#and their clothing should reflect that!!!!!!

[tfboyzblog]

Mikey couldn’t believe it was working. That old spell book in his grandfather’s chest was for real. Holding Saul’s hand, he could feel a strange energy fill his body. 

“Holy shit lil’ dude” the older boy exclaimed. “Look at you!”  

Mike glanced to the side where he had his mirror and look at his reflection in shock. He was rapidly growing, almost reaching Saul’s height as a senior. His shirt felt increasingly constrictive as his arms bulged, chest muscles began to push the fabric, back widened. Take off the glasses and ditch the button-up and he could pass as part of the swimming team, or maybe the soccer team... 

“Wow...” was all he could muster in his new, slightly huskier voice. 

“Bro...” Saul nudged him, but the boy was too enraptured in his marvelous growth to notice the older boy begin to dwindle in height and lose much of his size. 

“Bro! I think you’re good for now! Let go!” Saul called louder this time, using his free arm to pull off Mikey’s hand from his own. 

“Oh!” Mikey exclaimed as he came to himself. “I’m sorry! I was so...” he began to mutter as his eyes went back to the mirror and his improved form “-amazed...” he concluded as he tried to move around in his too-small clothes. 

“Yeah... I noticed...” Saul commented in an annoyed tone as he lifted his arms to see how baggy his shirt was now. He silently appreciated the belt holding up his shorts. “Anymore and I’d come out of this looking like a middle schooler... “ 

Mikey looked at his friend, noticing how they practically saw eye to eye now, but the bulk and size the eighteen-year-old had before were gone. He’d still pass for a senior, maybe a junior, but a more average looking one now.  

He smirked. “Nah! You’re still a big boy.” He playfully patted him on the shoulder. “Besides, you’d probably be a cute middle schooler anyway.” He commented. 

“Don’t get any ideas, Mikey!” He pointed at Mike. “Don’t make me regret this!” 

Mikey nodded. “Don’t worry! I promise I won’t.” He hugged his friend, feeling the new power in his arms. If he wanted, he thought, he could hold Saul like that with minimal effort. It felt good. During his strong hug he could swear he felt a poke against his leg, but as he let go, he could see nothing out of the ordinary, aside from what could be a slight blush on Saul’s heavy tanned skin. 

“Thank you! I mean it!” Mikey said. “I just need to stop being kicked around by Hank and his imbecile posse. And now,” he attempted to flex a bicep, but stopping as soon as he started hearing a tear in the fabric “I can! And all thanks to you.” 

“Yeah yeah! I know I’m awesome!” Saul waved. “Just give me back my...” he looked up and down to the burgeoning athlete in dork clothes “you know, everything, next week. That should be enough...”  

“Don’t worry.” Mike said with a wink. “I’ll put your... everything to good use!” 

-- 

Saul left soon after and Mikey thanked the heavens. He couldn’t stand in these terribly tight clothes anymore! His shirt, his socks, but more urgent yet, his underwear. 

Taking off his button shirt with effort, Mikey was in awe of his new sculpted pecs protruding from his chest, he caressed them and followed down to an immaculate row of abs connecting to his waist. He pulled off the trousers, that now looked like they were close to tearing at the seams. His legs were wide and powerful. His feet looked bigger, even. And gazing up he stopped at his poor white briefs, pushing and compressing an impressive bulge. 

“Wow...” He moaned. “I guess I got some of Saul’s ‘other’ size too...” He thought as he pulled down the last piece of constrictive clothes. A long, girthy semi erect dick whipped out of the small nerdy briefs. “I must be, like... 7 inches now!” Mikey said, grabbing his newly improved fuckstick. It felt heavy in his hand, being accustomed to his 4 incher. “Poor Saul.” He thought, making a note to return him his size as soon as he could. 

“But for now...” He smirked and flexed his huge biceps. His dick twitched at the sight. “I want to enjoy the ride.” 

-- 

Saul was getting restless. The week was almost over and not a word for his neighbor. Mikey was always a good kid, and he was tired of hearing how he was constantly getting bullied by some idiot jocks... 

He looked at his mirror. He missed his muscles and the size he used to carry, but he couldn’t help thinking how he kinda looked cuter with a bit less meat in his bones, more of an average but still charming high school boy. He felt a tingle in his lower area, making him rethink all of that. If he knew Mikey’s weird spell would also drain away his size down there, he’d probably reconsider being a donor. Even in his boxers, there was hardly any bump in the front. His healthy looking 6 incher, now closer to 4, at most... 

Suddenly there was a strong knock at the door. 

Mikey! It had to be him! 

Saul flew down the stairs, only in a baggy t-shirt and boxers. He wasn’t prepared for who was waiting on the other side of the door. 

A hulking muscular beast walked in. “Hey there little dude.” He said in a deep voice as he looked down at Saul. “Did you get smaller since I last see you?” 

“Mikey?” Saul asked incredulous. This muscle god was at least 7 feet tall by now, his massive chest barely covered by a tank top, strong thick arms stretched behind his head exposing a pair of sweaty and moderately hairy pits. The monster smirked at Saul, and it was clear it was his friend’s face. More masculine, more defined, perfect skin instead of the normal zits, a killer smile... 

“I go by Mike now. Mikey was giving people the impression I was some tiny nerd or something.” He brings one of his arms down and casually adjusts his crotch. “And there’s nothing tiny here, right?” He laughs.  

Saul could see the outline of the massive snake in his underwear, easily spotted in all its thick glory even through the sweatpants Mike was wearing. 

“What...what happened? You were like...not half as big last week.” Saul asked the giant teen boy. 

“Well, it was all thanks to you, buddy!” He said as he walked towards Saul and grabbed him in a strong hug. Saul’s head resting against the boy’s giant pec. He suddenly felt inundated by the smell coming from his arms. Saul’s head started swimming and a tingle made his dick twitch. 

“You should’ve seen Hank’s face!” Mike laughed and let go of Saul, walking towards the living room and sitting in the sofa, legs wide apart. “When he saw I was as tall as him and was like, as jacked as him, I think he shat his pants. For the first day in my high school life, they left me alone. I couldn’t believe it was that easy!” 

“That’s great! But then-” Saul tried to speak. 

“I wasn’t done speaking, bro.” Mike interrupted, in a calm, but authoritative way. His voice caused a tingle to spread down Saul’s spine and into his lower area. 

“Well, you won’t believe what those pussies tried next!” He continued, now in a friendlier tone. Saul, however, couldn’t shake off the force the boy exuded and the respect he commanded with a simple sentence. He stood in front of the huge teen as he stretched on the couch.  

“They waited for me outside the school the next day. Waited for me to be alone and then Hank grabbed me and dragged me to old warehouse. I guess he thought he couldn’t put me in my place alone now, so he wanted to gang up on me where no one could see. Can you imagine though? How could those losers ever think my place was beneath them?” He laughed at the notion. 

