#Fierce Contest

[ra-archives]

Father Time? More like Fierce DADity

...What am I even doing anymore?

Lu-tober

Day 29 and a few other idk I cant be bothered to count

ANyways I keep finding audios I think would be funny with the chain so expect some more content like this even after Octobers over. We're just gonna see how long I can go drawing the Chain till I get tired of em ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Also this took wAY LONGER THAN IT WAS SUPPOSED TO

#lutober #lu wild #lu twilight #lu fierce deity #fierce dadity #I think fierce dadity fics and art is so funny #anyways I don't have extra tags for today so its short #EXCept the fact that I did another costume thing yesterday #went to a Halloween party dressed as Wild #got third in a costume contest + won two dollars lmao. Also got cake. Pretty good time :D #This post really did number huh #Glad yall liked it :D

[skyloftian-nutcase]

A Night to Forget (Hyrule Warriors Fic)

(@copper-dimes @ludoluck @artisticgamer @silvercaptain24)

ALL RIGHT so I was going to wait until my hiatus ended on Christmas but I’ve had so many people poking me about publishing this on AO3 and not here 😂😂😂 so here we go, have the drinking competition fic

Summary: When Captain Link challenges the Fierce Deity to a drinking game for completely innocent reasons, it goes about as well as you would expect.

(Click here to read on AO3)

A strong smell of iron permeated the air at the end of the fight. It had been an ambush targeted specifically at Link and his young companion, but despite being outnumbered their battle prowess served them well.

Not to mention help from a certain cursed mask.

Link hadn’t been sure when he would next see the Fierce Deity, but after having a few encounters with the strange being he had learned a few things about him. One, he was terrifyingly powerful. Two, he typically stuck to the battlefield, but when he didn’t…

He was a menace to Link’s productivity. And pride.

Still, Link could only be so angry at him considering how many times the strange entity had saved him and his men. Honestly, angry wasn’t even the right word. More like exasperated.

But Link was curious too. And he wanted to get the deity back for that time he hauled him into camp like a child. He had long since planned this encounter, hoping for an opportunity to meet the fierce being again and have the time to be able to do what he had conspired one night.

“Thank you for the help,” Link said as he approached the towering figure. He wanted to add we had it under control, but he bit it back. That wasn’t going to help him right now. He didn’t want to argue, he wanted to be diplomatic about this – it was still not a skill he would call a strength, but he was working on it.

He was sure he could pull it off, anyway.

Fierce watched him silently as he usually did when they first would interact. Then he nodded in acknowledgement. His hand started to reach towards his face when the captain held a hand out to stop him. “Wait! I was… we were heading into town. I was wondering if you wanted to accompany us.”

“I will be here if available,” the deity replied simply.

“No, no,” Link shook his head. “I mean like here here, you know, not just at the ready. We were going to hit the taverns.”

Fierce stared at him. Link watched him a moment, wondering if the being was even catching his meaning, so he decided to spell it out.

“We were going to go drinking.”

When the deity said nothing, Link felt a need to elaborate. “I’m inviting you to come too.”

The deity’s striking eyebrows crept closer together in seeming confusion. The sight of it made Link almost laugh. This was going to be even better than he’d suspected.

“What do you say to a drinking contest?” he challenged, throwing the gauntlet and awaiting an answer.

Fierce blinked. "A what?"

Link's smile grew. This revenge was long in the making, and he was going to enjoy it. "A drinking contest."

The cursed deity crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. "I am here because of the attack. You expect me to stay after the fact?"

"Well I'm not drinking with the sprite," Link shrugged. Then he faltered a little, partly out of sincerity and partly in an attempt to persuade the deity. "I mean... unless you don't want to stay?"

Fierce's face softened, and he swallowed, seemingly caught off guard. "I'll stay, Captain."

Link felt a little sorry for the deity, who was so surprised at being included in anything aside from war, but he shook the feeling off temporarily in lieu of his master plan. "Great! Then I'll pour the wine."

Clapping his hand on Fierce’s armored back, Link led the way into town. They both cleaned their swords of the blood from battle as they walked in silence. The town was barely an excursion away at this point, which was partly why the ambush had been such a surprise – honestly, if the fools were going to jump them they should have done it somewhere more remote.

The tavern Link had in mind was close to the edge of town, and barely half an hour had passed by the time they walked through the door. The interior was homely, with wood flooring and walls and the occasional supporting beam. The bar hugged the right wall beside an enormous stone hearth where a fire roared and emitted enough heat to warm the soul. Tables were spread around with candlelight glowing all around them. The tavern was fairly full tonight, with about half the tables occupied.

Upon their entry, a few curious eyes landed on the pair. Seeing a soldier was not a new sight, but seeing the Fierce Deity was an entirely different matter. Link wasn’t sure how much news about the deity had spread, but he was at least well known in Link’s company of soldiers, and it was possible others might have heard of him. No one dared approach them, though. Fierce shifted his weight from foot to foot, looking around the room with tension in his massive body.

Link bumped his shoulder against the taller man’s arm. “Relax, we’re here to have fun! Pick a table, I’ll get the wine.”

Choosing a red from a vineyard that he’d actually heard of, Link merrily made his way to the table Fierce had chosen. It was in the corner of the tavern, allowing the cursed deity a clear view of the entire room. Link respected the tactical choice, but he waved his hand dismissively nonetheless upon plopping down across from Fierce. “No one should be attacking us here, and if they do they’ll certainly regret it. Now, let’s drink!”

Fierce watched Link pour liberally into his glass and shove it towards him. After Link had poured his own wine, he held his glass in the air and waited for Fierce to do so as well. The deity watched him almost curiously before mirroring Link’s gesture, and when Link clinked his glass against the deity’s, he took a healthy gulp of his drink and watched Fierce tentatively taste his own. The sight was nearly entertaining enough to send Link into giggles; it was apparent that Fierce was not used to alcohol.

Wine wasn’t usually the best drink to choose for a contest – shots were far faster at determining who could stomach the ordeal. Nonetheless, Link had planned his revenge carefully around a sincere curiosity as well. He’d start off gently to pry some information out of his mysterious companion before the fun really started.

Assuming the deity could handle that much. Link was half convinced the cursed being would be under the table before the wine bottle was empty, and oh wouldn’t that be a sight to see? Link smirked thinking about it.

Get what you deserve for carrying me into camp in your arms.

Although Link’s reputation had somehow survived that encounter (mainly because Fierce had been too intimidating for the soldiers to make any kind of fun of anything related to him, and because he’d spent the rest of the night drilling the army), his pride certainly had been wounded. He would make up for that.

The Fierce Deity’s nose scrunched after a sip of the wine, his lips twisting in obvious distaste. Link huffed. Well, then. He supposed they’d have to find something the cursed being would like.

Taking another generous sip from his glass (one did have to shake off the adrenaline rush of that ambush, after all), Link felt warmth spread from his stomach to his fingers and toes, and he sighed in relief. “Have you never had wine before?”

Although the Fierce Deity had no pupils or irises, it was apparent when his gaze was fixed on the captain. The alcohol in Link’s system lessened the affects of the stare’s intensity, but he still felt a little chill from the look. The deity said softly, “No.”

“You’re telling me you once ruled over a land ages ago and never once partook in a celebratory drink?” Link questioned, raising an eyebrow. He recalled distinctly when the mystical being had stated something similar while telling the captain off during their first encounter together. “Or is there another drink you prefer?”

The Fierce Deity swirled his wine in his glass, watching it discerningly. “Beverages do little for me, and I hardly partook in celebrations. My duties did not include frivolity.”

Link finished his glass with another gulp. “So what you’re saying is you never had fun.”

Fierce glanced at Link once more and then finished the entire glass of wine in one gigantic swig. He cleared his throat, his face contorting in disgust, and then he said, “Fun is a broad word with many possibilities behind it. But if you insist in this, refill the drink.”

Oh, if that wasn’t a challenge, Link didn’t know what was. He laughed heartily. “Well, I’ll find a better drink for us to compete, and then we’ll see what real fun looks like.”

The bottle he’d acquired probably had enough for a refill for each of them, but if the Fierce Deity was going to grimace his way through it, it would hardly be fun. Link wanted the mystical being to settle so he could get some more information out of him. In the back of his head, the comment beverages do little for me sounded alarm bells, but he ignored it. He could do this. He could outdrink this cursed deity; if he could outclass everyone in the knight academy and rise to the rank of captain, if he could be chosen by the goddesses to be the Hero who led his troops into battle, and if the Master Sword itself had chosen him and made him practically invincible in battle, then he could handle a simple drinking competition.

And it was fun. Link so rarely had fun. He was taking advantage of this.

The captain decided that perhaps something that better hid the taste of alcohol was in order. Selecting something a bit more fruity (and definitely much stronger), he took two smaller glasses filled to the brim back to his table. The world was already quite warm and strangely mobile, leading Link to stumble a hair as he got to his seat. He shook his head. That was weird.

Fierce took the glass without moving his focus from the captain. When Link held his glass up in an invitation once more, the deity slowly mimicked the gesture.

“We need a reason for a toast this time,” Link prompted. “What do you think?”

Fierce’s glass shifted away from Link’s a little. “What is a reason for a toast?”

Link paused, staring at the deity. He really hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said he hadn’t been to celebrations. The captain suddenly felt his stomach churn a bit, but he shook his head. “Well, anything to celebrate over! Your good health, a victory in battle, something of that nature.”

“Something to celebrate,” Fierce muttered, and then tapped his glass against Link’s and drank.

Link raised an eyebrow. “You’re supposed to announce the toast first.”

Fierce stared at Link for a moment and then clinked his empty glass against the captain’s. “Toast.”

Link sighed and downed his drink, biting back a cough. Goddess, that drink was a bit stronger than he’d realized. “All right, okay, let’s try this again. I’ll demonstrate.”

Deciding that it was best to finish the wine before getting more drinks, Link poured the remainder of the bottle into their glasses. Fierce seemed to tolerate the other drink better, so maybe it would allow him to finish the wine quickly.

Raising his glass, Link said, “To your health.”

The Fierce Deity watched him curiously, his glass held a distance from Link’s as if he’d forgotten they were supposed to tap them together. Link moved to him first, and they both drank in silence for a moment. The captain watched the cursed deity with some confusion as Fierce refused to take his eyes off him.

“What?” Link finally asked.

Fierce paused a moment before commenting, “Of all the things you choose to make your toast for, you choose my health.”

“Yes…?”

Fierce finally looked at the table, lowering his glass. “It simply makes me recognize more the wisdom of the goddesses.”

Link blinked, even more bewildered. He wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or the fact that this conversation actually didn’t make any sense. “What are you talking about?”

“I have seen many a hero in my days,” the deity continued, finishing the rest of his wine without a care. “Most were given the title by those they fought for. Most were undeserving of it. But you and Link are among the few who are not.”

Link watched Fierce a moment, and then asked, “Did they call you a hero?”

Fierce blinked and then he outright laughed.

“Oh, how young you are,” Fierce chuckled, clearly tickled. “No, little soldier. I am not a hero.”

Link opened his mouth to question further, but Fierce waved a dismissive hand and pointed to his wine glass. “You haven’t finished your drink, captain.”

Link stared at his wine, suddenly pensive. This vintage was particularly red, and the deity’s words echoed loudly in his foggy mind. The wine suddenly looked too thick, too viscous, too visceral. Link pushed it away.

“I don’t know if… I don’t know if I’m a hero,” he muttered.

He didn’t know where that came from. Link clearly knew he was the Hero of Hyrule, chosen by the goddesses. He’d been told as much, and he bore the Triforce. That was reason enough, wasn’t it? He’d been given the ceremonial clothing and everything. The Master Sword was his.

He knew he was the Hero. He just… didn’t know if he was a hero.

Heroes didn’t slaughter their own men at the slightest hint of treachery. Heroes didn’t lead their troops into massacres.

Heroes didn’t use children for soldiers.

A hand touched his chin, pushing it upwards, and Link realized that Fierce had reached across the table to get his attention. The deity watched him carefully, his features softer than the captain had ever seen them.

“You are a hero,” the deity said gently. “Now get something better than this vile drink you call wine. The other was far superior.”

Link had to laugh, leaning into the touch a little as the deity tapped his chin affectionately and retracted his hand. Then he almost wanted to smack himself as he realized he’d completely gotten off track of his objective.

“Fine,” he acquiesced. “But you have to tell me about these heroes of yore when I get back.”

It was a strangely long trip to the bar, as if the table had somehow gotten farther away. Link furrowed his brow in mild confusion, but beyond that the trip back with more shots was uneventful. Fierce had seemed to like these, so they’d stick with them from here on. He didn’t bother with a toast this time around because he didn’t want to get distracted again, so he prompted the deity to speak of the past heroes.

“Well, there was this one… named…” Fierce paused, squinting across the way at nothing in particular, his fingers tapping restlessly on the table. “Saria. She… was very well known…”

“You are absolutely pulling this out of your divine butt,” Link guffawed, nearly choking on his drink.

Fierce scrunched his nose a little in protest. “It has been several millennia, these things get mixed up.”

“You’re full of crap.”

“I am not a storyteller, captain. That was never my duty.”

The deity downed his drink with a scowl. Link followed suit with a laugh and then coughed as it burned a little harder than before. He waved off the curious glance from his companion. Why was it so warm here all of a sudden? Link slipped his cap off and fanned himself a bit with it.

“I do remember one instance,” Fierce finally admitted. “There were… many who sought me out. Many who asked for my aid, but also many who wished to challenge me. It was considered an honor to fight me. I found the practice… bizarre and tiresome. Most of the time I would ward them off, but there were a few who… drew my wrath. Fewer still who piqued my interest.

