. It was nothing like that, I promise you. I loved you too much back then to ever cheat. I wish you trusted me.” Your small smile slowly turned into a small frown instead and you cupped his cheek as he nodded.

“I was stupid. I still am. But fuck, Y/N. You were so perfect. You still are. It scared me. I didn’t deserve you, and I was so scared that you were finally realizing that you deserved more than what I could give you. You deserved better than me, and my insecurities got the best of me. Heeseung is just… so much better than me in so many aspects and I couldn’t help but assume the worst. Taller, smarter, more athletic, and fuck, I’m not even gay and I could tell that the motherfucker is beautiful.” He chuckled a little bit and you giggled at his last statement.

You opened your mouth to say something in disagreement, but Hyunjin beat you to it and held the hand, YOUR hand, that cupped his cheek. “I’m so sorry Y/N, I’m sorry for everything. Please forgive me, I’ll be better I promise. I’ll make it all up to you if you would give me another chance.” He cried as more and more tears bubbled out of his eyes and streamed down his perfect face, and your heart ached at the scene in front of you.

“Hyunjin…” You mumbled softly, but he didn’t seem to hear you through all his crying.

“I’m…in love with you Y/N. After all these years I’m still in love with you. I was.. I was in denial at first. I didn’t want to believe that after all this time, after all the effort I took to forget about you and move on, that it was all useless. But there's no denying it anymore. I love you. I want— no. I NEED you. I don’t want to lose you again.” Hyunjin got up from beside you, only to drop down to his knees in front of you, bringing your hands to his forehead.

“You don’t even have to love me back. I know you don’t. Just please…” He sobbed, “Please don’t leave me. I can handle us just being friends. I’m fine with that just please don’t leave me. I don’t want to live a life that you’re not in.” Hyunjin begged brokenly, looking up at you with pleading eyes, tears flowing endlessly.

You could feel yourself tearing up and your lips quivered as you knelt down to his level and hugged him.

“You fucking idiot. You’ll always be better than Heeseung in my eyes. You’re perfect to me. I’m not leaving you, not ever. I may not love you anymore, but you’re my friend. You have me, okay? Please stop crying, I hate seeing you like this. Honestly, I’ll still need time to fully accept your apology and forgive you, you were a real asshole today. But just know, I’ll forgive you eventually, and I’m not leaving.” You sniffled as he buried his face into your neck, attempting to stop.

“Thank you so much. I don’t deserve you, you’re an angel.” He whimpered and wrapped his arms around your waist.

You guys sat there for a while in each other’s embrace, and you waited until the cries died down to pull away and caress his cheek.

You stared into his bloodshot eyes, and he stared into yours. Even after crying his eyes out, you still thought he was the most beautiful man to exist. You offered Hyunjin a smile as he weakly smiled back.

“I’m getting sleepy, can I sleep now?” You giggled as his face turned red, immediately getting up.

“Shit, I'm sorry. I’ll get going now. Thank you for keeping me as a friend, I won’t ever hurt you ever again.” He took your hand and helped you get up before giving you one last hug.

“You don’t need to thank me for that, I want to keep you in my life too, silly. Now get going.”

You walked him out of the dorm room and waved goodbye, watching the silhouette of his figure grow smaller and smaller, until he was out of site.

What a day.

a/n: hi!!!! sorry for the slow update, i’ve been busier lately and i’ll be starting my senior year in college soon so i hope you guys understand 🥲 anyways.. i hope you guys liked this chapter! hyune got friendzoned lololol

𝜗𝜚 WTK series masterlist

TAGLIST (OPEN)! @jeonginplsholdmyhand @jeonginsgirl @mlrroh @mafiulaputaama @seungzsmin @hannie-bees @skz1lov @porang-poranglinos @sillyhal @mitchii @soulphoenix1618 @gnab-nahc @hyunjins-dimples @nappynapnaps @15092000volcano @livixcore @linocvp1d @yaorzu-blog @scallywag1299 @boo-ven9eance @lys4lix @kirbrary @4ln-stay8 @sellomaybe @aznstoner @saintcosette @starseungs @syedazarintasnim @elqivxstxr @ivydoesit23 @weirdowithaphone @hyuneee3 @nhyunn @velvetmoonlght @amarecerasus @skzstan12345 @ravengxbss @sweetbokji

[crazy-ache]

Jane Austen's most romantic letter, if it had been written by Lucien Vanserra (Persuasion x Elucien)

Or what would happen if Lucien overheard Elain have a conversation about the bond? And what if he wrote a gut-wrenching love confession in said letter? Inspired by literature's most infamously romantic letter ever written.

Some text is directly taken from Chapter 23 of Persuasion by Jane Austen.

"We will write the letter to Helion we were talking of, Rhysand, now, if you will give me materials."

Materials were at hand, on a separate table; Lucien went to it, and nearly turning his back to the rest of the Inner Circle, was engrossed by writing.

Elain eyed him carefully, studying the leather strap that held back his long, molten red hair. Clearing her throat, she found Nesta across the room by the open window of the parlor as they were both on the outskirts of the Inner Circle’s political discussions. It was a respectable distance from where Lucien was writing at the desk, although still somewhat nearby. 

“I have a question for you,” Nesta turned to her younger sister, face like stone. “One that I have been thinking about for some time. What do you think our parents would have thought about the mating bond?” 

With wide, brown eyes Elain sucked in her breath. It was an unexpected question, but also a familiar one. For her thoughts had circled the very same doubts and insecurities that plagued her sister. “Well,” Elain wrung her hands nervously. “Mother would have adored Feyre’s, being mated to a High Lord after all. But if she didn’t like the outcome, she would have demanded a way to break it or alter it for her own advantage.” 

Nesta’s wicked grin revealed an agreement, knowing full well their mother would have been furious at her marriage and bond with an Illyrian general, and her matching status as a Valkyrie now. 

“As for father, well, I suppose, based on what he discussed with me in the past—there is a small chance he would have been disappointed.” Her voice dropped in both volume and confidence, barely escaping as a whisper passed her lips. As if she was instinctually afraid someone would hear, perhaps someone sitting across the room. 

Elain felt compelled to explain further. “He always told me the most important thing to find in a husband was true love. That I should not settle for anyone less than a kind, loyal heart who loves every part of me, because that kind of love will never leave you.” 

Out of the corner of her eye, Nesta regarded her with furrowed eyebrows. “And you do not believe that a mating bond can also encompass those very same feelings? That same love?” 

She considered her question carefully, chewing on her bottom lip. “Perhaps it can, but how can you know it is true? That it is not just the manifestation of desire in its place?” It was always that doubt, that fear, that crept into the darkest crevices of her heart. For as long as those shadows existed, she could not bring herself closer to her own mate, afraid she would be unable to determine the answer. In return, she was afraid of what she could possibly want or feel for him.

“I wish I could make you comprehend, Elain.” Nesta frowned, “I wish I could properly convey the feeling of how your soul glows when your mate loves you—”

Before Nesta could continue, Elain found herself apologizing with a hand on her elbow. “Gods forbid that I should undervalue the love and bond you share with Cassian, or Feyre’s either for that matter. It is a reminder that bonds can be true and constant attachments.”

She could not immediately have uttered another sentence; her heart was too full, her breath too much oppressed.