“And wasn’t he surprised when he noticed my shoulders were too wide for him to grab me like that. And weren’t his friends shocked when he let go of me and was just a skinny brat. You should’ve seen his face. Wait. You can actually see it. I took pictures.” Mike said, picking his phone from his pocket. Turning the screen to Saul, the awe-struck boy could see a kid looking no older than 12, swimming in his oversized clothes, looking up in shock. 

“Glad I remembered grandad’s spell, eh?” He winked at Saul, who nodded, not wanting to interrupt his friend again. 

“Well, after the brat was taken care of, his friends were easy pickings, to be honest. With every bit of muscle I took, I took ability, masculinity, everything that made them jocks. They had nowhere to run, and I took it all.” He laughed. 

“So, what do you think lil’ bro?” Mike smirked at Saul as he flexed his gigantic biceps. 

Saul dry swallowed. What did he think. Right in front of him was the biggest 15-year-old in the world, most likely. He exuded power and masculinity. He fumbled for words. He felt butterflies in his stomach and the tingling in his dick was stronger than ever. Not just his dick, either. He felt a yearning, inside... 

“Mike-” he almost used his old nickname. “That’s insane. You’re like, bodybuilder huge!”  

“I know, right? Pretty sick!” He guffawed. “Didn’t feel the need to drain them as much as Hanky boy, but they’re pretty much nobodies now. Horny submissive nobodies, actually.” Saul was shook. “They can’t seem to quit my dick, now.” 

“But then again.” Mike grabbed a handful of cock “I got about four jocks worth of testosterone and musk so...” He looked suggestively at Saul “who would be able to...” 

Saul tried to repress the growing feeling inside him. “But your folks? I live right next door and saw nothing different. No one was surprised about this much growth?” He tried to change the subject. 

“Oh that!” Mike waved. “Another one of grandad’s spells. Basically, it normalized things. If you’re outside the spell, that’s how things always were. Kids at school all think that this is how I always looked. Well except for Hanky boy and the bottom bunch. Even if they wanted to tell someone what happened no one would believe them. I think they like knowing their muscles made me this huge, and if they don’t, they should. But yeah, since you were outside that spell it probably, sorta normalized things for you too...”   

Saul just nodded. It made sense. Even though his head was spinning from all this information and the increasing muskiness in the room. 

“So yeah. It’s all thanks to you, lil’ buddy!” Mike reached in front and grabbed Saul until the smaller 18-year-old was straddling his huge quad. Mike’s strong arms surrounded the boy and hugged him tightly. Saul couldn’t help himself but sitting on his friend's leg and putting his hands on his muscular body. 

“I came over to honor my end of the deal. Give you back your muscle. Your height. A few inches down there...” he chuckled. “Unless you don’t want me to.” 

Saul looked shockingly into his friend’s eyes, still holding to his pecs and shoulders. How could he think that was the case. For an entire week he’s been forced to live without his hard-earned physique. It’s not like it’s that bad, and he had to admit he fit real comfortably on Mike’s lap like that, but still... 

“Unless you want me to keep them. Keep looking like this.” He spoke softly, in a voice that twisted his thoughts. 

 “I think that’s what you want.” He chuckled softly; poking Saul’s modest but raging boner. A large wet spot already had formed on the front of his boxers. “And if that’s the case, I’m sure I can pay you back some other way.” Mike’s big meaty hand slid down Saul’s slender back until it found his supple ass. Saul yelped as the hand caressed his backside. “I’ll make sure to give it all to you. Again, and again...” He whispered at his ear. 

“But you have to be the one to say so.” He continued. “So, what will it be?”  

Saul still looked at his friend’s eyes, his hands wandered freely on Mike’s massive chest. He couldn’t think straight, and the yearning inside grew and grew until he finally admitted to himself what it really was.  

He wanted this muscle god inside him. He knew he’d gladly give all his muscle, all his masculinity, just to be owned by this perfect specimen. No matter how many others there were; to know he was Mike’s. To be used as he saw fit. Saul could only hope he was able to give more to this example of athletic perfection. More of his height, so he’d be smaller, and Mike could manhandle him with even more ease, more of his dick and balls, now useless for Mike’s intended purpose, so he could add more to the python and orange sized balls his former nerd friend now had. 

And as he imagined that and he became even more hungry for cock, Saul felt himself sink deeper, fit even more snugly in Mike’s embrace. He could feel the teenage titan stretch a bit more; his spine extend a couple more inches; his frame swell with some more pounds of muscle...  

Saul looked up at Mike and approached his mouth to his, still afraid to make any noise, and meekly nodded. After all, the choice was obvious. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Well this has been my first "longer" story and the first experiment in making stories without a picture for inspiration and instead drawing random themes from a choice wheel. This time the themes were Muscle Theft and Corruption ;)

The AI picture is just meant as a placeholder for now, as I haven't found a appropriate picture for it ( and I know you pervs prefer TF stories with pictures). I invite people to submit pictures to accompany this story. And finally, if you have suggestions of other places I could post my longer stories from now on, please let me know!!

#muscle growth tf #male tf #muscle growth story #tf story #nerdtojock #nerd to hunk #jock transformation #reality change #male transformation #male tf story #muscle theft #teen muscle #teen bodybuilder #corruption #personality change #jock to nerd

[fanficapologist]

Of Dragons and Maelstroms

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

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

Chapter Eighty-Three

“You cannot come to Dragonstone.”

Once Maera made her decision, Aemond attempted to dissuade her, his voice urgent and commanding. She, however, swiftly adjourned the meeting, cutting him off and allowing the councilmen to scurry away, their relief evident as they hastened from the room. Maera left shortly after, maintaining a resolute silence. Aemond followed her down the corridor, his shouts echoing through the imposing halls of Harrenhal, his frustration and desperation mounting with each step she took.

Reaching her chambers, Maera shut the door firmly behind her. The heavy wood made a decisive thud, but it did not deter the Prince. Moments later, Aemond stormed into her rooms, his anger palpable. He had not ventured into her private quarters since the night he returned from Rook's Rest, and his presence now was a stark intrusion into her sanctuary.

Determined to proceed with her plans, Maera rang the bell. Two servants quickly appeared, their eyes wide with curiosity and concern. One began to pack her belongings, moving swiftly around the room, while the other started to braid Maera’s hair at the dressing table.

“Did you hear me? I forbid it.” Aemond watched her in the reflection of the mirror, his fury momentarily giving way to helplessness as he saw the preparations unfold before him. Maera remained resolute, her eyes fixed on the mirror as her hair was braided, ignoring his attempts to sway her.

“So I should sit here like a sitting duck and wait for Daemon to- what was it he said again?” She asked sarcastically, feigning confusion as she tried to recall Prince Daemon’s old threat. “Ah, yes, carve the babe from my belly.”