“There were twin warriors who came to me. A threat was looming over my territory, and these two were the least of my worries, but they persisted. The girl wished to prove her worth while the boy wished to help me. I found the matter almost laughable. Neither warrior could stand against me. But a challenge to prove worth was nothing new to me… a request to assist me was.

“The girl was filled with pride. The boy with humility. They couldn’t be more opposite, but they were both capable fighters. Both were hailed as heroes by their people, but only one truly fit the title. Still… I grew fond of them.”

Link plopped his chin into his hand, leaning on the table as the world spun around them. “Uhhhh… s-so what happened?”

The deity twirled his glass absentmindedly in his hands, staring at it. “They both died.”

“Oh,” Link said dully, trying with all his might to find the right words for this situation. He felt like this usually came easier to him. Slapping his hand on the table, he said, “Well, let’s drink to them!”

That… that was the appropriate response, right? Seemed it. Fierce’s bizarre glance didn’t quite sell the certainty in Link’s mind, but he couldn’t go back on it now.

Rising, the captain stumbled to the bar once more. When he got back with another couple shots, he spilled a little bit of the drinks as he nearly fell into his chair. Raising his glass and feeling some of it slosh all over his hand, he said loudly, “To the non-heroic—wai’, to the heroic—nah you said one of ‘em wasn’t—to the twins!”

The Fierce Deity’s eyebrow had been steadily climbing throughout Link’s toast (though he couldn’t imagine why, it was a reasonable toast, after all), and he barely clinked his glass against the captain’s. Link downed his so fast he almost choked on it and then he laughed, slamming the glass on the table. “Phew! Tha’ stuff iss great!”

He supposed the cursed deity might have had a reply for him, but he shot to his feet to get more. The Fierce Deity didn’t even seem bothered with all the drinks they’d had so far, and Link had a feeling he maybe was starting to get to a point where this was a problem. But not yet! He’d beat Fierce at this game. He would.

…Wait, when did he end up on the floor?

Link blinked, confused. He was sure he’d just been standing at the table, why was he lying on the ground? Whose boots were in front of him?

A strong pair of hands grabbed him under the arms and hauled him to his feet before arms wrapped around him and pulled him into the air. Link tried to yelp but it came out more like a bizarre mixture of a gasp and a hiccup. He looked around before his eyes settled on the glowing gaze of his strange companion.

“Fierce…?”

“You must be ill. I’ve seen it happen with celebrations like these. I’m taking you back to camp.”

Link snorted, swatting the deity’s chest. “I though’ you sssaid you never been t’ those parties.”

The Fierce Deity seemed to ignore him, much to his irritation as the world started moving rhythmically with the large being’s steps. Then Link reached up, trying to pull Fierce’s blue cap off but only succeeding in tangling his fingers in his silver hair. He frowned, confused at his lack of coordination as the deity paused and stared at him.

Well, he got his attention either way.

“I gotta pay,” he said.

Fierce blinked. “Pay?”

“Yeah. Pay. Fer the drinks.”

Fierce must have turned, because the world spun and Link felt suddenly too dizzy and warm. Then bounce bounce bounce and they stood in front of the bar.

The bartender watched the pair a little nervously.

“We need to pay,” Fierce explained.

Link trilled his lips. “I need ta pay, ssstupid. My offer, my drinks, my money.”

Fierce looked down at Link and shrugged, temporarily plopping the captain on the counter itself. He reached for Link’s wallet and tossed the entire pouch at the bartender, who caught it with a grunt as if the throw had more force to it than it probably should have. Link opened his mouth to protest—he didn’t need all his rupees—when Fierce picked him back up and carried him out of the tavern.

Link wiggled helplessly. “I can walk—”

“No.”

“Yes!”

“No.”

Link groaned.

For some reason the walk to camp took forever. And not at all? Had he slept? He didn’t know. What he did know was that his armor and chainmail were off and he was being settled on a cot. Movement caught his attention and he saw Fierce setting up some water beside him and grabbing an extra blanket, tucking it around him tightly.

“Sleepover…?” he asked confusedly.

Fierce’s face broke into a small, rare grin and his chest rumbled with what was probably a restrained chuckle. “No, little soldier. I’m not sleeping. Link will be, though. Now close your eyes.”

Link? He was Link. What? He was…

Ohh, that Link.

The captain hummed, squirming a bit into the pile of blankets to get more comfortable. A hand settled on his shoulder for a moment, heavy and reassuring, and then it disappeared.

Darkness was warm and welcoming, and Link let it take him.

Link would be lying if he said the hangover the next day was worth the night. The worst part of it was that he barely remembered anything.

And he’d planned it so perfectly too. How frustrating.

Well. He didn’t quite forget everything. He remembered seeing the Fierce Deity smile, and he remembered the gentle surprise at being included.

Honestly, that was enough. Maybe the hangover was worth it for that.

Just… he thought as he leaned over waste basket after throwing up for probably the third time. Maybe fewer drinks next time.

#writing #fierce dadity #meanwhile Mask is passed out with a double hangover of magic and alcohol #poor kiddo #Teenage Link thinking he can take on the world and beat a freaking demigod in a drinking contest #what a dope #hyrule warriors #hyrule warriors link #hw link #fierce deity #legend of zelda #Happy holidays!

[masquenoire]

𝚆𝙷𝙸𝙲𝙷 𝙰𝚄𝚃𝚄𝙼𝙽 𝚂𝙿𝙸𝙲𝙴 𝙰𝚁𝙴 𝚈𝙾𝚄 ?

Cinnamon

Cinnamon is the quintessential autumn spice: hot, vibrant, and powerful. You’re headstrong and intelligent, a fierce protector of your friends and loved ones with a tendency towards overachieving.

Tagged by;; @arkhampsychiatrist​ (Thank you, Ciar! ♡)

#( 💀 ♮ DASHBOARD DECEPTION ♮ | memes ) #( 💀 ♮ UNMASKED MALICE ♮ | headcanons ) #Somehow I'm not surprised #It's a very fitting result for Roman #Thank you very much for the tag Ciar! #It's definitely hit autumn here it's gotten a lot cooler #Needed multiple blankets last night #And now I crave cinnamon asdfghjk #I was gonna contest Roman being a fierce protector of his friends but it's actually true #On one hand he's an absolute psychopath who is as cruel as he is callous #But he will put himself in danger to protect his partner and get her out of a bad situation #Huh imagine that

[mapecl-stories]

Amicable Rivals - The Unexpected Duel in the Erzgebirge"

Marcus was a talented coach who had recently joined the Erzgebirge team. His first assignment was to prepare the team for a fiercely contested away game against Holstein K. Expectations were high, but so was the palpable nervousness and uncertainty in the air.

The game started slowly, with both teams cautiously testing the waters. The debutants on both sides were eager to take their first shots in the 2. Bundesliga. However, Daniel's attempt for K. sailed over the goal, and Fanrich on Erzgebirgte's side also failed to find the net.

The coach relied on the starting eleven from the previous week and observed the proceedings with a critical eye. His players fought fiercely, but it seemed like the first goal would take a long time to materialize.

In the second half, Erzgebirge stepped up their game and scored the opening goal. Hochscheidt was the fortunate one, putting the ball into the net from a tight angle. However, K. did not back down and earned a penalty shortly afterward. Nazarov stepped up, but the K. goalkeeper made a brilliant save, keeping his team from falling behind.

Erzgebirge remained on the offensive, seemingly in control of the game. However, K. fought back and equalized through Kai, who capitalized on an excellent assist from Till.

The game grew more intense, with both teams desperate for a victory. In the final minute, Hochscheidt attempted a powerful shot, only to see it narrowly miss the crossbar. In the end, it was a 1-1 draw, and both teams had to settle for a point.

After the match, there was a mix of disappointment and relief in the dressing rooms. Marcus spoke to his players, recognizing their efforts even though victory narrowly eluded them. The team remained motivated to give their best in the upcoming matches.

A few days later, as the team prepared for the next game, Marcus encountered an old acquaintance - the coach of Holstein K.. They discussed the thrilling draw and exchanged their impressions. It turned out that they hadn't seen each other in a long time and both had roots in the Erzgebirge.

The unexpected encounter forged a new bond between the two coaches, who now saw each other as competitors and friends. In the following years, they met time and again, and their duels became a highlight of the season.

Thus, from an exciting football match in the Erzgebirge, not only did an interesting sports story emerge, but also an extraordinary friendship between two coaches who shared the same origins in the region. Their passion for the sport connected them, ensuring that their paths crossed repeatedly, whether on the field or outside the pitch.

#Marcus #Talented coach #Erzgebirge team #Fiercely contested #Away game #Holstein K. #Palpable nervousness #Uncertainty #Caution #Debutants #Football #Daniel #Fanrich #Critical eye #Opening goal #Hochscheidt #Penalty #Nazarov #Equalize #Intense #Draw #Disappointment #Relief #Motivated #Old acquaintance #Competitors #Friendship #Duels #Highlight #Passion

[zeldasnotes]

MARS IN THE HOUSES

Things your placement makes me think of ❤️‍🔥

MARS IN THE 1ST HOUSE: Gorgeous eyebrows, jawline, being competetive, scarring, martial arts, animal magnetism, gymrat, mma, having to do the dirty work, standing up for those who cant stand up for themselves, overly courageus, a need to show you can do it, fitness contests, you are seen as someone whos not to mess with, hard working, red hair, looking good in red, easily irritated, walking fast, bragging, easily irritated when people do things too slowly, blunt, saying it like it is, prefering to hang out with men, fierce look, model body, a strong need to get stuff done everyday, forgetting to rest.

MARS IN THE 2ND HOUSE: From nada to prada, the amount of money you have affects your self esteem, people constantly wanting to borrow from you, the first one in the family to make it, wanting the best looking house in the neighborhood, a need to own a lot, a lot of conflicts in the family, overprotective, envious of others possessions, velvet and silk clothes, if it aint high quality you dont want it, quality over quantity, practical, irritated by people who are irresponsible with money, generous, materialistic, overworking yourself, a harsh tone, putting on a scary voice when angry, people feel safe around you, cozy.

MARS IN THE 3RD HOUSE: Straight to the point, online conflicts, blunt, sibling rivalry, arguing for the sake of arguing, sassy, cursing, driving fast, rapper, rap battle, formidable debater, gossip as a way of fighting, ”im gonna tell everyone what you did”, outspoken, too blunt, looking for conflict, neighbourhood bully, sounding rude when you didnt mean too, passive aggressive digs, an addiction to confrontation, sexy voice, mentally competetive, strong need to defend yourself, dirty talk, being able to convince everyone, beef with the neighbours, honest, extremely alert, hard to to fool.

MARS IN THE 4TH HOUSE: Issues with citizenship,raised by a single mom, being raised by an angry or stressed out parent, having to raise yourself, a mother whos obsessed with rules, a mom who takes anger out on you bc daddy left, home is like a warzone, a family of bullies, hearing your mom talk shit about people on the phone all day, learning early to stand up for yourself, nostalgic, being uncomfortable at home, you can be a patriot or the opposite a dislike for your homecountry and wanting to leave it, being the ”man of the house”, sensitivity turned into anger, strong desire to move away from home, moving a lot, renovation business, your mother affected your view of women and sex.

MARS IN THE 5TH HOUSE: An obsessive need to feel seen, wanting to be admired, pride, viewing sex as art, wanting to be one of the popular people, gambling, creativity, feeling a strong need to come across as confident, being competetive, very sexual, drama queen, boy/girl crazy, fashionista, lucky, naturally entertaining, not afraid to express your sexuality, not afraid to show off, stage presence, custody battle, having a martian child, attention seeking, needing competition to feel alive, flirty, high libido, bad habits, a style that stands out, glamorous, being a diva.

MARS IN THE 6TH HOUSE: Obsessive need to feel productive, finishing 100 tasks in a day, strong need to be of service, sexy body, gymrat, gym receptionist, sexy maid costume, competing with people in the same business, sabotaged by coworkers, diets, veterinary, irritated by lazy people, being surrounded by lazy coworkers, you are annoyed by people who dont follow the routine, submissive, exhausting yourself, organizing, ”lady in the streets, freak in the sheets” energy, people expecting you to do it, working 3 different jobs, working until you collaps, refusing to rest until you are done.

MARS IN THE 7TH HOUSE: Dating bad boys, moving in together the same year you meet someone, a strong need to prove who you can get, attracting very sexual relationships, flings that burn bright but quickly, might get involved in more conflicts than others during your life, attracted to arrogant people, attracted to people with a lot of masculine energy, having a lot of enemies, relationships ending on a sour note, wanting to dominate the relationship or wanting a partner who dominates, wanting relationships to move fast, being aggressive towards partners or them being aggressive towards you, needing a relationship thats passionate, breaking up and getting back together a thousand times, constant bickering, passive aggressive comments.

MARS IN THE 8TH HOUSE: People with masculine energy becoming obsessed with you, sex appeal, being a victim of violence from men, early painful experiences with men, men you dated coming back years later to get with you again, trauma surrounding sex, a bad first time, taboo relationships, attracted to the forbidden, attracting envy from masculine energy people, vengeful, intense anger, threaths, seeing the worst side of men, animal magnetism, attracting people wherever you go, people being innappropriate with you, people seeing you as someone whos good in bed, sexually charged, oozing it, enjoying scary movies and documentaries.

MARS IN THE 9TH HOUSE: Forcing your opinion on people, a lot of enemies at school, people attacking bc of your cultural background or religion, not liking people who disagree with you, strong opinions, comedian, disliked by teachers and students, having to change schools, you come across as ditzy, people constantly asking you where you are from, well known at school, funny stuff in the school bathroom, people underestimating your intelligence, getting into heated discussions about religion, gambler, breaking tradition.

