#you loved them both when you were all children but the world and politics made it ugly and complicated and none of you got what you wanted

[prophetmutual]

René/Gaston/Jeanne-Marie most tragic love story of all time 😢

[leascorner]

b.b. | With child

Summary: He was so absorbed by his own created misery; he hadn’t actually thought about what you could be thinking. How hard was it for you to congratulate all of your friends on their pregnancy, to watch over all of his nieces and nephews? It was all within easy reach and never really yours.

Pairing:  Benedict Bridgerton x f!reader

Warnings: angst ('cause I can't write anything else), alluding to sex (no description whatsoever), discussions around pregnancy, pregnancy, mention of alcohol.

Words Count: 2.1k

Author's Notes: Had this in the work for the longest time. I was actually thinking to publish it for his season (#4 I hope!). But we got new stills of Season 3 and it's nearly Valentine's Day so... Enjoy!

“Are you-” you asked when you noticed your sister-in-law had let her glass of wine and her plate untouched.

Your words stayed lost on your tongue, yet Daphne, sat in front of Benedict and next to you, knew exactly what you were about and nodded slightly, tears in her eyes. You let out a small cry of excitement and leant in to hug her. While you wore the most delighted expression, Benedict’s heart sunk a little at the news.

His sister was with child. Again. She was the second women of his family to be expecting this year, while he had yet an exciting news to share himself.

You both had wed a little over than a year and a half ago now and were yet to be blessed with a child. You were doing your best, of course, but none your efforts had been fruitful so far. Benedict did not mind; he had waited his whole life to meet you, he definitely could wait a little bit longer.

He did not mind, or so he thought…

Tonight, he thought life was particularly unfair to him. Every pregnancy announcement was only nourishing this harrowing feeling in his chest. All he could feel was his siblings’ bliss and it made him sick to the stomach. Yes, he was sick with jealousy - and ultimately selfish. He just couldn’t wait to feel your belly growing, to hold your children, to watch them playing around with their cousins, for them to grow older and become adults themselves. Just this simple thought made his very own heart felt extremely heavy.

Politely and quietly, he raised his glass wishing his sister a healthy pregnancy, before drinking away his sorrow.

The ride home that night was particularly quiet.

Silence had never been a thing between the two of you. Benedict was usually the most talkative, telling you about his days, about whatever painting he was going to paint, about that book he had been reading. You would listen, looking back at him with your big bright eyes and a soft smile onto your lips. Other times, he would watch you pacing back and forth in his study while passionately debating about politics. He would be drawing imaginary circles on your soft skin as you were lying in bed, you telling him about another one of your days chaperoning one of his sisters. He would listen to your laugh at one of his jokes. Even your fights would be followed by soft apologies, quiet words, whimpers, and love.

On the contrary, that night, the air was thick with something he couldn’t quite describe, and the coach was wrapped up in dark clouds, a genuine storm in the awakening. Sat on the opposite side, you were looking through the window, your face only light up by the few shines of the full moon. Benedict was so focused on his own thought that he didn’t realize you hadn’t had a word for the rest of the night.

He was so absorbed by his own created misery; he hadn’t actually thought about what you could be thinking. How hard was it for you to congratulate all of your friends on their pregnancy, to watch over all of his nieces and nephews? It was all within easy reach and never really yours. It only made him angrier at the entire world. Why couldn’t they let you live this as well?

He would have liked to discuss this with you - his regrets, his hope - but he was too afraid you would realize what a failure he was. How disappointed with him you were. How you would hate him for not being able to offer you this. So, he sat back in his seat and watched out of his own window.

When the coach stopped in front of your residence, Benedict got out first, offering his hand to help you getting down the small step like he always did. You smiled at him, thanking him politely, and let go of his hand as soon as your two feet were on the ground. It didn’t mean anything, he tried to reassure himself, you needed both of your hands to grab the tissue of your dress to prevent the hem from getting wet and dirty. Yet, he couldn’t help the sharp pain in his chest.

Silently, he followed you inside, hat in his hands, jaw locked. You were welcomed as usual by your housemaid, who got both of your coats and stayed there, in the uncomfortable silence, arms full, waiting for one of you to dismiss her. As you took off your gloves and didn’t dare look at Benedict, he nodded sharply to let her know she could go and watched her somehow disappear in an instant.

Suddenly, it was only the two of you again and it was all too much for him. He couldn’t breathe properly; his chest being crushed by the invisible weight of his sorrow. He couldn’t bare staying with you one more second. He needed to get out of here.

“Good night,” he said firmly, before walking to his study.

Would he have looked back he would have seen you watching him disappear in the corridor. You, all alone in the middle of the hall, arms dangling. He would have seen the frown on your face and the hurt in your eyes. Would he have looked back he would have run back to your side. Instead, he did none of that. He continued marching, head up high, trying to escape his own misery.

You sighed before turning in the opposite direction and to your shared bedroom.

Benedict went to bed less than an hour after you.

He had been haunted by guilt as soon as he had reached his study, sadness evaporating once he had stepped inside the room. Instead of turning back and chasing after you, he had tried to put his head in order. He then had tried painting whatever he was feeling, but he could only stay in front of his white canvas, terrified of laying his brush on the cotton. He had tried writing it, but he couldn’t concentrate enough; his thoughts always drifting to you, alone in your bedroom. He had then settled on having a drink to wait long enough for you to fall asleep before he could go to bed - his other option would have been to sleep in his study if he got too drunk, which he did not.

He had thought long about the whole situation. It wasn’t like you were not trying. Sometimes, even with doing the right things, it didn’t happen. He would need to accept this. And he couldn’t continue being a terrible husband. It wasn’t your fault; it wasn’t anybody’s fault actually. What he knew more than anything though was that he loved you. Whatever would happen, he could not afford to lose you.

He had decided he would come clean tomorrow, but for now, he only wanted to sleep with you by his side.

In the dark of your room, Benedict undressed and lied besides you as silently as possible.

All he could hear was your uneven breathing; whatever dream you were having did not seem to be pleasant. He reached out to your arm, hoping that you could feel his presence through his touch and know he would always be there for you.

It wasn’t until your body was rocked by a hiccup that he understood that you were not having a bad dream, you were crying.

“Y/N?” he asked, lying on his side to face your back.

“I am so sorry,” your voice was only a whisper.

He gently made you roll on your side. Even in the dark, his right hand was able to find your face and his thumb to rub the tears away. Before he could ask what was wrong, you spoke:

“I am so-” You chocked on – yet – another sob and it took you a couple of seconds to even out your breathing so you could speak properly: “So sorry- for not being able to get you- get you what you ever wanted.”

“My love,” he sighed, grabbing the back of your neck to bring you closer. Instinctively, you hide your face in his chest, and he started stroking your hair to try and calm you. “My love, do not ever feel guilty on this.”

“I have tried every tea, every method that is supposed to help,” you cried some more.

It broke his heart to realize the burden on your heart - of course, if he was feeling it, you would have too. He finally understood how selfish he had been, how centred on his own pain he was and so oblivious to yours. It had never been a subject between the two of you, but it was slowly crushing you both.

“My love, this is not your fault.”

“You don’t see the pity in their eyes. You don’t hear them whisper.” You sniffled against his chest, arms wrapped around his waist. “We are even blessed Lady Whistletown has not written about us.” He heard the frustration in your voice and the ton of it made him understand how you had tried to suppress the guilt but failed. It pained him that out of all of this, it was you who were the one being charged guilty by everyone - you included. As if you couldn’t imagine it being his own fault. As if you couldn’t imagine it being anyone’s fault but yours.

“Perhaps, I-” he stopped, running a hand through his hair out of frustration. “I drink loads of Colin’s stupid tea; I paint with all sorts of chemicals substance. Perhaps, I can’t-”

“Ben, of course, no!”        

“Perhaps we won’t ever-” he confessed, but he couldn’t even say it out loud. It was all too much.

You moved against him, and he felt both of your hands grabbing his face, your forehead resting again his. He felt your hot breath against his skin, and he hugged you tighter, crushing your bones, making sure you were close.

He had you, he kept repeating himself. It was all that mattered. Of course, it was a dear wish of his to see mini versions of yourselves running around, but not at all costs. He wasn’t willing to sacrifice what you both had, right here, right now.

“We are both healthy, it is more than all I could ever wish for.”

“Will this ever be enough for you, though?” you asked so quietly he nearly did not hear you.

Benedict frowned. Was it really what you thought? That he would leave you? That your own self was not enough for him? He had been an even more terrible husband he had thought to lead you thinking this. He had failed you on so many levels.

“I was so absorbed by my own desire of having my own family,” he whispered back like he was telling you a secret, “I never asked if you also desire to have children of your own.”

“Ben, of course, I want your children!”

Benedict wanted to express how grateful he was to have you in his life, but no words came to his mind at that moment. He only reached out to your lips, trying to express how much he loved you.

If he could not tell you, he could still show you…

Hours later, while you were lying in bed, your head on Benedict’s chest, his left hand drawing invisible love words on your back and the other holding you close, he thought that there was nothing else he would like to do than stay with you, like this, forever.

“We should just take some time away from here.”

“What do you mean? The season only began-”

“To hell with worldliness. Some time away, just the two of us.” The sun was slowly peeking through the blinds, its yellow light was painting on your naked skin a glowy spectrum. “I heard South of France is particularly beautiful, this time of the year.”

Your chin on his chest, you looked back at him, eyes bright. He was looking at you the same way you had catch him do a million time: a soft smile on his lips, his eyes filled of this spark, shinning only for you. You didn’t care how beautiful France would be, he was the most beautiful view you had ever laid eyes on.

His hand brushed some hair out of your face, and you grabbed it to kiss his knuckles.

“France, it is then.”

Little did you know, you would be coming back home a few months later, bearing your own little miracle.

One of the many to come.

[hurtblossom]

No time to die

Pairing : Lando Norris x F1 Driver!Reader (Female)

Summary : A desire to keep their relationship secret, but for all the wrong reasons, and at what cost ?

Warnings : ANGST, Swearing, the english is still terrible, inchident on the race, blood. Confort?

NO HATE TOWARDS ANY OF THE CHARACTERS, IT'S JUST FICTION, AND I NEEDED VILLAINS.

Masterlist

Lando Norris and Y/N Y/L/N were both drivers for the McLaren racing team. They met when Y/N joined the team. While Lando didn’t know her at all, she had known who he was from a very young age, having already raced against him and other current F1 drivers when they were children in karting. From their first meeting, there was an undeniable spark between them, but their journeys had been very different.

Y/N was the only current female driver, which made it easy for her to catch the eyes of people around her. Not only due to her exceptional skills but also because of her beauty, which left many speechless, including Lando Norris. He remembered his first impressions of her: her confidence, determination, and captivating smile. Y/N carried herself with a grace and strength that commanded respect on and off the track.

When she met Lando, Y/N fell for him almost immediately. If you asked her, she would tell you it was love at first sight. For Lando, it took a bit more time to open up to her. Since she joined right after Carlos, he felt like she took his friend's spot, but as time passed by, he realized she deserved her place in McLaren. He recalled the moments they shared, talking about their past karting races, sharing jokes, and laughter that brought them closer each day.

The two grew closer each day, and finally, they both decided to let that chemistry become romance and started a relationship. Everything was perfect in Y/N's eyes, especially in the beginning. She wanted the whole world to see how in love with him she was. For her, they were endgame. But whenever the conversation about announcing their relationship came up, Lando simply brushed it off. He was always polite about it, saying it wasn’t the right time or that it could complicate things with the media and the team.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: * :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: * :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: * :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: *

A month passed, then two months, six months, and still nothing. Y/N started to notice how Lando would distance himself from her, drawing an invisible line between them. The kisses became less frequent, he would come to her apartment less often, and Y/N had stopped asking about announcing their relationship a long time ago. She missed the early days when everything seemed possible, and their love felt like a secret treasure.

Professionally, Lando kept his distance at work, being careful not to be seen with her by other drivers or staff members. When they had media duties, Y/N saw through his act. Over time, she learned when Lando was pretending. It broke her heart a little each time she tried to reach out to him, and he didn't give her the time of day. She remembered the countless nights she spent alone, wondering what went wrong, replaying their conversations, and hoping for a sign that things would change.

When Lando won his first ever GP in Miami, Y/N was ecstatic, smiling ear to ear, proud of the man she called her boyfriend. She couldn't hide her excitement and immediately jumped into his arms as soon as she got out of her car, telling him how proud she was and how she knew he could do it. He, for once, reciprocated her hug, only squeezing her a little, thanking her quickly before running away to celebrate his victory with the team. At the club after the race, Lando barely acknowledged her as he partied with his friends, other drivers, and some other girls. She watched from a distance, feeling like a stranger in a place where she should have felt at home.

A few weeks later, it was Y/N's turn to succeed, winning her first ever GP in Canada. Getting out of her car, she expected the same treatment as Lando when he won. She was jumping up and down, hugging a few team members, but she felt a certain coldness. Lando, being P2, not far from Y/N, got out of his car. Y/N walked towards him, a smile on her face, waiting for him to do anything really. He just passed by her, patting her shoulder. On the podium were herself, Lando, and Max. She was the only one not being sprayed with champagne. That night, Y/N found herself all alone in her hotel room, silent tears streaming down her face as she read the message from Zak Brown: "It was supposed to be Lando's win today. We expect you to help him win the races, not steal them from him. Be careful next time, or this win will be the last of your career." She felt a deep sense of betrayal and loneliness, wondering how things had gone so wrong.

Two weeks went by, and Y/N and Lando didn't talk much. She tried reaching out, but his replies were short and dry, so she didn't insist much, still hurt by the events in Canada. Their once vibrant connection felt like it was fading into a mere shadow of what it used to be.

Spain's GP came quicker than expected for the young female driver. She didn't want to go, feeling her spark for driving leaving her slowly. She was in her driver's room, sitting on her small bed, getting lectured by Zak, who was reminding her of what she was supposed to do. Lando, who was coming in, heard a bit of the conversation. Zak left, and Lando entered the room.

"How are you feeling about today's race?" Lando asked, looking at his girlfriend, trying to sound casual.

"Don't worry, I won't overtake you. You don't need to pretend you care how I feel," she said, getting up from her spot and adjusting her outfit, her voice tinged with sadness.

"What are you even talking about? Of course, I care," Lando said, raising his voice slightly, frustration creeping in.

"You don't care, Lando. I was so stupid thinking you loved me," she raised her voice too, tears ready to fall.

"I care," Lando argued, trying to bridge the growing gap between them.

"Yeah, like you cared when I won in Canada, or like you cared when I was all alone in my room during MY special night? You don't hug me anymore, you don't kiss me, you don't talk to me. Are we even together anymore?" Her voice broke with the weight of her emotions.

"You're so selfish, Y/N. Not everything is about you," he said, his own pain and confusion coming to the surface.

"How can I be selfish when all I do is try to please you?" Y/N exclaimed, hurt and bewildered.

"I wish I never met you. You're such a waste of time," Lando screamed, not thinking, letting his anger take over.

"You don't mean that," Y/N whispered, crying, her heart shattering.

"I mean every single word. I should have never given you a chance. I always knew I could do better than you anyway. Why do you think I never go out with you? I'm ashamed. Who would want to be seen with you?" Lando continued, his words like daggers.

Y/N didn't let any other word get out of her mouth, getting out of the room, tears streaming down her face, having a full-on panic attack. She sat down, trying to calm her breathing. After what felt like an eternity, she wiped the tears and went straight to the garage. Once she entered, Lando's eyes immediately went to her, guilt written all over his face. She quickly put her helmet on, trying to block the cameras from seeing her puffy red eyes.

When all the cars were parked in the right places on the starting grid, the lights went green, and the Spain race started.

It was on her tenth lap that Y/N started to feel something was wrong with the car.

"Something is wrong with the car," she said loud and clear, so the engineer could hear her through the radio.

"What do you mean?" The engineer said, his voice laced with worry.

"I can't slow down. I don't know what to do," she started panicking, her mind racing.

"It's going to be okay. Try to bring back the car," the engineer said in her ears, trying to keep her calm.

It was a matter of seconds before Y/N's car ended up rolling all the way toward a wall. The public went silent as the accident happened. The car behind her, which was George's, stopped, and the man came running to her. A red flag was quickly drawn, making all the other cars retire to the pit. The scene was chaotic, with everyone fearing the worst.

Lando arrived and got out of his car, looking around, not understanding what was happening. He went to Carlos, who was standing just in front of him.

"What's happening?" he asked, anxiety clear in his voice.

"Accident. We don't know who it is," the Spaniard said, looking at the big screen, trying to get a better view of what was happening.