The young maid continued to braid Maera’s long brown hair despite the tension in the room, skillfully intertwining the single silver streak that ran through the strands. Meanwhile, the other servant laid out Maera’s riding clothes: a set of black leather attire with gold trim and a loose skirt to accommodate her large bump. The outfit was completed with knee-high leather boots, meticulously polished and ready for the journey ahead.

Aemond clenched his fists, shaking his head at her comment. “You think you are not putting our child at risk by going there?”

“Better a quick death now than a lifetime of wondering when the Blacks will come for both of us,” Maera muttered angrily in response, her hands gripping the edge of the dressing table.

Aemond scoffed. “You are not thinking clearly.”

“I?!” Maera shouted, waiting for the maid to finish securing her hair with some gold string before standing from the dressing table. She moved swiftly to the wooden screen, her movements sharp with anger. “You receive a letter from your uncle mocking you and without hesitation run towards the end of his sword?” She questioned harshly, beginning to pull at the laces of her loosely fitted black gown. The fabric slipped from her shoulders and pooled at her feet. The maid assisted Maera in stepping into her skirts and then put on her boots, carefully lacing them up to ensure a secure fit.

“He is a seasoned warrior whose fought many great battles. Not just practice with Ser Criston in the fucking courtyard,” Maera called out from behind the screen, her voice echoing in the room as the maid helped her into her leather coat before lacing it up at the front.

“You lack faith in me,” Aemond muttered, his voice low and in a tone Maera could not help but find annoyingly pathetic.

“Damn right!” she screeched back, stepping out from behind the screen and stomping towards him, her forest green eyes blazing with fury. “You prove time and time again that my child and I are not your priority. That we are below duty and pride and whatever fucking make-believe prophecies you choose to indulge in.”

Aemond remained outwardly stoic, his expression carefully composed, yet Maera could see the simmering anger beneath the surface. His eye flickered with barely contained rage, a silent testament to the battle of wills between them.

Maera turned away from him, moving to her bed where the servant had laid out her weapons. She strapped her old sword to her belt, its familiar weight providing a slight comfort. But something felt amiss. She paused, her mind racing through her usual preparations. Then she remembered the dagger that was no longer with her. Her hand instinctively went to her belt, where her dagger had once sat. The memory of Alys attempting to kill her with it, and Ēbrion’s flame reducing it to molten metal, surged through her mind, stoking her anger further.

Aemond followed her, his footsteps heavy as he stopped just behind her, close enough for her to feel the heat radiating from his tall, lean form. “I am doing this for you, Maera!” he exclaimed, which caused his wife to merely roll her eyes with a huff.

Unhappy with her reaction, Aemond grabbed her roughly by the shoulders, spinning her around to face him. His fingers dug into her skin, his grip both commanding and desperate. For a moment, they stared at each other, their eyes locked in a silent, furious exchange. Then, one of his hands gently dropped to her gigantic stomach, rubbing it in a loving manner. “For our child, for our life together!”

The child within her kicked against his touch, as if recognizing its father, which irked Maera. She was trying to stay angry at him, to hold on to the fury that had been fueling her actions.

As she felt her resolve softening with the movement of her child, Maera placed her hands on Aemond’s chest and shoved him back with all her strength. There was a flash of hurt in his eye as he stumbled backwards, but it was quickly replaced by frustration. Maera’s heart ached, but she knew she had to stand firm.

“You’re doing this for yourself!” Maera snarled. She tore her gaze away from him, fixing on a point on the cold stone floor. She knew this path was fraught with danger, yet Aemond wished to tread it anyway, regardless of the consequences for anyone left behind. The thought weighed heavily on her, a blend of frustration and fear gnawing at her resolve. “What should happen to us if you die, hmm? Have you even considered that?”she asked meekly, nervously picking at the leather sleeve of her coat, her fingers tracing the intricate patterns along the trim, still avoiding her husband’s gaze.

“Mayhaps it would finally make you happy,” he replied, his voice lacking its usual sarcasm and instead carrying a note of sincerity. “For you to be rid of me and all the horror I have brought upon you. And your family.”

Aemond hesitantly stepped forward, closing the distance between them, but he did not touch her. He was close enough that Maera could feel his breath on her face, causing the fine hairs on her neck to stand on end. The proximity was both comforting and maddening, a stark reminder of the bond they shared and the rift that had formed between them. “I am truly so, so sorry. For everything.”

Her heart pounded in her chest, a tumultuous mix of love, loss and anger warring within her. She paused, her eyes searching his face, looking for any sign of the boy she had grown up with. But it seemed like he was gone, consumed by the man before her.

“Grow up, Aemond,” she hissed, her voice filled with a mix of anger and sorrow, before storming out of the room, her skirts swishing angrily around her legs as she marched down the corridors of Harrenhall.

The castle was a hive of activity, servants scurrying to and fro, preparing for the Prince and Princess’s imminent departure. The clatter of armor and the hurried whispers of the staff filled the air, adding to the chaos. She heard the familiar quickening footsteps of Aemond hurrying after her once again. She breathed out a bitter laugh; she could not believe he was still trying to dissuade her. Did he truly not know her? Or did he assume she would simply bend to his will?

“You will not stop me from going,” Maera called angrily over her shoulder, making her way down the stairs as quickly as she could manage, her heart racing as the child in her belly moved around, causing her stomach to do flips.

Aemond’s footsteps echoed behind her, growing louder with each step. “You could not even mount Ēbrion a few weeks ago. You expect to endure a flight to Dragonstone? When you are due to give birth in a matter of weeks?!”

“Or die trying,” she shot back, reaching the bottom of the stairs and continuing her determined march toward the outskirts of the castle walls, where Ēbrion would be awaiting her.

The Prince muttered something under his breath before catching up to her again. “We will be leaving Harrenhall vulnerable. This fortress gives us an advantage over the Riverlands. We cannot simply abandon it.”

Maera rolled her eyes, her disbelief clear at her husband’s idiotic plan of leaving her behind once again, after everything that happened to her. If he wanted to hold Harrenhall, he could do it his damned self and not gallivant off to have a sword fight with his uncle. “Then by all means, my Prince, stay.”

As they reached the courtyard doors, Maera felt her husband’s hand clamp down on her right upper arm, forcing her to stop in her tracks. She spun around to face him, her eyes blazing with fury. His grip was firm, his expression a mix of desperation and frustration. She sighed, staring up at him defiantly. “Cole will be here in a few days anyway; he will hold it for the Greens.”

Aemond nodded with a sigh, a strange silence descending over them, the bustling activity of the castle fading into the background. Maera looked up at her husband, her emotions a tumultuous storm inside her. She felt anger and frustration at his stubbornness, a deep-seated sadness at the potential loss, and an overwhelming love that she could not shake despite everything he had done.