MARS IN THE 10TH HOUSE: Top model, CEO, sex symbol, models stealing eachothers outfits backstage, go hard or go home, dog eat dog, seen as someone bitchy, everybody knows who you are, posting gym selfies, being forced into sports as a kid, a parent who shamed you for being a pussy, wearing the latest, intimidating people without doing snything, catcalling, fitnessinfluenser, fitspo, only one can win, leaked sex tape, a reputation for being sexy, it girl, sex symbol, baddest b in town, public fights, the best at whatever you do, raised by a single mother, afraid of not being seen as high status.

MARS IN THE 11TH HOUSE: Protesting, fitnessinsta, posting pictures at the gym, ”haters make me famous”, teamplayer, being cancelled, attracting anger on the internet, cyber bullying, humanitarian, people love to hate you, a striking look, friendships ending on bad terms, leader of a group, activist, rally starter, cheerleader, it girl, Regina George energy, hanging out with the guys, exposing the bad guys, friends with benefits, from enemies to friends, befriending someone you disliked at first sign, a friendscircle of bitches, onlyfans, needing the latest technology, the power of knowing everyone, wanting to know everyone, rebel without a cause.

MARS IN THE 12TH HOUSE: Passive aggressive, men playing you for a fool, being decieved by men, dating the town drugdealer, being surrounded by men who lie and drink, passive aggressive comments, afraid of confrontation, finding comfort in an addiction, men turning you against other women, wanting to be the saviour, making someone else fight for you, working at a mental hospital, working with addicts, not knowing who the enemy is, a good actor, being used by men, men giving you compliments to get something from you, repressing your sexuality, secret relationships, isolation, unknowingly being the side chick, scared of standing up for yourself.

© 2023 Zeldas Notes

#astro notes #astrology #astro observations #astronotes #mars in the 3rd house #mars in the 12th house #mars in the houses #mars #birth chart readings

[ludwigplayingthetrombone]

I'd gotten a few requests for anbu era kakashi and gai, and need this specific scene for another comic, so here we go. Kakashi's about 17/18 Gai 18/19 here and not romantically involved/together yet

tw: blood, injury, suicidal thoughts kks has a breakdown p much

[gai snoring][knocking][pounding on door] Gai: Coming! Genma, I swear to-

Gai: Kakashi

[clatter]

Gai: 'Kashi, the blood in your mouth- KKs: NO!! No hospital, it's not my blood! Please, gai- Just go. Don't look at me

Kks: Why-?

Kks: Do you get off to seeing me this pathetic or are you just a fucking idiot! I do everything I can to get you to stay the fuck away from me! So why else-? I don't understand. Why do you even like me?

Kks: I don't know where else to go. I don't wanna end up like my dad, Gai. I'm so scared. What else am i good for Gai: Kakashi. Kks: I just wanna die. I just wanna die. [WAILING]

[There's lots I like about you, rival. How you love romance novels. Your distaste for sweets and fried things, so you always give them to me. Your stubborn competitiveness no matter how ridiculous the challenge is.]

[How fiercely protective you are for your friends and comrades even if they aren't grateful for it.]

[gai snoring]

[gai snoring] Gai: Sushi eating contest later? [kks flinches] Kks: Ok. Gai: Yes! see ya

Kks: See you.

[Because you're kakashi. Not Hound, The legendary copy nin, Prodigy, Genius,

[Or white Fang's son. I've always just seen kakashi]

[push] Hurry it up, I'm hungry. Gai: Trying to make me bite off my tongue, so I cant compete, hah?? Kks: Not at all what I was doing but ok Gai: Well- Let me tell- [And I think kakashi's pretty great]

#kakagai #kakashi hatake #maito gai #anbu kakashi #naruto #my art #//blood #//suicide mention #this is one of the vignettes from coma comic too

[sunkissed-zegras]

★ PROTECTIVE ─── PB⁵

❪ requested -> "i love your writing sm!!! could you maybe write a paige x reader where reader is on the team and it’s an intense game and reader gets accidentally hit in the face and her nose starts bleeding. it’s not even bad but paige is all livid at whichever player that did it and she’s helping reader clean up all the blood and stuff?" ❫

─ pairing | paige bueckers x fem!reader

─ warnings | protective paige, mentions of nose-bleeds and discomfort, pretty fluffy

⇨ missing out on updates? check out my wcbb masterlist!

THE GAME had been intense from the get-go, both teams playing aggressive and physical defense.

The stands echoed with the roar of the crowd, but everyone remained focused, their eyes locked on the ball. With each possession, the tension mounted, and the stakes grew higher. The scoreboard flickered with each point scored, but neither team could gain a significant lead.

As the game progressed, the players' determination became palpable. They dove for loose balls, contested every shot, and fought for rebounds with unwavering resolve. The crowd was on their feet, swept up in the game.

You were focused, keeping your eyes on the player you'd been been guarding this entire game. She was quick, agile, and had a deadly accurate shot. You knew that any lapse in concentration could result in her slipping past you and scoring points for her team.

You mirrored her every move, anticipating her cuts and drives to the basket. Each time she attempted to break away, you were there, shadowing her with relentless tenacity. The sweat beaded on your forehead, your muscles burning with exertion, but you refused to let up.

With each possession, the intensity between you two grew. She drove to the basket with determination, but you were there, contesting every layup, refusing to give an inch. When she pulled up for a jump shot, your hand was in her face, disrupting her rhythm, forcing a miss.

But she was relentless, constantly searching for openings, probing your defense for weaknesses. You matched her step for step, refusing to let her gain the upper hand. That was your style ─ completely and utterly focused and determined.

Paige finally got subbed back in and she jogged back to the court. You felt Paige's hand pat your back enthusiastically as she passed you, but your focus was completely on the game. With each passing moment, the stakes seemed to rise, the intensity escalating with every possession.

Then, in a split second, everything changed. As you maintained your defensive stance, focused on your opponent's movements, she made a sudden pivot, her elbow catching me squarely in the nose. The impact sent a sharp jolt of pain through your head, and you stumbled backward, momentarily stunned.

You stumbled back into Aaliyah, who quickly steadied you as the opponent began apologizing. Grateful for her steadying presence, you blink away the stars dancing in your vision and attempt to focus through the throbbing pain in your nose.

The opponent's voice, filled with genuine remorse, pierces through the haze of discomfort. "Oh shit, I'm sorry," she exclaims, her tone laced with concern. "I didn't mean to—"

Before you could answer, you heard another voice do it for you. "Didn't mean to, my ass," Paige's tense voice echoed as she examined your nose. "Watch where you're going next time,"

Despite the pain, a flicker of amusement danced in your mind at Paige's blunt response. It was typical of her to defend you fiercely, even in the midst of a game.

Gently pushing aside Paige's concern, you offered a reassuring smile to both her and your opponent. "It's okay," you said, your voice strained but calm.

However, before you could continue Geno subbed you out quickly. He wanted to make sure you didn't have a concussion or any other serious injury. As you made your way to the bench, the adrenaline still pumping through your veins, you could feel the concerned eyes of your teammates on you.

"Take a seat," Geno instructed, his voice worried. The team medic quickly approached, shining a light in your eyes and asking a series of questions to assess your condition. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," you replied, the throbbing in your nose subsiding slightly.

He nodded, his eyes scanning your face for any signs of distress. "We need to make sure you're okay. Take a moment to rest and get checked out."

You answered the medic's questions, reassuring them as best you could that you felt fine, despite the throbbing in your nose and the lingering dizziness. Your heart ached to be back on the court, contributing to your team's effort, but you knew Geno was right to be cautious.

As soon as the halftime buzzer went off, Paige was jogging toward you. She took the medic's place and began assessing you herself, her concern evident in her furrowed brow and the tightness of her jaw.

"How bad is it?" Paige asked, her voice low but filled with worry.

"It's not too bad," you replied, mustering a reassuring smile despite the throbbing in your nose. "I'm fine,"

Paige's brow furrowed with worry, but she maintained her composed demeanor. "Let me take a look," she said, gently tilting your head to get a better view of your nose.

After a thorough inspection, Paige nodded to herself, her expression softening slightly. "Doesn't look too bad," she assessed, her tone more reassuring now.

Just as she stopped speaking, your nose began to bleed slightly, a trickle of blood escaping and staining the ice pack pressed against it. Paige quickly reached for a towel, dabbing away the blood with practiced ease.

She kept the towel pressed against your nose as she watched at you, her gaze concerned. The medic approached, ready to assist, but Paige intercepted her. "I got it," she said firmly, taking the tissues from the medic's hand.

With a nod, the medic stepped back, trusting Paige to take care of you. Paige then turned her attention back to you, her focus unwavering as she continued to apply gentle pressure to your nose.

You couldn't help but smile in amusement at Paige's seriousness, a stark contrast from her usual playful demeanor off the court. As Paige continued to staunch the bleeding, her expression softened slightly, a flicker of concern in her eyes. You could tell she was worried about you, her usual lightheartedness replaced by a focused resolve to see you through this.

As the bleeding finally began to subside, Paige inspected your nose once more, her expression more relaxed now. "There we go," she said softly, offering you a reassuring smile. "All cleaned up."

You nodded, grateful for her care, and took the tissue, dabbing at your nose to ensure it was dry. "Thanks, P."

Geno called for a team huddle before halftime to an end, and you and Paige joined your teammates at center court. Despite the discomfort in your nose, you stood tall, ready to listen to Geno's pep talk.

"Alright, listen up," Geno began, his voice loud. "We've had a tough first half, but we're still in this game. We need to stay disciplined on defense and execute on offense. Remember, every possession counts."

Paige stood beside you, her presence a comforting reassurance as Geno's words washed over the team. Her hand found yours, squeezing it tightly as she listened to Geno.

"Y/N, you good to go back in?" Geno asked, his gaze focused on you.

You met Geno's gaze with determination, nodding firmly. "Yes, coach, I'm ready," you affirmed, the throbbing in your nose now a distant discomfort compared to the excitement burning in your chest.

With a nod of approval, Geno's expression softened slightly. "Alright then, let's finish this half strong," he declared, rallying the team for the game ahead.

With renewed determination, you and your teammates broke the huddle and made your way back onto the court. As the second half began, you took your position, ready to give it your all for your team.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

#paige buckets #paige bueckers x reader #paige x reader #paige bueckers #paige bueckers fanfiction #uconn huskies #uconn #uconn wbb #paige bueckers fluff #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x oc #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers headcannons #uconn wbb x reader #uconn women’s basketball

[robsheridan]

Sisters of the Solstice. Sweden, 1975. Rumors swirled for centuries about a secretive community of women who harnessed the power of the Solstice for dark magic that granted them eternal life. Hushed whispers called them a coven of witches and warned of ritual sacrifice, cannibalism, walking dead, communications with the devil, and a bloodlust towards any man who would dare enter their territory… but was any of it true? By the 20th century, the Sisters had long been relegated to a dusty old myth, until photographer Sera Clairmont published these photos in her Spectagoria magazine.

Clairmont gave sparse details about her time with the Sisters of the Solstice, saying she was only given access to their rituals under a vow of secrecy. “These women have only ever asked for privacy,” she wrote, “and because they protect that fiercely, they are called evil. Are they practitioners of magick? Certainly. They give themselves to the earth, and the earth returns them to life. One cannot make such exchanges without sacrifice, but that is their way. Many generations ago, these women turned to the dark arts for protection when the world of men would offer them none. Men hurt them, so they adapted to survive. That the Sisters found the devil a safer bedfellow says more about men than it does about the Sisters. And as the soil grows their bodies anew, Midsommar after Midsommar, don’t be surprised if Mother Earth is taking notes. After all, who has a world of men hurt more than she?”

-----------

NOTE: This is a work of fiction created by me. This alternate reality horror story is part of my NightmAIres narrative art series (visit that link for a lot more). NightmAIres are windows into other worlds and interconnected alternate histories, conceived/written by me and visualized with synthography and Photoshop.

If you enjoy my work, consider supporting me on Patreon for frequent exclusive hi-res wallpaper packs, behind-the-scenes features, downloads, events, contests, and an awesome fan community. Direct fan support is what keeps me going as an independent creator, and it means the world to me.

#rob sheridan #midsommar #nightmAIres #ai horror #ai art #synthography #ai photography #synthography horror #horror stories #summer solstice #70s horror #writing #spectagoria #sera clairmont

[selkra-souza]

Cutting it close, but here's my entries for the Refugium Creature Design Contest! @simon-roy

The rasparoos are large dog-sized herbivores who leap in family groups along rolling temperate lichenfields, using grazing mandibles to scrape lichens off of rocky surfaces. During the fall season, they fatten up on sugary fermented “honey”-filled pinwheels produced in hives in their territory, obtained by breaking in with their claws and using a long prehensile radula to reach inside, to hibernate in the winter. They fight fiercely to protect these against rival rasparoo family groups. They fight with their clawed forearms, along with their more powerful hind-claws by leaning upright on their stiff tails.

Honey rings are social pinewheels that live in nests as colonies in temperate lichenfields. Their caste system includes workers, the smaller motile form who go out of the colony to collect vegetable matter during warmer seasons to ferment in their stomach acids and store as “honey” in the hive for the snowy seasons. The other caste are the reservoirs, who are blind, sessile and much larger than workers, with characteristic spiral body cavities to store a maximum amount of “honey”. Some of it seeps out of their bodies to stick with one another securely in the hive, aided by their gripping legs clinging to the walls of the hive.