“You’re a good sister,” Nesta replied affectionately and Elain wonder if her sister could see past her tenderness, if anyone could witness the mask of kindness that Elain could so easily put on for the sake of others to hide her own feelings. The conversation faded as Feyre now joined them with Nyx on her hip, a welcome distraction for Elain as the three of them turned to him. 

“Ready to go?” Cassian’s voice eventually broke through the hum of the room, an echo across the parlor. “We need to meet with Vassa and Jurian.” Lucien was folding up a letter in great haste, and either could not or would not answer fully.

“Yes,” he said. “I will winnow us. I will be ready in half a minute.” 

Cassian left to wait for him at the front door, and Lucien, having sealed his letter with great rapidity, was indeed ready, with a hurried and agitated air, as if he was greatly impatient to leave. Elain could not understand it. Cassian had given her a smile and shoulder a warm squeeze as he left the room, but from Lucien himself, not a single word. He had passed out of the room without a look.  

Elain moved closer to the table where he had been writing, when suddenly she heard footsteps returning; the door opened and it was Lucien. He gave her a polite nod and gestured to where he had forgotten his gloves, instantly crossing the room to the desk. He drew out a letter from under the scattered papers, placed it before Elain with eyes glowing in longing fixed on her, and hastily collected his gloves, once again out of the room before anyone could even be aware he had been in it at all. 

The interaction was almost beyond expression. The letter, with strokes of pen that were hardly legibly, as if rushed, read “Elain Archeron,” was evidently the one which he had been folding so hastily. While he had supposedly been writing to Helion, he had also been addressing her. On the contents of that letter depended all which this world could do for her. Anything was possible. Sinking into the chair which he had occupied, succeeding to the very spot where he had leaned and written, her eyes devoured the following words:

“I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach. You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when this bond first snapped, two and a half years ago. Dare not say that a mate’s love cannot be true, that his love is influenced by our tether. I have loved another, but none like you. Unjust I may have been, distant and resentful I have been, but never inconstant. You alone have brought me to Velaris. For you alone, I think and plan. Have you not seen this? Can you fail to have understood my wishes? I had not waited even these past few days after Solstice, could I have read your feelings, as I think you must have penetrated mine, I can hardly write. I am every instant hearing something which overpowers me. You sink your voice, but I can distinguish your true thoughts through the bond when they would be lost on others. Too good, too excellent female! You do us justice, indeed. You do believe that there is true attachment and constancy among males. Believe it to be most fervent, most undeviating in your mate,  L.V. I must go, uncertain of my fate; but I shall return hither, or follow the court, as soon as possible. A word, a look, will be enough to decide whether I enter the Night Court this evening or never again.” 

Such a letter was not to be soon recovered from. 

[lulunothulu]

“A Bullseye to the Heart” (Ch. 3)

Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Latin Reader

Blurb: Jake is determined to find out what happened to you but as soon as he pulls your file up, everything is redacted. He turns to Rooster and Bob of all people to find out more. You get back to your apartment and find that your ex has trashed the place. one thing leads to another and you find yourself agreeing to live with Hangman until it's safe to go back home.

Contents: nothing too bad, some swearing, kinda fluff,

Word count: 2,096

Previously: Chapter 1, Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Jake is in the middle of taking a sip of his beer and laughing with Rooster and the rest of the guys when he feels a pair of arms wrap around his waist. He knew it had to be one of the four women he occasionally hit up at this time for late-night sex. Now, which one was this? He twists around to see your pretty smile looking up at him. 

“Y/N?” He asks over the loud music and chatter of Hard Deck. 

“What? Is this such a surprise?” You ask sweetly. Before he can answer, your arms are wrapped around him and you’re kissing him passionately. 

Bolting upright in bed, Jake looks at the clock on his nightstand. 

8:15 AM. 

“What the fuck?” He mutters to himself. What a way to wake up. When he lays back down, he feels someone place their arm on his chest. He turns to his left to see a busty blonde fast asleep beside him. 

I don’t even remember bringing her home. What was her name?

He sighs before getting out of bed and walking into his bathroom. He looks in the mirror to see red lipstick marks all over his neck and chest leading down to his dick. 

Must’ve been a wild Friday night. 

He sighs and turns on the shower to wash everything off. A good thirty minutes into scrubbing his body, he steps out of the shower and wraps a towel around his waist. 

“Jake?” He hears what’s-her-name call. 

“Hey,” he says, opening the door to his bathroom a bit. “Go back to sleep, I’m just going for a run.”

“After you showered?” She asks. 

“Had to wash off the lipstick,” Jake shrugs. “Anyway, stay… or don’t. Your choice.”

“I think I’ll leave,” she says, getting out of bed and walking toward the pile of clothes in the corner. 

“Okay, see you around…” Jake trails off. 

“Bethany.”

“Right, Bethany.”

Jake doesn’t wait for her to say more. He walks to his closet and grabs some shorts and a t-shirt, pulling them on, and then saluting her playfully when he walks out of the room. 

When she leaves, Jake grabs his phone and searches for Phoenix’s text message. 

Jake: How’s Y/N?

Phoenix: She’s fine. 

Jake: That’s all I get?

Phoenix: Why do you want to know?

That’s a good question, why did he want to know? It’s not like he’s your boyfriend or anything. He had no right to ask how you’re doing. But, he did help you in some way. 

Jake: Just asking. Being chivalrous, I guess. 

Phoenix: Hmm. 

Jake closes out the messages app and sighs to himself. Still thinking about you, he decides to go to the Top Gun archives and do some research. Rooster told him something happened to you while you were missing, but he only half believed him. No reason to fully trust a dude with the call sign “Rooster”. 

Even if he was his friend.

Walking into the archives, Jake goes straight to the section from between two to three years back, searching for your call sign. An hour into looking into the file boxes, he finally finds the document he needs. He pulls out the file and opens it, giddiness flaring through his body when he sees your non-smiling picture of your profile. 

Scanning it, Jake reads:

Name: Y/L/N, Y/N

Call sign: Bullseye

Mission Location: [REDACTED]

Mission Purpose: Bullseye is to [REDACTED] at [REDACTED]. 

Now what the actual fuck? 

Reading down the page, everything is blacked out, except your name and call sign. When he reaches the “outcome” portion of the file, it’s all blacked out. What surprises him is the fact that it’s five pages long and again, all blacked out except your name and call sign. When he reaches “Status”, it says “Honorably Discharged/Full Sponsorship”.

Pulling his phone out, Jake calls Bradley and nearly snorts when Bradley answers, “Yello?”

“Hey I have a question,” he starts.

“Okay?”

“It’s about Y/N.”

“Oh.”

Taking a deep breath, Jake asks, “What happened after she was found?”

“Um,” Rooster hesitates. “She was found bloodied and bruised and then they brought her to the hospital on post.”

“How long before she was declared 100% for discharge? From the Navy I mean,” Jake asks, putting your file on the table before him and pulling out an empty sheet of paper to take notes. 

“I think about two months?” Bradley tells him. “It was really weird because, at lest from what she’s told me, they still pay her.”

“Yeah, the VA pays her.”

“No, I mean, the Navy still pays her. Like she’s still in.”

Jake stops writing and blinks. “What do you mean?”

“She told me a few months ago that they were still paying her damages or something like that. I guess it has to do with whatever happened while she was missing,” Bradley tells him. “We really shouldn’t be talking about this on the phone. Go to Hard Deck tonight, we’ll talk more then.”