Lando was looking around, trying to find Y/N. When he didn't see her car anywhere, he looked back at the screen. He recognized George's car and saw what looked like an orange car, upside down, stuck between the wall and the tires. He ran to the McLaren facility, his heart pounding.

"Y/N? Are you conscious?" Lando heard Zak say, his voice tense.

He picked up headphones and listened carefully. He heard weak breathing.

"Y/N? It's Lando. Please reply to me, baby," Lando said, earning looks from the team.

"It hurts," Y/N struggled to say, her breathing uneven.

"Where does it hurt, baby?" Lando asked, trying to keep her awake, his voice trembling.

"Everywhere. Please get me out of here. I can't move," Y/N was crying, fear in her voice. "Lando?"

"I'm here, love. They're trying to get you out," he said, his heart breaking.

"I don't want to die, Lan," she sobbed, her voice barely a whisper.

"You're not dying, baby," Lando murmured, tears streaming down his face.

The safety team got Y/N out after several minutes of struggling. Once she was finally out, George helped her stand. Everyone let out a breath, thinking it was finally over. Lando was looking at his lover, trying to control his own breathing, not to break down right there and then.

But everything came crashing down again when Y/N stopped walking, her orange suit becoming more and more stained with red around her abdomen. She collapsed, her body giving out.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: * :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: * :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: * :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: *

"I'm not asking you to apologize, I'm asking you to explain to me how the fuck did you let this happen?" Lando was screaming on the phone. "Zak, she almost died. There's no good excuse for that." He hung up after that, returning to his sitting position next to Y/N's bed, who was still unconscious.

He looked at her, his hand reaching for her hair before grabbing her hand, intertwining their fingers. He felt an overwhelming sense of regret and sorrow.

"You have to wake up, baby, I can't live without you," he whispered, bringing her hand to his lips and kissing it gently, his voice breaking.

Days turned into weeks, and Y/N remained unconscious. The doctors were doing everything they could, but the prognosis was uncertain. Lando stayed by her side every single day, his heart breaking a little more with each passing moment. He whispered to her about the future they would have, the places they would go, and the love they would share, hoping against hope that she could hear him.

One quiet evening, as the sun set outside the hospital window, Y/N’s fingers twitched slightly. Lando’s heart leapt with hope. "Y/N? Can you hear me?" he asked, his voice filled with desperation and love.

Her eyes fluttered open slowly. She looked around the room, her gaze finally landing on Lando. "Lando," she whispered, her voice weak but clear.

"I'm here, love. I'm here," he said, tears streaming down his face.

"What happened?" she asked, confusion and pain evident in her eyes.

"You had an accident, but you're safe now. You're in the hospital," Lando explained, his voice shaking with relief.

"I was so scared," she said, her eyes filling with tears.

"I know, baby. I was scared too. But you're going to be okay," Lando reassured her, holding her hand tightly.

As the days passed, Y/N slowly started to recover. Her physical wounds began to heal, but the emotional scars were deeper. She couldn't shake off the feeling of betrayal and abandonment she had felt from Lando before the accident.

One evening, as they sat together in the dimly lit hospital room, Y/N finally broke the silence. "Lando, we need to talk," she said, her voice firm despite her frailty.

"I know," he replied, looking down at their intertwined hands. "I've been a terrible boyfriend. I took you for granted, and I hurt you. I'm so sorry, Y/N. You didn't deserve any of it."

"It’s not just about the accident, Lando. It's about everything that led up to it. The way you distanced yourself, the way you made me feel like I didn't matter," she said, tears welling up in her eyes.

"I was wrong. I was selfish and stupid. But I love you, Y/N. I want to make things right," Lando pleaded, his voice breaking.

"I love you too, Lando, but I need time. I need time to heal, not just physically but emotionally. I need to figure out if I can truly trust you again," Y/N said, her voice trembling with emotion.

Lando nodded, tears streaming down his face. "I'll wait for you, Y/N. No matter how long it takes. I just want you to be happy, even if that means letting you go."

She looked at him, her heart aching. "I appreciate that, Lando. But you need to understand, it's not going to be easy. You hurt me deeply, and it's going to take time for me to process everything and decide if I can move past it."

"I understand," Lando said, his voice barely a whisper. "I'll do whatever it takes to prove that I'm worthy of your trust and love again."

[kyunniebuns]

˗ˏˋ Jinwoo Drabbles ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ ˎˊ˗

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚𝕊𝕦𝕟𝕘 𝕁𝕚𝕟𝕨𝕠𝕠˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

・┆✦ Entry : 028 ✦ ┆・

‼️[ TW: Implied Yandere Jinwoo, suggestive end <3]

╰┈➤ ❝ [ Jealous. Jealous Jealous. ] ¡! ❞

What kind of rage is more terrifying than one that is being displayed in the open like a volcanic eruption? 

The type that is silent.

The kind of rage akin to that of a blazing flame that sits beneath calm serene water free of ripples. The kind of fury hidden inside a doll that has been abused and thrown by its own, developing a curse within it’s porcelain glass that is pristine and free of cracks

That was the kind of rage Jinwoo holds beneath his expressionless exterior.

Though his empty grey orbs displayed nothing, there was an undesirable wish to set everything ablaze. To bathe this glorious ballroom in brilliant dancing embers.

Oh but he had to hold back. 

He has to.

After all, his beloved is currently attending as a plus-one in this small gathering of hunters and celebrities alike are present. Jinwoo never really thought much of it, he invited you since for one; you are his lover. Two; he wanted to show you off to the world.

Sure, you could say that he’s doing that just to prove to everyone that he loves you more than anything or to perhaps end the rumours that he is secretly dating famous actresses or some rich girl or someone else. But all those things came in second really. His real priority was to see you dressed up pretty.

Of course, you’re always been pretty in Jinwoo’s eyes. Your figure dressed in an outfit that accentuates your beautiful body. Meek but elegant jewellery on your ears and most importantly— Your pretty face gleaming underneath the brilliant lights in this ballroom. The golden glow on your face just made you more endearing.

You are the apple of Jinwoo’s eyes.

But ah… You two aren’t alone in this little gathering.

People kept approaching you. At first, it was merely small talk and greetings. Nothing really wrong with that. But Jinwoo was perceptive. Too perceptive.

He knew how men do their things, he isn’t that stupid since he is one himself.

He could see the way those grimy bastards flashed you their charming smiles. How their hands were twitching to rub their digits over your skin that only he is allowed to ever touch.

Ah… Jinwoo could feel his head about to burst the more he watches the men flock over you for your favour.

He tried to stay calm really, but the more the seconds ticked by, the more he watched them try to woo you over— He wanted to call over his children and maul them over to death.

Jinwoo stayed in his spot, with hazy grey orbs so far gone in the stirring rage brewing within his stiff body.

The moment he spots someone about to land a palm on your lovely waist— Jinwoo charges forward and stops the hand. His hazy grey orbs now glowing with a terrifying hue of purple.

“Well aren’t you having a good time?” Jinwoo says with his low voice, warning and daring the bastard to do something. 

The man stiffened, paling at the up-close sight of the shadow monarch that is craving to put an end to his life right then and there. Jinwoo has the look that could kill, even his eyes can be enough to put your 6-feet under.

As Jinwoo roughly let go of the man’s hand before wiping his palms and then extending it towards you. 

Of course, you obediently take his palm. The moment he felt your skin, Jinwoo flicked his head to the host and said; “It’s late, my lover is not a fan of staying up late at night. We’ll be on our way now”

Without even batting an eye back to the crowd that froze due to his ministrations.

Jinwoo would have been calm when you both arrived home. But you kept talking about the famous celebrities who  were polite to you. The way you smiled was endearing but irritating at the same time because someone else is causing you to make such a pretty expression.

You didn’t even stop even as you both arrived in your bedroom. 

Eventually, Jinwoo would lose his patience and there would be a visible shift in his eyes.

Eyes had always been mirrors to the soul, and Jinwoo for one— Had especially expressive ones. His blank face may be devoid of anything but his eyes would always manage to show what he really feels.

The way his grey orbs are sweeping over you right now, it was dominating. It was as if Jinwoo was holding back a destructive dam, threatening to swallow him whole and then bursting.

“So, you find that Mr. Cheong is charming?” Jinwoo cocks up an eyebrow, putting one step in front of the other— Causing you to step back with the sudden overwhelming feel of Jinwoo’s shift in his demeanour. “You seem so entranced by his gentle and witty personality, in contrast to me, who is gloomy and awkward.”

You end up stumbling backwards, sitting down on the chair behind you and Jinwoo leaned forward, his hands resting on either side of the armchairs— Caging you down as he cocks up an eyebrow, teasing you to answer him.

“Hm?” Jinwoo muses, lifting his hand out to touch your hand— Making you all the more flustered and confused at his actions. “Maybe I should start reminding you some stuff, baby. Your memory has gotten a bit… Foggy.”

He mumbles, lifting your hand up to his lips and kissing your palm, then your knuckles, then to each digit before his gaze swept up to you again. Those intense, grey eyes, boring into your very soul— Piercing every cell in your very being. It was hypnotising, as if you were a snake being seduced by the sounds of a wind instrument.

The way he was hovering above your head, those ebony black locks of his falling forward as he hovered right above you— You could feel tingles starting from the very soles of your feet rising to your very heart that was already thumping so madly.

Oh you knew, you knew,.. you’re in for one hell of a marathon with the monarch.

“I won’t promise I’ll be gentle, and neither will I promise this punishment will only take one night”

ʚ(੭´͈ ᐜ `͈)੭ .｡✧･ﾟ: ~♡ —! stories written by kyunnie; translations, reposts, plagiarism are strictly forbidden.

[merakiui]

タコの花嫁。

yandere!azul ashengrotto x (female) reader cw: yandere, nsfw, non-con, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, arranged marriage, oviposition, breeding, royalty au note - in an effort to bring peace to two warring sides, you are engaged to the sea queen’s son.

If anyone is to blame for the abysmal diplomacy between the Land and the Sea, it would be your ancestors. Pompous and foolhardy, they thought they could rule the grand seas stretching out from the harbor, beyond weather-worn docks with their rotted, seaweed-strewn planks and briny fetor. The ocean was vast, unexplored territory—a dangerous, deceptive beauty harboring life far beneath unruly waves.

And your ancestors intended to claim it.

Sailors would recount tales of fishfolk—uncanny creatures who looked more marine than the two-legged mammals of the land. They’d raise mugs, each overflowing with ale, in drunken merriment, terrifying themselves with the mysteries of the deep, dark sea.

“It ought to give ya a proper scare straight to Davy Jones himself!” they’d say, voices lowered conspiratorially. “Soon as yer candle goes out and all ya’ve got’s the moon to guide ya… You’ll hear ’em slip through the water if yer listenin’ well enough.”

“You ever go and spy one up close?”

“I’d sooner see the Devil himself and let him keelhaul me before facin’ those cursed beasts!”

“The cut of their jib ain’t so pretty. Enough to give men like us a fright and we’ve seen all sorts of somethin’.”

“Monsters, I say! Monsters!”

Festivals were held to keep these beasts at bay—to prevent them from gathering the courage to creep up onto the land. Every year, during the summer solstice, pits were hollowed on the shore and bordered with stones. Flames licked towards the sky, red-orange fingers clawing for purchase amidst the stars above. Townsfolk would sing and dance late into the eve, bellowing songs passed through the generations. Children would skip up and down the beach, torches in hand, and cry out an old chant: “Fish for you and me are meant to stay in the sea! Should you see one on land, may the Heavens strike it down with a gentle, loving hand!”

Their excitement did well to ward off the fishfolk. Sometimes the lone child would spot one in the distance, peeking out from between the rocks before diving back under in a splash.

On land, humans were safe. On land, the fishfolk couldn’t catch them.

It was different in the sea.

Ships were destroyed in terrible tempests. The waves tossed them around as if they were nothing. Many sailors would find their demise at the bottom of the ocean, torn to shreds with shattered skeletons. Viscerally brutalized, they died with secrets on their tongues—secrets of the strange fishfolk who’d drag them down, down, down to a watery grave.

On one cold February afternoon, the octopus prince was brought into the world. In shadowed fathoms, a grand celebration was held. After so much time—misfortune after misfortune—one fry survived out of the entire clutch. He was round and soft and small, colored blue from exertion and fighting through the tug of the current to reach home. The Sea Queen met him halfway and embraced him, ecstatic tears in her eyes, for a mother’s love is stronger than any political power.

“My little Azul,” she said, stroking a hand along his cheek, “how precious you are.”

No ships were sunk; no lives were lost. It was a peaceful day for both the Land and the Sea. And it would continue to be so in the future. Every year on that same February, it was made a day of peace to honor the little prince.

A day of life, not death.

It was on that same February eleven years later when you were tossed into the frigid depths like a hatchling cast out of its nest. Similarly, your birth had been a wondrous occasion. Your parents brought five boys into the world, each just as adored as the last, but they had been hoping for a daughter. It was a miracle when their fervent wishes were finally granted. You were spoiled as all daughters often are, pampered and doted on by your family and the palace staff.

Your brothers, though protective and caring, were a troublesome and rowdy bunch. Kyffin was the eldest. Two years younger was Emyr, and another two years behind him was Owin. A year younger than him were twins Morcan and Martyn. They picked on you as all immature boys often do when caught up in sibling rivalries, aiming to be the only one their parents see. To prove themselves as the best, the strongest, the wisest.

So it was with a half-cruel heart that Emyr tossed you into the waves from where he stood in the rowboat.

“Only way to learn is with exposure!” he called down to you, watching as you struggled against the push and pull of the sea. 

“C-Can’t!” you shouted back, choking on salt and flailing about. “E-Emyr, I can’t—can’t swim!”

“Don’t be silly,” Owin added with a sweet smile. “It’s how we learned. That old sod threw us right in. You’re lucky it’s us and not him. He was awfully mean with it, wasn’t he?”

“Terribly so.” Emyr watched your struggling a moment longer and clicked his tongue. He held the oar out just before you could slip under, and you clung to it with shaky hands. “Come on—let’s get you up here. You’re not gonna get it today.”

“Fin got it on his first try.”

“Fin gets everything on his first bloody try.”

Relieved, your heart pounding like a drum, you peered up at your brothers. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get it…”

“Nothing to apologize for. You’ll get it one day.”

“We’ll keep trying until then. And once you do, we’ll throw you a big party.”

“Really? Will you really do that?” Your expression brightened, but your brothers’ faces darkened. They saw the shadow before you did. Saw the webbed hands reaching out, the serrated teeth glinting in a sinister smile.

And then—

Owin leaned over, his arm outstretched. So fluid was his motion that it took you by surprise. “(Name), grab on! Hurry! Before—”

The rest of his warning was muffled by the water. You hardly had any time to brace yourself when you were yanked under, your nails raking across the wood of the oar as you went with the force of the pull. Salt stung your eyes when you cracked them open, peering frantically at blurry surroundings. Teal-green specks slid silently through the shadows, mismatched eyes flicking over your form. And then there was a high, raucous sort of chittering. Like a dolphin’s cry, loud and piercing. You squeezed your eyes shut and pressed your palms against your ears.

It only lasted a few mere seconds, but it felt like an eternity trapped in the coils of a creature you couldn’t comprehend. One moment you were holding your breath and the next arms were hooked around your torso, and you were pulled up and into the belly of the rowboat. Your hands flew to your throat, and you coughed up seawater while Owin patted you.

“It’s fine. It’s…okay,” Emyr muttered, his voice shot through with fear. It was the most shaken he’d ever sounded.

Blood fogged in the water, staining the tip of his harpoon. He gazed down at his hand. A deep, jagged gash ran angrily from palm to wrist. He hissed and closed his fingers in a tight fist.

“We gotta get back,” Owin was saying, still rubbing soothing circles into your back. “I’ll row. You rest.”

“Not good,” Emyr said instead, shaking his head in dismay as he watched your attackers retreat.

“We’re still in our waters, right? We didn’t go past the boundary, did we?”

“Let’s hope not.”

“We didn’t, right?”

“Let’s hope—” Emyr paused, collecting his words. “Let’s hope those monsters were in the wrong.”

“Father’s gonna kill us.”

“If not us, the monsters.”

Both brothers looked towards you. Your tunic was torn, stained through with saltwater and blood. You shivered all the way to shore.

Following that mishap, an official meeting was called between the Land and the Sea. The King—your father—met the Sea Queen at the border. He stood proud on his ship, peering down at her with fire in his old eyes.

“Your Majesty.”