I had a lot of fun with these guys! You can see concept sketches here because I think they're fun.

#refugium2024 #selkra scribbles #my art #speculative biology #spec bio #speculative zoology #astrobiology #xenobiology #alien design #alien #artists on tumblr

[liliacamethyst]

Okay okay, theory,

So I’ve always though Miguel had wolf spider like powers, so claws, fangs, heightened senses that include smelling and hearing mainly

I feel like after a certain point in the pregnancy Miguel might be able to smell the hormones (hormones rise in the first trimester drastically) and dogs can smell pregnancy. So like maybe the main character tries to avoid him if they know OOP🙏

Love the story btw I’m obsessed 😭😭✌️

-🌙

THIS is so good and I can totally see it.

Unfortunately it doesn’t fit to my storyline as I have already went in a slightly different direction but here is a altenative Drabble to how Miguel finds out spider sun is pregnant with your theory (I really hope you enjoy it 🌙, and it is what you were looking for)

The tension in the Spider Society headquarters was almost tangible as you stepped into the main hall. Ever since your encounter with Miguel, you've been avoiding him as much as possible, doing everything in your power to remain out of his radar.

But the Spider Society is not a large place and despite your best efforts you were bound to cross paths with Miguel eventually. It was simply inevitable.

The moment you caught sight of Miguel, your heart thumped wildly in your chest. You took a step back, ready to leave the area. But then he turned and your paths locked. He squints as if he’s trying to read your mind or something. Your palms get sweaty, and you look around to see if anyone else is watching this very intense staring contest you didn't sign up for.

“Hey,” you stammer.

“Hey,” he replies. His nostrils do this little twitchy thing and you wonder if he’s about to sneeze or something.

“Uh, you good? You look like you’re sniffing out a bomb or something,” you joke.

Miguel goes silent for a second and then, his eyes widen. You can practically see the gears turning in his head. This is the moment you’ve been dreading. Damn his heightened senses! Miguel had always been able to pick up on the smallest changes in his environment.

“Wait a second,” he says, almost whispering. His voice cracks a little.

“Wait a second, what?” you retort, really wanting to just sprint out of the room. Your heart is pounding so hard you’re pretty sure everyone in the room can hear it.

“You... are you...” he doesn’t finish the sentence.

You let out a dramatic sigh.

“You’re pregnant!” he exclaims, louder than you'd like.

The room goes quiet for a second and you can feel all eyes on you. You're red as a tomato. Way to keep a secret.

You lean in and whisper sharply, “Could you say it louder? I don’t think the whole multiverse heard you.”

He looks flabbergasted and steps back, rubbing his face. You can see his brain is working overtime.

“Is it...?” He doesn't finish his question, but you know what he means.

“Wow, Sherlock, your senses are really on point today” you reply, sarcasm dripping from each word.

Miguel's face softens, his fierce demeanor crumbling. He looks almost vulnerable. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he says ever so softly.

You shrug. “You didn’t let me.”

#miguel x reader #spiderman 2099 #miguel ohara Drabble #miguel ohara #miguel o’hara

[constarlations]

Pokémon Timeskip Series: Champion Dawn 🌸❄️

Known as Sinnoh’s Ice Queen, Dawn is best known for her intimidating yet caring nature. She’s fierce and calculating, never leaving any room for error especially when it comes to battling. On her off days you can find her in the contest hall, a hobby she picked up from her mother, or in the Battle Frontier/Pokémon Lab to catch up with her best friends. It is said she was recently engaged to a certain johto boy (Ethan. It’s Ethan.) however they will not publicly revealed their plans for the wedding as of yet

Made a timeskip adult champion Dawn design a while back! It’s still my favorite of my timeskip series hehehe I hope you enjoy!

Twitter link

#trainer dawn #pokemon #pokémon #dawn pokemon #Art #Ally draws stuff #pokemon timeskip #Wait I can ramble in the tags that’s fucking right #ok so her design was heavily inspired by Cynthia obviously carrying over the same sorta philosophy #She has a few references to the Pokémon she uses! The scrunchies on her wrist for example relating back to (Shiny) Mega Lopunny #Very proud of that Diamond and Pearl necklace btw while her skirt alt design comes with a jacket so it’s v platinum-esque #She has moon earrings if you zoom in closely along with her star clips! #I still like the triangle clips she has cause it’s a more shape but star clips are cool hella regal #I forgot Lucas wore a beret tbh 💀 but translating her hat to a beret was hella fun #also DP color scheme ofc but I changed it up a bit hehehe #her shoes are a reference to palkia in a way! I paid a dumb amount of attention to how Pokémon translates shoes… #But yeee she’s my favorite timeskip design by far along with my Lyra #I have this whole story I’m building up I hope to release one day hopefully aaaa #The Cherry Blossom in the Winter Snow………. #Oh yeah the engagement ring…… she and Ethan are engaged btw 😳 #pokemon dppt #pokemon bdsp #YUCK THERES A BDSP TAG NOOOOO gotta do it for the clout

[delusionalfanficwriter]

head injury

Y/N had been an integral part of Arsenal Women's Football Club for three years. Her journey with the team had seen them through victories, challenges, and unforgettable moments on and off the field. During this time, Y/N had cultivated deep connections with her teammates, and they had become more than just friends and fellow athletes; they were her soccer family. As this season progressed, Arsenal found themselves facing a crucial match against their fierce rivals, Chelsea. Y/N, being her tenacious self, was right in the thick of the action. Her partnership with Leah on the field had always been one of Arsenal's strengths, and they synchronized like clockwork. Arsenal was known for its fluid passing and attacking style of play, and Y/N played a pivotal role in their success.

The first half of the match saw both teams battling fiercely for dominance on the field. The intensity was high, and both Arsenal and Chelsea were pushing their limits.

During a set piece, as Y/N went up to contest a header, an accidental collision with an opposing player pushed her back into the goal post, her head ricocheting off the metal post.

As the ball was kicked to upfield, everyone cleared around the goal, but the stadium fell into a hushed panic as Y/N lay motionless on the ground. Leah, her girlfriend, was the first to reach her. 

Kneeling by Y/N's side, her voice trembling as she cried out, "We need medics!" Leah shouted, her heart racing seeing Y/N's eyes closed. Leah reached out, placing her trembling hand on Y/N's cheek, hoping to rouse her. "Y/N, I need you to open your eyes for me. Hey, Y/N, come on. Open your eyes."

More teammates gathered around as panic swelled, their faces etched with worry. Jessie Fleming, Y/N's sister, dropped to the ground beside Leah. She reached out to shake her sister's shoulders, but Leah stopped her.

"You can't move her, Jessie," Leah cautioned, her voice strained with fear. "Her neck or back might be injured." Jessie nodded in understanding and opted to stroke little strands of her hair that have fallen from her ponytail, out of her face. 

Leah and Jessie tried their best to awaken y/n but nothing seemed to work.  

Finally, the team's medical staff arrived as well as medics, their expertise evident as they swiftly assessed the situation. They took every precaution to stabilize Y/N's neck and spine, carefully fitting a cervical collar around her and turning her over.

“We need some space guys.” The older medic informed Jessie and Leah but they remained in their spots. Jordan, McCabe, Kerr and a few other of their own teammates had to physically pull them back. They now stood a few feet away watching one of the medics speak to Y/N, trying to coax her into consciousness while another examined her vitals.

As the medics worked for a few minutes, Y/N's eyelids fluttered open, revealing her dazed and confused expression. She tried to sit up, but the medical staff gently held her down, reminding her not to move. Y/N mumbled incoherently, and Leah leaned closer, straining to catch her words before going right next to y/n side, hating the sight of seeing her so lost and scared. "It's okay, Y/N," Leah whispered, her voice trembling. "You had a tough collision, but the medics are here to help you."

“Y/n, you need to lay back down. Everything is going to be okay, but try not to move so much.” Jessie crouched down and spoke as she noticed her wanting to get up once again.

Y/N's consciousness wavered like a flickering flame. She struggled to comprehend her surroundings, her eyes darting aimlessly as confusion clouded her thoughts. Jessie's plea to stay still seemed to fall on deaf ears, and Y/N's movements grew more erratic.

Leah held her girlfriend's trembling hand, her voice quaking with concern. "Y/N, please, lay back down. You need to stay still. Everything is going to be okay." She desperately hoped her words would reach Y/N through the haze of her dazed state.

The medical staff worked with a sense of urgency, attempting to keep Y/N from further harm as she teetered on the edge of consciousness. They continued their assessments, monitoring her vitals, and told Leah and Jessie to try to keep y/n engaged in conversation to keep her awake.

Y/N's attempts to engage back in the conversation were sporadic and disjointed, and it became increasingly apparent that the injury was more severe than anyone had initially thought. Her responses were fragmented, and she struggled to maintain her focus.

Leah squeezed her hand, her voice trembling with worry. "Y/N, do you remember our first date? We went to that little café near your place, and it was pouring rain. You laughed when I slipped on a puddle."

Y/N's eyelids fluttered, but her gaze was unfocused. She mumbled, "Rain... yeah," but her voice was barely audible, and her response lacked the warmth and clarity it once held.

Jessie, trying to hold back tears, added, "And what about that time we played football in the park with Dad? You always said you'd be better than all of us."

Y/N's lips twitched in an attempt at a smile, but it was fleeting. "am... better," she mumbled, her words disjointed and distant. The memories, which should have elicited laughter and connection, now seemed to be slipping away from her grasp.

As Y/N's condition worsened, she suddenly gagged, her face contorted in pain, it was a distressing sight, and the medics reacted swiftly,  turning her onto her side to clear her airway and prevent any choking from the vomit that arose.

Leah's voice quivered as she tried to maintain Y/N's focus. "Y/N, stay with us. We're right here with you. Keep those beautiful eyes of yours open."

But Y/N's response was a mere groan, and her eyes slowly rolled back, her body growing limp. The medics exchanged concerned glances, realizing that her condition was rapidly deteriorating.

Without a moment to lose, they immediately placed an oxygen mask over her face, ensuring she received a steady flow of oxygen. Simultaneously, they carefully slid a backboard beneath her, immobilizing her spine and neck to prevent any further damage during transportation. Moments later, an ambulance sped onto the field. Y/N, still unconscious, was swiftly and gently transferred onto a stretcher, her body secured and placed into the ambulance. Leah and Jessie immediately followed behind inserting themselves into the ambulance not caring if they were in the middle of a match. 

As the ambulance raced towards the hospital, the sound of the siren echoed in the confined space causing Y/N to begin to stir. Her eyelids fluttered open, and she found herself disoriented, with the oxygen mask covering her face. In her groggy state, she attempted to remove the mask, her hands reaching up to pull it away.

Leah noticed Y/N's movement and gently placed her hand over Y/N's to stop her. "It's okay, love," she reassured, her voice soft and soothing. "You need to keep that on for now. It's helping you breathe."

"Y/N, it's okay," Jessie whispered, her hand resting on Y/N's arm. "You're in the ambulance, and we're on our way to the hospital.”

Y/N's eyes shifted from Leah to Jessie, her gaze still hazy. She attempted to speak but found it difficult. The words came out slurred and unfocused. "Why...hospital?"

Leah's fingers gently brushed Y/N's hair back from her forehead. "You had an accident on the field, love. The medics are taking you to the hospital to make sure you're okay. We're here with you, and everything will be fine."

Jessie leaned closer, her voice soothing. "Just relax, Y/N. The hospital will take good care of you, and we'll be right there beside you."

Y/N, though still disoriented and in pain, found some comfort in their presence. She nodded weakly and allowed them to reposition the oxygen mask, focusing on their voices to keep herself calm.

#woso x reader #woso fanfics #arsenal wfc #arsenal x reader #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson #jessie fleming x reader #jessie fleming #soccer #soccer fanfic #hurt/comfort

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

1968 [Chapter 9: Dionysus, God Of Ecstasy]

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 5.9k

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

The October surprise is a great American tradition. As the phases of the moon revolve towards Election Day, the candidates and their factions seek to ruin each other. Lies are told, truths are exposed, Tyche smiles and Achlys brews misery, poison, the fog of death that grows over men like ivy. The stars align. The wolves snap their jaws.

In 1844, an abolitionist newspaper falsely accused James K. Polk of branding his slaves like cattle. In 1880, a letter supposedly authored by James Garfield—in actuality, forged by a New York journalist—welcomed Chinese immigrants in an era when they were being lynched by xenophobic mobs in Los Angeles and San Francisco. In 1920, a rumor emerged that Warren Harding had Black ancestry, an allegation his campaign fervently denied to keep the support of the Southern states. In 1940, FDR’s press secretary assaulted a police officer outside of Madison Square Garden. In 1964, one of LBJ’s top aids was arrested for having gay sex at the Washington D.C. YMCA.

Now, in 1968, Senator Aemond Targaryen of New Jersey is realizing that he will not be the beneficiary of the October surprise he’s dreamed of: his wife’s redemptive pregnancy, a blossoming first family. There is a civil rights protest that turns into a riot in Milwaukee; this helps Nixon, the candidate of law and order. For every fire lit and window shattered, he sees a bump in the polls from businessowners and suburbanites who fear anarchy. Breaking news of the My Lai massacre—committed back in March but only now brought to light—airs on NBC, horrifying the American public and bolstering support for Aemond, the man who has vowed to begin ending the war as soon as he’s sworn into office. The two contestants are deadlocked. Election Day could be a photo finish.