“Thanks, Bradley.”

“Did you just thank me?” Bradley snorts.

“Fuck off.” Jake chuckles.

When they hang up, Jake is left to wonder: Why are you still getting paid by the Navy? Did it have to do with whatver it was that happened while you were missing? And if so, what the actual fuck happened to make the Navy pay you off?

Later that night, Jake is sitting in a booth in the back of Hard Deck sipping on a beer and waiting for Rooster to show up. Jake is in the middle of reading something on his phone when Rooster finally sits across from him, Bob in tow.

“Sorry, Bob here found out where I was going and… I think you might want to hear what he knows,” Rooster says.

Jake looks at Bob, expanctantly. 

“So you already know that Y/N’s been getting paid by the Navy,” Bob starts. When Jake nods, he adds, “Well, this is a ‘pay-off’ situation. I’m talking, they want to keep her silent about what happened.”

“Why?” Jake asks.

Bob glances at Rooster, who nods in encouragement. “They knew her jet was gonna go down.”

*   *   *

You knew Nick was an asshole, but you didn’t think he’d stupid enough to trash your apartment. Especially with the multiple cameras you had installed after the first time he hit you. 

You had just gotten to your apartment with Phoenix and as soon as you opened the door, you knew it was going to be a long evening. Furniture was toppled over in your living room, couch cushions were ripped open (probably with a knife), and dishes were broken all over your floor. 

“Oh my god,” Phoenix says from behind you. “What a fucking child.”

You only looked around in sadness. It took you months to find all of the things in your house because most of the things were vintage or second hand. You suck in a breath and rush to your room and into your closet to find the book of things from your parents. You didn’t even need to look deep enough because there it was, laying on the carpeted closet floor. 

Everything was ruined. 

Your parents had passed away six years ago and left you with a box of pictures from your youth as well as other family heirlooms. One of which was your mother’s engagement ring.

Quicklky falling to your knees, you begin to comb through the contents of the box, all soaked from the water Nick split inside it. 

“Please be in here. Please,” you whisper to yourself. 

“Y/N?” Phoenix questions. 

The ring was gone.

Anger rings in your ears, slivering down your spine and making you shake. How could he do this? What a fucking dickhead.

“He fucking stole my Mom’s ring,” you angrily tell Phoneix when she enters your room.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry.”

“Tomorrow I have to go to the pawn shops and look for it. Maybe he was stupid enough to do that,” you say to yourself. Then to her, “I cannot believe he would do that. What kind of a person steals someone’s dead Mom’s ring?”

“Someone who’s so insecure that they have to hurt vulnerable people,” she tells you. “Let’s call Bradshaw, he’ll help us clear some of this stuff out.”

When Rooster arrives, he has Bob and Jake with him. As they walk into your apartment, anger flickers on their faces. You see Jake mutter something tp the effect of “I’ll fucking kill him” and shake his head. You have to fight not to let your heart melt a bit. Why does that make your heart warm?

“Y/n, you should stay somewhere else for a bit,” Bob tells you. “What if he tries to come back tonight?

“You can stay with me,” Jake says making everyone turn to him. 

“Why the fuck would she stay with you?” Phoenix asks, crossing her arms. 

“Because I can protect her. And he won’t know where she is, assuming he didn’t follow you home last night,” he says. 

“I can protect her too, you know.”

“Phoenix, I know you’re strong, but that guy was a whole head taller than you. Besides, it’ll allow me to get to know Y/N.” He winks in your direction and you instinctively want to smile but force it down.

“This is ridiculous,” Phoenix says. “She should be with someone she’s comfortable with and who she knows. She doesn’t know you at all.”

“Again, it’ll allow me to get to know her.”

“You’re quiet,” Bob says, nudging you a bit.

“Maybe I should go with Bagman here,” You start. When they give you looks of surprise, you add, “Nick followed us home last night. I saw his car in the bushes behind your house last night after you went to bed.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Nat asks you.

“I didn’t want you to worry. I was gonna tell you tonight if he was there again.” You turn to Jake who’s watching you like a hawk. “I’ll go with you, under one condition.”

“What’s that?” he asks.

“I am not sleeping in the same bed as you.”

Jake smiles before winking at you and replying, “I have a spare bedroom you can stay in.”

“So it’s settled, Y/N stays with Seresin until we get her apartment safe and cleaned,” Rooster announces. 

“I guess,” Nat says, arms crossing over her chest. 

“Go pack a bag and we’ll start cleaning some of this up,” Rooster tells you.

You obey, glad that Nick wasn’t smart enough to mess with your clothes. You grab a large duffel bag and start stuffing as much clothes as you can fit into it, walking into your bathroom and packing your toiletries. When you enter your room again, you find Jake looking in the box of photos your parents left you.

“What’re you doing?” you ask.

“Sorry, I just saw the top photo and was curious,” he tells you. He looks up at you form the where he’s kneeling and softens his eyes. “Sorry, I should’ve asked.”

“Yeah, you should’ve,” you spit. “Just so you know, you’re not allowed to snoop or ask me things.”

“What makes you think I want to?” he asks, standing at his full height. He practically towers over you but you’re not scared. Just opposite actually, you feel weirdly safe.

“The look you gave me the first time you met me and knew my call sign.” 

Jake steps closer to you, almost touching your chest to his body. “Is it because you don’t know me?”

“No, it’s because I don’t trust you.”

“But you trust me enough to live with me for a bit?” Jake smiles cockily, green eyes lighting up in amusement.

Your breathing slows, realizing just how close he is to you. He smells delicious, manly and sweet at the same time. Addicting as fuck. When she lowers his head to whisper in you rear, you have to fight the urge to sniff him. 

“It’s okay, I know I’m addicting,” he whispers, lips brushing rhe shell of your ear.

You’re about to move your head to face Jake when you hear Rooster ask, “You ready?”

You pull away from a now smiling Jake and nod. Rooster looks between the two of you before smirking and motioning you to follow him with a jerk of his head. You do only stopping in the doorway and telling Jake, “Don’t fall for me and don’t deny you aren’t because I feel it. Trust me, you don’t want to be with me.”

Next part

tags: @akilatwt @russopalette

[a-method-in-it]

It's Election Night and I am so stressed I might be vibrating, but I want to say something important before I descend totally into madness:

No Matter Who Wins, Grassroots Efforts Must Continue

The thing about the grassroots stuff is that it never ends, no matter who is in office. The people in office determine how easy or hard it is, which issues you need to fight for and how much progress you can make. You will get more done and see bigger victories during Democratic administrations. But the work continues, regardless.

So if Kamala wins, get organizing.

If Trump wins, get organizing.

If your state legislature goes red, get organizing.

If your city council goes blue, get organizing.

Whatever it is, whatever election, whatever outcome, your next task is the same: get organizing.

It will be harder and scarier and probably more physically dangerous if Trump wins. The fight will be to preserve what we have, rather than to make the world any better. It will suck. But it needs to get done.

And if you're looking for ideas:

Unionize your workplace, or get involved in your union if you have one

Form a tenants union or get involved in the one you've got

Become a clinic escort or a court watcher

See what it takes to get your church or temple or other religious space designated as a sanctuary and talk to other congregants about it

Think about what problems exist in your community. Whatever they are, there's a local group trying to do something about it; if there's not, form one.