“We both could be killed,” the one-eyed prince proclaimed as his hand still gripped at her arm. The realization hit her like a blow to the chest: this could be the last time they would be together. If Daemon killed Aemond, it would not only leave her and their child in a precarious position, but it would also shatter her heart.

Maera gulped nervously but refused to show fear. “I know.” Despite all his faults and the pain he had caused her, Aemond was still her husband, the father of her child. Her childhood friend. And she loved him. As much as she wanted to stop, she couldn’t. It was as if they were joined by an invisible string, one that bound her to him irrevocably.

When Aemond reached up and cupped her cheek with his gloved hand, Maera almost melted at the surprisingly gentle touch. “I do not wish to go to the Stranger knowing you hate me,” he murmured, a touch of fear in his voice.

She fought internally against the feeling, trying to remain resolute. But if this truly was the last time they would be together alive, what harm would there be in surrendering one last time?

Standing on her tiptoes, Maera captured his lips in a kiss. It began softly, tentatively, their lips brushing against each other like a whisper of longing. But almost instantly, the kiss deepened, transforming into a desperate, passionate embrace. Aemond's hand slid from her cheek to the nape of her neck, his fingers tangling in her hair, pulling her closer with a fervor that spoke volumes of his need. Maera's hands, initially resting on his chest, moved up to wrap around his neck, pulling him down to her level. Their bodies pressed tightly together, the heat between them rising, creating an electric atmosphere.

Their lips moved in sync, a dance of raw emotion and desire. Maera's lips parted, and Aemond's tongue swept inside, exploring with an intensity that left her breathless. His taste was intoxicating, a blend of longing and regret, anger and love. Aemond's arm encircled her waist, drawing her even closer, his grip firm yet tender, while his other hand remained at the back of her head, fingers tightening in her hair as if afraid she might vanish if he let go.

There was an urgency to it, a frantic need to hold onto this moment, to each other. Their tongues danced together, teasing and tasting, and Maera could feel Aemond's heart pounding against her chest, matching the frantic beat of her own. The kiss was a paradox, a blend of rough passion and gentle affection, an acknowledgment of their shared pain and an outpouring of all the words they could never find a way to say.

Finally, Maera pulled away, her breath coming in shallow gasps. For a moment, there was pure love in her gaze as she looked up at Aemond, her eyes reflecting the same intense emotion she saw in his. They stood there, suspended in time, caught between the past and the uncertain future.

But then, reality came crashing back. The memory of all that had brought them to this point resurfaced, and Maera remembered the actions of her husband that had led to this turmoil. She knew that the moment of tenderness couldn't erase the pain and betrayal that lay between them. It was a fleeting reprieve, a bittersweet memory that would stay with her, but it wouldn't change the path they were on.

She composed herself, the warmth in her eyes replaced by a steely determination. She frowned at Aemond, the lines of her face setting in defiance and frustration. “Don’t fucking die then.”

The ancient stone walls of the fortress, weathered by centuries, were blanketed in a thick layer of moss, creating a patchwork of green against the gray. The nearby trees, their trunks similarly adorned with moss, stood tall and steadfast, their branches forming a canopy that dappled the ground with soft, shifting light.

The once scorched lavender field, a casualty of past dragonfire, was now a symbol of rebirth. Green sprouting flowers covered the expanse, a fresh carpet of life where charred remnants once lay. Among the verdant growth, hints of purple blooms began to appear, promising a fragrant, blossoming future.

In the scene of renewal, the two mighty dragons shared a rare moment of tranquility. Ēbrion and Vhagar sat together, their massive forms dominating the landscape as they feasted on the carcass of a large animal. Despite their fearsome reputation and the vast power each held, they appeared to share the meal beautifully, a surprising harmony for once.

Ēbrion's scales shimmered with a dark, almost iridescent blue, each one edged with black, giving him a sleek and imposing appearance. His eyes, a vibrant orange, glowed with a fierce intelligence, scanning the surroundings even as he tore into the flesh of their prey. Vhagar, the older and more experienced dragon, was a sight to behold with her faded green and bronze scales, a testament to countless battles fought and won. Her scales, though weathered, retained a majestic sheen, and her glowing yellow eyes blazed with a mix of wisdom and raw power.

As Maera and Aemond approached their dragons, the enormous beasts lifted their heads, their eyes locking onto their riders. A soft, almost tender call came from each dragon, a sound that resonated with recognition and affection. Vhagar was the first to rise, her massive frame unfurling with a creaking of ancient bones and muscles. Ēbrion followed suit, his movements fluid and powerful, mirroring the youthful strength in his sleek, dark scales.

Upon reaching Ēbrion, Maera extended her hand to stroke his nose. The dragon's scales felt warm and smooth under her fingertips, and he responded with a gentle trill, a sound that reverberated through the air. The moment of calm was brief; Ēbrion's keen senses detected Aemond’s intense gaze on his rider. With a protective growl, Ēbrion warned the Prince to keep his distance.

In response, Vhagar, ever protective of her own rider, bared her formidable teeth and emitted a low, threatening growl. The air crackled with tension as the two dragons sized each other up.

“Lykirī, Vhagar.” Calm. Aemond quickly stepped forward, reaching up to stroke Vhagar’s face in an attempt to calm her. His touch and soothing words gradually eased the dragon's agitation, her growl subsiding into a rumbling purr.

Maera glanced up at Ēbrion, taking in his immense size. Standing beside him, she felt dwarfed by his towering presence. Her eyes traced the long ascent to the saddle perched high on his back, and her heart began to race with nervous anticipation. The climb was daunting, a reminder of the sheer scale of the beast she commanded and the challenges that lay ahead.

Her husband seemed to sense her apprehension. “Do you want me to-”

“I can do it myself,” she hissed in reply.

Steeling herself, Maera took a deep breath as she walked to the side of her dragon and prepared for the climb, her resolve firm despite the flutter of anxiety in her chest. She knew that once she was atop Ēbrion, the world would fall away, leaving only the boundless sky and the powerful connection between dragon and rider. Yet, in this moment, the ground beneath her feet felt both a tether and a comfort, anchoring her before the flight into the unknown.

Maera gripped the rope of the ladder in her right hand, testing its weight. She cast one last glance towards Aemond, torn between telling him to mind his own business and asking him to stay, just in case she fell. His presence, despite everything, was both a comfort and a burden.

Bracing herself, she placed her right foot onto the ladder. Taking a deep breath, she then stepped on with her left foot. Pain shot up her left leg, radiating from the healing stab wound. The sharp, agonizing sensation made her pause, but she resolved not to be defeated. Gritting her teeth, she grabbed onto the ladder with her left arm, the wound there burning with pain as she pulled herself up.