Nixon is in Texas. Wallace is in Arkansas. In Florida, Aemond visits the Kennedy Space Center and pledges to fulfill JFK’s promise to put a man on the moon by 1970. He makes a speech at the Mary McLeod Bethune Home commending her work as an educator, philanthropist, and humanitarian. He greets soldiers at the Naval Air Station in Pensacola. He feeds chickens to the alligators at the Saint Augustine Alligator Farm Zoological Park.

But it is not the senator the crowds cheer loudest for. It is his wife, his future first lady, here in her home state where she staunched her husband’s hemorrhaging blood and appeared before his well-wishers still marked with crimson handprints. In Tarpon Springs, she and Aemond attend mass at the Saint Nicholas Greek Orthodox Cathedral and pray at an altar made of white marble from Athens. Then they stand on the docks as flashbulbs strobe all around them, watching sponge divers reappear from the depths, breaking through the bubbling sapphire water like Heracles ascending to Mount Olympus.

~~~~~~~~~~

You kick off your high heels, tear the pins and clips out of your hair, and flop down onto the king-sized bed in your suite at the Breakers Hotel. It’s the same place Aemond was almost assassinated five months ago. He has returned in triumph, in defiance. He cannot be killed. It is God’s will.

You are alone for these precious fleeting moments. Aemond is in Otto’s suite discussing the itinerary for tomorrow: confirmations, cancellations, reshufflings. You pick up the pink phone from the nightstand on Aemond’s side of the bed and dial the number for the main house at Asteria. It’s 9 p.m. here as well as there. Through the window you can see inky darkness and the kaleidoscopic glow of the lights of Palm Beach. The Zenith radio out in the kitchenette is playing Satisfaction by the Rolling Stones. No intercession from Eudoxia is necessary this time; Aegon answers on the second ring.

“Yeah?” he says, slow and lazy like he’s been smoking something other than Lucky Strikes.

“Hey.” And then after a pause, twirling the phone cord around your fingers as you stare up at the ceiling: “It’s me.”

“Oh, I know. Should I take off my pants, or…?” He’s only half-joking.

You smile. “That was stupid. Someone could have bugged the phone.”

“You think Nixon’s guys are wiretapping us? Give me a break. They’re goddamn buffoons. They’re too busy telling cops to beat hippies to death.” You hear him taking a drag off his joint, envision him sprawled across his futon and enshrouded in smoke. “Everything okay down there in the swamp?”

You shrug, even though Aegon can’t see you. “It’s fine.”

“Just fine?”

“My parents were there when we stopped in Tarpon Springs. They kept telling everyone how proud they are of me, and I just felt so…dishonest.”

“Of course they’re proud. If Aemond wins, the war ends and more civil rights bills get passed and this hell we’ve all been living in since 1963 goes away.”

“I miss you,” you confess.

“You’ll be back soon to enjoy me in all my professional loser glory.” He’s right: Aemond’s entourage will spend Halloween at Asteria. You’ll take the children trick-or-treating around Long Beach Island—with journalists in tow, of course—and then host a party with plentiful champagne and Greek hors d’oeuvres, one last reprieve before the momentous slog towards Election Day on November 5th, a reward for the campaign staffers and reporters who have served Aemond so well. “What are you going to dress up as?”

“Someone happy,” you say, and Aegon chuckles, low and sardonic. “Actually, nothing. Aemond and Otto have decided that it would be undignified for the future president and first lady to be photographed in costumes, so I will be wearing something festive yet not at all fun.”

“Aemond has always been somewhat confused by the concept of fun.”

“What are you going to be for Halloween?”

You can hear the grin in his voice as he exhales smoke. “A cowboy.”

“A cowboy,” you repeat, giggling. “You aren’t serious.”

“Extremely serious. I protect the cows, I comfort the cows, I breed the cows…”

“You are mentally ill. You belong in an asylum.”

“I ride the cows…”

“Cowboys do not ride cows.”

“Maybe this one does.”

“I thought you liked being ridden.”

Aegon groans with what sounds like genuine discomfort. “Don’t tease me. You know I’m celibate at the moment.”

“Miraculous. Astonishing. The Greek Orthodox Church should canonize you. What have you been doing with all of your newfound free time?”

“Taking the kids out sailing, hiding from Doxie, trying not to step on the Alopekis…and playing Battleship with Cosmo. He has a very loose understanding of the rules.”

“He does. I remember.”

“He keeps asking when you’ll be back.”

“Really?” you ask hopefully.

“Yeah, it’s cute. And he calls you Io because he heard me do it.”

“Not an appropriate myth for children, I think.”

“Cosmo’s what, seven years old?”

“Five.”

“Close enough. I think I knew about death and torment and Zeus being a slut by then.”

“And you have no resulting defects whatsoever.” You roll over onto your belly and slide open the drawer of the nightstand. Instead of the card Aegon gave you at Mount Sinai—you’ve forgotten that you’re on Aemond’s side of the bed—you find something bizarre, unexpected, just barely able to fit. “Oh my God, there’s a…there’s a Ouija board in the nightstand!”

Aegon laughs incredulously. “There’s a what?!”

“A Ouija board!” You sit upright and shimmy it out, holding the phone to your ear with one shoulder. The small wooden planchette slides off the board and clatters against the bottom of the drawer. “Why the hell would Aemond have this…?”

“He’s trying to summon the ghost of JFK to stab Nixon.”

“Oh wow, it’s heavy.” You skim your fingertips over the black numbers and letters etched into the wooden board. There’s something ominous about the Good Bye written across the bottom. You can’t beckon the dead into the land of the living without reminding them that they aren’t welcome to stay.

“Aemond is such a freak. Is it a Parker Brothers one, like for kids…?”

“No, I think it’s custom made. It feels substantial, expensive. Hold on, there’s something engraved on the back.” You flip over the Ouija board so you can see what your hands have already felt. The inscription reads in onyx cursive letters: No ghosts can harm you. The stars were never better than the day you were born. With love through all the ages, Alys.

“What’s it say?” Aegon asks from his basement at Asteria.

You’re staring down at the Ouija board, mystified. “Who’s Alys?”

Instead of an answer, Aegon gives you a deep sigh. “Oh. Yeah, she would give him something like that. Fucking creepy witch bullshit.”

“Aegon, who’s Alys?” She’s his mistress. She has to be. It fills your skull like flashbulbs, like lightning: Aemond climbing on top of another woman, conquering her, owning her, binding her up in his mythology like a spider building a web. And what you feel when the shock begins to dissolve isn’t envy or pain or betrayal but—strangely, paradoxically—hope. “She’s his girl, right?”

“Please don’t be mad at me for not telling you,” Aegon says. “There wasn’t a good time. When I hated you I didn’t care if he was fucking around, and then after what happened in New York I didn’t want to hurt you, I didn’t know how you’d take it. It’s not your fault, there’s nothing wrong with you. She was here first. He’d have kept Alys around if he married Aphrodite herself.”

“I’m not mad.” You’re distracted, that’s what you are; you’re plotting. “Where is she?”

“She lives in Washington state. I’m not sure exactly where, I think Aemond moves her a lot. He doesn’t want anyone to see him around and start noticing a pattern. Neighbors, shopkeepers, cops, whoever.”

“Washington.” Just like when Ari died. Just like when Aemond didn’t come back. “Who knows about her?”

“Just the family. Fosco and Mimi found out because when they married in, the fights were still happening. Otto and Viserys demanding he give Alys up, Aemond refusing. It’s the only thing he ever did wrong, the only line he drew. He said he needed her. She could never be his first lady, but she could be something else.”

“His mistress.”

“Yeah,” Aegon says reluctantly. “Are you…are you okay?”

“I’m okay. What’s wrong with Alys?”

“What?”

“Why couldn’t Aemond marry her?”

“I mean, she’s the type of psycho who gives people Ouija boards, first of all,” Aegon says. “And she’s…she’s not educated. Her family’s trash. She’s older than Aemond. Hell, she’s older than me. She would be an unmitigated disaster on the campaign trail. She unnerves people. But Aemond, he…”

“He loves her,” you whisper, reading the engraving on the back of the board again. “And she loves him.”

“I guess. Whatever love means to them.”

A thought occurs to you, the first one to bring you pain like a needle piercing flesh. “Does she have children?”

Again, Aegon sounds reticent to disclose this. “A boy. Aemond’s the father.”

“How old?”

“I don’t know, I think he’s around ten now.”

And that’s Aemond’s true heir. Not Ari, not any others he would have with me. That place in his heart is taken. He couldn’t mourn the loss of our son because he already has one with the woman he loves.

Out in the living room of the suite, you hear the front door open. There are footsteps, Aemond’s polished black leather shoes.

Aegon is asking: “Are you sure you’re okay? Hello? Babe? Hello? Are you still there?”

“I’m fine. I gotta go.”

“Wait, no, not yet—!”

“Bye.” You hang up the phone and wait for Aemond to discover you. You’re still clutching the Ouija board. You’re perched on the edge of the bed like something ready to pounce, to kill.

Aemond opens the bedroom door, navy blue suit, blonde hair short and slicked back, his eyepatch covering his empty left socket. He’s begun wearing his eyepatch in public more often—not for every appearance, but for some of them—and whoever finally convinced him to concede this battle wasn’t you. His right eye goes to you and then to the Ouija board in your hands. He doesn’t speak or move to take the board, only studies you warily.

“I know about her,” you tell him.

Still, Aemond says nothing.

“Alys,” you press. “She’s your mistress. You’re in love with her.”

“I did not intend to hurt you.” His words are flat, steely.

“I’m not hurt, Aemond.”

“You shouldn’t have ever known about this. I apologize for not being more discrete. It was a lapse in judgment.” But what he regrets most, you think, is that his secret is less contained, more imperiled.

“What we have is a political arrangement,” you say. The desperation quivers in your voice. “You don’t love me, you never have, and now we can be open about it. You need me to win the White House, but that’s all. Your true companion is elsewhere. I want the same thing.”

He steps closer, eye narrowing, iris glinting coldly, puzzled like he couldn’t have understood you correctly. “What?”

“I want to be permitted to have my own happiness outside of this imitation of a marriage.”

“No,” Aemond says instantly.

Your stomach sinks, dark iron disappointment. “But…but…why?”

“Because I don’t trust you to not get caught. Because I need to be sure that I am the father of the children you’ll give birth to. And because as my wife you are mine, and mine alone.”

Tears brim in your eyes; embers burn in your throat. “You’re asking for my life. My whole life, all of it, everything I’ll ever experience, everything I’ll ever feel. I get one chance on this planet and you’re stealing it away from me.”

“Yes,” Aemond agrees simply.

“So where’s my consolation?” you demand. “You get Alys, so where’s mine?”

“What do you want?”

You don’t reply, but you glare at your husband with eternal rage like Hera’s, with fatal vitriol like Medusa’s.

“You think I don’t know about that little card you keep in your nightstand?” Aemond is furious, betrayed. “You used to hate him.”

“I was wrong.”

“Because he was at Mount Sinai and I wasn’t? Three days undid everything we’ve ever been to each other? Our oaths, our ambitions?!”

“No,” you say, tears slipping down the contours of your cheeks. “Because he’s real. He doesn’t try to manipulate people into loving him, he doesn’t pretend to be someone he’s not, when he’s cruel it’s because he means it and when he’s kind that’s genuine too. And he wants to know me, who I really am. Not the woman I have to act like to get you elected. Not who you’re trying to turn me into—”

Aemond has crossed the room, grabbed the front of your teal Chanel dress, and yanked you to your feet. The Ouija board jolts out of your hands and lands on the carpet unharmed. Your long hair is in disarray, your eyes wide and fearful. You try to push Aemond away, but he ignores you. You can’t sway him. You’ve never been able to. “Aegon has nothing to his name except what this family gives him,” Aemond snarls, hushed, hateful. His venom is not for his brother but for you. You have upended the natural order of things. You have dared to deny Zeus what he has been divinely granted dominion over. “You would jeopardize his wellbeing, his access to his children? You would ruin yourself? You would doom this nation? If you cost me the election, every drop of blood spilled is on your hands, every body bag flown home from Vietnam, every martyr killed by injustice here. What you ask for is worse than being a traitor and a whore. It is sacrilege.”

“Let go of me—”

“And there’s one more thing.” Aemond pulls you closer so he knows you’re paying attention. You’re sobbing now, trembling, choking on his cologne, shrinking away from his furnace-heat wrath. “Aegon isn’t capable of love. Not the kind you’re imagining. He gets infatuated, and he uses people, and then he moves on. You think he never charmed Mimi, never made her feel cherished by him? And look how she ended up. I’m trying to carve your name into legend beside mine. Aegon will take you to your grave.”

Your husband shoves you away, storms out of the bedroom, slams the door so hard the walls quake.

~~~~~~~~~~

Parading down streets like the victors of a fallen city, jack-o-lanterns keeping watch with their laceration grins of firelight. Hecate is the goddess of witchcraft, Hades rules the Underworld, Selene is the half-moon peeking through clouds in an overcast sky. The stars elude you.

The children—ghosts, pirates, princesses, witches—dash from doorstep to doorstep like soldiers in Vietnam search tunnels. They smile and pose in their outfits when the journalists prompt them, beaming and waving, showing off their Dots, Tootsie Pops, Sugar Daddies, Smarties, Razzles, and candy cigarettes before depositing them in the plastic orange pumpkins that swing from their wrists. Only Cosmo, dressed as Teddy Roosevelt with lensless glasses and a stuffed lion thrown over one shoulder, stays with the adults. He is the last one to each house, approaching the doorway reticently like it might swallow him up, inspiring fond chuckles and encouragement from the reporters. He clutches your hand and hides behind you when towering monsters lumber by: King Kong, Frankenstein, vampires with fake blood spilling from their mouths.