Find a local DSA chapter, or other left-y org, and attend a meeting

See what your local ACLU chapters are up to; a lot of them encourage members to come lobby the state legislature periodically

Donate money if you've got it

Get involved in your local Democratic Party; if you're in a rural or even suburban area, just showing up to meetings will give you a lot of sway.

No matter what happens, the grassroots game never ends.

[fanficapologist]

Of Dragons and Maelstroms

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 Ninety-Seven

The letter was sent the following morning by raven, its black wings cutting through the dawn sky, carrying Maera’s final plea for peace to Kings Landing. Within a few hours, the Black Queen would have received it, the delicate script of Maera’s hand laid bare before her, a final attempt to avoid the horrors of war.

However, two weeks had passed since then, and no reply had come. Each morning, Maera woke with a knot of anticipation in her chest, half expecting some notification, some shred of response, but it never arrived. The silence from the Capital was deafening, and it filled her with a growing anxiety that gnawed at her resolve. The lack of a reply made her question whether she should have attempted this last endeavor for peace at all.

As she sat at the breakfast table one morning, Maera could hardly bring herself to eat. The knot in her stomach made every bite of food unappealing, and she found herself merely picking at her plate, jabbing at the food with her fork. Her green eyes, usually so full of fire and determination, were distant as she stared out of the window across the sea.

She could see Blackwater Bay in the distance, its waters a dark, brooding blue under the morning sky. Somewhere beyond those waters was the towers of the Red Keep, where the Black Queen resided—where Rhaenyra sat, openly ignoring the letter that had cost Maera so much effort, so much hope. The waves crashed rhythmically against the shore, but their soothing sound only served to heighten her unease.

What was Rhaenyra thinking? Was she plotting? Waiting? Or did the letter simply mean nothing to her at all? The uncertainty gnawed at Maera, and she felt a wave of nausea rise within her. This waiting game felt more excruciating than any battle she could have prepared for, and the silence from across the water was becoming unbearable.

“Your fretting with not change the outcome,” a voice interrupted her spiraling thoughts. Maera’s eyes flicked back to the table, where her husband, the King, sat opposite her. On his knee, he bounced Aemara, their daughter, who was utterly fixated on the spoon in her father’s hand as he fed himself. The little girl reached out desperately, tiny fingers grasping at the air, eager to try the oatmeal that Aemond was enjoying.

The Queen couldn’t help but frown slightly at her husband. Aemond attended to his duties as if nothing was amiss, as if the looming silence from Kings Landing wasn’t a dark cloud hanging over them both. He seemed so unbothered, so calm, and it silently annoyed her. How could he carry on as if this unanswered letter didn’t have the potential to alter the course of the war? As if the fate of their future wasn’t hanging in the balance with each passing day?

When no reply came, Aemond spoke again, his voice steady and assured. “We extended the olive branch, Maera. All we can do now is wait.” As if to emphasize his point, Aemara squealed happily on his lap, her impatience finally rewarded as Aemond gave in and offered her a spoonful of oatmeal. She chewed on it with a delighted gurgle, utterly content in her father’s arms.

Maera continued to push the food around her plate, her appetite completely diminished by the gnawing anxiety in her gut. She had requested eggs, but the very sight of them now made her wrinkle her nose in distaste. With a sigh, she finally spoke, her voice tinged with frustration and unease. “I’ve never been good at waiting.”

Aemond glanced at her, his single eye observing her closely. “I know,” he replied softly, his tone holding a hint of understanding. Aemara angrily babbled on Aemond's lap, her small face scrunching up in a display of frustration as she waited for more food. Aemond couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight, and he dutifully gave the baby another spoonful of oatmeal.

He looked over at Maera, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “It seems our daughter has inherited your impatience,” he said with a light-hearted tone.

The clatter of Maera’s fork dropping onto her plate broke the brief moment of levity. She snapped at him, her voice sharp, “Better that than inheriting your impulsivity.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted them. She put her head in her hands, groaning in frustration.

When she finally looked up, she saw Aemond’s reaction—a clenched jaw, his brow raised in surprise at her harsh retort. The silence between them grew thick, and though he didn’t respond, his expression spoke volumes.

Maera shook her head, exhaling deeply to release the tension. She reached across the table, her fingers lightly brushing against his before she squeezed his hand in a gesture of reconciliation. “Sorry,” she muttered quietly, her eyes searching his for forgiveness.

Aemond studied Maera’s face for a long moment, his sharp eye taking in the weariness etched into her features. Without a word, he leaned down and kissed Aemara on the head, the gesture tender and deliberate. Then, with a purposeful grace, he rose from his seat, walked over to Maera, and gently placed their daughter into her arms.

The Queen took the child gladly, holding the small, warm body close to her chest. She nuzzled her nose into the soft, silver hair that mirrored her own, breathing in the sweet, innocent scent of her daughter. The simple act helped to steady her racing thoughts, grounding her in the present moment.

She felt Aemond’s rough hand cup her cheek, his calloused thumb brushing gently over her skin. Maera leaned into the touch, finding comfort in the familiar feel of his hand. When she looked up, her green eyes met his single violet one, searching for reassurance.

“Be patient,” Aemond said, his voice low and steady, a command wrapped in a gentle plea. Maera held his gaze, trying to absorb the calmness he radiated, even as her own anxiety swirled within her.

“Distract yourself,” Aemond continued, his tone softening as he offered her a way to cope with the waiting. He glanced out of the window, where the morning sun glinted off the distant waves of Blackwater Bay. “Patrolling with Ēbrion this afternoon will clear your mind.”

His words carried a quiet wisdom, a suggestion born of understanding. Maera nodded, her resolve strengthening slightly as she considered the familiar routine of flying with her dragon. It was a small solace, but a needed one.

Aemond bent lower, his breath warm against Maera’s ear as he brought his lips close, so close that she could feel the soft graze of his mouth against her skin. His voice dropped to a seductive whisper, a teasing edge to his tone that sent a shiver down her spine.

"And I’ll act as your distraction this evening," he murmured, each word deliberately slow, his intent clear. "Keeping you occupied well into the night."

Maera felt a small smile tugging at her lips, warmth flooding her chest despite the weight of the day’s worries. She tried to suppress the smile, to maintain some semblance of seriousness, but the corner of her mouth betrayed her, curving upwards ever so slightly.

“Ok.” She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief as she brushed her nose against his in a gentle, affectionate gesture. Aemond responded by planting a soft, chaste kiss on her lips, the touch brief but filled with the promise of more to come.

But the kiss didn't last long. Aemara, ever curious and eager for attention, reached up and tugged on her father's silver hair with a determined little fist. The unexpected pull made both Aemond and Maera break apart with a giggle, the sound light and filled with the shared joy of parenthood.

Aemond straightened, his amused eye meeting Maera's as they both chuckled softly at their daughter's interruption. The brief laughter brought a bit of warmth back into the room, a small reminder that even amidst the tension, they could still find moments of happiness together.

As much as Maera adored spending time with her Ladies after breaking her fast, their lighthearted chatter and the comfort of their company did little to ease the gnawing anxiety twisting her stomach into knots. Every smile she forced and every polite response she offered felt hollow, as though her mind was elsewhere. The constant undercurrent of worry, the anticipation of what might come, left her feeling nauseous and on edge. No matter how much she tried to immerse herself in their conversations, her thoughts always drifted back to the unanswered letter and the looming uncertainty.