Maera gasped, the sound escaping despite her efforts to suppress it. She focused on the rhythm of climbing, refusing to let the pain dominate her thoughts. Each step was a battle, her body begging her to stop, but she pushed on with sheer willpower.

The excruciating pain was relentless. Her flesh felt like it was tearing apart with every movement. The memory of her dagger being plunged into her by Alys replayed in her mind, vivid and haunting. Maera bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, silencing her pained groans as she climbed higher and higher.

Every pull, every step, was a test of her endurance. The burning agony in her thigh and arm seemed insurmountable, yet she refused to let it conquer her. With a mixture of determination and desperation, Maera continued her ascent, each inch closer to the saddle feeling like a hard-won victory.

Ēbrion chirped anxiously to his rider, his wings beating in frustration as if he could feel Maera's pain. His concern was palpable, but Maera pushed on, each step a testament to her resolve. After what felt like an eternity, she finally reached the saddle.

With a great effort, she threw her leg over, collapsing into the seat. Her face was flushed and clammy with exhaustion. She prayed that she hadn't torn open the wounds on her arm and leg during the climb. As she looked outwards towards the horizon, seeing the mountain range of the Riverlands, she found herself caring less about the pain and more about the journey ahead.

The child within her belly kicked out, a reminder of the life she carried. Maera cast her eyes downwards and saw Aemond staring up at her. Though the distance made it impossible to see his expression clearly, she could just make out the upturn of his mouth.

As Aemond walked towards Vhagar, Maera secured herself to the saddle with chains and ropes. Despite her pain and the weight of the situation, she felt a nervous excitement building within her. It had been so long since she had flown with Ēbrion, and the prospect of soaring through the skies again was exhilarating. Moments later, Aemond appeared on Vhagar’s saddle, concentrating as he secured himself. Maera couldn't help but marvel at him, finding it difficult to believe that he was once the boy who never had a dragon. Now, he commanded the mightiest of them all.

The husband and wife exchanged a silent look. There was almost a plea or an uncertainty in Aemond’s single violet eye, as if he were asking Maera if she was sure she wanted to do this. His gaze held a mixture of concern and resignation, a silent communication that only they understood.

Maera huffed, grabbing onto the front of her saddle, signalling she was ready to go. She heard the Prince’s commanding voice in High Valyrian. Vhagar let out a bellowing roar in response, turning around. The massive dragon broke out into a run, her powerful wings flapping before she leapt into the air, soaring upwards with a grace that belied her immense size.

“Dohaerās, Ēbrion,” Serve me, the Princess called down to the beast below her. “Sōvēs.” Fly.

Ēbrion obeyed, turning around and preparing to take flight. The sudden movements sent sharp pain up Maera’s arm and leg, but she kept her body tight to protect herself from the jolts. Her dragon broke into a run, his giant blue and black wings flapping powerfully before he leapt into the air, following Vhagar into the skies. As they ascended, the pain faded into the background, replaced by the exhilarating rush of flight. The wind whipped past Maera, and for a moment, all her worries and fears were left on the ground below.

Even though the flight took a few hours, Maera found it exhilarating to be back in the air once again. The sense of freedom and power that came with riding Ēbrion was unlike anything else. The world stretched out beneath them, a breathtaking tapestry of nature's wonders.

They soared over rugged mountain ranges, their peaks dusted with the last remnants of snow. Dense forests sprawled across the land, their canopies a rich, vibrant green. Below, rivers wound through lush valleys, their waters shimmering in the sunlight. Occasionally, Maera spotted small villages and farmlands, the tiny figures of people going about their lives oblivious to the dragons soaring overhead.

Despite the looming uncertainty and danger awaiting her at Dragonstone, Maera relished the flight. The wind in her hair, the rhythmic beat of Ēbrion’s wings, and the expansive view filled her with a profound sense of peace. It was as if she were reclaiming a part of herself that had been lost amidst the chaos and trauma of what she had been through at Harrenhall, and had what led her to go there in the first place.

Maera knew she could meet her end once they landed, and yet the ride itself felt like a triumph. If this was to be her last journey, she thought, there was no better way to face it than in the sky, on the back of her dragon. The experience was a beautiful prelude to whatever fate awaited her on the ground, a final taste of the freedom and power that defined her as a dragonrider. As a Targaryen. As her mother’s daughter.

The sky was covered in a thick layer of clouds, their dense formation making it difficult to see. The sunlight struggled to pierce through, casting a grayish hue over everything. Despite the obscured view, Maera could make out Vhagar’s gigantic shadow moving through the clouds ahead.

Ēbrion chirped and clicked, his sounds cutting through the murky air as he communicated with Vhagar. The older dragon responded with a deep, resonant growl, acknowledging the presence of her younger counterpart, as if guiding him through the difficult flight path.

After a while, the landscape beneath them began to change. The lush greenery and mountainous terrain gradually gave way to the vast, dark expanse of the sea. The ground disappeared entirely, leaving only the endless stretch of water below. The sea’s surface was a dark, churning mass, its waves capped with frothy white. The horizon seemed to merge with the clouds above, creating a seamless blend of gray and blue.

Vhagar let out a screech, her wings tilting sharply as she began her descent. Ēbrion roared in response, his deep voice echoing through the clouds before he dipped to follow the older dragon.

The sudden drop caused Maera to clench her jaw, the force of the descent sending sharp pain shooting through the stab wounds on her upper left arm and left thigh. She gritted her teeth, fighting through the pain. Glancing east, she saw the clouds wrapping around the coast of mainland Westeros, a swirling mist that looked surreal from this height. It was strange to see the mist from so high up, like an ethereal blanket covering the land.

Ēbrion’s roar drew her attention forward, and as the clouds parted, the beautiful island of Dragonstone came into view. The island was shaped by volcanic activity, its dark, craggy terrain a stark contrast to the lush green of the mainland. The castle of Dragonstone was built as a fortress, with carved dragon heads adorning its walls, their mouths agape in silent roars.

The dragons circled the castle, their massive forms casting shadows over the ancient, weathered stones of Dragonstone. Vhagar led the way, her wings cutting through the mist as she descended toward the western beach. Ēbrion followed closely, his powerful wings beating rhythmically as they spiraled down. Below, the beach was a stretch of black sand, the waves crashing furiously against the shore. A thick mist shrouded the landscape, making it difficult to see clearly. The sea roared as it met the dark sand, creating a cacophony of sound that echoed in the wind.

As they drew nearer to the ground, Maera heard another roar—deep and resonant, but unfamiliar. It didn’t belong to Ēbrion or Vhagar. Her heart skipped a beat as she peered through the mist, trying to discern the source of the sound. There, outlined against the rocks, she could see the shapes of two other dragons.