Aemond wears a black suit with orange accents: tie, pocket square, socks. You glimmer in a black dress dotted with white stars, clicking down the sidewalk in boots that run to your knees, silver eyeshadow, heavy liner. You almost look your own age. There are large star-shaped barrettes in your pinned-up hair, bent glinting metal. As the reporters snap photos of you and Cosmo walking together, they shout: “You’ll be such a great mother one day, Mrs. Targaryen!”

Fosco is Ettore Boiardi—better known as Chef Boyardee—an Italian immigrant who came through Ellis Island in 1914 with a dream of opening a spaghetti business. Helaena, Alicent, and Ludwika are, respectively, Alice, Wendy, and Cinderella; Ludwika clops along resentfully in her puffy sleeves and too-small clear stilettos. Criston is Peter Pan. Aegon wears a white button-up shirt, cow print vest, ripped jeans, brown leather boots, a cowboy hat that’s too big for him, and a green bandana knotted around his throat. He stays close to you and Cosmo because he can, here where the journalists expect to see him being a devoted father and active participant in the family business of mending a tattered America. Teenagers are fleeing their families to join hippie communes and draftees in Vietnam are getting their limbs blown off and junkies are shooting up on the streets of New York and Chicago and Los Angeles, but here we see a happy family, a perfect family, a holy trinity that thanks the devotees who offer them tribute. Otto, who neglected to don a disguise, glares at you murderously. You have failed to give Aemond a living child. You have dared to want things for yourself.

Back at Asteria in the main house, the children empty their plastic pumpkins on the living room floor and sort through their saccharine treasures, making trades and bargains: “I’ll do your math homework if you give me those Swedish Fish,” “I’ll let you ride my bike for a week if I can have your Mallo Cup.” While the other adults ply themselves with champagne and chain smoke away the stress of the campaign trail, Aegon gets his Caribbean blue Gibson guitar and sits on the couch playing I’m A Believer by The Monkees. The kids clap and sing along between intense confectionary negotiations. Cosmo wants to share his candy cigarettes with you; you pretend to smoke together as sugar melts on your tongue.

Now the children have been sent to bed—mollified with the promise of homemade apple pies tomorrow, another occasion to be documented by swarms of clamoring journalists—and the house becomes a haze of smoke and indistinct conversation and music from the record player. Platters of appetizers have appeared on the dining room table: pita, tzatziki, hummus, melitzanosalata, olives, horiatiki, mini spanakopitas, baklava. Women are chattering about the painstaking labor they put into costumes and men are scheming to deliver death blows to Nixon, setbacks in Vietnam, Klan meetings in Mississippi. Aemond is knocking back Old Fashioneds with Otto and Sargent Shriver. Fosco is dancing in the living room with drunk journalists. Eudoxia is muttering in Greek as she aggressively paws crumbs off of couches and tabletops. Thick red candles flicker until wax melts into a pool of blood at the base.

Through the veil of cigarette smoke and the rumbling bass of Season Of The Witch, Aegon finds you when no one is looking, and you know it’s him without having to turn around. His hand is the only one that doesn’t feel heavy when it skims around your waist. He whispers, soft grinning lips to your ear, rum and dire temptation like Orpheus looking back at Eurydice: “Let’s do some witchcraft.”

You know where Aemond keeps the Ouija board. You take it out of the top drawer of his nightstand in your bedroom with blue walls and portraits of myths in captive frames. Then you descend with Aegon into the basement, down like Persephone when summer ends, down like women crumbling under Zeus’s weight. You remember to lock the door behind you. You’re not high—you can’t smoke grass in a house full of guests who could smell it and take it upon themselves to investigate—but you feel like you are, that lightness that makes everything more bearable, the surreal tilt to the universe, awake but dreaming, truth cloaked in mirages.

Aegon has stolen three red candles from upstairs. He hands one to you, keeps a second for himself, and places the third on his end table beside a myriad of dirty cups. You glimpse at his ashtray and a folded corner of the receipt that’s still tucked beneath it, and you think: I have my card, Aegon has his receipt, Aemond has his Ouija board. I wonder what Alys likes to keep close when she sleeps. Then Aegon clicks off the lamp so the only light is from the flickering candles.

He tosses away his cowboy boots, hat, vest and is down on the green shag carpet with you, his hair messy, his white shirt half-unbuttoned. He’s taking sips of Captain Morgan straight from the glass bottle. He’s lighting a Lucky Strike with the wick of his candle and then giving it to you to puff on as he places the planchette on the board. “Wait, how do we start?”

You exhale smoke, setting your candle down on the carpet and then tugging off your own boots with some difficulty. “We have to say hello.”

“Okay.” Aegon places his fingertips on one side of the heart-shaped planchette and you rest yours lightly on the other. He begins doubtfully: “Hello…?”

“Is there anyone who would like to send us a message from the other side this evening?”

“You’ve done this before,” Aegon accuses.

“I have. In college.”

“With a guy?”

You chuckle, taking a drag as the cigarette smolders between your fingers. “No, with my friends. It’s not really a date activity.”

“I think it’s very romantic. Candles, darkness, danger, who’s gonna protect you when the ghosts start throwing things around…”

“You’d fight a ghost for me?”

“Depends on the ghost. FDR? You got it. I can take a guy in a wheelchair. Teddy? No ma’am. You’re on your own.”

“Which ghost should we summon?”

Aegon ponders this for a moment. “John F. Kennedy, are you in this basement with us right now?”

“That is wrong, that is so wrong.”

“Then why are you smiling?” Aegon says. “JFK, how do you feel about Johnson fucking up your legacy?”

“That is not the kind of question you’re supposed to ask. We’re not on 60 Minutes.”

“JFK, do you haunt the White House?” Aegon drags the planchette to the Yes on the board. “Oh no, I’m scared.”

“You are a cheater, this is a fraudulent Ouija board session.” You put your cigarette out in the ashtray and then take a swig from Aegon’s rum bottle. “JFK, are we gonna make it to the moon before 1970?”

Aegon pulls the planchette to the No. “Damn, Io, bad news. Guess the Russians win the Space Race and then eradicate capitalism across the globe. No more beach houses. No more Mr. Mistys.”

“Give me the planchette, you’re abusing your power.”

“No,” Aegon says, snickering as you try to wrestle it away from him. In his other hand he’s clutching his candle; scarlet beads of wax like blooddrops pepper your skin as you struggle, tiny infernos that burn exquisitely. Red like paint splatter appears on Aegon’s shirt. You grab the green bandana around his throat, but instead of holding him back you’re drawing him closer. The Ouija board and all the world’s ghosts are momentarily forgotten.

“You’re dripping wax on me—”

“Good, I want to get it all over you, then I want to peel it off and rip out your leg hair.”

You’re laughing hysterically as you pretend to try to shove him away. “I’m freshly shaved, you idiot.”

“Everywhere?” Aegon asks, intrigued.

You smirk playfully. “Almost.”

“Okay, let’s get you cleaned up.” Aegon sets his candle down on the carpet and strips away tacky dots of red wax: one from your forearm down by your wrist, another from your neck just below one of your silver hoop earrings, wax from your ankles and your calves and right above your knees. His fingertips are calloused from his guitar, from the ropes of his sailboat. They scratch roughly over you, chipping away who you’re supposed to be.

Then Aegon stops. You follow his gaze down. There is a smudge of wax on the inside of your thigh, extending beneath the hem of your dress, glittering black and white fabric that hides what is forbidden to him. Aegon’s eyes are on you, that troubled opaque blue, drunk and desperate and wild and afraid. With your fingers still hooked beneath his bandana, you say to him like a dare: “Now you’re going to stop?”

His palm skates up the smoothness of your thigh, and as he unpeels that last stain of red wax his other hand cradles your jaw and his lips touch yours, gently at first and then with the ravenousness of someone who’s been dying of thirst for centuries, starving since birth. You’re opening your legs wider for him, and his fingers do not stop at your thigh but climb higher until they are whisking your black lace panties away, exploring your folds and your wetness as his tongue darts between your lips, tasting something he’s been craving forever but only now stumbled into after four decades of darkness, trapped in you like Narcissus at his pool.

You are unknotting his green bandana and letting it fall to the shag carpet. You are unbuttoning the rest of his shirt so you can feel his chest, soft and warm and yielding, safe, real. The candlelight is flickering, the thumping bass of a song you can’t decipher pulsing through the floor above. Now beneath your dress Aegon’s fingers are pressing a place that makes your breath catch in your throat, makes you dizzy with need for him. He looks at you and you nod, and he reads in your face what you wanted to say months ago in this same basement: Don’t stop. Come closer.

Aegon lifts your dress over your head, nips at your throat as he unclasps your bra, and you are suddenly aware of how the cool firelit air is touching every part of you, how you are bare for him in a way you’ve never been before. You catch Aegon’s face in your hand before he can see the scar that runs down the length of your belly and say, your voice quiet and fragile: “Don’t look at me.”

Pain flashes in his eyes, furrows across his brow. “Stop,” he murmurs, kissing your forehead as you cling to him. Then he begins moving lower and you fall back onto the carpet, no blood on Aegon’s hands this time, only your sweat and lust for him, only crystalline evidence of a betrayal you’ve long ago already committed in your mind.

You’re combing your fingers through his hair and gasping as Aegon’s lips ghost down your scar, not something ruinous or shameful but a part of you, the beginning of your story together, the origin of your mythology. Then his mouth is on you—yearning, aching wetness—and you thought you knew what this felt like but it’s more powerful now, more urgent, and Aegon is glancing up to watch your face, to study you, to change what he’s doing as he follows your clues. And then there is a pang you think is too sharp to be pleasure, too close to helplessness, something that leaves you panting and shaking.

You jolt upright. “Wait…”

Aegon props himself up on his elbows. His full lips glisten with you. “What? What’d I do wrong?”

“No, it’s not you, it’s just…it’s like…” You can’t describe it. “It’s too…um…too intense or something. It’s like I couldn’t breathe.”

Aegon stares at you, his eyebrows low. After a long pause he says: “Babe, you’ve come before, right?”

I’ve what? “Yeah, of course, obviously. I mean…I think so?”

He’s stunned. He’s in disbelief. Then a grin splits across his face. “Lie back down.”

You’re nervous, but you trust him. If this costs you your life, you’ll pay it. He pushes your thighs farther apart and his tongue stays in one spot—where you touched yourself in the bathtub in Seattle, where you wanted him when he slipped his fingers into you for the first time—and suddenly the uneasy feeling is something raging and irresistible like a riptide in the Atlantic, something better than anything you knew existed, and you keep thinking it’s happened but it hasn’t yet, as you cover your face with your hands to smother your moans, as your hips roll and Aegon’s arms curl under your thighs to keep you in place so he can make you finish. It’s a release that is otherworldly, celestial, terrifying, divine. It’s something that rips the curtain between mortals and paradise.

It’s always like this for men? That’s what Aemond has been getting from me, that’s what I’ve been denied?

As you lie gasping on the carpet Aegon returns, smiling, kissing you, running his fingers through locks of hair that have escaped from your pins. “Not bad, right little Io?” he purrs, smelling like rum and minerals, earth and poison. Now he’s taking off his jeans, but before he can position himself between your legs you have pushed him onto his back and straddled him, pinning his wrists to the floor, watching the amazement ripple across his flushed face, the desire, the need. You tease Aegon, leaning in to nibble at his ear and bite gingerly at his throat, never harming him, never claiming him, grinding your hips against his and listening as his breathing turns quick and rough. Then you slip him inside you, this man you once hated, this man who was a stranger and then a curse and now a spell.

Aegon wants to be closer to you. He sits up as you ride him, hands on your face, in your hair, kissing you, inhaling you, shuddering, trying not to cry out as footsteps and laughter and thunderous basslines bleed through the ceiling. You know he’s been high on so many things—things that corrupt, things that kill—and you hope you can compare, this brief clean magic.

He can’t last; he finishes with a moan like he’s in agony, and as the motion of your hips slows, you take his jaw in your grasp and gaze down at him. “Good boy,” you say with a grin. Aegon laughs, exhausted, drenched in sweat, his hair sticking to his forehead. He embraces you so tightly you can feel the pounding of his heart, racing muscle beneath bones and skin.

He’s murmuring through your disheveled hair: “I gotta see you again, when can I see you again?”

You don’t know what to say. You don’t have an answer. You unravel yourself from Aegon and dress yourself in the red candlelight: panties, bra, dress, boots, all things that Aemond chose for you, all things he bought with his family’s money, all things he owns. Aegon has nothing to his name and neither do you. You are—like Fosco once said—pieces of the same machine.

“Where are you going?” Aegon asks, like he’s afraid of the answer.

“I have to go back upstairs to the party before someone realizes I’m missing.”

“Are you serious?”

“I am.” You kneel on the carpet to kiss him one last time, your palm on his cheek, his fingers clutching at your dress as he begs you not to leave. “I have to, I have to,” you whisper, and then you do.

You grab the Ouija board and planchette off the green shag carpet, hug them to your chest, and hurry up the steps. The first floor of the Asteria house is a maze of cigarette smoke and clinking glasses, guests who are dancing and cackling and drunk. From the record player strums Johnny Cash’s Ring Of Fire. You slip unnoticed to the staircase.

In the blue-walled bedroom you share with Aemond, you carefully place the Ouija board and planchette in the top drawer of his nightstand exactly as you found them. Then you go to your vanity to try to fix your hair. As you’re rearranging clips and pinning loose strands back into place, the door opens. Aemond is there, feeling beloved and invincible, looking for you. He crosses the room and closes his long fingers around your wrist. He wants you: under him, making children for him, possessed by him.