True relief only came later in the day, during her afternoon patrol on Ēbrion. Aemond had been right; the moment she took to the skies, the weight on her chest lightened, the vast expanse of the world below offering a sense of freedom that nothing else could. As Ēbrion soared across the waters, his powerful wings cutting through the air with effortless grace, Maera felt the tension in her muscles slowly unwind. His black and blue scales shimmered in the sunlight, and his vivid orange eyes gleamed with a predatory sharpness as they scanned the horizon.

From high above, Maera spied boats in the Blackwater, their sails billowing in the wind as they cut through the waves. She kept a careful distance, ensuring that she did not venture too close to the territory controlled by the Blacks. The last thing she wanted was to provoke a reaction, especially in such a delicate time. The sight of the ships, the peaceful ebb and flow of the sea, brought a momentary calm to her restless mind.

After ensuring all was well in the waters, Maera veered her dragon westward, towards the Stormlands. The rugged landscape stretched out before her, a tapestry of rolling hills and dense forests, where the border of the Crownlands met the Stormlands. Ēbrion’s powerful wings beat steadily as they patrolled the area, Maera’s keen eyes scanning the terrain below for any signs of trouble. The wind whipped through her hair, carrying away the remnants of her earlier anxiety.

The weather was as she expected: heavily clouded, with dark, brooding skies that seemed to threaten rain at any moment, but Maera remained undeterred. The tempestuous weather was a familiar comfort to her; after all, she had been born in these lands. The chill in the air and the scent of impending rain brought with them a sense of home, grounding her as she rode her dragon through the turbulent skies.

However, the thick cloud cover made patrolling from a high altitude increasingly difficult. The clouds were dense and unyielding, obscuring her view of the land below.

“Embrot.” Down.

With a firm command, the Queen guided Ēbrion to descend slightly, bringing them closer to the ground where visibility would be clearer. The dragon obeyed, his massive form slicing through the clouds with ease as they descended into the swirling mists.

As Ēbrion leveled out, Maera scanned the terrain below, her sharp eyes taking in every detail. Nothing appeared alarming or out of place. Small encampments dotted the landscape as she ventured south, their banners flapping violently in the wind. The familiar yellow and black colors of House Baratheon were prominent, and beside them, the black banner emblazoned with a green three-headed dragon—the symbol of the Greens—was unmistakable, a clear declaration of allegiance.

From her elevated position, Maera could still make out the movements of the soldiers below. They looked up, their faces a mixture of alarm and awe as they caught sight of the massive dragon circling above them. Despite their apparent unease, the soldiers made no move to attack or flee from their postings, simply observing, seemingly knowing, probably from colour and size, that Ēbrion was of no threat.

The sight brought Maera some reassurance. The Stormlands remained secure, their defenses strong, and no immediate threat loomed on the horizon. With a final glance at the encampments, Maera directed Ēbrion back towards Dragonstone, the beast’s wings carrying them effortlessly through the stormy skies.

The Queen cast a final, sweeping gaze over the border of the Stormlands, her keen eyes taking in the dense forests and rugged terrain below. The trees, thick and ancient, stood like silent sentinels along the edge of the Kingswood, their leaves rustling in the strong winds. The ground was uneven, covered in patches of wild grass and scattered with rocks, the earth beneath them dark and rich.

She was just about to direct Ēbrion to depart when something caught her eye—a sudden glint of metal that flashed briefly through the trees. Furrowing her brow in suspicion, Maera gently pulled on the reins, urging Ēbrion to turn back around for a closer look. The dragon responded immediately, his powerful wings cutting through the air as they circled back and began a gradual descent toward the source of the gleam.

As they swooped near the ground, Maera’s eyes narrowed in focus. She saw a group of knights standing at the edge of the Kingswood, their armor catching the occasional beam of light that pierced through the thick clouds. At first glance, there was nothing particularly unusual about the sight—knights patrolling the borders were common enough in these troubled times. But as she guided Ēbrion even lower, her suspicions grew.

No word had been sent to Maera that the Baratheon forces would be venturing beyond the border into the Crownlands, as Borros Baratheon did not want to incite an attack. The knights’ movements were deliberate, but there was an air of secrecy about them. They seemed to be taking great care to remain unnoticed, their figures half-concealed by the trees as they stood on the edge of the border.

More soldiers emerged from the cover of the trees, their numbers steadily growing as they stepped into the open. Some were mounted on horses, their armor clanking with each movement, while others marched on foot, gripping swords and shields with grim determination. Many carried bows and arrows, their hands poised to strike. The air around them seemed charged with tension, their formations tight and disciplined. Yet, something about them was off—there was no sign of the Baratheon stag, nor the banner of the Greens. There was no display of loyalty, no sigil declaring their allegiance.

Maera’s heart quickened as she scanned the gathering force below, her sharp eyes taking in every detail. It was then that the realization hit her like a cold wave. These soldiers bore no marks of honor, no sigils to indicate their loyalty to any house within the Stormlands. These were not Baratheon soldiers, nor were they allied with the Greens. They were something else entirely—Black soldiers, forces loyal to Rhaenyra, about to invade Green territory.

Before Maera could react, Ēbrion sensed the danger. The dragon let out a fierce, thunderous roar that echoed through the stormy skies, reverberating off the trees and sending waves of terror through the soldiers below. The sudden, deafening sound threw the soldiers into a panic, and chaos erupted in their ranks. Horses reared up, their riders struggling to maintain control, while those on foot scrambled in disarray.

Arrows were loosed in a panicked response, their sharp tips glinting as they shot through the air, aimed desperately at the massive beast above. Maera instinctively flattened herself against the saddle, the cold, hard leather pressing against her as she avoided the deadly projectiles. The arrows zipped past her, some clattering harmlessly against Ēbrion’s thick scales, while others missed entirely, lost to the wind.

“Pālētēs, Ēbrion! Angōs!” Evasive manoeuvres! Attack!

The dragon swooped closer to the treetops, his massive wings beating with terrifying power. The wind from his descent sent leaves and branches whipping through the air, and the closer the dragon came, the more the army below descended into chaos. Panic spread like wildfire; many soldiers, overwhelmed with fear, turned their horses and bolted, fleeing back into the safety of the woods. Others, their courage failing them, simply abandoned their posts and ran on foot, desperate to escape the wrath of the dragon.

But there would be no escape. With a roar that shook the very ground, Ēbrion unleashed a torrent of fire from his maw, the flames bursting forth like a river of molten fury. The searing heat radiated outward as the dragon strafed the ground along the border, his fiery breath scorching the earth in a deadly line of destruction. The flames roared to life, spreading quickly across the grass and dry brush, creating a blazing barrier between the soldiers and the Stormlands beyond.

The fire swept through the ranks of the enemy, and those caught in its path were immediately engulfed. Soldiers screamed in agony, their armor and clothing catching fire as they flailed about in a desperate attempt to extinguish the flames. Some dropped to the ground, rolling and writhing in futile efforts to douse the inferno consuming them. Others ran, their bodies ablaze, only to collapse into lifeless heaps as the fire took them.