Her breath caught in her throat as the mist began to part, revealing the dragons in clearer detail. These were not the dragons she had expected. Neither Caraxes, the blood wyrm of Daemon, nor Syrax, the golden dragon of Rhaenyra, stood before her. Instead, one dragon was bronze, its scales gleaming dully in the diffused light, and the other was silver, its body shimmering like moonlight. By their sides stood two figures, cloaked and waiting. Maera’s heart pounded as she tried to make sense of this unexpected sight. The unknown dragons and their mysterious riders sent a shiver down her spine.

Vhagar landed first, her massive claws digging into the black sand. Ēbrion followed, his landing sending a spray of sand into the air. Maera winced as the impact jarred her injuries, but she held her position, her eyes fixed on the two dragons and their riders. The bronze dragon let out a low, rumbling growl, while the silver dragon responded with a softer, more melodic sound.

Maera dismounted Ēbrion slowly, every movement sending ripples of tenderness through her body. She winced as her feet found the ladder, her muscles protesting after the long ride. When she reached the bottom, Aemond was already there, his expression a mix of concern and determination.

Putting her pride aside, Maera allowed her husband to help her down the last few steps. His strong grip steadied her, and for a brief moment, she found solace in his touch. However, as she tried to step forward, an incredible pain shot up her left leg, causing her to hiss and stumble backward.

Aemond turned sharply, his eye locking onto hers. They exchanged a look—his filled with worry, hers with stubborn resolve. Silently, he offered his arm. Maera hesitated, not wanting to appear weak, especially in front of the strangers. But the pain was too much to bear alone. She took his arm, gripping it tightly as they moved forward.

Together, they walked slowly towards the waiting figures. As they approached, the strangers lowered their hoods. The first man had pale hair, strikingly reminiscent of a Targaryen, his features sharp and regal. The second man was a stark contrast, built like a Titan, tall and wide, exuding a formidable presence.

The dragons behind them, bronze and silver, watched with keen eyes as the two parties closed the distance. The wind carried the tension between them, blending with the roar of the waves and the occasional growl of the dragons. Maera tightened her grip on Aemond’s arm, her resolve hardening despite the pain. The real challenge was about to begin.

“My Prince, Princess. Welcome to Dragonstone,” the pale-haired man said, a small smirk playing on his lips.

Maera glanced at Aemond, whose hand had instinctively moved to the hilt of his sword. “Where is my uncle?” the one-eyed prince demanded as Maera watched his sharp eye scan the beach, seeking any sign of his uncle. His expression grew more rigid, his brow furrowing and his lips pressing into a thin line.

When he looked towards the dragons on the rocks, they hissed in response, their deep, resonant growls met by warning grumbles from Vhagar and Ēbrion. The air grew tense, charged with the potential for violence. Aemond let out a dark chuckle. “Do not tell me he was all talk in his letter.”

The two strangers exchanged sinister smiles. “The King Consort is not here, Prince Aemond,” the larger stranger stated, shaking his head. “In truth, we are surprised you came. We thought you were meant to be the intelligent one of your brothers.”

Maera saw Aemond growing more agitated, his grip on the sword hilt tightening , his knuckles white with the effort. She’d had enough of these riddles. “Where is Daemon?” she asked sharply.

The pale-haired stranger laughed, stepping closer. “They ventured to King’s Landing.” He stepped right in front of Aemond, looking him up and down in a goading manner. “It seems Rhaenyra thought it was time to claim her rightful seat.”

The Princess gasped, her mind racing. Her father was in danger. What of Thena? Did she manage to get Maelor and Jaehaera out? And Helaena…?

Her swirling thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the sharp sound of metal being unsheathed. Aemond pushed her lightly but firmly out of harm’s way as he drew his sword. The pale-haired stranger did the same, and in an instant, the two clashed, their blades meeting with a resounding clang.

Maera stumbled back, her heart pounding in her chest. She watched as Aemond, his face a mask of fierce determination and controlled fury, engaged his opponent with the precision and skill she knew so well. Each movement was calculated, a deadly dance of strength and strategy.

As the men clashed, Maera's gaze shifted to the other stranger, a massive man who seemed to be a descendant of a giant. He stood still, arms folded, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched the duel unfold, showing no intention of intervening. His presence was intimidating, a silent threat looming over the beach.

Maera's green eyes flickered from the giant to the dragons and then to the imposing fortress of Dragonstone. There had to be more to this situation; these men must hold significant importance if Rhaenyra had entrusted them with the island's defense.

In the blink of an eye, Aemond then tripped the pale-haired stranger, sending him sprawling to the ground. The silver dragon, sensing its rider's distress, growled and slithered down from its perch, its eyes locked onto Aemond with predatory intent. Maera's heart pounded in her chest as she watched in horror. The silver dragon's approach was swift and menacing, its growls deep and resonant. It was prepared to strike, to protect its rider at any cost.

"Aemond, stop!" Maera's voice broke through the tension, a desperate cry that echoed across the beach. The Prince, oblivious to the immediate danger, pounced and raised his blade to stab the fallen stranger in the face. The silver dragon quickened its pace, a feral snarl rumbling from deep within its chest.

The scene unfolded in slow motion for Maera. She could see the desperation and determination in Aemond’s eye, but also the looming, monstrous threat of the dragon. Her breath caught in her throat, horror gripping her as she realized the imminent peril her husband was in.

Maera clutched the top of her head, her fingers digging into the roots of her hair in frustration and fear. Closing her eyes, she screamed at the top of her voice. “I said that is enough!!”

Suddenly, behind Maera, Ēbrion charged forward, his roar echoing mightily across the beach. The powerful sound snapped Aemond out of his rage, his eye widening as he saw the silver dragon stalking toward him.

The silver beast growled at Aemond, its intentions clear. But before it could strike, Ēbrion unleashed a gigantic orange flame into the air, a blazing warning that illuminated the misty surroundings. The silver dragon hissed in response, the heat and force of the flame forcing it to reconsider. Reluctantly, it began to back away, its eyes still fixed on Aemond.

Aemond stood up from the ground, his breath coming in heavy, ragged gasps. He dropped his sword, the metallic clatter sharp against the dull roar of the waves. The pale-haired stranger, still on the ground, dropped his own sword and held up his hands in a gesture of surrender, his eyes wide with fear and realization.

The Prince walked over to Maera, his sharp features bright red, streaked with dirt and sweat from the fight. Maera frowned at him, her disappointment clear. She wished he had not acted with violence so swiftly, knowing that it only complicated their already precarious situation. The look they exchanged was laden with unspoken words, her eyes conveying both worry and disapproval.

Maera looked past Aemond’s shoulder at the strangers. The pale-haired man, now on his feet, stood once again by his giant companion, who remained unconcerned despite his ally spitting out blood. The giant man’s arms were still folded, and a smirk lingered on his lips.