“Come to bed,” Aemond says.

“Not right now. I’m busy.”

“You aren’t busy anymore.”

“I told you no.”

He wrenches you from your chair. Instead of surrendering, you strike out, hitting him in the chest. You don’t harm him, you’re not strong enough, but genuine shock leaps into his scarred face.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” you hiss. You can’t let Aemond undress you; he will find the evidence of your treason, he will see it, feel it, taste it. But that’s not the only reason you stop him. “Every goddamn night I give you what you want, and exactly how you want it. Tonight I’m saying no. You want to take me? You’ll have to do it properly. I’m not going to give you the illusion of consent. You remember what Zeus did to all those women, right? Go ahead. Act like the god you think you are. But I’m going to fight you. And if those people downstairs hear me screaming, you can explain to them why.”

Aemond stares at you in the silvery light of the half-moon. You glare boldly back. At last he leaves and descends the staircase into an underworld of churning smoke, returning to the party to sip his Old Fashioneds and decide what to do with you.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen ii #aegon ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon ii x you #aegon ii fanfic #aegon ii x reader #aegon targaryen x you #aegon ii x y/n

[estapa-edwards]

ENEMIES WITH BENEFITS - W. SMITH

paring: Will Smith x reader

word count: 3.4k

requested? no

warnings: use of y/n. slight smut? ig.

*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨*

The echo of blades slicing through the ice reverberated throughout the rink, mingling with the sharp clatter of pucks against sticks. Boston College's hockey arena was a hub of activity, with the men's and women's teams often sharing practice times. Will Smith, the star forward of the men's team, was in the midst of a grueling drill, his focus unwavering as he maneuvered the puck with skillful precision.

On the other side of the rink, Y/N Leonard was equally absorbed in her practice. As the captain of the women's team, she had a reputation to uphold. Her brother, Ryan Leonard, was a defenseman on the men's team and one of Will's closest friends. Despite their close connection, Y/N and Will's relationship was anything but friendly.

Their rivalry was legendary, a bitter clash of egos and competitive spirits that had brewed over the years. It was an open secret that they couldn't stand each other, always bickering and challenging each other on and off the ice. But beneath the surface of their animosity lay a secret even their closest friends didn't suspect—they were enemies with benefits.

--- --- --- 

Their first encounter had been a clash of wills at a party during their freshman year. The backyard of one of the off-campus houses had been transformed into a mini-rink for the night, complete with floodlights and a rowdy audience. Y/N, confident and fierce, had seen Will's cocky grin as he dominated the makeshift rink. Fueled by competitive spirit and maybe a bit too much beer, she had skated up to him and issued a challenge.

"One-on-one, Smith. Unless you're scared to lose to a girl."

Will had laughed, a sound that grated on Y/N's nerves. "You're on, Leonard. Let's see what you've got."

The stakes were high—bragging rights for the rest of the year. The game had been intense, filled with taunts and near-miss goals, ending in a narrow victory for Will. Y/N had been livid, her competitive nature unable to accept defeat gracefully. Their enmity was sealed that night, a rivalry born from mutual respect and a burning desire to prove themselves.

But as the months passed, their rivalry took an unexpected turn. Their heated arguments would often end in moments of undeniable chemistry, and one fateful night after a particularly intense game, their anger had erupted into something else entirely.

--- --- --- 

The game against Northeastern had been brutal, leaving both teams exhausted and irritable. The men's and women's teams had played back-to-back games, each fiercely contested and ending in narrow victories. The adrenaline was still pumping through Y/N's veins as she stormed into the locker room, replaying every missed opportunity and close call in her mind.

"Nice game, Leonard," Will's voice echoed through the empty hall, dripping with sarcasm as he followed her inside.

Y/N spun around, her eyes blazing. "What do you want, Smith? Here to gloat?"

Will smirked, stepping closer. "Just thought I'd congratulate you on not choking under pressure. For once."

The tension between them crackled like static electricity. Y/N's anger flared, her fists clenching at her sides. "You're such an asshole."

"Better than being a sore loser," Will shot back, his voice low and dangerous.

The words hung in the air, their breaths coming in short, heated bursts. Without thinking, Y/N closed the distance between them, her anger morphing into something else entirely. Their eyes locked, and in that moment, all the pent-up frustration and desire boiled over.

Y/N grabbed Will's jersey, yanking him down to her level. Their lips crashed together, the kiss fierce and demanding. Will responded instantly, his hands gripping her waist as he backed her against the lockers. The cold metal pressed into her back, a stark contrast to the heat of their kiss.

It was a clash of wills, their tongues battling for dominance as they gave in to the primal urge that had been simmering beneath the surface for months. Will's hands roamed over Y/N's body, his touch igniting a fire within her that she couldn't deny. She tugged at his jersey, needing to feel his skin against hers.

They broke apart briefly, gasping for air. Y/N's eyes were wild, her lips swollen from the intensity of their kiss. "This doesn't mean anything," she panted, her voice trembling with a mix of desire and defiance.

"Right," Will agreed, his voice equally breathless. "Just blowing off steam."

Their mouths collided again, more urgent this time. Y/N's hands found the hem of Will's jersey, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside. Her fingers traced the hard planes of his chest, savoring the feel of his muscles tensing under her touch.

Will's hands were equally busy, sliding under her jersey and up her back, pulling her closer. Their bodies pressed together, the heat between them almost unbearable. Y/N's head spun with the intensity of their connection, every nerve ending on fire.

Somehow, they managed to shed the rest of their clothes, their desire too overwhelming to care about the cold or the hard floor beneath them. Will's hands were everywhere, exploring every inch of her skin as if memorizing it. Y/N responded in kind, her nails digging into his back, leaving marks in their wake.

When Will finally entered her, it was like a dam breaking. The sensation was almost too much, a mix of pleasure and pain that left her gasping. They moved together in a frantic rhythm, their bodies finding a natural sync despite their previous animosity.

It was raw, intense, and utterly consuming. Y/N had never felt anything like it, every touch, every thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through her. She clung to Will, her fingers tangled in his hair, as they reached the peak together.

In the aftermath, they lay tangled on the cold floor, their breaths mingling in the quiet of the locker room. Y/N's mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions—desire, confusion, and a lingering sense of defiance.

Will broke the silence first, his voice surprisingly gentle. "This changes nothing, you know."

Y/N nodded, her resolve hardening. "I know. We're still enemies."

"Right," he agreed, but there was a hint of something softer in his eyes as he looked at her.

As they dressed in silence, the reality of what had just happened began to sink in. They had crossed a line, one that could never be uncrossed.

--- --- ---

Sneaking around had become second nature to them. They'd find isolated corners of the rink or meet in the early hours of the morning when the campus was quiet. Despite their constant bickering, they couldn't deny the magnetic pull between them.

Their secret meetings were a mix of passion and frustration, each encounter leaving them more confused and conflicted. They were enemies, rivals on and off the ice, but in those stolen moments, they were something else entirely.

One night, after a particularly grueling practice, Y/N received a text from Will.

Will: Meet me at the old equipment room. Midnight.

Y/N's heart raced. She knew she should ignore him, and should put an end to this dangerous game they were playing. But something about Will drew her in, and she found herself unable to resist.

The old equipment room was tucked away in a forgotten corner of the arena. It was their sanctuary, a place where they could be together without prying eyes. Y/N slipped inside, her breath visible in the cold air. Will was already there, leaning against a stack of crates.

"You took your time," he teased, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Had to make sure no one followed me," Y/N retorted, closing the door behind her.

Will's eyes softened as he approached her. "You know, we don't have to keep doing this."

Y/N sighed, her resolve wavering. "I know. But... I can't stay away."

"Neither can I," Will admitted, pulling her into his arms.

Their kisses were desperate, fueled by the fear of being discovered and the intensity of their hidden emotions.

--- --- ---

As the season progressed, tensions on and off the ice began to mount. Boston College was preparing for a series of critical games that would determine their standings in the league. The pressure was immense, and both the men's and women's teams were feeling the strain.

Y/N and Will's clandestine relationship became increasingly difficult to maintain. The late-night rendezvous and stolen glances were no longer enough. Their teammates began to notice the tension between them, though no one suspected the true nature of their interactions.

One evening, after a particularly grueling practice, Ryan confronted Y/N. "You've been acting weird lately. Is everything okay?"

Y/N hesitated, unsure how to respond. "Just stressed about the games. It's nothing."

Ryan frowned, not entirely convinced. "If you say so. Just remember, you can talk to me about anything."

Y/N forced a smile. "Thanks, Ry."

Later that night, Y/N received a text from Will.

Will: We need to talk. Meet me at the equipment room.

As Y/N made her way down the dimly lit hallways of the arena, her nerves grew. She wasn't sure why she felt so anxious. This was supposed to be just another one of their secret meetings, another chance to lose themselves in the intensity of their connection. But something about Will's message had set her on edge.

She pushed open the door to the old equipment room, her breath hitching as she saw Will standing there, his face shadowed by the dim light. His expression was serious, almost pained, and her heart sank.

"We need to talk," he said, his voice heavy with emotion.

Y/N took a tentative step closer, her eyes searching his. "What is it, Will? What's wrong?"

Will took a deep breath, his eyes meeting hers with an intensity that made her stomach twist. "We need to end this, Y/N. We can't keep doing this."

The words hit her like a punch to the gut, leaving her reeling. "What are you talking about? Why?"

Will ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. "This... whatever this is, it's messing with our heads. We can't focus on the game, and it's only going to get worse. We need to stop seeing each other. For good."

Y/N felt a surge of confusion and anger. "So that's it? You're just going to walk away?"

"It's not that simple," Will said, his voice strained. "I care about you, Y/N. But this is too much. We're hurting ourselves and our teams. We have to think about what's best for everyone."

Tears welled in Y/N's eyes, her mind racing. "You think ending things will make everything better? What about us?"

Will's expression softened, a flicker of pain crossing his features. "There is no 'us,' Y/N. We're enemies, remember? We can't pretend this is something it's not."

Y/N's anger flared, her heart aching with a mix of hurt and betrayal. "You think I don't know that? But you can't just turn off your feelings like a switch, Will. This isn't just about the game."

"I know," Will whispered, his voice breaking. "But it's the only way."

They stood there in silence, the weight of his words hanging between them. Y/N's mind was a whirlwind of emotions, each one more confusing than the last. She wanted to scream, to fight, to make him see that what they had was real. But the look in his eyes told her that he had already made up his mind.

"Fine," she said, her voice trembling. "If that's what you want."

Will nodded, his expression resigned. "It's for the best."

Without another word, Y/N turned and walked away, her heart heavy with the weight of their decision. She didn't look back, couldn't bear to see the finality in his eyes.

--- --- --- 

The days that followed were a painful blur for Y/N. Every time she and Will saw each other, the air between them was thick with unresolved tension. Their once heated banter was replaced by uncomfortable silence and awkward glances. It was clear to everyone around them that something was off.

During practice, Y/N could feel the weight of her teammates' curious eyes on her. They whispered among themselves, speculating about the sudden change in her demeanor. Her game was affected too—her usual precision and focus were marred by hesitation and distraction.

At one point, her coach pulled her aside. "Y/N, your head's not in the game. What's going on?"

"It's nothing, Coach," she lied, forcing a smile. "Just... personal stuff."

The coach gave her a knowing look but didn't press further. "Get it together, Leonard. We need you at your best."

Ryan, however, was not so easily deterred. He had noticed the tension between Y/N and Will and couldn't shake the feeling that something significant had happened. After a particularly tense practice, he cornered her in the locker room.

"Y/N, what's going on with you and Will?" Ryan asked, his voice low but insistent. "You two have been acting weird for days."

Y/N sighed, knowing she couldn't keep lying to him. "Ryan, it's complicated. Can we talk about it later?"

"No," Ryan said firmly. "We talk about it now. You're my sister, and I need to know what's going on."

Y/N took a deep breath, her eyes filling with tears. "Will and I... we were seeing each other. But it's over now."

Ryan's eyes widened in surprise. "You and Will? Why didn't you tell me?"

"We didn't want anyone to know," Y/N admitted. "It was complicated, and we thought we could handle it. But it all fell apart."

Ryan's expression softened, his anger melting into concern. "I'm sorry, Y/N. I had no idea. Are you okay?"

"No," Y/N said, her voice breaking. "I'm not okay. It's been really hard."

Ryan pulled her into a hug, his arms wrapping around her protectively. "I'm here for you, Y/N. We'll get through this together."

--- --- --- 

The tension between Ryan and Will simmered beneath the surface, threatening to boil over with each passing day. Ryan couldn't shake the anger that burned inside him, the betrayal he felt on behalf of his little sister.

After practice one evening, Ryan approached Will, his expression dark and stormy.

"We need to talk," Ryan said, his voice low but charged with emotion.

Will tensed, bracing himself for the confrontation he had been dreading. He knew he had hurt Y/N, but facing her brother's wrath was a whole new level of guilt.

"Look, Ryan, I know you're angry," Will began, his voice strained. "But you have to understand..."

"Understand what, Will?" Ryan interrupted, his voice rising with frustration. "That you broke my sister's heart?"

Will winced at the accusation, the weight of his actions pressing down on him like a ton of bricks. "I never meant to hurt her, Ryan. I care about her more than anything."

"Then why did you end things?" Ryan demanded, his eyes flashing with anger. "If you care about her, why did you walk away?"

Will struggled to find the right words, his guilt and remorse threatening to choke him. "It's complicated, Ryan. We were hurting each other, and I thought it was for the best."

"For the best?" Ryan scoffed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You think breaking her heart was for the best?"