The border was transformed into a hellish landscape of smoke and flame, the inferno stretching out like a wall of death, a stark declaration to the enemy forces that any attempt to cross into the Stormlands would be met with fiery devastation.

From her vantage point high above, Maera watched the destruction below with a heart pounding in her chest. Ēbrion’s fire had wrought devastation on the battlefield, the roaring flames consuming the enemy forces and forcing them to retreat. The sight of men burning, screaming in terror, filled her with a strange mix of horror and resolve. It was a terrible thing to witness, yet in her heart, Maera knew it had been necessary. The alternative—an all-out battle, with countless more lives lost—was far worse. The fire had saved the Stormlands from invasion, and in doing so, had perhaps prevented even greater bloodshed. This reasoning, as harsh as it was, brought her a sense of peace amid the chaos.

But that peace was short-lived.

Without warning, a bright fireball streaked through the sky, slamming into Ēbrion’s face with a blinding explosion of light and heat. The dragon let out a thunderous screech, shaking his massive head in pain as the force of the impact rocked them both. Maera’s heart lurched in her chest as she felt the shockwave of the attack vibrate through her entire body.

She frantically looked down at Ēbrion, her eyes wide with fear. Her heart stuttered as she searched for any signs of injury. To her relief, the dragon seemed unharmed—his thick scales had protected him from the worst of the fireball. The rider’s green eyes darted around in alarm, attempting to get her bearings amidst the chaos. A shadow passed over them, blotting out the sun, causing her breath to catch in her throat.

Another dragon, its silhouette dark against the sky, swooped down on them from above. The beast unleashed a torrent of flame, its fiery breath raining down toward them. Instinctively, Maera ducked, flattening herself against the saddle as the flames roared overhead. Her hands gripped the ropes attached to the saddle with all her might, her knuckles turning white. The heat was intense, nearly unbearable, but she forced herself to stay calm.

“Dokimarvose! Geptot jās!” Focus! Move left!

She yanked on the ropes, urging Ēbrion to turn, to catch sight of their assailant. Her heart pounded in her ears as she desperately tried to gain control of the situation, her mind racing to figure out who was trying to kill them.

Ēbrion responded to her commands, his powerful wings beating against the air as he banked sharply, turning to face their attacker. The dragon’s eyes, usually so calm and calculating, were now blazing with fury as he roared in challenge, ready to defend his rider and his territory from this sudden, violent threat.

The beast attacking them was much smaller, a nimble creature that darted through the sky with alarming speed and agility. Its pale green scales shimmered as the sunlight pierced through the clouds, reflecting off its pearlescent horns with an almost ethereal glow. Despite its smaller size, the dragon’s swiftness made it a formidable opponent, weaving through the air with practiced ease.

Maera’s eyes narrowed as she locked onto the rider. The girl was young, her silver hair curly and wild, contrasting starkly with the blood-red cloth she wore. Even from a distance, Maera could see the confidence in the girl’s posture, the way she guided her dragon with practiced precision, clearly experience in the art of dragon riding. As another fireball flew towards them, the Queen was consumed with rage, and had had enough of this dance. A low growl of frustration escaped her lips as she tightened her grip on the reins.

“Naejot!” Forward! She commanded, her voice ringing out through the wind. Ēbrion responded instantly, his powerful wings beating hard as he surged toward the smaller dragon. The air around them whipped into a frenzy as they closed the distance, Maera’s heart pounding with a mix of fear and adrenaline.

But she knew she needed an advantage. The smaller dragon’s speed made it difficult to land a decisive blow, and the rider’s skill only added to the challenge. Maera’s mind raced as she considered her options, and then it came to her—she needed the higher ground.

“Vēzot, Ēbrion!” Up! she shouted, pulling back hard on the reins. Ēbrion roared in response, his muscles straining as he ascended, pushing through the clouds. The air grew thinner and colder as they climbed, but Maera’s resolve only hardened. If she could gain the higher ground, she would have greater control.

They soared higher and higher, the clouds enveloping them in a thick, misty shroud. For a moment, the world below disappeared entirely, leaving only the sound of Ēbrion’s powerful wings beating against the sky and the thudding of Maera’s heart in her ears.

The other rider followed their ascent, her smaller dragon trailing just behind Ēbrion as they climbed higher into the sky. The girl was relentless, her dragon unleashing a volley of fireballs in their wake, but Ēbrion was ready. With a fierce snap of his jaws, he tried to catch the fiery projectiles mid-air, the force of his bite causing the flames to dissipate harmlessly. His massive body twisted in the air, his wings beating with such strength that the gusts sent the smaller dragon spiraling off course, momentarily throwing the rider's aim.

The smaller dragon might have had the advantage of speed, darting through the sky with agility and grace, but Ēbrion had something far more formidable—raw power. His every movement was filled with a force that could shake the very air around them, and Maera used this to her advantage. She held tight to the reins, urging her dragon to keep pushing higher, feeling the wind whipping past her face as they climbed.

As they broke through the top of the clouds, the sunlight burst forth, bathing them in its brilliant light. The smaller dragon had followed them into the sky, but now found itself beneath Ēbrion, perfectly positioned for Maera to strike. The light glinted off the pale green scales of the smaller beast, but it was no match for the massive shadow that loomed above.

"Sīr!" Now! Maera commanded, her voice strong and resolute.

Obeying his rider's command, Ēbrion tucked his wings close to his body and dived straight down, turning their sheer size and power into an unstoppable force. The wind howled in Maera's ears as they plummeted toward the smaller dragon, the air around them roaring with the speed of their descent. The younger dragon, though quick, was not fast enough to evade the gigantic form bearing down on it. It had no choice but to fall with them, trapped by the sheer momentum of Ēbrion's dive.

The ground rushed up to meet them, and Maera's heart pounded in her chest. She could see the landscape below, the trees and hills growing larger with every passing second. She waited until the last possible moment, feeling the adrenaline surge through her veins, before yanking back on the reins with all her might.

Ēbrion responded instantly, his wings snapping open to catch the air and slow their descent. They pulled up just in time, skimming the treetops as they leveled out, the force of their near-fall sending shockwaves through the air. The other rider managed to pull up as well, her dragon narrowly avoiding a crash.

But Maera was not prepared to let them get away.

With a fierce determination burning in her eyes, she urged Ēbrion forward, closing the distance between them. The younger dragon struggled to regain its balance after the sudden dive, but Maera could see the fear in the rider's eyes as she realized she was now at a disadvantage. The smaller dragon's speed was no longer enough to save them.

“Dracarys!”

With a swift, merciless movement, he opened his massive jaws, unleashing a torrent of flame that engulfed the smaller dragon and its rider. The intense heat and blinding light consumed everything in its path, turning the pale green dragon into a writhing silhouette against the backdrop of the sky.

The smaller dragon thrashed desperately within the inferno, its body spinning wildly as it tried to shield its rider from the searing flames. Despite its agility, there was no escaping Ebrion's relentless assault. The green beast roared in pain, its scales glowing with the heat as it turned to face its attacker, trying to protect the young rider on its back. But it was a futile effort.

Sensing his prey's weakness, Ēbrion closed in with predatory precision. His enormous body loomed over the smaller dragon, his eyes burning with a savage intensity.