The Sea Queen was just as formidable as those who came before her. Her tentacles unfurled as one, and if you looked at them long enough they almost seemed to take on the shape of an obsidian-colored crinoline.

“I believe my mother and your father made the terms quite clear all those years ago,” she said, a wave lifting her to meet the King at the deck of his ship. “So then, with that in mind, there should be no reason for us to meet under these circumstances.”

Emyr and Owin stood just behind their father. You peered through their legs at the Sea Queen, silently amazed. You’d never seen anyone quite like her before. At least, not a real person. You’d seen her in storybooks, depicted as a fearsome beast with devilish features, and though there was something intimidating about her gaze and build she appeared understanding enough. Her grey skin was sleek in the morning sun, her long, silvery strands tied up and pinned with an ornate hair ornament. She looked beautiful in a magical, enigmatic way.

“I couldn’t agree more,” came the clipped response of your father. “Alas, misfortune has brought us here.” He stepped aside to allow her to behold Emyr’s bandaged hand. “Harm has befallen my son and daughter. I suppose you might have an inkling as to why they find themselves in their current state?”

She frowned, but you couldn’t tell if it was out of sympathy or some other emotion. “Perhaps one of them can give reason to the wound now marring one of my subject’s sons.”

Your father glanced overboard at the snake-like merman cradled in the arms of another merman. They looked near-identical, their features unmistakable. He glanced back at Emyr, his gaze hard. “Go on then. Explain yourself.”

Emyr stepped forward. “With wholehearted respect, Your Majesty, it was out of self-defense. Your kind—they attacked us first.”

“You were in our waters!” one of the mers exclaimed, pointing a clawed finger towards Emyr. “It’s all your fault Jade got hurt!”

Owin hurried ahead, his hands gripping the taffrail. “He’s playing it up! It was a graze!”

“He could’ve died! You almost killed him!”

“That is enough,” the Sea Queen said, jutting an arm out to silence both sides. “I understand everyone is hurt here. Our feud lies in misunderstanding.” She gazed at you next. “Little one, we have yet to hear your story. Do share.”

You glanced at the guards, at Owin and Emyr, and then at father. He nodded encouragingly. “U-Um!” Shyly, you approached the Sea Queen. “My brothers were teaching me how to swim. I don’t know anything about whose water is whose. I just wanted to learn how to swim.” You met the fierce scowl of the mer holding his twin brother and quickly looked elsewhere. “He grabbed me before my brothers could pull me up.”

“Because you were trespassing. Anyone who tresspasses ought to—”

“Floyd.”

At the not-so-subtle warning in his father’s voice, he shut his mouth and snarled. His brother—Jade—was handed off to their father, who assessed his state with a frown.

“He will live, but it will take time for him to recover. My son is right. Your son could have killed him.”

“Just as your sons could have killed my sister!” Owin shouted, glaring.

Floyd stuck his tongue out, remorseless.

“It is impossible to know which side is in the wrong,” your father began, turning towards the Sea Queen. “Seeing as both have been injured, I am willing to apologize on behalf of my sons.”

“What?!” Owin’s head turned towards his father. “You’re bloody mad! Have you not seen—”

“Father,” Emyr interjected evenly. “We have nothing to apologize for. We were within our waters. We had no ill will towards the others. It was completely innocent.”

The Sea Queen hummed her contemplation. “The boundary was drawn for a reason, decided upon by those who came before us, and yet it does more harm than good. It is not for safety’s sake. It is to keep us divided—to ensure that neither side will ever know peace.”

“And you’re implying that we get rid of it?”

She nodded, quite serious. Everyone looked on in equal parts shock and disbelief. “Why do we continue to fight? It does nothing but open old wounds, rendering them incurable. Innocent lives are lost in petty squabbling. And for what?”

To that, no one could offer a smart reply.

“Therefore I propose peace. A union to welcome a new era—one in which we embrace one another as allies without animosity.”

“A union?” Your father raised a brow, suspicious but willing to listen. “I suppose it would be beneficial. My people would be free to travel the seas at their leisure.” “And mine would no longer have to live in fear of being thoughtlessly slaughtered and taken as trophies.”

“Unbelievable,” Orwin muttered.

Emyr elbowed him. “Knock it off.”

“We’ll collaborate on a contract. One that dissolves the invisible boundary that has been the cause for so much suffering. In order to attain true peace, I shall offer you my only son.” She glanced at you and then back at your father. “Your daughter shall marry him when they are of age.”

“What?! No way! Ew! Gross!” Your voice came out shrill and you shook your head in protest. “I don’t wanna marry an octopus! No, I won’t do it!”

Your father stood in front of you. “She’s my only daughter. If something were to happen—”

“Which is precisely why I bring up this engagement. Should they be betrothed, we as their parents will promise to uphold peace to give them bright futures and they will act as the first example of a human-mer alliance. Unions between humans and merfolk are unheard of, but is this not the best way to foster harmony between the Land and Sea?”

“I won’t do it! No! Don’t make me marry a gross—” Emyr gathered you in his arms, holding his uninjured hand over your mouth.

“Let the grown-ups talk.”

Owin frowned. “I still don’t agree with this…”

Your father mulled it over, his eyes glazed in thought. “Very well. We will create a contract—an official peace treaty.”

Both leaders shook hands and planned to convene at the end of the week to discuss further.

You watched the mers depart, each one slipping under the sea. Floyd was the last to go, staring at you with a mean sort of vitriol. And then he, too, dove under.

“He didn’t mean it, right?” you whispered to Emyr after your father gave the order to turn the ship around and head for land. “I won’t have to marry an octopus, right?”

Emyr could only offer a commiserate frown.

“She’s a brat,” Floyd spits. “Stupid, evil Two Legs.”

Jade chuckles and runs his fingers over the scar. “I consider it an honor.”

“Yeah, well, I think it’s messed up. She’s the reason you can’t ever swim naturally again. While she’s up there in her pretty, little tower, safe and sound, you’re still hurting.”

“It’s not as much of a hindrance as you may think. I’m not weak, mind you.”

Floyd grumbles. “Still. She’s mean.”

Azul gazes up at the palace, sighing dreamily. “She’ll be my wife someday. That’s what humans call it, yes? Husband and wife… What wonderful words.”

It’s been one year since the peace treaty. Since then, humans and merfolk have made an effort to get along. This is the second time Azul will be meeting with you. He’s nervous. The first time you went out to sea to greet him, and he’d gotten so anxious that he inked right then and there. His mother entertained you from where you sat in the boat with your personal guard. It was a mortifying experience—one that had taken him months to recover from.

Now he’s going to try to meet you in the shallows. Try is the key word here. He’s scared, all three hearts beating as one. Is it too late to reschedule?

“I can’t believe you’re actually okay with this. You that lonely?”

Azul turns to scowl at both twins, but it’s mostly directed at Floyd. “I never asked you to tag along. Leave me alone.”

Jade smiles. “And let the Queen’s little prince swim to his death?”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Sure you can. But what about when Two Legs gets ya? What then?”

“She wouldn’t do that.”

Floyd rolls his eyes. “You saw what her brothers did to Jade.”

“Because you tried to kill her.”

“Because she was in our territory!”

Azul huffs and pushes him away with a tentacle. “Regardless, we’re supposed to be on good terms now. You’ll break the contract if you try anything dangerous.”

“He’s right, Floyd.”

“Ugh. Whatever.” Floyd turns away, stubborn. “This is lame. I’m not stickin’ around.”

Jade lingers long enough to observe the way Azul lights up when he spots you on the stone steps. And then he disappears beneath the water.

Barefoot, holding your dress up and out of the way, you pad across the beach.

“Why are you here? I’m busy. My brothers are taking me into town.”

The smile that had been fighting to break out on his face frosts over. “Oh. I… Um…” Azul fumbles with the conch shell he’d collected on the way here. A gift for you. He made sure to study human speech patterns in the months leading up to this meeting. He’s fully prepared! And yet you look so displeased. “F-For you! I found it…”

You stare at the shell clutched in a dark tentacle. Tentatively, you reach for it. “Why?”

“Ah. W-Well, my mother says gifts are an important part of any bond. In the sea, we give gifts to the ones we care about. To friends and family and o-other halves…”

You turn the shell over in your hands. “We’re not friends.”

“Not yet,” he tries, but you shake your head.

“You ran away from me the last time we met. That’s not very friendly.”

His face flushes blue and he opens his mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. It wasn’t on purpose.

You’re already turning on your heel. “I don’t have time for this.” You toss the shell over your shoulder. Azul watches it land in the sand, just out of his grasp.

“W-Wait! I… I want to talk to you. Please don’t go. You’re going to be my other half one day, so I’d like to—”

But you’re already dashing across the beach to get to the stairs.

Azul deflates against the rock. Tears overflow in floods. Is it because of him? Is he to blame? Why don’t you want to be his friend? Is it because of the peace treaty? Why?

Why? Why? Why?

Azul doesn’t want to think negatively of you. Humans are sensitive creatures. He reads up on them in the palace library, poring over literature and textbooks in an effort to better understand you. But as the months pass and you seem to simply tolerate him for the sake of the alliance, he begins to suspect something.

It’s made apparent the next time he sees you, where you walk right past the beach to catch up with your brothers. He hides behind the rocks, two blue eyes following your figure until you’re out of sight.

Floyd was right. You are a brat.

And yet he can’t hate you.

On the eve of your eighteenth birthday, Azul meets you in the shallows.

Nowadays you send letters, preferring strained long distance over the personal intimacy of face-to-face relations. These exchanges are purely diplomatic. But now that he’s asked to meet with you, a rare occurrence, you’ve deigned to greet him in person. It’s the least you can do after he’s gone through the trouble to travel here. It’s been so long since you’ve seen him that he’s almost unrecognizable. You remember the round, baby-faced octo-mer from your childhood. The one who lounges against the rocks is leaner now—his features defined, jawline as sharp as his eyes. They cut through the gloom to find you.

“You wished to see me?” You’re in your nightwear, a silky gown with an even softer robe. A cool breeze blows across the beach, and you wrap your arms around yourself for extra warmth. “Azul?”

He hesitates, his gaze trailing up your legs. You’ve also changed a lot in the time you’ve been apart. You’ve grown taller, filling out in places he didn’t know humans could fill. What he’d give to hold you… His mother says he needs to be patient. Fickle thing that you are, you’re the reason he’s spent six years trying to appease you through letters—to win you over and be anything more than that “annoying octopus” you’re doomed to marry. Perhaps it would have been easier to act just as you do if it weren’t for the fact that he’d been elated at the premise of having someone to love. When his mother broached the idea in the days following her meeting with the Land King, he’d stared at her with wide, excited eyes.

“There’s a human girl who wants to be my friend?” he asked, to which his mother smiled and nodded.

More than a friend, actually, but then all he was focused on was finally getting to experience the one thing he’d never known or had: friendship.

Sighing, he foregoes formality and holds out a necklace. It dangles from the tip of his tentacle. Strung on a dainty, silver strand, pearls wink back at you under the moonlight. Azul averts his eyes, his cheeks a pleasant periwinkle.

“Happy birthday…”

“Oh.” You move in closer, taking the necklace from him. His tentacle pursues you, twining delicately around your wrist. “Um… What is it? Do you need—whoa!”

Azul tugs you closer. The sea laps at your ankles. Beneath a tapestry of stars, you meet his azure stare. His features are set with a determination you’ve never seen before.

“I want to start over.”

“Start over?”

“I’d like to be on friendly terms with you. We’re so cold. Distant…” Azul frowns, seeming unsure of what to say or do next. The tentacle laced around your wrist like a bracelet tightens its hold. “We’re to be wed one day. I want to make this work.”

You blink at him. He thinks he may have gotten through to you, having finally broken through layers of stone and ice, but then your nose scrunches and odium shimmers in your gaze.

“That’s impossible. I’m a human. How am I supposed to live with an octopus?” You shake him off with a huff. “I’m not sure what our parents think this will accomplish. I don’t want to be a pawn to be moved around for the sake of peace. I’m my own person.”

Azul’s expression sours. His lip curls up into a sneer. “Well, I don’t find it very enjoyable either. You’re not the only victim in this scenario.”

You exhale an exhausted breath. “Azul, I appreciate the gift, but it doesn’t mean anything if you’re only giving it to me to curry favor.”

I wasn’t, he thinks, but he doesn’t say that. Admitting it would be a weakness. Admitting it would mean coming to terms with an unrequited opinion.

“At least one of us is making a conscious effort.”

“At least one of us isn’t trying so hard. It’s pathetic.”

“You’re not obligated to accept my goodwill.” He smiles, smug. “Yet you do every time. I’d wager you enjoy my materialistic affections.”

“As if.” Despite this, you hold the necklace out of his reach when a tentacle flexes towards it. “It’s mine now.”

“So you are fond of my ‘pathetic’ ways!”

“I’m not!”

You jerk away with a vicious scowl, but your foot catches in the sand and you quickly find yourself tipping backwards. If not for the tentacles that coil around your waist to steady you, you would have fallen on your rear. Your chest heaves with adrenaline. Stunned, you stare at Azul.

“You…caught me,” you breathe, lips parted in awe.

“Did you think I’d let you fall?” He cocks his head at you, grinning playfully. “Why, I’d never! Unless it’s me you’re falling for, in which case I gladly welcome the—”

“You’re such a pest.” Untangling yourself from his grasp, which he allows without scrimmage, you step away from the water’s edge. He watches you secure the pearls around your neck, and his hearts stumble in his chest when you point an accusatory finger at him. “Don’t delude yourself with foolish nonsense. I have no interest in you.”

With an indignant harrumph, you start towards the palace.

“May we meet here tomorrow?” Azul calls out after you, testing his luck with what little chance he has.

“Don’t push it.”

“I’ll wait for you.”

“Good. Keep waiting, dummy!” You break into a sprint, hurrying off into the shadows.

Azul smiles at the empty beach. Whether or not you like him, it doesn’t matter. You’re to be his one day. You’ve always been, ever since he was eleven.

He’ll wait, even if you won’t show.

Ostensibly, twenty-one years wise, you’re getting married today.

Your gown is just as exquisite as your hair and makeup. Pearls cling to your throat and arms—classic wedding attire for merfolk. A thin veil shields the scheme in your stare.

This was an inevitability, but you’re determined to fight it until the end. No matter how quickly time seems to pass, you’ll do everything you can to stall and slow it.

Gripping a sharpened dagger in a resolute fist, you drag it through the long, sprawling train of your gown.

“As if I’d marry an octopus,” you grumble, cutting fine fabric until you’re permitted smoother movement. Gazing at yourself in the mirror, you scowl. “I’m no one’s bride.”

By the time the maids arrive to check on you, you’ve already stolen out the window.

The rowboat sways on choppy water. You’ve watched your brothers do this enough times to have the technique engraved in your memory. Your arms strain with the oars, every muscle screaming in protest, but you fight through the pain. The palace looks smaller and smaller with every passing minute. Eventually, you’re so far out that the land is but a mere speck.

It’s going well. You’re escaping towards a better future—a future without the octopus prince.

You glance towards the horizon. Your boat undulates with the waves.

You’ll miss your brothers, your maids, your personal guard…

Water slops over the edge. You yelp, startled. Have the seas always been so rough?

Despite everything, you’ll miss your father.

Just as you think this, your boat rocks to the side. You grab onto the edge to steady yourself, but it’s already too late. It tips over and you go with it, careening into the sea with a noisy splash. Twin shadows cut seamlessly through the murky water. You catch sight of a yellow eye before you propel yourself towards the sky, coughing and heaving once you break the surface. You grab onto the overturned rowboat, your dagger clutched in one hand.

You search the surface for them, eyes flicking to and fro in a frantic panic.

Somewhere… Anywhere… Where are you?

And then you find them, peering at you from the other side of the boat.

“Go on then,” you spit, glaring. “Kill me.”

Floyd bares his teeth at you. “This time I ain’t gonna leave a scar.”

“You know we mustn’t. That’s not why we’re here.” Jade smiles at you, but there’s something in his eyes that unnerves you. “Your Highness, you should know it’s poor manners to leave the groom on his special day.”

Floyd circles you restlessly. “S’not fair we gotta be nice when you’re so mean.”

“I’m not going to marry him.”

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice in that matter.”

“What’d Azul ever do to you?”

You attempt to answer that before realizing the truth. Nothing. He’s done absolutely nothing but be kind and understanding and patient. And I took that, chewed it up, and spat in his face.

“If you used that brain of yours, you wouldn’t have thrown yourself to the sharks. We can’t get to you on land.” “But it’s fair game in the sea,” Floyd finishes, every syllable dripping with pride. “Stupid Two Legs.”