As Maera observed them, she began to think. The bond between these strangers did not seem strong. If they were both truly loyal to Rhaenyra’s cause, they would have killed her and Aemond the moment they landed. They certainly had the means to do so with their dragons. Yet, they hadn’t. This realization sparked Maera’s curiosity; she needed to find out more.

Reaching up, Maera dusted some dirt off of Aemond’s shoulder, a surprising gesture that caused the Prince to initially flinch. “We have been bested, husband,” she announced loudly for the men to hear. “No matter how much we try to deny it.”

Aemond’s face turned thunderous at her comment but then she locked her green eyes with his, giving him a look that communicated volumes. Trust me, the look said. Keep your mouth shut, and let me handle this. Aemond's jaw tightened, but he nodded slightly, understanding the silent command. Maera turned back to the strangers, her mind racing with questions and strategies to uncover their true intentions.

The men of Westeros were all the same and Maera knew a little bit of charm and flattery could go a long way. As she approached them, she smiled warmly, tilting her head and rubbing her gigantic baby bump to appear less threatening. The gesture softened her demeanor, making her seem more approachable and harmless.

“Forgive me, my Lords, for I do not know your names.” The pale-haired man raised a brow at her words, but Maera simply smiled at him. “You must be highly trusted members of Rhaenyra’s council.”

The men exchanged a glance before the giant stranger let out a chuckle at her comment. “We are merely the commanders of her war machines, Princess. And we are not Lords, so there is no need for such formalities.”

The Princess nodded with a smile and then strangers could not help but appear more relaxed during the interaction. The pale-haired man, who had been tense and ready for a fight, visibly unwound, his shoulders dropping and his expression easing into one of cautious curiosity. He exchanged a glance with his giant companion, who allowed a slow, appreciative grin to spread across his face.

The larger man seemed particularly enamored by Maera’s charm. He smiled down at her, his eyes raking over her body with a lustful gaze that sent a shiver down her spine. His appreciative glance traveled from her face to her swollen belly, then back up again, making no effort to hide his interest.

“I am Hugh, and this is Ulf,” he said, gesturing to his pale-haired companion. “We were enlisted by the Queen to tame and ride the wild dragons.”

She cordially extended her hand towards Hugh, who smirked down at her, clearly delighted. Instead of shaking her hand, he bent down and kissed it, his lips lingering a fraction too long.

The gesture didn’t go unnoticed by Aemond, who had had enough of the man flirting with his wife. His face flushed with barely contained anger, Aemond quickly made his way back to Maera’s side, his presence a stark reminder of his protective nature. “She is no queen of ours,” the Prince declared, shooting a glare at Hugh, who seemed to find the situation amusing.

Maera discreetly nudged her husband in the ribs, reminding him to shut his mouth. She glanced over her shoulder, noticing Vhagar and Ēbrion standing watch. Vhagar’s faded green and bronze scales gleamed dully in the overcast light, her massive yellow eyes fixed on the group with a vigilant intensity. Beside her, Ēbrion’s blue and black scales shimmered, his orange eyes narrowing as he monitored every movement.

Turning her attention back to the strangers, Maera’s gaze shifted over Hugh and Ulf’s shoulders to their dragons. The bronze and silver dragons, though alert, had their ears pressed down against their heads—a clear sign of submission to the larger dragons. Their eyes were glued to the interactions, ready to respond but not challenging the dominance of Vhagar and Ēbrion.

“In any case, I am impressed,” she commented. “Tis no easy feat to claim a dragon. And you’re both clearly quite good at controlling them if Rhaenyra has left you in charge of her castle.”

The men seemed thoroughly charmed by Maera’s demeanor. Sensing an opportunity, she decided to probe for more information about Rhaenyra’s invasion of the capital and the roles Ulf and Hugh played in the war effort. But she would need to be subtle about it.

“My lords,” she addressed them, despite their previous insistence that they held no titles. “I know this is…unusual, but we have traveled a long way.” Maera then looked down at her bump, stroking it lovingly with a maternal tenderness. “And in my condition, I will need food and rest before departing once more. Could I trouble you for your hospitality?”

Ulf seemed hesitant, glancing at Hugh, but the giant man jumped in before his ally could answer. “We could not deny entry to such a charming princess.” His voice was deep, almost rumbling, and his eyes sparkled with a mix of amusement and admiration.

Maera beamed at him, her smile warm and inviting. She reached out and squeezed the giant’s arm tenderly, feeling the solid muscle beneath his tunic. “You are too kind.” Her touch lingered just long enough to make Aemond shift uncomfortably, his jaw tightening.

Aemond cleared his throat, the sound a sharp reminder of his presence. Maera couldn’t help but feel a small sense of satisfaction, a subtle payback for how Aemond indulged Alys in the past. She withdrew her arm and sighed, her demeanor shifting to one of genuine concern.

“And whilst it needn’t be said, my womanly mind causes me to overthink.” She placed a delicate hand on her chest, her eyes wide and innocent. Both men tilted their heads in confusion before the princess explained. “My husband and I invoke the guest right. We and our dragons will do you no harm so long as you do not harm us.”

The men exchanged glances, a moment of hesitation passing between them. Finally, the pale-haired man nodded, his expression softening. “Of course.”

Hugh then offered his thick arm for the princess to take. “Come. The journey must have been a tiring one.” His voice was gentle now, almost comforting.

As Maera was about to gratefully accept, she felt a firm squeeze on her forearm. She turned to see Aemond, his face stoic but his violet eye displaying concern and distrust of the strangers.

“Īlon jorrāelagon naejot volper,” We need to be careful, the Prince murmured.

Maera met his gaze, her own eyes communicating reassurance. She knew what she was doing.“Rāpirī aōha perzys se bisa situation kostagon mirre vaoresagon,” Quell your fire and this situation may work in our favour.

Notes: 6 more days my guys 😎 also it’s my birthday! Here’s my gift to you all! 🖤 the plot thickens 👀 and shoutout to @choclovr who figured out where this was going

Tags: @0eessirk8 @magicseahorse @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @saltedcaramelpretzel @marvelescvpe @watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek @thelastemzy @kckt88 @darylandbethfanforever9

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

#maera wylde #aemond targaryen #aemond fanfiction #aemond x oc #house targaryen #chapters #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic #house wylde #hotd helaena #house of the dragon season 2 #house of the dragon #hotd season 2 #hotd x reader #ewan mitchell x reader #ewan nation #ewan mitchell #aemond fanfic #aemond smut #aemond targaryen fanfiction

[agentwhalesong]

One Step At A Time

Words: 1,484

Rating: not sure; contains adult topics, so Mature?

ao3 link

(Tagging @today-in-fic)

--------------------

She’d only given in because she was lonely.