In one swift, brutal motion, he lunged forward, his powerful jaws clamping down on one of the dragon's wings. There was a sickening crack as bone and sinew gave way under the force of his bite, followed by a spray of blood that stained the air. With a mighty pull, Ebrion tore the wing clean off, the shredded membrane trailing in the wind like a tattered flag.

The smaller dragon's anguished roar split the sky as it hurtled uncontrollably toward the ground, spinning out of control as it bled profusely. It spiraled downward, a helpless, flailing mass of green scales and flames. The rider clung desperately to its back, but there was no saving the beast now. The ground rushed up to meet them, the once-majestic dragon now a broken, burning wreck.

With a thunderous crash, the dragon slammed into the earth, its body crumpling near the flaming line Maera had previously drawn along the border. The impact sent a shockwave through the ground, scattering debris and sending up a plume of smoke and ash.

The forest smoldered with a grim intensity, the once-vibrant trees now reduced to blackened husks. Smoke curled lazily upward, hanging heavy in the air, mingling with the acrid scent of burning wood and charred earth. The undergrowth, once thick and green, was now a sea of ash and embers, glowing faintly in the dim light that filtered through the canopy above. Here and there, small fires crackled and sputtered, struggling to cling to life as they consumed what little fuel remained.

The devastation was absolute, a stark reminder of the destructive power of dragons. The ground beneath Maera’s feet was uneven, pockmarked with deep gouges where the flames had seared through the soil. Every step she took stirred up a cloud of ash, the fine particles clinging to the hem of her leather skirt and the soles of her boots.

She had dismounted from Ēbrion, leaving the massive dragon to stand guard nearby, his eyes still blazing with the remnants of battle. The beast’s immense form cast a long shadow over the desolate landscape, his chest rising and falling with each slow, measured breath. Though the flames had died down, the air still buzzed with residual heat, causing Maera’s skin to prickle beneath the leather of her attire.

As she walked through the devastation, Maera’s eyes scanned the ground, searching for any sign of the fallen dragon and its rider. The trees, once towering sentinels of the forest, now stood as little more than skeletal remains, their branches twisted and gnarled, reaching up to the sky in silent agony. Patches of scorched earth crunched underfoot, each step bringing her closer to the site of the crash.

The silence was broken only by the distant sound of yelling from the Black army, their voices carrying faintly through the smoke-filled air. But Maera was not deterred. She knew that no matter how many soldiers might come, none would dare challenge her, not with Ēbrion standing just beyond the tree line. The dragon’s presence was a deterrent stronger than any fortress, a reminder of the raw power she commanded.

The forest had fallen into an eerie stillness, an unnatural quiet that pressed heavily on Maera as she moved deeper into the woods. The devastation around her seemed to muffle all sound, the crackle of dying flames and the rustling of her own footsteps the only noises that broke the oppressive silence. The air was thick with the acrid stench of smoke and charred wood, making each breath feel heavy and strained.

As Maera pressed forward, she stumbled upon a clearing, where the destruction was at its most profound. The trees surrounding the open space were broken and splintered, their trunks shattered by the force of the dragon's fall. The ground was scorched, blackened earth stretching out in every direction, littered with fragments of wood and stone that had been torn apart by the impact.

In the center of the clearing lay a pile of twisted remains-the body of the smaller dragon. Barely visible beneath a thick layer of soot and debris, the creature's once-lustrous green scales had been dulled and cracked by the searing heat. Its body was contorted in death, limbs bent at unnatural angles, the remaining wing torn and shredded beyond recognition. The sight was a tragic one, the majestic beast reduced to a lifeless heap, a testament to the horrors of the war that pitted dragon against dragon.

Maera felt a pang of guilt twist in her chest as she gazed upon the fallen creature. Dragons were rare enough as it was, half the eggs laid never hatching. To know that they were now being forced to kill one another, to tear each other apart in the name of war, filled her with a deep sadness.

But it was not just the dragon that caught Maera's attention. In the middle of the carcass, amid the wreckage of scales and broken bones, lay the rider. The young woman was barely moving, her breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. Her silver curls, once bright and shining, were now matted with blood, the vibrant strands darkened by the grime of battle. Her rider's attire, once a bold red like fresh blood, was now filthy and tattered, smeared with soot and ash.

Maera stood frozen for a moment, staring down at the girl who had moments ago been her enemy, now broken and vulnerable on the scorched earth. The contrast between the violence that had brought them to this moment and the fragility of the life before her was stark.

The Queen carefully climbed over the remains of the dragon, the heat from the smoldering scales seeping into her boots as she navigated the twisted mass of flesh and bone. The ground beneath her was unsteady, each step a precarious balancing act as she moved closer to the fallen rider. Her breath was shallow, both from the physical exertion and the tension coiled tight in her chest. As she neared the young woman, she could see her more clearly-lying on her stomach, her head pulled forward, her entire body shaking

"Can you hear me?" Maera called out softly, her voice low and unthreatening, doing her best to temper any menace. "It’s over now." But just as the words left her lips, she gasped as a force suddenly shoved her backward.

“Fuck!” The world tilted as pain exploded through her chest. Staggering, Maera looked down to see an arrow lodged deep below her collarbone, its shaft quivering with the force of the impact. Blood spilled from the wound, warm and sticky as it ran down the black leather of her attire.

Her gaze snapped back up, and she saw the broken rider, bruised, bloodied, but with a crossbow in her trembling hands, aimed squarely at Maera. Despite the woman's fragile state, her aim had been true, and her resolve hadn't wavered.

With a groan, Maera reached up and snapped the arrow, leaving the metal head embedded in her flesh, a flare of pain scorching through her as she tossed the broken shaft aside. Determination fueled her as she stalked forward, unsheathing her sword with a fluid motion. The rider's eyes widened in fear as she struggled to reload the crossbow, her movements desperate and frantic.

But Maera was quicker. With a swift, powerful kick, she sent the crossbow skittering across the scorched earth, far out of the rider's reach. The young woman barely had time to react before Maera had her sword at her throat, the blade pressing against her skin with a cold, unyielding pressure. The rider's breath hitched, her eyes locked on Maera's, wide with terror but still burning with defiance.

The Queen pressed the edge of her sword against the rider’s throat, the blade’s cold steel glinting ominously as she moved it from side to side, studying the young woman’s face. Though battered and burned beyond easy recognition, there was something unmistakable about her features—this was no mere Dragonseed. The realization settled in Maera’s mind, her heart sinking with the weight of the conclusion

“Lady Baela, I presume?” Maera remarked, her tone measured, though she couldn’t suppress the tension underlying it. The thought of facing Daemon’s daughter, one of the Blacks’ most renowned dragonriders, only added to the gravity of the moment.

Lady Baela bared her teeth in a defiant growl, her voice raw and ragged as she spat back, “Lady Maera.” There was no honorific, no acknowledgment of Maera’s title as queen, just a name spat with all the venom Baela could muster.

Maera sighed, noting the lack of respect but choosing not to dwell on it. She was not prideful, and in this moment, titles and formalities felt irrelevant. “It seems you’ve inherited your father’s skill as a dragonrider,” Maera said, a sly smile curving her lips despite the pain radiating from her wound. Her gaze flicked briefly to the twisted, smoldering remains of the smaller dragon. “It’s a shame your beast was caught in the crossfire. A tragic loss, truly.”