“I’m inclined to agree. You’re not the brightest human. A pity.”

“My brother should’ve gutted you when he had the chance. Maybe then—”

You see the whites of Floyd’s eyes when he strikes, launching himself at you with a clawed hand, sharp, pointed teeth aiming for your jugular.

This is it. You’re dead.

…or not.

The searing pain never comes, nor does the impending laceration. You cling to the boat and watch dark tentacles rise from the depths to close around Floyd, ensnaring him in a firm hold. He thrashes, snapping his jaws like a deranged beast.

“Let go of me, Azul! Lemme at her! She’s a bitch! I’ll kill her!”

“There will be none of that.” Azul tuts. “I don’t intend to marry a corpse.”

Jade swims over to you. “My feelings aren’t hurt in the slightest, Your Highness. If it weren’t for your status and connection to Azul, I’d have disemboweled you ages ago. Quite a relief for you, yes?”

You swallow your horror, allowing him to detach you from the boat so that Azul can turn it over. A tentacle curls around your waist, lifts you from the water, and places you back in the boat. You stare at your hands. They’re trembling. You can hardly hold the dagger properly.

It takes some convincing and a lukewarm apology from you, but Floyd promises to be good. He doesn’t do anything as you’re pulled back to shore, but he does stare at you for the duration of the trip, his eyes tracking your every movement. You press yourself into the belly of the boat, defeated and riddled with anxiety.

Your father isn’t pleased. When you see his enraged expression, the debate dies on your tongue. “You are to marry the prince,” he seethes, pulling you aside, “or else you jeopardize the peace of our kingdom.”

You’re washed and fitted in a new dress. Guards are stationed at all possible routes to prevent another escape.

When you walk down the beach to meet Azul in the shallows, your veil shields the sadness in your stare.

The ceremony carries on without incident. Floyd watches from the water, lurking like Death. You speak rehearsed vows in robotic monotone, mindlessly floating through the rigmarole like it’s second nature. Azul smiles at you through it all, sweetly smitten.

It’s a nightmare lived in real time.

Humans and mers alike congratulate you, cheering for this momentous occasion. Your tongue is numb by the end of it all. You’ve expressed faux gratitude so many times that it hurts to even force the words. And now, as night descends and the party kicks into full swing, you’re left reflecting on the day.

Freedom feels so far away. You’ll never know it again, will you?

Azul guides you away from the crowd. Firelight grows dim with the distance. Eventually, you find yourself taking refuge in a tiny inlet cut into the beach. A rocky outcrop hides you from the moon’s spotlight.

“I’m not upset,” Azul murmurs, curling a tentacle up your leg. “But Floyd is.”

“His brother’s the one who hurt me all those years ago.”

“That was before the union.”

“I’m not letting it go.”

“Perhaps not now, but you will. One day.”

You don’t believe him.

“Our people are at peace. Aren’t you pleased, my love?”

You shove him away, gathering heaps of your dress to walk in calf-deep water. “I’m not your love.”

“Legally, you are.”

“That means nothing to me. Absolutely nothing.”

Azul sighs. “Even now, after everything, you’re still trying to flee.”

“For good reason. I don’t want to be tied down.”

Azul inches closer. Another tentacle wraps slyly around your ankle.

“You’re so beautiful. I feel like the luckiest mer in the sea. To be able to call you my own… My beautiful bride.” He pulls you closer. You resist weakly. “Now that we’re alone I can finally tell you the very thing I’ve thought of ceaselessly for years.”

A tentacle slides up your leg, straying closer to your inner thigh. You flinch away.

“Azul, wait. I don’t want—”

“I love you.”

You squirm in his hold, attempting to thwart the tentacles that grab at your every limb. You trip over yourself in the process. This time Azul doesn’t catch you. Water laps at your dress, soaking through at once. He’s radiant beneath the moon. Dreading his touch, you scoot as far from him as you can get in the water, hoping to reach land. Azul seizes your wrist and pulls you into his arms. You fight him with more force.

“No… No, let go of me! Release me!”

“Why should I? You’re mine now. Is it not customary for a married couple to consummate their new bond? We do something similar in the sea.” A tentacle brushes your veil back so that he can look upon your pretty face. “I’d take you to a quiet space in the seagrass, lay you down in the sand, and then—”

“I don’t want that! No!” You lash out, swinging blindly. A tentacle shoots out to stop your arm before it can smack him. “Azul, please—”

“I was patient. I waited and waited in hopes that you might warm up to me. I cherished you in silence. I learned your language. Your customs. Your habits. I wrote to you. Traveled to meet you. And yet you look at me as if I’m a monster…”

It’s not the devastated look in his eyes or the edge in his voice that scares you. It’s the startling gentleness with which he handles you. Tentacles loop around your body, exploring beneath your gown. You wriggle in discomfort, yelping when suckers brush against the frilly garter secured around your thigh. Azul hums and holds you up in his tentacles, using two to spread your legs so that he may slide it from your leg.

“I wasn’t forceful. I courted you kindly. You accepted all of my gifts. You wore them proudly and I thought—I knew you would love me, too. You were mine from the moment our parents signed that agreement. And if you leave me, you’ll break a political promise and then our kingdoms will go to war and I’ll be sure to collect the heads of your family first. Each one of them, and you will watch as I bring ruin to the kingdom you love so fondly.”

“N-No… Please stop. Please.”

“I’ve waited ten years for you.” A tentacle hooks around your panties. You thrash again, shaking your head at him. He remains unconvinced, watching with gleeful eyes as your nudity is revealed to him. “And aren’t you an angel? Oh, you’re so pretty…”

Like your hopes, your panties are cast aside.

The tip of a tentacle prods curiously at your pussy. Your breath hitches.

“W-Wait! You… You can’t.” His eyes find yours, and you swallow the rising sob. “T-That can’t go inside… It won’t fit. It won’t—”

Azul smiles. “Of course it will. The human body is capable of marvelous feats.”

Even though it’s pointless, you struggle. “I can’t! Please… Azul, I’m scared. Please don’t do this…”

A lone tentacle slides into your hand. Thoughtless, you hold tight.

“My love, there’s no need to cry. I’m not going to hurt you.” He brings you closer, kissing your tears away. “I’m here for you. I’ve always been here, even when you didn’t seem to need me.”

You hiccup, your chest heaving. It’s not lonely for long, for he pulls your dress down your shoulders. Your breasts spill free and are quickly cradled in cold hands. Azul watches your expression with an intense focus while he rolls your nipples between his fingers. You grit your teeth, refusing to respond. But then the tentacle between your legs finds your clit and a sucker affixes to it, suctioning slowly. You gasp and throw your head back, bolts of pleasure racing up your spine. It happens in a white-hot flash. You slacken in his grasp.

Azul laughs, astonished. “Did you cum? Already?”

“Nooo,” you whine, closing your hand around the tentacle once more. Another one strokes your cheek. “You’ve had your fun. Now let go of me…”

“What a silly demand.”

He tugs on your nipples. You groan, lashes fluttering. “Ooh… Stop. No, stop it… Don’t touch there. Not—haa… Not there!”

“You’re so sensitive.” He drags the underside of a tentacle along your cunt and shivers. “And so wet… Is this your season? Do humans experience such a thing?”

You’ve no idea what he’s referring to, but before you can dwell on it he leans down to take your perky bud in his mouth. Your free hand grabs at his hair, pinning him to your chest. His tongue laves across it, warm and wet. You shouldn’t enjoy it so much, and yet you can’t stop yourself from crying out.

He hums against your skin, beaming like a devil. You can’t hate him. He’s your husband. He’s yours. You shouldn’t hate him.

You’re falling apart in his tentacles, grinding down to chase the bliss provided by the underside of the appendage clinging to your pussy. The sinful squelch of skin on skin fills the quiet inlet. The scent of sex and salt intermingles. It’s wrong and it’s right. It’s instinct, carnal and corrupt. Azul groans against your breast, your teat between his teeth.

“Az—ooh!” You tug on his hair, insatiable. Your brain is fogging over with lust. You don’t want to lose yourself in this madness. You can’t. “N-No more… No more.” 

But he’s not listening. He pinches your other nipple between his fingers, and that’s all it takes for you to unravel.

In the aftermath, the tapered tip of a thicker tentacle squirms between your thighs. Mindlessly, you spread your legs and lift your hips for him. It presses in shallowly, a jarring experience.

“Not inside—don’t! You can’t!”

Azul pulls away from you, his expression scrunched in woozy ecstasy. “Why not?” he mumbles, smiling stupidly. “You’re my bride. It’s only fair…”

Before you can bicker, he kisses you. His tongue pursues yours in a sloppy tango. You lick into his mouth, desperate and dazed. Lost in a sea of salacity, shipwrecked on an island of forgotten inhibitions.

The tentacle pushes through rings of tight, slick muscle. Tears spring to your eyes. It feels weird and foreign, so unlike your fingers. He holds you close, minding his strength and pace. It fills you slowly, reaching places you’ve never been able to feel. The lust numbs your senses and gives way to something animalistic—a base desire you’ve suppressed. Azul rocks the appendage deeper until it’s pushed up against the entrance to your womb, squeezed snugly in your warm walls.

“I-It’s in…” you mumble once he’s broken the kiss, a strand of saliva connecting your mouths. “It’s really…inside me…”

Azul kisses your cheek and pets you with a tentacle. “We were made for each other.”

Surely not, you think, but it feels so when he draws back and thrusts in. Maybe he’s right.

He fucks you gently, savoring every single sound you make. He tells you he loves you, whispers it over and over like it’s prayer. You nod dumbly, grabbing at his hand to hold it. The both of you are gasping in unison, chasing cloud nine. In just a few more deep strokes, his tip bullying its way to your womb, he finally finds his end. A thin substance fills you up in plentiful amounts. Distantly, you think it’s water until he drags your hips further down. Your mouth drops open in a strangled scream as something round and gelatinous passes through. It settles in your womb, and you know right away that it shouldn’t be there.

You panic. “W-Wait… Wha—Zul… Stop… No, I don’t want—”

“It’s all right,” he breathes, his mouth on your shoulder. He soothes you with soft shushes and even softer kisses. “You’re okay. I’m here.”

You dig your nails into the tentacle curled in your palm just as a second orb squeezes through. He groans, his eyes squeezed shut.

“Finally…” He pants, a wobbly smile stretching on his delirious countenance. “Finally, my love, my dear—oh, my beloved bride!”

He cradles you like a mother would a newborn. You lie there as he fills you, your voice hoarse from babbling and bewailing. These things—little orbs of jelly—are stuffed into your womb, and by the time you surpass twenty you lose count and blank out, trembling through yet another orgasm. You’re not sure how many more he has left or how many more you can possibly fit. It feels too good to think about that.

“Bigger. They’ll get bigger. You’ll look so pretty—round and full and soft.”

Dizzy, you glance at the bloated dome that is your belly. Your gown strains over it, an impressively deceptive size that you almost mistake for pregnancy. That’s when it clicks. Eggs. These are eggs.

“I’ll make sure they survive. All of them—as many as I possibly can. I’ll stay by your side. I’ll keep you content. I’ll fill you with love—so much love—an abundance of it, and you’ll never know emptiness again,” he rambles, resting a tentacle over your distended middle.

It’s not just a senseless sweet nothing. It’s a promise.

[avelera]

Viktor and Jayce both need to take some non-STEM classes

I'm joking but also a little not-joking that this is in fact, a theme in the show.

In Season 1.08, Ambessa meets Jayce for the first time after he's become a councilor. One of the first questions she asks him is, "Do they teach military history at your Academy, Mr. Talis?"

Jayce takes this as a set up for an insult against him. He's rattled by the bathhouse and braced for a fight. He's so riled, in fact, that he completely misses what Ambessa is probing him for there.

Ambessa wasn't setting him up to make him feel small, like Jayce feared, she wanted to know if he had a military history background or even the beginnings of the skills needed as an engineer to understand or counter some of the political manipulations she's about to pull on him.

Jayce answers: I'm not sure.

Not only has Jayce never taken a military class, he as a scientist doesn't even know if his school offers it.

That made him easy pickings for Ambessa. She wouldn't even need to be subtle, she could use the most basic tricks in the book against a proud young man with only a scientific background and know he wouldn't even begin to have the tools to pick up let alone counter what she's doing to him.

And then we get to Viktor in S2. Now, I think "How much of Cult Leader Viktor is even Viktor?" is a fair question. But the whole Machine Herald ethos he seems to be working towards in his inner monologue in 2.06 is yet another example of "Won't someone PLEASE make these boys take some sort of liberal arts class? An ethics course? SOMETHING?"

Viktor is working his way (Hexcore influence or no) to the conclusion that many frustrated young activists have hit upon when their activism doesn't work.

He tried to help people. But people didn't want to be helped or didn't cooperate with the way he wanted to help them.

His conclusion? Clearly it's the people who are wrong. It's the people who need to be changed.

To quote Pratchett, "“People on the side of The People always ended up disappointed, in any case. They found that The People tended not to be grateful or appreciative or forward-thinking or obedient. The People tended to be small-minded and conservative and not very clever and were even distrustful of cleverness. And so the children of the revolution were faced with the age-old problem: it wasn't that you had the wrong kind of government, which was obvious, but that you had the wrong kind of people.”

And of course, once you start to see people as the problem, that people need to be fundamentally changed, added, or subtracted from, when you treat people as things, that is when the real evil begins.

You have to accept people as they are and work within those bounds, because otherwise you have to change people and that pretty much always leads to the sort of atrocities that the Machine Herald seems gearing up to do. Namely, add and subtract away the people, or the characteristics of people, that don't fit his vision for the world.

And all I can think is: won't Piltover Academy please for the love of god make your tech bros take some goddamn history and philosophy classes please??

[gulnarsultan]

Hey I was wondering if you could write yandere edward iv of england headcanons with his wife and if they were to have kids

maybe nsfw but only if you feel comfortable

Hello dear. I will do my best. I hope you like it.

Yandere husband Edward iv of England headcanon.

~ Political and alliance marriages were not surprising. Because many high-status people resorted to this path to get more. As a Princess, making a political marriage for your country and people was your destiny from the day you were born.

~ The idea of ​​arranging a marriage between you and the young King Edward, who had just ascended to the throne, was his mother, Cecily Neville. She could not tolerate her son marrying Elizabeth, a widow and a lower-status woman. So she immediately started writing to your family and trying to convince them of this marriage. Soon, the decision was made for you to marry for the good of both countries.

~ At first, Edward was angry, sad and disappointed. Even if he fought with his mother, there was no way back. Even if he married you, he was determined to always love Elizabeth and even make her his mistress. If he had to make a marriage he did not want, then he would not leave the woman he loved.

~ You traveled to England. You had many soldiers, maids, servants and assistants with you. Your robe was really big and magnificent. You had heard the rumors that the king loved a woman. In fact, you were very upset that you had to marry a man who did not love you and was cheating on you.

~ You finally managed to reach England. Everyone was ready to welcome you. You took a deep breath before entering the hall. And you made a promise to yourself. You would never let anyone hurt, upset or humiliate you. The first person to greet and admire you was your future mother-in-law. Everyone was speechless when they saw your beauty. When Edward looked at you, it was as if his heart was about to jump out of his chest. He looked at you with a few snaifs of forgiveness. He came to his senses when his mother called him and came to you immediately.

~ In fact, your future husband was as handsome as they said. In fact, you accepted that you were lucky in this regard. Edward wasted no time in trying to chat with you and get to know you better. You had lost track of time. Edward was spending all his free time with you. His mother was happy that her son was no longer going to that widow.

~ You got married in a short time with an expensive and fancy wedding. Your wedding dress and jewelry were very expensive and perfect. It was the kind of wedding that would be talked about for a long time. You were known as the most beautiful bride in history. Edward was very gentle on the first night.

~ (Nswf) Edward was never ashamed or hesitant to show affection to you in front of others. He was obsessed with touching you, especially when he was around other people. He really wanted you to get pregnant and carry the proof of your togetherness in your belly. He never neglected to take care of you after sex. He was more dominant and harsh when he was jealous. He likes to leave marks on your body.

~ He likes to spoil you with gifts and acts of love. No one can try to harm you, insult you or humiliate you. You are his precious wife, Queen and the mother of his children. So if someone becomes your enemy, Edward will be their worst nightmare.

~ You have more than one healthy child. Edward is the best father in the world for all of them. He is a protective father for his children. He will not allow anyone to harm his family.