Will shook his head, his own frustration mounting. "I don't know, okay? I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was protecting her."

"Protecting her?" Ryan repeated, his incredulity turning to rage. "From what, exactly? From you?"

The accusation hit Will like a punch to the gut, leaving him reeling with guilt and shame. He had thought he was doing what was best for Y/N, but now he saw the pain he had caused, the damage he had inflicted on the woman he cared about more than anything.

"I screwed up, okay?" Will admitted, his voice barely a whisper. "I never should have let things get this far. I never should have hurt her."

Ryan's anger softened, replaced by a flicker of sympathy. "You hurt her, Will. But you can still fix it. You can still make things right."

Will nodded, determination burning in his eyes. "I will. I'll do whatever it takes to make things right with Y/N."

Ryan studied him for a moment, his expression unreadable. "You better, Will.”

With that, Ryan turned and walked away, leaving Will alone with his thoughts and his guilt.

--- --- ---

After yet another practice filled with tense interactions and awkward silences, Will knew he couldn't continue to avoid confronting Y/N. He needed to talk to her, to try to make things right between them, even if it meant facing her anger head-on.

As the rest of the team filed out of the locker room, Will lingered behind, waiting for the opportune moment to approach Y/N. When the room finally emptied, he took a deep breath and approached her, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Y/N, can we talk?" Will asked, his voice tentative.

Y/N's expression hardened, her eyes flashing with anger. "I don't have anything to say to you, Will."

Will swallowed nervously, steeling himself for the confrontation that was about to unfold. "Please, just hear me out. I know I messed up, but I want to make things right."

Y/N crossed her arms over her chest, her expression skeptical. "And how do you plan on doing that?"

Will took a step closer, his eyes pleading. "By talking. By listening. By being honest with each other."

Y/N scoffed, her anger boiling over. "Honest? Like you were honest with me when you ended things out of nowhere?"

Will winced at the accusation, the guilt washing over him like a tidal wave. "I know I hurt you, Y/N. I never meant to. I was just... scared. Scared of what we were becoming, of how much I cared about you."

Y/N's anger softened slightly, replaced by a flicker of hurt. "So you decided to end things without even talking to me about it?"

"I know it was a mistake," Will admitted, his voice barely a whisper. "I was wrong to push you away like that. I should have talked to you, tried to work through our issues together."

Y/N's walls began to crumble, her anger giving way to vulnerability. "I miss you, Will. I miss us."

Will reached out tentatively, his hand brushing against hers. "I miss you too, Y/N. More than you'll ever know."

For a moment, they stood there in silence, the weight of their emotions hanging between them like a heavy fog. Then, slowly, hesitantly, Y/N stepped forward, wrapping her arms around Will and burying her face in his chest.

"I'm sorry," Will whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "I'm so sorry, Y/N."

Y/N nodded, her own tears mingling with his. "I forgive you, Will. But we have a lot of work to do if we're going to make this right."

Will nodded, his heart lighter than it had been in weeks. "I know. And I'm willing to do whatever it takes."

--- --- ---  

A few months had passed, and the day had finally arrived—the culmination of years of hard work, dedication, and sacrifice. As Will stood before the crowd gathered at the press conference, a sense of pride and accomplishment washed over him.

Surrounded by his teammates, coaches, and family, Will signed the three-year entry-level contract with the San Jose Sharks, officially beginning the next chapter of his hockey career.

But amidst the excitement and celebration, there was one person who stood out above all others—Y/N.

She stood by Will's side throughout the entire press conference, her hand clasped tightly in his, her eyes filled with pride and love.

As Will put pen to paper, signing his name on the dotted line, Y/N couldn't help but feel a swell of emotion. She had watched him overcome countless obstacles and setbacks, always pushing himself to be the best player he could be.

And now, as he embarked on this new journey with the San Jose Sharks, she knew that she would be there every step of the way, cheering him on from the sidelines, supporting him through the highs and lows of professional hockey.

As the cameras flashed and the reporters clamored for interviews, Y/N squeezed Will's hand, a silent promise passing between them. No matter where this new chapter took them, they would face it together, hand in hand, hearts intertwined.

this is all over the place oh well.

#will smith hockey #will smith #hockey imagine #boston college #hockey #nhl x reader #san jose sharks #sharks

[alistairsmonstercafe]

SFW Dragon of the East

NOTICE GN Lung Dragon / Eastern Dragon Hybrid Reader

CHARACTER Price X Reader

ADDITIONAL I don't mind Fem/Fem aligned readers reading but don't feel insulted/complain that I strictly don't do Fem reader, not my cuppa tea mate.

INSPIRATION @/Bluegiragi Monster AU on Twt and Tumblr & @/thegnomelord

NOTE I have tried my best to include many traditional aspects of the lung dragon in my own way, and will take any criticism if its not up to date to the history of the actual, lung dragon/chinese dragon culture, although I am asian, input is always perfect.

In the midst of the bustling 141 headquarters, you, had been their newest recruit. A Lung dragon—a different kind of dragon from his European heritage, Price noticed. And whilst there was quite the fascination of a different yet similar species, he couldn't help but find himself intrigued yet lucky. There was something about your calm demeanor and patience that caught Price's attention.

In most cases, dragons are considered fierce, strong, quick, easy to anger, and anything that isn't patient. And yet there you sat, your long, seemingly unscathed scales and beautifully fluffy tail laid lazily across your lap as you spoke to Soap. Not an ounce of anger or aggression to someone so close to you as the usual European dragon would be when first meeting new people.

Curiosity sparked, Price observed you, trying to understand your customs and ways, which seemed a bit different from what Price was used to. You had a knack for being seemingly the most grounded. You words flowed like water and your advice seemed endless. You didn't seem rookie, either, and he wondered for how long you had roamed the earth for, and your presence exuded a sense of tranquility, much like the calm after a rain shower.

Acknowledging their differences, Price aimed to show you his strengths—leadership, courage, and wisdom earned from experience as a way of perhaps, courting you. Testing you, seeing if you would rise to the challenge. He respected your background, trying to learn about the values and traditions that shaped the Lung dragon's approach to life.

Yet in your interactions, Price was surprised when you didnt go against anything he'd bring up to you, opting for agreeing and even adding to his plans, he was left dumbfounded, leaving him as he subtly expressed his admiration for your dedication to the team. While their cultural backgrounds differed, there was a mutual respect growing between them.

Ghost could only watch from a distance a smirk on his lips beneath his balaclava at the way Price's scales would shift as he spoke to you, the way he'd try to puff out his chest a little or even stretch his wings to prove the size of them.

Around the first month, Price noticed your fascination with pearls, large, almost black shiny pearls, he subtly tried to engage in your shared interest, albeit in his own way. He occasionally brought his jewels or rare treasures from his hoard in his office. Almost hoping you might reciprocate or rise to the occasion. When asked, you had called it a "Flaming pearl." Leaving him confused. Had you of blown flame into it? Was it something that was often kept warm? Yet your soft chuckle left him once again, in the dark.

His attempts at courting had backfired in a way, revealing your calm demeanor and willingness to foster understanding rather than competition.

Little had he knew that his attempts were seen by you more then he would have thought. Only smiling at his little attempts.

Slowly, Price began to realize that your approach to courting wasn't about winning or being superior but about mutual respect and cooperation. It dawned on him that your patience and willingness to aid him were gestures of camaraderie and a desire to build a connection rather than engage in a contest would be better. So he went for something softer. After all dragons could he as delicate or as rough as they wanted to.

The way your scales in certain parts would glow, to the way you formed clouds from your breath rather then breathed fire, the way you disappeared into water as if you were, water, made you all the more interesting. Watching even as you sparred, against someone like Soap, your fluid and quick movement, kept you from being hit easily.

In this realization, Price's approach to courting shifted. He began to appreciate your supportive nature, understanding that their connection wasn't about outdoing each other but about nurturing a bond that thrived on mutual respect and understanding, something that be was well familiar with.

Little did he know, that you wanted to court him back, a collection of finely polished pearls from the ocean had been building up in a glass case. Wrapped in a strong, seaweed bow.

The day you had given it to him was during a beach day with the 141, you were all having a late night barbecue. And you had given the case to him, the moonlight illuminating your figure and the warm fire lit up your face. You scales glowing in an intricate pattern. Soft and slow.

He accepted the gift, marveling at the beautifully, perfect yet imperfect pearls.

"Your actions aren't as hidden as you think." You joke, gently cupping his face, you feel his cheek warm up like a blaze, watching as Price turned to the side and coughed out a few puffs of smoke in embarrassment.

You were bad for his health, thats for sure. But with all the cigarettes hes used as a substitute for flame? He'd take you over any kind of drug.

#cod #cod mw2 #male reader #john price #alistair writes ☕️ #monster au #female reader #john price x male reader #john price x reader #john x reader #john price x female reader #call of duty #cod 141

[cheriladycl01]

Cupid and Me - Yuki Tsunoda x ColombianOlympicArchery! Reader

Plot: Yuki loves watching archery… and of course he supports the Japanese Team, however he can’t help being entranced by the Colombian Lady, and he thinks it’s time to become Cupid himself even though your aim is way better!

Credit to arturleclerc-archive for the GIF

Yuki was always into sports, not just karting going into F1 but he loved Golf, Football, Swimming, he loved it all. So when AlphaTauri gave him the chance to go and watch the summer Olympics for a few days in the off season as a means for content he was so excited to be a part of it.

He started off his day watching a Basketball match. He sat watching happily to see who would win between Finland and China.

The atmosphere was always so incredible and the amount of different fans you would that had travelled half way across the world just to see these sports and people compete for their country was incredible.

The next place he was to go to, was Archery. He was extremely excited, knowing the people he’d be rooting for were good at these kinds of sports that required that extra level of intellect and precision.

While he held up his Japanese flag for the woman who currently held the highest score of the match, having a bullseye and a few 8’s and 9’s his gaze wondered over to you, who was just about to start.

You were tall, fierce and your sleek dark hair up in a claw clip keeping it in place out of your face.

Now Yuki didn’t believe in love at first sight but when he saw you pull back the now and line it up close to your nose to get the perfect shot, and he saw you immediately hit a 9 and celebrate in a loud and almost boisterous manner he couldn’t help but feel his heart flutter.

It was stupid really, he was there in the stands waving a Japanese flag to support his own country and his people, but you stood there with the Colombian flag on the back of your team gear along with your name and number he couldn’t help it.

As the game went on, he found himself learning more about you, from the way you talked to the other contenders with a bright smile on your face, or nodding your head while your trainer chatted your ear of no doubt about strategy and where you were lacking, not that Yuki thought you were, you were storming your contestants.

“Can I get a picture with the winner, I think it’ll be good for content?” He asked once it was obvious you were going to be the winner.

“Yea, let’s pray the Japanese team pull through so you can hold the flag up together but that Colombian girl, Y/N is the Archer himself!” She exclaims seeing Y/N pull another bullseye.

You ended up winning gold, a Japanese girl called Ai and an American called April.

“Y/N there’s someone who wants to take a picture with you and meet you” you trainer says as you finish your celebrations holding up the other girls flags while they had pictures with their flowers before they held up yours.

“Oh yeah who is it!” You smile, wondering if it was a fan or another celebrity.

“It’s Yuki Tsunoda? He’s a Japanese F1 driver!” She answers and you nod, being sort of familiar with the popular driving sport.

“Sure, where is he! Send him my way!” You grinned excited to meet another athlete.

Yuki came in and you were shocked to see how short he was, around 5’2 whereas you were around 5’7. But he was cutely pocked sized - how on Earth was he an F1 driver.

You were in thought as he shyly came up to you. Be polite, great him in his own language.

“Kon'nichiwa” you test, with a polite bow. You’d learnt greetings in most languages, as an Olympian it was always in your mind that you should hold the upmost respect to your competitors.

“Oh, you speak Japanese?” He asks with an even shyer smile on his face.

“Jakkan” you grin indicating that you only knew a little bit of the language, with a wolffish type of smile that had Yuki’s face bursting with Red as he couldn’t take his gaze from you and how captivating you were.

“Okay, how about that photo?” The Alphatauri manager asks directing you to to stand next to each other.

“Hey, you want to wear my medal?” You’d asked him, another grin on your face as you stated to take it off from around you next.

“No no no. It’s yours!” He cries as if it’s the most outrageous thing ever, but you stop him and place it around his neck! In the photo you have your arm around his shoulder your opposite hand pointing to the medal with your mouth open in an excited way.

Yuki is all smiles and before you know it, the managers have left the pair of you alone and your both talking.

He’s asking you about how you got into archery and your talking about how he got into F1 and how it feels to drive a car as quickly as that, and when you both delve a little deeper you find the feels of releasing the arrow and launching as the lights go out isn’t too dissimilar.

“You want to join me for dinner?” You ask boldly, not that it was a scary situation for you, you were normally quiet upfront when it came to things like this so it didn’t feel too odd.

“Yes, I think I’d really enjoy that!” He smiled.

And that was the start of a beautiful new relationship formed through observation, love at first sight and a little help in hand from Cupid.

y/user

Liked by yukitsunoda0511 and alphatauri

y/user: Met a guy, became Cupid 💘 made him fall in love with me 😉

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yukitsunoda0511: I tried to be Cupid first - but her aim is too good!

-> y/user: I’m just too appealing! Love you Yuki 🥰

fan1: omggggg the height difference between them is just so cute!

pierregasly: Yuki my friend, you fell hard! But you picked a good one!

alphatauri: New WAG Alert! We love you Y/N!

fan2: oh she’s the one … I know it - that is the look of love!

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Back at it again 🇨🇴 ¡Buenos Días Mis Amigas!

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