Baela’s face twisted with anger as she spat out a mouthful of blood, the dark red liquid staining her lips. “You must get along well with your husband,” she sneered, her voice dripping with bitterness. Maera’s brow furrowed in confusion, but before she could ask what Baela meant, the young woman continued, her words cutting like a knife. “Seems like you both enjoy slaughtering your own kin.”

The accusation hung in the air between them, sharp and piercing. Maera’s grip on her sword tightened, her expression hardening as the full weight of Baela’s words sank in. Her gaze remained fixed on the dragon rider, her voice steady as she asked, “Is that what you think I want to do?”

Baela laughed, a harsh sound that echoed through the smoldering remains of the forest. Despite her swollen eye, barely able to open, there was a gleam of defiant joy in the other, a fire that hadn’t been extinguished by the brutal clash. “Just get on with it,” Baela rasped, her tone laced with mockery and resignation.

For a moment, Maera hesitated, the sharp edge of her sword still pressed firmly against Baela’s throat. The heat of the nearby flames mixed with the smell of charred earth and blood, thick in the air, but Maera’s mind was elsewhere, weighed down by the heavy burden of choice. So many had already been lost in this relentless war. She stared down at Baela, her expression hardening, yet something within her softened. Baela’s dragon was dead, her strength sapped. She was no longer a threat, just another casualty of this endless, merciless conflict.

A different path presented itself to Maera, one that hadn’t seemed possible until this very moment. The Mother had shown her a path of mercy, one where no more blood need be spilled today.

Maera slowly shook her head, the decision made in her heart before her hand followed. She sheathed her sword with a resolute click, stepping back. “Too many of us are dead already,” she murmured, the weight of the conflict visible in the way her shoulders sagged slightly.

Baela’s expression flickered from defiance to confusion, even surprise. The grip of death that she had been bracing for did not come, and she remained breathing, albeit heavily, battered but alive.

Maera’s voice grew firmer, more determined, as she continued, “I sent your Queen a letter, a chance for peace, but she has not replied. Tell her that we expect a response by the turn of the moon. Before she loses any more dragons or riders.” Her words were laced with the authority of her position, leaving no room for negotiation.

She watched as the realization dawned in Baela’s eyes, the younger woman’s defiance dimming slightly as she understood that she had been spared, though the reason why was something she might never grasp fully. Finally, she nodded, the fight in her eyes dimming into something more resigned, her earlier defiance replaced by a reluctant acceptance.

The Queen watched as she tried to stand, the effort drawing a wince from the young woman. Her clothes, torn and charred, revealed patches of burnt and bloodied skin beneath. Baela’s movements were awkward and pained, and it didn’t take long for Maera to notice the unnatural angle of one leg, likely broken from the fall.

Maera huffed softly, her frustration tempered by a sense of duty. She stepped forward, extending a hand to Baela. "Come now. Let me get you back to the border," she offered, her voice even, almost kind.

But Baela recoiled, yanking her hand away as if Maera’s touch burned her. "I don’t need your help," she spat, her voice thick with stubborn pride despite her evident pain.

Maera stood there, watching as Baela limped away into the undergrowth, her steps slow and labored, each movement a struggle. The girl was fiery, just like her father, and Maera couldn’t help but respect that tenacity, even in the face of overwhelming odds.

The sound of large footsteps crunching through the scorched earth drew Maera’s attention. She turned to see Ēbrion approaching, his massive form looming over her as he let out a soft growl, a low, comforting rumble. But as she moved, a sharp pain flared in her shoulder, forcing a gasp from her lips. Maera pressed a hand to the wound just below her collarbone, feeling the warm stickiness of blood seeping through her fingers, the arrowhead still buried deep within her muscles.

She winced, leaning slightly against Ēbrion’s side, his warmth offering a small comfort against the pain. Her mind raced, the events of the past moments replaying themselves as she looked out at the smoldering forest, knowing that whilst mercy seemed to be the right path, it had its own price.

Notes: oooooh we got some dragon battle, shiiiittt 😱😳

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

[cosmicjoke]

For People, Not for a Dream

Everyone always wonders about this panel, and why Levi didn't include himself when talking about what all his comrades fought and died for.

The thing is, Levi was never fighting for that ideal world, or to create an ideal world.

For him, it was never about a concept or an ideology, because he never believed in the possibility of an ideal world to begin with.

Even when he gives his monologue to the 104th, during the Uprising arc, and speaks about freedom and the chance to have a world without the threat of titans, he still says that both world's are hell, just that he chooses the hell of people killing each other over the hell of being eaten by titans.

So I think to understand Levi, it's important to understand that he never cared about or was motivated by any system of belief or philosophy. He never did what he did with the goal of creating some Utopian world or society. His actions were never driven by any sort of fanaticism.

He was only ever fighting for people. To help people. Even in their ugliness and with all their faults and failings. He accepted that about people and the world; he accepted their imperfection. He never tried to change anybody, he never labored under any sort of belief that he could weed out the bad elements of society and, as a result, force a better world into existence, or a more civilized society. He wasn't blinded to the ugliness of his own actions by a sense of moral righteousness or belief in the "greater good". He never believed any set of beliefs or principles or ideology was or could be made inherently superior to any other. He never believed people could be made better than what they were. And yet he still found their lives worth protecting, along with their right to choose what to do with those lives, whether it be good or ill.

I think that's a big part of why Levi never loses sight of his own humanity, why he never becomes cruel. Because he never loses sight of what he's actually fighting for. Not an idea or a set of beliefs or a dogma. But just people, even when they're not good people.

And we see that reflected in Levi's lack of any sort of dream for himself, and in his support of other people's dreams. He's not fighting for their dreams because he believes in them or their possibility, he's fighting for their dreams because he believes in the worth of the people who dream them. It's the people who have worth to Levi, not the dream or the ideology behind the dream. And he hoped to prove that worth by ensuring they didn't throw their lives away for nothing. That's why he lent his strength to those dreams. It was always for the dreamers sake, not the sake of the dream itself. To show their lives mattered by helping to realize whatever it was they gave those lives for. It's why he's so determined to kill Zeke, because those soldiers in Shinganshina gave their lives for that goal. It wasn't Zeke's death that mattered, but the lives of the soldiers that died for it.

It's why he says in the above panels that if it was going to be worth the price "you all paid", it would have to be an "exhaustingly idealistic world". Nothing less than that would be worth people's lives. I think it's also why Levi's expression is one of such sadness all through the final chapters, because he knows, and always knew deep down, that that idealistic world was an impossibility. That even without titans, the world would still be a hellish place, something we see proven by the final pages of the story, with the destruction of Paradis and the continuation of war. In the end, I don't think Levi believed the outcome was worth the price his comrades paid. It wasn't worth their lives. To Levi, the concept of a "greater good" isn't worth more than any, single life.

But it's also important to remember that Levi was never the type of person to tell anyone else what to do, or what to think, or how to live, and that in itself is testament to how much he values people. The worth he sees in their lives and existence is reflected in the respect he holds for their right to choose what to do with those lives, even if that choice is to give their lives for an impossible dream.

And so that's what he fights for. Not for any sort of dream, or for the realization of an ideal world, but to help people. To help them in whatever way he can, whether that's saving their lives, protecting their right to choose how to live those lives, or supporting the dreams they believe are worth giving their lives for.

It was never for the dream itself. It was for the people who dreamed it.