[sinofwriting]

I'm A Matchmaker, Baby - Ollie Bearman, Charles Leclerc/Max Verstappen

Words: 4,123 Summary: After Saudi Arabia, Charles fully takes Ollie under his wing, he is his son after all, which leads to Ollie having dinner with the Monaco royal family and meeting the most beautiful girl in the world, the princess of Monaco. Note(s): This is also a Lestappen fic, Max and Charles get together and are together in this fic. They ended up playing a huge part in this fic, so be warned. Also the title is what it is because I can just hear Charles say it.

Masterlist | Support Me! 

Charles had always wanted children. He had wanted children nearly as long as he had wanted to be a Ferrari Formula One driver. He had never expected to be a father this young. But he was and his heart was full because of it.

He wasn’t Ollie’s father on paper or biologically, but what did that matter when it came to the heart and in Charles’ heart, he is Ollie’s father. He already felt something for the young driver, but then Saudi Arabia happened and Ollie had followed him around the Ferrari garage, all polite as he asked his questions, eyes filled with awe and determination. Something had settled in him then. The realization hit only after the race as he waited for the press conference and saw the number of tweets greeting him.

They all were praising Ollie, comparing the two, saying how much Ollie and him were alike. It wasn’t the first time he had heard such things. Arthur had remarked it once, so had Jock, but he hadn’t thought much of it. But now as he scrolled and scrolled and saw the comparisons that fans had made, he couldn’t help but compare them as well. They were quite similar. From the tracks they both liked and performed well at, the love for Ferrari, they both couldn’t cook for shit apparently, and there was even more.

The thing that really got him, a well of fondness striking his heart, was Ollie already talking to someone about this weekend and how when jumping into Carlos’ car for FP3 he struggled with the wheel because he always used Charles’ set up at the factory. It was like it never occurred to him in the near four years he had been with the Ferrari academy to even think of trying another driver’s set up.

“He did well.” A shoulder brushes against his, tehir voice just barely above a murmur.

Charles closes out of his twitter, smiling. “He did very well. Better than Ferrari was expecting.”

He huffs out a laugh, the press of their shoulders becoming firmer. “He really does take after you then.”

A pink blush forms on his cheeks, but he can’t help but beam, pride so quickly filling him. He only seemed to have Ollie for a day, but he would happily kill anyone and anything that would hurt him. “He does. He was amazing during the race, no? Finishing seventh.”

“It’s too bad Lewis is a sure thing. Ollie already seems to be ready for the Ferrari seat.”

If it was anyone else, he would think that they were fishing and if it was anyone else he wouldn’t bother responding, but it was Max. Max had never shared things he said, not when they were matters of the heart or private or even just a bit personal.

“There are things in place. But Ollie would like to do a year in the back or midfield at least before stepping up.”

Max hums, eyebrows furrowed, considering. “Even after this? And what if Carlos isn’t ready for Australia?”

Charles hesitates, eyes darting around, as he thinks of the meeting he has to attend after this to discuss just that.

“Later?” Max offers.

“Later.” He agrees, nodding.

“Nightcap in my room?”

The word yes is on the tip of his tongue, he hates the idea of passing it up, but he shakes his head. “I want to spend some time with Ollie. It was a big day for him. I already plan on getting dinner with him, talking, making sure he is all okay. If you are still up after, perhaps I could stop by?”

Max smiles, eyes crinkling. “You are welcome anytime, of course, Charlie. I’ll have a spare key waiting for you at the front desk or you can always just knock.”

“Thank you, Max.”

Max’s smile grows bigger and he squeezes Charles’ shoulder, once, twice, then three times. “Of course.”

—

Charles leans against the door frame watching as Andrea leads Ollie through the last of his cooldown stretches. His neck was surely hurting and it would be worse tomorrow, but he could see the sheen of cream that Andrea had used on him at the beginning of his F1 career, still did if it had been a practically hard race. And if he knew Andrea which he did, he already knew that there was an extra one in his bag to give to Ollie.

“Hello.” He greets when Ollie finishes his last stretch, straightening with a small groan.

“Charles!” Ollie grins, eyes brightening.

He catches Andrea shaking his head from the corner of his eye, but there’s a fond smile on the older man’s face. “I’ve finished with my meeting, are you ready for dinner?”

Charles fears for a moment his head will come off with how eagerly Ollie shakes it.

They go to a small restaurant, Italian, that Andrea had found for Charles.

Siding into the booth seats, Charles watches, amused, as Ollie looks around with interest, fingers fiddling with his menu.

“I’ve been coming here since the race was introduced. It is nice, no?”

Ollie nods, “it is. Reminds me a bit of…” he trails off and Charles knows what he’s thinking.

“A bit. The owner, her mother, is Italian.”

“Ah.”

Opening the menu, Charles eyes glimpse over it already knowing what he’s going to get, fingers drumming against the table for a moment.

“You did very well during the race, Ollie.”

The boy’s face turns red, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck. “I could have done better.”

Charles shakes his head. “You got one free practice session, managed to qualify ahead of a seven time world champion and a McLaren. You didn’t damage the car and finished in the points. You did fantastic. And you had to get used to a new wheel set up.”

Ollie sputters a bit at the last part.

“It’s just, why would I-” he cuts himself off.

“Why would you what?” Charles asks, staring at him.

“Why would I bother with Carlos’ when yours is there? I mean he’s fine, been nothing nice to me, but you are Ferrari. I wanted to join the academy partially because of you. You’re one of the best of the current generation. And you always let me, let anyone of us bother you with questions.”

“It’s never a bother.” Charles corrects as he thinks of the other Ferrari Driver Academy drivers that sometimes message him with a question or always ask when they see him if he can look over their lap times for a second, which he of course does if he isn’t busy.

“And that! You’re so nice about it. I know Dino once messaged you at three am on accident drunk and you sent a car to get him.”

Charles frowns, “Of course I did. He was in a country he had never been in before and drunk enough to text me. I wouldn’t have been able to sleep if I didn’t know he got back to his hotel okay.”

Ollie groans and then he’s leaning forward, head hitting the table with a loud thunk that has Charles hissing and pushing at Ollie’s shoulder until he raises his head enough for Charles to look at his forehead.

It’s slightly red and Charles frowns, moving his hand to rub gently at the center of the redness.

“Ollie,” he scolds. “You have to be careful. Your neck has gone through enough strain today. And I don’t know if you should risk hitting your head.”

“It’s fine, dad.” Ollie mumbles, pushing Charles hand away to rub at the spot himself before turning an impressive shade of red.

Charles watches, a beam on his face, as Ollie tries to speak again, saying the word dad again before managing to say the first part of his name.

“You get this from your uncle Lorenzo.”

And that just sends Ollie into another sputter of words that don’t make sense.

He drops off Ollie at his hotel room a few hours later, giving him a hug and putting more cream on his neck, before reminding him that Andrea or him will do it again in the morning before or after breakfast depending on how his neck is feeling.

He stops at his own hotel room to grab his carry-on, his regular suitcase already with Joris before going up two floors and knocking on a hotel room door.

“Charles.” Max greets, eyes crinkling as he smiles before he draws him for a hug.

“Hello.” He presses a kiss to Max’s cheek and ignores the way his own cheeks turn pink as well Max’s from the gesture.

Stepping into the room, he moves further in, setting his carry on by the bed, before collapsing on it, his lips stretching into a smile as he thinks of his dinner with Ollie.

“You are very happy.” Max comments, laying next to him.

“I am. I am very happy.” He breathes. “I’m a dad, Max.” Saying the words out loud, makes his grin grow.

“You-” Max coughs, “you’re a what?”

“A dad, a papa. I do not know the Dutch word for it.”

Max says the Dutch word for dad instantly, like he always does when Charles makes a comment about not knowing the Dutch word for something. “Thank you.” He says, repeating what Max said.

Max clears his throat after a moment and Charles turns his head to look at Max and is surprised to see pain in the blue eyes he likes looking into so much and there’s an unsure expression on Max’s face. His body is still turned towards Charles, but he’s closed off, arms over his chest.

“What is wrong?” Charles asks, concern dripping from his words.

“How old?”

He blinks at him, struggling with the question. “How old is what?”

“The baby. How old is the baby? I mean has it been born?”

Charles stares at him, slightly dumbfounded, because what language was Max speaking? It couldn’t be English.

Then it hits him, his breath of happiness, of him saying he’s a dad.

“No, no!” He scrambles upwards before leaning over Max, hands cupping the barely older’s face. “It is not a baby. I’m talking about Ollie, chérie. I am his dad. Twitter was going on and on about it and then at dinner, oh, Max.” He sighs. “He called me dad.”

The hurt vanishes from Max’s face at his words, cheeks a touch pink from the way Charles is touching him, from the name he called him.

“You two are alike.” He offers before softening further as Charles’ thumbs start to stroke his cheekbones. “I’m sure you are an amazing dad.”

Charles beams at him. “I hope so. Ollie had to learn Carlos’ wheel setup.”

Max snorts at the whisper. “I see Ollie is part of the Charles Leclerc is the best club.” Charles flushes, “well you would know.”

He smiles, his fingers finding Charles’ waist. “Yes, I would. It would be poor if the president of the club didn’t know all the members.”

“Max.”

“Charles.”

“Kiss me finally.”

The sheer want on Max’s face has Charles letting out a whine.

“I won’t keep you a secret if we do that Charles. I can’t cross that line.”

Charles shakes his head, “I would never ask you to.” And he finally says, reveals, let outs, the conversation he had before signing his new contract, his one of many non-negotiables. “Ferrari knows. John threw his full support behind me after I called him. They ask for three to six months, just to get things in place, protection. I know, it’s still a secret, but I just have to message them and they set things in motion.” He rambles.

“Charles,” Max breathes, cutting him off and shaking his head. “You talked to Ferrari about us?”

He ducks his head, flushing. “I’m tired of not having all of you, of not getting to say that I’m yours and you are mine. I want more than glances and fleeting touches. I want to be consumed by you. I couldn’t do another year of not knowing what it felt like to feel your hands on my bare skin, to feel your lips on mine. I couldn’t do it.”

Max stares up at him, throat bobbing and there’s a gentle pressure on the back of his neck. “I love you so much.”

And Charles is unable to respond, the lips on his preventing it and he can’t even try to be angry about it as he happily kisses, gets kissed by, Max for the first time.

—

Charles knows that having booked a private room for breakfast the next morning makes it seem like what happened with Max was planned, but thankfully Max knows him. He knows that Charles most mornings on race weekends likes to have breakfast in private, especially if he still is there the next day after the race. Wants to start his day with some peace and be surrounded by his choice of people. Max has never made it to one of these breakfasts before and this is Ollie’s first as well.

Entering the room, and it was nice that only did the hotel have a good restaurant in it but also let you rent out rooms just to eat, hand in hand with Max, he smiles at Ollie, spotting him first, giving Max’s hand a squeeze before letting it go and moving to pull Ollie into a quick hug.

He nearly presses bisous to his cheeks, as he does with all the people he thinks of as family or close to it in greeting, but he doesn’t know if Ollie would be comfortable with it, so he settles for just squeezing him a bit tighter.

Andrea gets greeted with a squeeze to the shoulder as the trainer sips at a cup of coffee, Joris the same, though he has to dodge an elbow to his side, which makes him laugh.

He goes to Pierre after, giving him bisous and getting them in return before his friend looks behind him where Max must be, his eyebrow raising slightly.

Charles flushes, “we are together now, Pierre.”

“Well, I had no doubts about that. You are glowing. I just can’t tell if it’s from finally getting together with Max, becoming a parent, or both.”

“Both. Have you spoken to Ollie?”

Pierre shakes his head.

“You’ll love him and you can go maybe get a head start on being his favorite uncle behind Arthur.”

He scoffs, “as if Arthur could be a better uncle than me.”

“Well, he has a head start.”

Pierre mutters under his breath as he heads over to where Ollie is awkwardly standing and Charles returns to Max’s side, intertwining their fingers and pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.

“Pierre gunning for favorite uncle?”

Charles smiles at the question, unable to help himself from pressing another kiss to Max’s cheek. “Yes.

He’ll get a leg up on Lorenzo, but Arthur is fairly ahead of them both.”

He hums, turning his head to capture Charles’ lips in a short kiss. “At least Vic will be favorite Aunt. Two of them will have to deal with not being the favorite.”

“That’ll be bloody.” Charles scoffs, he still had a scar on his lower back from when Lorenzo and him had roughhoused.

Their mother had been distraught when she had seen the blood, horrified. Their father hadn’t been happy about it but had easily come to terms with being an accident. Poor Arthur had refused to leave him alone, clinging to him as he had been there, though playing on their shared DS.

Jules though… despite having been Lorenzo’s best friend, he had been taken with Charles as soon as he first held him. It had been a joke between Jules’ parents and his to make Jules his godfather, but Jules had latched on to the idea, despite Lorenzo’s protests about Jules liking a gross baby, and by the time Charles was a year old, Jules happily held the title of godfather to Charles.

“You know you won’t win favorite dad with Ollie, right?”

Max smiles, soft and slightly amused. “I know.” His eyes flicker over to where Pierre is talking to Ollie,

Andrea and Joris having their own discussion, though all of their eyes flicker to where Charles and Max are standing.

“And you are okay with that?” There’s a hint of disbelief in his voice.

“Charles,” Max laughs. “You’re the only one I’ve ever been okay with winning instead of me. And I, of course, can’t be upset that Ollie thinks the world of you, and will see you as his favorite.”

The barely younger has to blink back tears, “You say the sweetest things, cherie.”

“Only for you, Charlie. Only for you.”

—

“Are you sure I should be coming with you?”

Charles sends him a look and Ollie can’t help but duck his head. “It is for family and I have a good relationship with them. I could bring fifty people and say they are family and it would be okay. And you are family.” He gently cuffs Ollie’s ear. “Max will be coming too.”

“Even after?”

“Yes, even after.”

Ollie doesn’t bother asking how Charles has a custom suit that fits him perfectly, it’s just who Charles and even Max are, though Max doesn’t do any clothes shopping, it’s either sponsored clothing or now things that Charles buys him.

In the car ride to the palace, Max tells him the names of the royal family. And Ollie repeats them over and over again in his head.

“Why won’t Gabriella and Jacques be there?” Ollie asks again, thinking of the youngest two children.

“This is technically a publicity dinner, though it is private. They are only nine, Albert and Charlene are very protective. Next time we are in Monaco there will be a lunch and they will be there for that.”

“But Y/N will be there?”

“Yes.” Charles nods. “She is your age and this is private, but she is not set to inherit the throne.”

“But, a girl could inherit. Gabriella is.” Ollie remembers that much for Max’s rambles about different royal families and their workings.

“Yes, though she is behind Jacques since he was born first, though they are twins. Y/N isn’t interested in being the heir apparent, she currently does such duties and is willing to step up if neither of her siblings want to take the title.”

“Jacques is slightly keen on it, I imagine that Gabriella will be the one to take it.” Max chimes in.

Ollie watches amused as Charles and Max begin to playfully bicker about the siblings though it’s clear that Charles thinks the same as Max.

The car rolls to a stop and Ollie has to take a deep breath before exiting the car after Charles. He watches as the prince greets him warmly, giving him a hug before Charlene does and then Ollie’s breath catches a girl, his age, envelopes Charles into a hug.

They’ve clearly met and know each other well with the way Charles beams at her and her back and he can just hear Charles asking her about something before his attention is drawn away by Max introducing him to Prince Albert.

Ollie ducks his head, extending his hand out. “It’s an honor to meet you, Prince Albert.”

The prince lets out a chuckle, shaking his hand. “You as well, Ollie. But you can just call me Albert. No need for formalities, not when you are Charles’ son.”

Ollie flushes at the words, but flashes a pleased grin.

“And Max, it’s always good to see you.” Albert cheers, bringing in the world champion for a hug.

“You as well, Albert.”

Charlene greets him much quieter than Albert, though she immediately insists on him not referring to her as princess. “It is lovely to meet you. Charles and Max have both talked about you.”

“Oh, thank you. They’ve both talked about you as well, you and your family.”

“Max and Charles are kind.”

He nods in agreement.

“Ollie,” Charles calls and he instantly turns to look at him. “I want you to meet, Princess Y/N.”

“Please, just call me Y/N.” She immediately says with a shake of her head, before extending a hand out.

“It’s nice to meet you, Ollie.”

He can feel himself turning red as they shake hands, her eyes on him and even just the slightest touch of their fingers and palms. “You as well.”

—

“So Ollie,” Charles murmurs, the words nearly a slur from sleep and the many drinks he had.

Max pulls Charles tighter, nosing at his wet hair, happy that even this drunk it was easy to get Charles to take one, get rid of the stench of the clubs they had been in. “Yeah, he definitely likes Y/N.”

“Oh, thank god. She clearly likes him. I mean did you see her at dinner and then at Jimmy’z? She was so flustered. She confused her silverware. She hasn’t done that once in the near eight years I’ve known her.”

“Charles,” Max warns, already knowing where this is headed and he just knows he’s not going to hear the end of this when they wake up in a few hours, hungover and eager to indulge in greasy food before a workout. “Don’t play matchmaker.”

He can feel his pout against his collarbone, before he’s moving until he’s entirely on top of him and Max lets out a silent oof as Charles’ elbows knock against his ribs, but his hands follow along, eagerly wrapping his arms around him and pulling him until he’s pressed completely against him.

“But babe.”

Max flushes at the pet name. “Go to sleep, Charles. Think about it in the morning.” His eyes slip shut as he realizes what he just said, a silent fuck leaving his mouth

Charles wiggles against him, a beam pressed against his cheek. “I knew you’d help me! Yes, we will talk after we sleep. I’m thinking a lot of flowers and my yacht. They’ll love it.”

“Mhmm.” Max says, “let’s go to bed.”

“Okay. Love you, chérie.”

“Love you too.”

—

Stepping onto the yacht, Ollie gives a smile to the older gentleman that Charles hires to drive the yacht when he’s not feeling up to it or knows he’s going to be drinking.

“Hi Nicholas.”

“Good afternoon, Ollie.” His lips twitch into a smile. “Your father has asked that you go below until we are at sea.”

“He has a surprise for me, doesn’t he?”

Nicholas shrugs, “I’m unaware of any surprise.”

Ollie groans that was definitely a yes.

Despite that, he goes below deck, settling nicely into the hammock that is there despite the much better and cozier one that is above.

It’s over thirty minutes before Charles sends him a text telling him to come up.

Getting out of the hammock, he jogs up the stairs and over to the part of the deck where they always eat. He nearly skids to a stop however when he sees a massive amount of flowers and his breath catches, the princess.

“Princess Y/N, I had no idea.” He runs a hand through his hair and tries to not think about the t-shirt he is wearing.

She quickly stands, nearly tipping forward, but he quickly grabs her, keeping her upright. She smiles,

“Ollie, it’s nice to see you again. Did Charles message you about lunch as well?”

He smiles back at her, heart beating a little faster. “Yeah. Have you seen him?”

Her eyebrows press together, “I thought he was down below. That’s what Nicholas said.”

“Nicholas told me to wait down below until we were at sea. Charles texted me telling me to come up here.”

Ollie’s cheeks flush and his hands that were still resting on her drop, something he can’t help but mourn a little. “I think I know why he isn’t here, but we are.”

“Oh?”

He nearly gulps, hands feeling a little sweaty. “At the dinner, I was a bit flustered.”

She lets out a small laugh. “Most people are at dinner with my parents, especially my father.”

“I was nervous.” He tells her. “But, I was flustered because of you. I mean, you’re so beautiful.”

“Oh.” She blinks before her head ducks down. “I was flustered as well.”

A smile pulls at his lips at the quiet whisper. “Really?”

“Yes. I mean, I used my table fork instead of my salad fork. I haven’t done that since I was maybe ten.”

“I really made you flustered.”

“Unbelievably so.” She laughs.

“Shall we have this lunch that Charles put together? Maybe plan another lunch or dinner for after this?”

“I’d love that.”

[bonefall]

the worst parent poll made me realize just how many ppl in the fandom are willing to jump straight into abuse apologia. bc on one hand you have ppl dumbing down crow's abuse to "him just being mean" and on the other end you have ppl saying that curlfeather didnt abuse frostpaw because she sacrificed herself and frost + her siblings love her so she couldnt possibly be an abuser. truly mindboggling stuff take these serious topics away from the fandom asap.

Part of me feels like it's because many in this fandom have a feeling that if a character's actions are abusive, it means you're "not allowed" to like them. Like there's an impulse where if you liked a character, it MUST mean they weren't THAT bad, because you'd personally never like "an abuser."

As if it reflects poorly on your own morality, as a person, that you connected with An Abuser. Understood them, even. Even if it was just a character.

If it's immoral to Like Abusive Characters, of course your reaction is going to end up being abuse apologia. To enjoy something isn't logical, it's emotional, so you will get defensive about it when questioned. When you do, it's not going to be based on logic because you didn't reason yourself into that position in the first place. It's an attack on you as a person.

I feel like that's often the root of abuse apologia in this fandom, and sometimes the world at large; "If I admit that this character/person IS abusive, it means I was doing something bad by liking them, so I have to prove to everyone else that they weren't or it means I'm bad too."

And to that I say... That's a BAD impulse! Grow up and admit you resonated with a character that did a bad thing! If that's an uncomfortable thought, sit with it!

Sometimes abusers are likeable! They usually DO think they're justified in their actions, or doing it for "a good reason," or were just too preoccupied to care. MOST of the time, people who commit abusive actions are also hurt or traumatized in some way. You might even empathize with them. None of this means their actions have to be excused or downplayed.

"Abusers" aren't a type of goddamn yokai, they're people just like you and me. You don't help victims of abuse by putting the people who hurt us in an "untouchable" category.

In fact, all it does is make you less likely to recognize your own controlling behavior. You're capable of abuse. People you love are capable of it, too. People who love YOU can still hurt you.

In spite of how often people regurgitate "It's Ok To Like A Character As Long As You're Critical Of Their Actions," every day it is proven to me further and further that no one who says it actually understands what that means.

All that said; I think it's no contest which one's a worse parent, imo.

They both mistreated their children, but Curlfeather did it through manipulation without verbal or physical abuse. She politically groomed her into a position of power so that she could use her as a pawn. It can be argued if this counts as child abuse-- but it's firmly still under the broad category childhood maltreatment, which is damaging.

(though anon I'm with you 100% at seeing RED when "but she sacrificed herself" is used as an excuse. Curlfeather's death does NOT CHANGE what she did to Frostpaw in life. I think it's a valid point to bring up when comparing her to another terrible parent for judgement purposes, such as in the context of this poll, but I really hate the implication that redemption deaths "make up" for maltreatment.)

Crowfeather, meanwhile, is textually responsible for putting Breezepaw through verbal AND physical abuse, as well as child neglect. His motivations include embarrassment from a hurt ego, revenge on his ex, and being sad because of a dead girlfriend. This abuse drives Breezepelt towards radicalization in the Dark Forest.

You could argue Curlfeather is a worse person for Reedwhisker's murder, but as a parent? It's not even a question to me. Crowfeather's one of the worst dads in WC.

[dramioneasks]

Top 10 Most “Kudos-ed” (Completed) Fics on AO3 of 2023:

Damaged Goods by slytherin_after_dark - E, 50 chapters, Words: 150,499 - Hermione, now in her mid-20s, is back at Hogwarts to pursue higher education. Trying to forget the trauma carved into her by the war, she spends one lust-filled night with a certain pureblood. But that night will have consequences. While her personal life unravels, a string of mysterious murders forces her to work together with Draco Malfoy, who himself seems to carry many secrets. "He scared her. Not because he wielded killing curses like they were nothing, but because he seemed to understand her in a way that even she didn’t. The more she let him in, the more power he had to destroy her." Come for the smut, stay for the plot. Read if you like: - Murder mystery - Dark Arts - Hurt/ Comfort - Hermione and Draco both deal with PTSD - Angst, so much angst

In These Silent Days by HeyJude19 - E, 14 chapters, Words: 67,209 -Hermione is familiar with fighting: for respect, for attention, for justice. She’s even made a career of it; working on behalf of creatures and beings. But her battle against the Ministry’s marriage law is one she loses. Badly. And now, she has to contend with not only public derision and patriarchal politics, but her growing feelings for her government-mandated spouse.

The Silver Envelope by sinflower81 - E, 70 chapters, Words: 192,647 - “Tell me again to release you, Granger. Tell me again that you just want to be friends.” It’s been five years since Draco last spoke to Granger. Things are different now, and though earning her trust will be a challenge, he can’t seem to keep himself away. Hermione has been busy advocating for elves around the world, but when her breakup with Ron turns her life upside-down, she knows there’s only one person who can help her. Alternating POVs between Hermione and Draco. Slow burn, eventual smut, light dom/sub. Diverges from canon after Voldemort's defeat.

In Silence & Submission by gillianeliza - E, 29 chapters, Words: 69,694 - 10 years after the war everything has changed. Enemies turned into friends and lovers. Fear turned into hope. Pain into joy. Everyone has moved on except for Hermione Granger. Nestled within her friend group, now made up of not just Harry and Ginny, but also Theodore Nott, Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini and of course Draco Malfoy, she was content to allow the trauma of her past to haunt her. More than just content - it was what she felt she deserved - until one evening Draco Malfoy decided enough was enough. This is a low stakes, split POV fic that deals heavily with life AFTER the Battle of Hogwarts. You will find the POV of either Hermione or Draco stated in bold italics, in the middle whenever it shifts. Please read all tags as this work deals with BDSM, kink, trauma recovery, & suicidal ideation.

A Game of High Stakes by In_Dreams - E, 51 chapters, Words: 263,110 - In theory, the task is simple: kill Draco Malfoy. In practice, putting a curse through the Dark Lord's favoured lieutenant will take everything Hermione has―especially since he's trying to kill her, too. Even more so when the lines between them start to blur. Sometimes, the only way out is through.

Hogwarts: A History (Hermione's Version) by Lizzie_carlile - M, 38 chapters, Words: 141,828 - Lord Voldemort has been defeated, and the children of the Wizarding War are thriving. When the heir to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black is adopted and takes her place in the family with her loving fathers, a new trio is formed. With her best friend and her brother by her side, Hermione Black is thrust into a world that she never knew existed. Will whispers from the past threaten to destroy the world she knows? Or will love once again conquer all? Another take of the Nice Things AU. What would happen if Draco asked Hermione to the Yule Ball before Ron Weasley had a chance to?

Teach Me How to Forget by scullymurphy - E, 20 chapters, Words: 109,646 - Hermione Granger is 27 years old when her life falls apart. Cheated-on, flatless, fed up with her job, she decides to change one thing she can--take a class and try for some career advancement. But change is never easy, especially when an old enemy is the catalyst. And the class instructor. "Just as the minute hand clicked over to the hour, the doorknob twisted and a figure slipped into the room. He was tall, a bit windblown. Hermione had a general impression of crisp cuffs and polished leather, and then a more specific one of the most beautiful grey coat—highlighting his shoulders and eyes, skimming to just the right place on his knife creased trousers. His movements were precise and confident. He was wearing the softest-looking gloves. He was not Professor Belinda Rowle. He was Draco bloody Malfoy."

The Order of Serpents by bl_crtz - E, 44 chapters, Words: 193,506 - During the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry Potter walked into the forbidden forest, died, and walked out with crimson eyes as the new vessel of the Dark Lord. Since then, Hermione Granger served as an elite member of the True Order, isolating herself from other Order members and going on missions alone, not only haunted by the loss of her best friend, Harry, but Ron who had run away after the battle. Three and a half years later, Draco Malfoy shows up with his two year old son on the Order’s doorstep seeking to switch sides. Together, Draco and Hermione are forced to deal with not only each other, but their own past and confront who they’ve become because of the war.

The Contender by rubykrishna - E, 9 chapters, Words: 58,875 - Hermione stopped walking. Her eyes scanned back up the roster until they found the name that she initially mistook for a typo. Draco Malfoy….Beater. She could comprehend the words, the name and the meaning. She understood that his name being on the roster meant he was the starting Beater for England’s national team, but for whatever reason, when her eyes ran over the black ink, her brain could not articulate any emotions or reaction. 

Sincerely Yours by LovesBitca8 - E, 10 chapters, Words: 40,759 - A smile tickled the corners of Hermione’s mouth as she clicked Send. She listened to the whoosh of the message and then turned off her computer. When the ping! had come in, she’d had one foot half-out the door of her flat. She’d dropped her coat and darted for her computer desk, a wide grin blossoming at her inbox. You’ve Got Mail.

[gatorbites-imagines]

Sanji x m reader where he's kind of in a cranky foul mood, maybe something had happened that upset him, maybe he'd had a nightmare, etc so sanji was not taking the signals that said in bright red above reader's head "do not approach" seriously and decided to miss with reader with their usual vulgar banter but that only sent reader off the edge. With sanji ending up on reader's lap crying and sobbing while his ass is red as a tomato with reader's letting out oddly-sincere thank-yous to sanji with a lighter heart and a clearer head.

Sanji Vinsmoke x Male reader

Drabble

Normally Sanji was great at reading people, you especially. You two had a special relationship, having both grown up on the Baratie and training to be chefs under Zeff. It had led to an immediate rivalry between the two of you, lasting all the way up to this day, as you butted heads and snapped and snarled about recipes and cooking. It reached the point, where you would agree on a method, but find another way entirely so you would side with one another.

You guys didn’t actually hate each other, in reality you were both close and trusted the other with your life, but the relationship between chefs always ended with arguments and outright fights at times. You both had your pasts, Sanji being a Vinsmoke, and you being one of Big Moms many many children.

Your childhood always weighed heavy on you, causing anything from nightmares to full shutdowns, though you had started coping much better with them over the years with the help of the people on the Baratie, and Sanji’s friendship and later love.

It took the crew a long time you realize you two were together, as Sanji was still such a weakling to women, and not a day passes where you two didn’t scuffle about one thing or another. But the moment a woman actually tried to seduce Sanji and tempt him with them, he politely turned them down and said he already had a partner.

Members like Luffy and Usopp had immediately wanted to know who it was Sanji was talking about, much to your shared confusion. You both didn’t understand the surprise that went through your crew when they learn how you two have been dating since your early teens, as you guys thought you were being obvious.

It was because of your long past that Sanji was sure he would read you better than anyone else. Maybe it was just a lapse of judgement that made him not fully realize just the state you were in, as he grumbled and argued about your usual topics, not even noticing that you weren’t replying, your expression just growing darker and darker.

His rants and comments finally seemed to be just what you need to snap, lunging forwards and grabbing him by his tie, dragging Sanji after you towards your shared bedroom, much to the entertainment of your crew. Sanji found himself stumbling after you, his usual complaints sputtering out as his cheeks start growing warm, the familiar feeling of a nosebleed starting, appearing in his senses.

Instead of being thrown on the bed and having his world rocked like you guys usually do when either of you are worked up, Sanji ends up almost squeaking as you throw him over your thighs, tucking his slacks and briefs down his thighs.

The only moment you pause in your actions, is when you grab his chin to make Sanji look up at him, confirming that he’s fine with this and that you have his consent. Sanji quivers and gulps, a bead of red already gathering in his nostrils as he nods, wiggling his hips as he arches his back, almost presenting himself for you.

Your nostrils flare like an enraged bull, the heated look in your eyes leaving Sanji feeling like you are about to devour him. A loud smack rings throughout the room as you lay into him, barely giving Sanji time to keep up or expect the next spank, as your strong hands rain down on his behind.

As chefs, you both care deeply for your hands, which only means the act of you spanking him adds further fuel to the fire of arousal coursing through Sanji. This isn’t the first time and won’t be the last you guys have played this way, meaning Sanji can take a fair number of swats, until the tears finally start rolling.

Theres no rhyme or reason to the number of spanks you lay down on Sanji’s ass, even smacking your palm against his upper thighs, right where he would feel the burn when he sits next. The knowledge that there is no way to know when you feel he’s had enough, is what makes Sanji finally bury his face into the sheets, staining it with his tears, drool, and the blood dripping from his nose.

His erection grinds against your thigh every time your hand lands on his almost glowing cheeks, his pale skin turned bright red and burning as Sanji gasps and keens. Its almost impossible for Sanji to make head of tail of anything happening around him at this point, so focused on the sting of your hand and the heat burning across his ass and thighs.

After who knows how long, you finally feel pity and love for the wobbly shivering vision Sanji makes across your thighs, finally deciding to take mercy on him. Reaching down one last time, you grasp onto one of the red, hot to the touch, cheeks, giving it a tight squeeze, making Sanji’s hips jolt into your thigh again.

The intensity of your hand gripping onto him, and the feeling of his sensitive shaft dragging against the fabric of your pants, is what finally makes Sanji tumble over the edge, spilling against your leg as he gasps and drools into the sheets, eyes almost rolling back into his head as his entire body twitches.

Sanji is loose and pliant as you rub a comforting hand over his burning cheeks, tears still running down his cheeks as you move him up into your arms so you could cradle him. The thank yous and praise spilling from your lips only serves to make Sanji feel lighter and floatier than before, tucking his face into your neck as he basks in your love and touch.

Spanking Sanji, or similar, had always been one of your ways to let off steam you couldn’t in any other way, to get the pain of your past to lose its power, at least for a while. And it also helped that you had a partner who drooled at the very thought of you spanking him or edging him.

After giving Sanji some time, you lay him carefully down on the bed on his front, finding the ointments and different items you know you’ll need to treat the huge bruise covering his ass and thighs. As you rub the ointment into his skin, Sanji sighs and goes lax against the bed, shutting his eyes and letting you take care of him, like you always do.

[utterlyotterlyx]

Wicked Game

The world was on fire and no one could save me but you.

Eris x CassianSister!Reader

Summary - Eris did everything, everything he could to protect you. He'd never thought that he'd ever have a mate, that he wasn't worthy enough, until he met you, Cassian's sister and everything fell into place.

Warnings - death, blood, mentions of torture, heartbreak, kidnapping, shattered bonds, angst.

I'm so sorry.

Eris would find any reason he could to not leave you. No reason was good enough to pull him from your arms, to disrupt the bubble of serenity he had made with you.

He had been dumbfounded, the shock evident on his face, when he had met you, spied you across the ballroom wedged between Cassian and Azriel, both of whom growled at any lingering eye. It was obvious that you felt uncomfortable as you trailed behind the inner circle, with your shoulders slightly hunched and eyes glued to the floor. You were too beautiful to feel so out of place, forest green fabric clung to your figure with shimmering gold embellishments hanging from your shoulders, and a high slit up your right thigh, exposing golden skin and tight muscle.

It had snapped for him then, the moment your scent soared through the room, fresh rain and rosemary with a hint of oak that he inhaled, gulped in and held onto, allowing it to drown his lungs.

That night was the first night he had spoken to you, the bond hadn't snapped for you yet, and he was rather content in listening to you, learning about you without the pressure of the mating bond in your words. He watched your full lips move as you told him who you were, Y/N, a sister of the inner circle, Cassian's little sister, Rhys' and Azriel's by proxy.

No wonder they were snarling at any male who tried to get close to you.

Eris couldn't keep his eyes off of you, ones that reminded you of aged whisky, swirling pools of amber and speckled gold. You told him about your love of helping others, evident in the school you had opened for orphaned Illyrian children where you taught them how to bake and paint, to sing and dance, you helped them heal from the trauma inflicted upon them in the Illyrian camps.

After that night, Eris had found any reason he could to venture to the Night Court, citing political cooperation as the reason for his visits which wasn't exactly a lie. Mor wasn't happy about it at first, but Rhys had told her they were working on a way to usurp Beron, to change the course of the Autumn Court for the better, that Eris wasn't as bad as he seemed.

Eris had visited you at your school that Rhys funded without question, your wings were cruelly taken from you as a child, no one could stop it, and the crescent moon scars peaked out from the back of any dress you wore. You had assured him it was fine, that they rarely ever caused you pain whilst you rubbed small circles into the skin of the small child wrapped up in your arms, soothing his anguish away with your touch.

He had noticed your gift on his first visit to the school, how the small girls whimpering in pain found immediate peace after your touch, you were able to take the pain away, able to bring peace upon the most tormented of souls. It made him adore you even more, as if those spheres of brown and sage green didn't have him in a chokehold already.

"You're her mate?" Cassian's hazel eyes ignited with rage, his fingers dug into the arms of his seat, threatening to rip the leather apart if he'd apply just a whisp more pressure.

Eris had told Rhys on his fifth visit, he had told the High Lord that the bond had snapped for him at the Autumn Ball six months ago, how he hadn't told you and was happy to wait until it snapped for you too. Then the cavalry had been called in, and he found himself sat in front of the entirety of the inner circle, all of them present but you.

"Yes," Eris couldn't show his nerves, telling your family of the bond was something he foresaw you doing together, as a couple, but you were still none the wiser to his affections. "She doesn't know, and I have no intention of telling her. I would have already."

Azriel thought about it, how much happier you were when Eris was around, which had become often for the heir. The wide smile that showed your gleaming teeth, the twinkle in your eye as you answered his genuine questions, the more often than not moments where you dazed into the sky with that lovestruck vacancy whilst holding one of his letters in your fingers.

No one was particularly thrilled about it, not after what had happened to Mor, but amongst all of the bickering Azriel was the voice of truth, "She loves you, Eris," it pained him to say it, to say that he saw it even if the bond hadn't snapped for you yet. Azriel turned to Nesta, the closest thing you had to a sister, "You know it."

Nesta nodded sadly, you were everything to her, her best friend, a sister by extension, you understood her pain and torment, you had helped her to heal, to put herself back together piece by piece, "Yes," she looked to Cassian, "She does. She told me."

Hope jolted in Eris' chest, his heart beating a thousand miles a minute, the need to reach you almost overwhelming him. Eris didn't see the eldest Archeron sister stand to soothe her mate, he didn't hear her tell him that this was what you wanted, what made you happy, that it was what you longed for.

Cassian looked to the Autumn heir, a softer expression falling over his features, "Y/N deserves the best, she deserves everything good and pure. Can you give that to her? Can you give my sister the life she deserves?"

"I can," Eris showed no doubt, and suffered under the gaze of the inner circle, he'd suffer for however long he needed to if it meant you, gloriously perfect you, were waiting on the other side.

"Not right now you can't," Mor stood at the back of the room, arms folded against her chest as she looked down on Eris with a mixture of disgust and fear, "Not when Beron is still ruling over Autumn, she wouldn't be safe with you, not when Beron suddenly decides he wants to hurt us."

"I can protect her-"

"You couldn't protect me."

Eris had always carried guilt with him for how things had played out with Mor, but this was different, you were his mate, his fated companion.

"I couldn't stop what happened to you, and I'm sorry that I was the cause of so much pain for you, for all of you. I wish I could go back and say no, that I would be brave enough to spit in his face and defy him," Mor knew he was telling the truth, that deep down he did regret everything that had happened, and her gaze softened, "Y/N is my mate, I have spent months getting to know her. Y/N is bold and beautiful, the most caring soul I've ever encountered, parts of all of you live within her. The best parts of you. She has Cassian's humour and Mor's wit, she loves painting and reading and nature, she welcomes the shadows like old friends, and she's consumed by her love for you all. She loves you all so much."

"He's right. I do," gravity fell from beneath Eris as he turned to see you standing in the doorway, no one had noticed you creep in, no one had heard the door open and shut, no one had heard the padding of your feet sound across the floor.

The sun surrounded you, almost illuminating your figure as you leaned against the doorframe, your long pale green dress brushing against the stone floor and eyes flittering across the room before finding Eris. Your mate.

"You stupid male," you told him with a smirk, a curled strand of hair fell over your shoulder, your arms rested at your sides and your eyes held a playfulness to them.

It clicked, that golden thread tying you to him that was once quiet, searching for the other side, now hummed, no, it sang. "You knew?"

"Since your first visit to the school when you scooped Pippa up into your arms and sang that Autumn lullaby to her, she's never let anyone hold her like that. I knew you were meant to be mine from that moment," you tugged on the bond and his hand shot to his chest at the sensation.

"Yours," the word fell from his lips and the room pulsated with that uniquely vibrant power that radiated from the fulfilled mating bond, it was stifling, nothing anyone could move against.

Eris had moved to you then, you pushed yourself from the doorframe as he approached, allowing him to take your face in his hands and run them through your hair whilst you became lost in his whisky amber eyes. He pressed his forehead to yours, the tips of your noses touching and his breath fanning across your face, "We can wait, I don't want you to feel pressured into accepting this."

"Just kiss me, Eris," your voice was barely a hush above a whisper, you peered up at him with pleading eyes, telling him that you were ready, that you wanted this. Him.

The gap between you closed and his lips met yours in an embrace that could only be described as reality shifting. It was like your soul had ignited, like it was now entwined with a twin flame and they danced together in perfect sync. Eris' lips were soft, and his kiss was so tender and gentle as his tongue swept against your bottom lip, it savoured every piece of you that you offered to him, and he drank you in without doubt, with no care at who was watching.

You were his forever, and he was your eternity.

Eris couldn't breathe as he hurtled through the halls of the Forest House.

You were meant to be in Velaris, you had told him you'd be there waiting for him.

It wasn't safe to leave you in Autumn without him, it had been decided that you'd reside with your family whilst he was away dealing with treaty issues with Spring and Day by order of Beron, which had become easier now that Tamlin and Helion knew of your mating bond.

Eris had entered the House of Wind with only one thing on his mind, you.

The bond between you was muted, he hadn't felt you for a couple of weeks, which was normal. You had decided to mute the bond, turn it off, whilst he was away, he didn't need to be scared and pulled away from another meeting when pain passed down the bond toward him. The pain you took from others seemed to travel to him and he had always thought something had happened to you. So, it was easier to turn it off, to send the odd tidal wave of adoration down it every now and again so he'd know you were waiting for him.

His world tumbled when he entered the house to bewildered expressions once he asked where his mate was, only to be told that you had returned to Autumn two weeks ago, that you had received a letter from him and disappeared with a love sick grin of barely contained excitement on your face.

"I never sent that letter," he told Cassian whose eyes widened with horror and fear, he screamed for Rhys and Azriel, for Mor and Nesta, telling them what had happened and that Eris hadn't felt her in two weeks.

Eris disregarded Rhys' words, to find her together, as a family, he couldn't wait. Eris winnowed right into the main foyer of the Forest House, sniffing like a bloodhound for a speckle of your scent.

It lingered in the air, rosemary and oak, the freshness of last nights rainfall mixed in with something else he couldn't quite decipher, and he sped toward it. Eris ignored all of the guards and servants who looked at him with pity and sadness, he ignored the solemn tinge to the atmosphere, he just needed you. His mate. The love of his life. His everything.

"I love you," the words fell from your lips, you couldn't stop them. The fire roared beside you from the place on the floor, your body entangled with your mates as he traced faint circles around the crescent moon scars on your back and peppered kisses into your hair. "I love you more than the wildflowers crave the autumn breeze. I love you more than the ocean loves her creatures."

Eris rolled you over as tears pooled in the corners of your eyes, he caressed your cheek and ran his thumb over your wobbling bottom lip, "I love you more than you could ever love me, my sweet, perfect mate," he pressed a kiss to your lips, his warmth wrapping around you like a blanket, "I never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you, I never thought I deserved a mate, or anyone for that matter. Then you came, you came and made my life make sense, you gave it a purpose."

You listened intently, you felt his touch rolling down you arms and across your stomach, already so familiar with every scar and perfect imperfection of your body as you told him, "If I ever one day leave this world, I will look ahead to the next adventure and hold its hand, and I will look back with my other entwined in yours. Wherever my soul may wander, I know it will always find you. Our love isn't made to last just one lifetime, it's made to extend across universes and worlds. Even when I am stardust, floating around in nothingness, when the last part of my soul begins to fade away, I will love you."

Eris followed your scent, that melody of beauty, all the way down the deepest parts of the Forest House, his stomach twisting in agony as he realised where you were beckoning him.

Turning a corner, all the air in his lungs was ripped from him, he called your name, pleading you to sit up from the stone table where you lay. The room was covered in blood and discarded weapons, iron clung to it. To you.

Eris took a step forward, the only light in the room was on you, the light had always found you. It came from a skylight that displayed the stars above, it illuminated you in their glow, and your head was tilted to it, as if you were idly staring at the sky and dreaming like you usually did.

A sob caught in his throat, "No," his face twisted and he reached for you, taking your cold hand in his own as he forced himself to look at you.

Your eyes were open and staring at the world beyond the skylight, your lips were bloody and chapped, there was no light in you, no golden hue to your skin, no joy in your eyes. There was nothing. Eris wasn't breathing as he looked at your body, as he looked at the fourteen long tally marks that had been carved into your stomach and the purple bruises coating you hips and legs, as he found your still tear stained cheeks and the emerald ring he had proposed to you with still on your finger with a depleted shine.

Eris cried, he roared as he felt that fire consume his body, "I love you. Please, I'll do anything. Please," he begged as he pressed his forehead to yours, stroking your matted hair with his hand, tucking it behind your pointed ears of which the tips of had drooped slightly.

He pressed his lips to yours, that burning fire that caused your own to dance now waltzed alone.

Then he felt it, he felt the bond completely shatter, he felt that tendril of golden thread pang back to him like broken elastic. A once burning love that consumed everything he was, now a broken tether dancing in a storm cloud with nothing to attach to, with no light on the other side.

Eris was broken.

He didn't feel the bodies enter the room behind him, he didn't hear their sobs, he didn't hear Cassian's cries as he collapsed into Nesta. Eris looked at you, he looked at the side of your face and remembered you lying next to him, hands raised to the ceiling as they played with his own, he remembered how your chest vibrated when you laughed, he remembered the love you gave him in your eyes and all of the promises of ruling together and creating your own herd of beautiful red haired children. Promises of changing the world.

With a strangled voice, Eris whispered to you, tears streaming down his face and pattering against the stone where your lifeless body lay, "Even when I am stardust, floating around in nothingness, when the last part of my soul begins to fade away, I will love you. It was always you, my sweet, perfect mate."

Authors Note

Ngl, I actually cried writing this. I think I got a bit carried away.

I apologise to myself and to you all profusely.

[venerawrites]

This is my first time requesting for arcane but, can you write an Ekko x male! reader (fem or Gender neutral is fine if you can't write for male readers) where the reader is really sweet and gentle. They like to forage, bake/cook for Ekko, make toys for the kids of zaun, painting, drawing, and craft stuff like clay rings, mugs, pottery, and make clothes as well.

It can be an imagine or headcanons, I don't mind either way.

author's note: hi! I don't write male readers, but I do write gender-neutral so I hope that's okay! I actually thought this request was super cute and I loved the idea! Hope you enjoy and thank you so much for requesting!

Someone who is sweet and also artistic/crafty is going to be the perfect partner for Ekko. (Not kidding, this young man deserves all the love in the world!)

I imagine you being a part of the Firelights for a few years before Ekko gained the courage to ask you out.

Don't get me wrong, he had a crush on you way before that!

He saw something special in you the day you joined - the way you carried yourself, the little splatter of paint on your shirt, the big bag of art materials you brought with you, the way you warmly smiled at the kids and they took an immediate liking to you - it all made him look at you in a different light from everyone else.

However, having lost so many people in his life, he didn't want to risk catching feelings. So despite the initial attraction, he did keep his distance at first. He was a good leader, always making sure to check on you and ask how are you adjusting to the life as a Firelight, but he also always seemed to keep the conversations short and polite.

Ekko always had his eye on you - whenever he heard your melodic laugh or children screaming in joy (because they always did when you were around), his head whipped in your direction almost instinctively.

Because of your wide range of skills, especially when it comes to crafting things, it didn't take long for you to become everyone's favourite - you often build toys for the kids and played with them in your free time, which is why all of them got attached to you pretty quickly. When someone needed their clothes fixed or wished for a change of their usual 'uniform', they always came to you.

The man was a bit taken aback at first - he kept seeing everyone, including Scar, coming with new jackets, shirts, and even masks, yet he didn't seem to know how and where they got it from. Once he learned it was in fact you making them, he couldn't help but smile - so you were quite the crafty person, huh?

He came a few days later with his ruined jacket (he may or may have not actually ruined it on purpose), asking you to fix it. As he was the leader, you spent all afternoon sewing, so he could have it ready for the mission the next day. When you gave it to him during dinner, he was both surprised and also amazed - not only did you fix it quickly, but you also made it better by adding some details to it.

(Needless to say this became his favourite piece of clothing ever! It was also not the last time he came to you, asking you to 'fix' his clothes...)

That evening was the first time the realisation he might like you in a different way than every other member hit him like a ton of bricks.

And it did scare him! So much, so that he made it almost his mission to avoid you. Every time you entered a room, he quickly excused himself, and if by chance you caught him looking at you, he would quickly turn around, the tips of his ears going a few shades darker.

His plan didn't work that well, however, as you being one of the few people who can draw/paint, you were assigned to work on the wall mural. He had to supervise the work and therefore interact with you, and to be honest, it was quite awkward for a bit.

I imagine you would notice his weird behaviour, but would not address it as you were not sure why he was giving you mixed "hot & cold" signals. You would continue treating him like usual and eventually, after a few days of tense atmosphere between you (and also a bit of 'scolding' from Scar), he would apologize and actually relax around you.

Ekko is funny, loving, protective, kind, passionate, and a man that I cannot imagine anyone NOT falling in love with. So probably it did take you embarrassingly short time to catch feelings for him.

He may be a bit slow when it comes to his own feelings and emotions, but he is very good when it comes to reading everyone else's. So when you made him a special mug for his birthday and gave to him while your face looked like it was about to explode, he put 2+2 together.

This is when flirting Ekko unlocks and - PHEW! - this man has no mercy!

He loves to tease you just so he can see you as a flustered mess. While he is very confident as a leader and fighter, he still think it's unreal that you can catch feelings for someone like him - he comes with so much emotional baggage, that he cannot really understand what do you see in him.

(Not that he is complaining, because once he asks you out and you say 'yes', he doesn't plan to EVER let you go!)

Once you are together, he would always organise fun dates including crafting or making stuff - either he will teach you how to make tech stuff in his workshop or you will teach him how to make clay rings, dishes and pottery.

He loves how gifted you are and would often tease you by asking you: "Is there anything you can’t do?"

Very proud of you and the fact that you are his partner! He usually likes to keep his private matters to himself, but if he has a drink or two, EVERYONE is hearing about how skilled you are, how every body loves you (especially him) and how lucky he is to have you not only in his life, but also living in the Firelight base.

Speaking of living, despite the relationship progressing slowly, he would practically make you move in to his room just a few months after getting together. He loves going to sleep and waking up by your side and while usually you were staying with him only occasionally, he will have a long chat with you of the benefits to share a room.

"C'mon, don't you want to sleep in the leader's bed? Hey, hey, I'm kidding! But seriously, you come here almost every night and I do sleep better when you are by my side, so why not?"

Watching you interact with the kids in the base and even in Zaun has to be his absolute weak spot. He can never hide his smile and dreamy gaze when he watches you giving them new gifts/toys and he falls in love even deeper every time he sees you hug them and stroke their heads lovingly.

His other weak spot has to be your cooking! (The way to a man's heart is through his stomach after all!) He is pretty good cook himself, so dates in the kitchen are a pretty often occurrence for you.

Still, he can never match your skill when it comes to baking and desserts and he loves when you spoil him by making his favourite cakes/sweet food. He loves to watch you cooking, often sitting on the table and quietly sipping his tea, while observing you.

The Firelights love you as a couple and are happy it is you by Ekko's side - he suffered a lot and has been alone the majority of his life, so he deserves all the love and happiness you can offer.

cc artwork: Tekkon Kinkreet

[goodqueenaly]

In a world where all of the tragedy that springs from Ned coming to kings landing doesn't happen and their kids were able to grow up with both parents, Do you think Ned and Catelyn would have allowed their children to marry for love provided it was with a socially suitable westerosi nobleman/woman?

Keep in mind that the Westerosi aristocracy generally does not favor marriages made purely, or even primarily, for love as opposed to social/political/military advantage. Keep in mind that Ned and Catelyn had both entered into their marriage out of duty and responsibility to politico-military alliances rather than pure emotion (though they did of course come to love each other deeply as well.) Keep in mind that while Ned was certainly taken aback by the idea of Sansa being betrothed at only 11, both he and Catelyn (at least initially) agreed to the idea of Sansa eventually marry Joffrey (with Catelyn emphasizing that Joffrey as "crown prince, and heir to the Iron Throne". Keep in mind that after acknowledging the need for Sansa to marry Joffrey, Ned added that Arya would need to "[learn] the ways of a southron court" specifically because "[i]n a few years she [would] be of an age to marry too" (and that Catelyn, not long afterward, would agree to a betrothal between Arya and Elmar Frey for purely political reasons). Keep in mind that while Sansa naively insisted on her love for Joffrey as an argument against leaving King's Landing, Ned maintained his plan to have the betrothal broken off and Sansa marry someone else. Keep in mind that Catelyn's second and third reactions upon learning of Robb's marriage for love were shock and dismay that Robb had married Jeyne when he had already "pledged another".

Given all of that, I think Ned and Catelyn would have looked for politically advantageous marriages for their children, rather than simply allowing their children to marry whomever (even among blue bloods) their hearts desired. Which is not to say that I think Ned and Catelyn would have cruelly shoved their children into facially unhappy marriages as soon as possible, of course. Indeed, while Catelyn certainly understood the grave political error in Robb's decision to marry Jeyne Westerling, she, Catelyn, also tried to be gracious and kind to Jeyne herself; likewise, in Ned's response to Sansa, telling her that she would not marry Joffrey, Ned said that he would "make [her] a match with a high lord [who was] worthy of [her], someone brave and gentle and strong" - in other words, prioritizing emotional suitability as well as aristocratic status. However, while Ned and Catelyn certainly loved their children, and I think wanted them to be happy, I think both would have recognized that their children were Starks, heirs to some of the most eminent Westerosi aristocratic bloodlines in the country, and therefore not entirely free to marry wherever they chose personally.

[chipified]

Avatar hcs

Spoilers for the reckoning of Roku, the kyoshi novels and the yangchen novels. Note I still need to finish Rokus and kyoshi's books

Korra

• Korra has broken her fingers many, many times

• Her eyes are so bright and eye-catching. People stare at them a lot.

• She could pull so easily. She's great at flirting (usually) But she doesn't because she's loyal to asami

• Sure she was showing growth when she spared kuvira but she does NOT like her. Kuvira pisses her off

• Luckily she's able to make up for her lack of experience in the real world with how social she is but she is clueless about slang and she never understands references

• Jokes fly right over her head

• All of the krew has such a shitty sense of humour they laugh at the dumbest things

• Goes through like 12 hairstyle phases. She loves mixing it up

• Stubborn as hell she stood by the spirit portal decision for he entire life and death

• A really talented bender. In her spare time she attempts to recreate the feats of her past lives

• Bias towards kuruk. She thinks he looked very cool and admired his skills

Aang

• Being vegetarian spared him from the knowledge that he is allergic to shellfish

• Sokka and toph teased him about his first flirting attempts on katara until the day he died

• His death was really unexpected. He was mostly fine leading up to it. Noone could really figure out what killed him at first, it was ultimately just him overworking himself too much

• Not a fan of the spirit world. He avoids it where he can

• Koh the face stealer scared him senseless actually no matter what he says

• He was always really busy with his duties but he did try to spend as much time with his children as he could

• Was super doting on katara while she was pregnant

• Tried a long bearded look for a while. It looked awful and toph clowned on him so hard. So did his kids

• Admired Yangchen and Roku so much. Kyoshi freaked him out as a kid

Roku

• Those first few months of travelling with the air nomads sucked ass. He was constantly covered in mud, his hair was knotted and he STANK oh my god he missed home so bad

• Actually pretty clumsy. Even when he was old he would trip over his own feet all the time. Dislocated his hip once

• A pushover. Sozin would take his snacks and drag him places as small children and he'd just take it

• Sozin had no faith in his avatarhood

• Politics were a nightmare for him in his late teens and twenties because of how awkward he was. He grew into his own though and ended up decently good at negotiating.

• Has freckles, but they only show up at the height of summer

• He doesn't tan he goes red

• Low self esteem, he thinks everything he does is embarrassing

• Collected seashells. Both because he wanted to try and get reacquainted with the ocean and because he thought they were pretty

• Shortly after Yasu died, he was so petrified of water he could barely bathe. He was very traumatised for a long while

• His own safety wasn't much of a priority. Guilt consumed him, so he didn't care what happened to him, as long as the people he was close to were safe

Kyoshi

• Thank god for airbending because she is intensely affected by the cold

• Her Hands are always slightly shaky, so applying her makeup can be so annoying sometimes

• Politics bored her to death

• Queen of “this could've been an email”

Uses her height to her advantage as much as she can. It's just easier and leads to less violence

• Very kind to young children

• She doesn't mean to be harsh or rude, she's just very blunt and has a flat tone

• She got very sick very easily as a kid. If kelsang hadn't found her she probably wouldn't have lived much longer

• Insecure about her appearance. Rangi spent years convincing her she wasn't ugly

• She saw a lot of her younger self in Roku. It made her uncomfortable

Kuruk

• Hopeless romantic. Loves poetry, songwriting and those partner dances. You know damn well he took ummi on as many dates as he possibly could

• Self reliant. Asking for help with anything becomes harder and harder as he grows older (“older”). Even basic stuff like asking someone to help him carry stuff

• His parents were disappointed in him. In their eyes they raised the only avatar in recent history who just didn't do his job

• They both outlived him

• He was fantastic at bending though, he could pull of some tricks that not even his teachers could

• He should've been at the club bro!! House parties would've been his shit!! He would've eaten at karaoke

• As much as he drank he still despised the taste of vodka

• Wanted to be a father. But that didn't work out

• Trust issues

Yangchen

• Her hair started going grey pretty early into her life. She was crazy stressed

• Rip yangchen you would've loved weed

• She did not celebrate the day Chaisee died because that would be disrespectful. So kavik did it for her amen

• Really enjoyed sports. Would've killed it at baseball

• She doesn't like watching the lives of the future avatars until they hit like 25 they stress her out so hard when they're young

• One of the few team avatars to stick together for life and not retire at any point. All of them worked until they were forced to stop

• Infertile

• Tries to visit her sister in the spirit fog sometimes but can't bring herself to go in again. She stops doing this eventually

• Kavik cuts her hair. He's weirdly good at it. In return she brings him trinkets she finds in all the places she visits

• Yingsu and her have spa days together

• Her sanity was hanging on by a thread during Legacy. She was so close to crashing out

• The past lives “possessing” her was an issue her whole life, exacerbated in times of stress. Neither she or her past lives could control it. It just happened when it happened

Wan

• Realistically he knew that he couldn't just fix all the world's problems in his lifetime alone, but god he did not want to die the way he did. He really wanted a peaceful death

• The armour he was wearing when he died was slowly gathered up over the years from battlefields and things he just found on the ground

• His avatar state was slightly different from his incarnations. Since it wasn't something he was born with, it caused some issues. For example, his vision was very poor when he died

• Felt really bad about the impact he had on the other avatars lives.

• Super bored all the time. He's seen everything there is to see at this point

• Wan and raava are super comfortable they know literally everything about each other

• Never had a lover. It just didn't interest him at all. The following avatar just ended up looking similarly to him (Alternatively- he had a bad breakup with a guy and that is why none of the future avatars date men/j)

• Wan and Jaya (his friend that died fighting spirits) built the treehouse they lived in together. Yao (tree-sprit guy) met them a little later. They formed their own little family after being shunned by everyone else

• Yangchens life was his favourite to watch. Aang's life was his least favourite.

• Korra was the only one he went out of his way to speak to. He hasn't been summoned for at least a few thousand years and he just prefers to let them make their own decisions

[feartoxinjelloshot]

The Black Mask was both with the name Roman, to Charles and Ruby Sionis, the wealthy proprietors of a cosmetics business empire based in Gotham City.

By all accounts he was a normal toddler. He was weaned off of milk and sent to preschool and potty-trained and all of the other things small children were bound to do. He was a quiet, polite, intelligent little boy who did his parents proud - they had been trying for a child for a long time, someone to inherit the business when they passed on. They made sure tiny Roman was aware of his importance early on. What better way to make a child feel special, feel loved? They were going to trust him with everything. He was going to be just fine at it.

The company, really, was Ruby's world. She was a woman, and cosmetics were a feminine empire. Charles - though he held his fair share of business responsibilities - was always more dedicated to his lifelong passion for hunting and taxidermy, which had been instilled in him by long family trips with his own father, out to remote stretches of forest, mountain and grassland to take down all kinds of exotic trophy prizes. When Roman got old enough Charles bravely attempted the same with him, even buying him his first very own gun for his tenth birthday. Roman was shy and hesitant, sometimes to the point of vexing his father with his lack of confidence, but Charles was patient and understanding and slowly coaxed the hunt out of Roman as well. The kid had a real talent for it, when he got over himself enough to calm down and aim. He was a genuine crackshot, and his father bragged about it at every chance, talking him up and ruffling his hair fondly. Those were some of the few times Charles saw his son show him a real smile.

The other side of it was not as comforting.

See, both sides of Roman's family line, in varying quantities and distributions, had always been prone to hereditary psychosis. This particular affliction had miraculously skipped both of his parents, and in a superstitious attempt to ward it away from themselves and their son, they neglected to ever mention it to him. In fact, they made a concentrated attempt to prevent him from ever figuring out what psychosis was in any meaningful way that might affect his development.

Roman grew up surrounded by animals. Sometimes they were whole animals, deer and tigers and caribou; sometimes they were just the head, set into a wooden plate on the wall. Each had a different personality and a different voice. They had been his friends since he was a baby, and he considered them truer confidants than even his parents. They comforted him when he was at his worst, spoke to him in quiet tones that he had learned by that point not to respond to in front of his parents: it's okay, you're okay, champ and you only did what he made you do and but you won't pick that awful gun up again, right?

But he never forgave himself for killing their sisters, the ones in the woods that looked and moved like them, with beating hearts in their chests and big shining eyes that went flat when his father finished them off. He never forgave himself for skinning them with a silver knife and eating their flanks when there was nothing else in the camp at night, because his father said he was proud of him and his chest was cleaved down the middle by a child's sick loyalty.

At a lack of other avenues Roman constructed himself into two faces. The first one was a happy, healthy little human boy who went to school and smiled at his parents and never made eye contact with any of his father's taxidermy or walked around the house at night on soft padding feet. The other one was his true self - an animal, among other animals, whose face looked less like the one in the bathroom mirror and more like a black thing with white eyes, too big to be a wolf and too small to be a bear, that howled its gleeful music up the chimney along with the chorus that lit up the mansion's crowded hallways just before dawn.

And for a while he survived like that: with his mask in the day and his life at night, not content but not wholly unhappy either.

But he had done his job well. He had done his job so well that his parents, through a combination of their own prideful ignorance and Roman's genuine deception of them, had not noticed that anything at all was wrong with their son. He passed his classes and didn't make trouble and spoke of his friends on occasion, and went hunting with his father every summer, and he was fine. They were all fine.

So on his eighteenth birthday they gathered him up and had a party for appearances and said Son, we had you late. We were old then and we're older now. We want to retire. And we love you, and we trust you, and so we're going to give you the company.

And Roman thanked them, gathered every shred of his human mask up to his face, looked at it, realized it wasn't going to be enough to cover himself up, and went deep into the house with his friends and didn't come out.

His parents were devastated. They'd been working so hard for this. The past eighteen years, and they'd been raising him for this. He loved them. They loved him. How could he be unhappy? And throwing a tantrum like a child? What had they raised him for if not this moment?

Roman, in the house, had been busy with the process of taking one of his father's unused taxidermy mounts, a deep dark glossy lacquered thing, and using his hands and a whittling knife to carve it into his real face.

The black mask. The wolf.

It came out looking more like a skull, but he figured that it was penance, after all, for all the siblings he had killed. He put it on and was overcome with hysterical calm relief, which was when his parents found the spare key to his rooms and broke in.

Their anger at him for what he had done quickly turned to rage at each other, and the company, and then Roman again, and each other, and through their screaming match and Roman's hysteria and the ceaseless chattering of the animals on the walls, nobody remembered the leftover sconces of candles downstairs until the smoke alarm went off.

To be short: Roman made it out. He was the only one.

Obviously, he was the primary suspect for the fire. They didn't believe that he couldn't have engineered the physical evidence, or that he wasn't lying about where he was at the time. There was nobody else alive from the house to confirm his statement. His face would never be the same again, that much was clear: the detectives and psychiatrists made quick work of the family mental history that he claimed he had never even heard about before that point - fat chance, kid - and by the time he got around to blabbering over his so-called siblings nobody took him seriously at all. They wrote him up. He couldn't be officially accused until the hearing, but it was an open-and-shut case. Poor bastard, but hey, it's Gotham. Shit like this happens every other week.

Roman Sionis never made it to the hearing.

He was out of the hospital for three hours before anyone noticed he was gone and his trail stopped cold at the exit doors. In forty-eight hours he had gone from one of the richest teenagers in the city to homeless, penniless, barefoot, and permanently disfigured - the fresh lacquer on his wooden mask had melted in the heat and fused straight onto his face, unless he wanted a complete transplant, skin and all.

Roman didn't. He figured that he had hidden enough. In his abject shock, he was starting to show some of his father's confidence, something he really always had hidden somewhere in the back but had always been pressing himself down too hard to show. He went into the guts of the city and stole a new set of clothes - all black, like the mask. If he was going to do this, he might as well do it in style. He was intelligent, a fast-talker, knew when to be quiet, and he really was still a crackshot, even after all those years. That was shit that could get a man pretty far down where he was.

The police never found Roman Sionis. They found the man who wore his body, sure, but the boy had been gone for a long, long time.