Their relationship was weird these days; conversation was never an option. It was just sex, rough sex, against the wall, onto office tables or bent over the back of his couch. Their couch. No, his couch. Her mind used to discern things better when there was only anger in the air, when he wouldn’t accept a single touch of her hand on his. She couldn’t even tell when that anger turned into some sort of addictive lust or who started it all, but now here they were, in a limbo of loveless, hot sex whenever they saw each other.

Was it really loveless though?

His arms around her stomach as he kept on spooning her didn’t indicate so.

Maybe he just forgot they shouldn’t be like this, that two months ago she had built a wall between them by saying ‘no more’ as she rolled her skirt back down her legs and hid her tears.

So yes, she’d only given in this time because she was lonely, not because they had never fallen out of love with each other, even in their darkest days.

She wasn’t supposed to have stayed though. This road was headed to mess town and she wasn’t ready for mess yet. What she didn’t realize — at least not completely — was that she’d long arrived in mess town and was almost a permanent citizen.

Her hand was still over his, stroking it absentmindedly as thoughts ran through her mind at warping speed. Old habits die hard; some old habits never truly die.

Slowly, she unwrapped herself from his arms, not sure if he had woken or not. It didn’t matter anyway.

She picked up her clothes and walked to the bathroom they had once shared, but that she was seeing for the first time in more than a year. As she closed the door behind her, her heart stopped. Her old toothbrush, the one she had forgotten to take when she moved out, was right there in the toothbrush holder, as if untouched.

What was she supposed to think of it? He couldn’t possibly not have seen it. It was next to his, next to the tube of toothpaste squeezed right in the middle — something she had never been able to change in him. Maybe that was the problem, she had tried to change him too much.

She sighed. All these emotions didn’t belong here, in her mind, in his house, in their house, in her more-than-one-year-old toothbrush. Why now? Why had she given in?

It had been the first time they had actually talked; it was why she had given in. It hadn’t been small talk that always led to sex for some unexplained reason. It had been a simple, but meaningful conversation about life and losing time and getting old that had dissolved all of her determination and made her take his hand and follow him upstairs.

“Scully, are you okay in there?” came his muffled voice from outside the bathroom.

It was only then that she realized she had been staring at their toothbrushes for many more minutes than she should have.

She opened her mouth to say ‘yes, I’m fine’, but what got out was completely different.

“Why is my toothbrush still here?”

She heard him sigh, but he didn’t speak.

He didn’t want to answer, that was fine. Why should he? Why had she asked that stupid question anyway? Maybe it wasn’t even her toothbrush, but somebody else’s. Truth was that she didn’t know if there was somebody else. She never thought to ask.

“Can I come in?” he finally asked.

Her reply came in a whisper, but he heard her.

Although she didn’t turn around when he entered, their eyes locked through the mirror.

“I wasn’t expecting you would see it,” he said quietly. “I left it there as a reminder.”

“A reminder?”

“That you left. At the time I just needed to feed my anger and that was the only thing you didn’t take with you. I used to look at it and curse myself, sometimes curse you.”

She averted her gaze to her own reflection, saw her own eyes watering as her heart raced and ached. He continued.

“I threw it away once, that time when you came to check on me and we had sex for the first time before… this, whatever this is, started. I was angry that you seemed to regret what we’d just done, so I threw it in the trash can. I picked it up again a couple of hours later, though.”

“Why?” she asked, not hiding her tears anymore and looking at his eyes through the mirror again. “If this is so painful to you, why do you keep on holding on?”

She knew the question wasn’t about him and her toothbrush, but about him and her, about their inability to let each other go for good. He knew it too.

“Because at some point it stopped hurting. It became hope.”

His words hit deep, crushing her facade at once.

“Damn you, Mulder! You need to stop doing this to me!”

Her exclamation, although said in a low voice, made her body react. She lowered her head, supported herself with her hands on the sink, allowed herself to weep.

She felt his hands gently grab her hair from around her neck and turn it into a sort of low ponytail, before letting it fall on her back, away from her tears.

“I’m sorry I made you break your promise of not sleeping with me again. I’ll leave you alone from now on.” He turned around, but she couldn’t let him go.

“Please, don’t.”

He stopped by the door, turned his body only half around, while she turned completely and walked to him.

Her arms went around his waist so quickly that it took him a while to hug her back. But when he did, it felt like nothing else mattered.

She couldn’t say how long they just stood there in that position or when her tears subsided. She just knew that at some point he whispered against her hair, uncomplicated words for a complex relationship.

 “Let’s just go to bed and pretend it’s like old times”.

She let herself be carried and then cuddled, despite her mind shouting that she should just go home. They had sex once more — a first since chaos started to reign — and that made it incredibly difficult to obey the voices in her head.

She ended up staying through the night because, in the end, they weren’t pretending it was like old times. For once, they were in the present, not trying to retrieve what had been lost. They were the Scully and Mulder who didn’t know exactly how to deal with everything, but also the Scully and Mulder who were at least trying — no matter how unconventional their way of trying was.

She woke up before him the following morning, and when he opened his eyes she was already half dressed. His hoarse voice was what made her look over her shoulder and then turn to face him.

“I thought you were going to stay at least for breakfast”

She shook her head slightly.

“That is not who we are anymore, is it?”

He shook his head slightly also, and then closed his eyes. If falling asleep again or just lost in thoughts, she couldn’t tell.

She was already putting on her shoes when he suddenly broke the silence.

“Who are we now?”

She sighed, not sure what to say, and then sat on a spot beside him on the bed.

“I think we are trying to figure that out.”

She wanted to tell him all the feelings that were stirring her insides, that last night had been sweet and sad and something else, maybe a sparkle of forgiveness from both sides. Instead, she just put her hand over his and stroked it a little, wordlessly.

Then she stood up and headed for the door, already expecting the tears that usually came with the silent goodbyes.

“Scully?”

She turned around, somewhat afraid of what he was about to say. But fear turned into tenderness as he spoke.

“You look beautiful.”

She smiled in spite of herself, the first smile while with him in the past year or so. He smiled back, melting a little more of the ice on that wall of hers.

Without another word, she made her way out of the bedroom and then out of the house. She was already in her car when she realized — the tears she was expecting never came.

Maybe she would call him one of these days. Maybe they would talk again. Maybe they would become something similar to what they had once been. For now, she only held on to the smile on his face and his heartwarming words. One step at a time.

#the x files #the x files fanfic #mulder and scully #msr #todayinfic #post breakup #dana scully #fox mulder #x files

[seafoamaphrodite]

a beginner’s guide to…

✨ altars ✨

here are some materials you can use for an altar, whether it is for your spellwork, a deity, or any other use! altars should reflect your personality, and be a space where you feel happy and safe :D

none of these materials are required, and everything is completely customizable to your beliefs! (just practice respect and safety obviously)

🕯️ basics 🕯️

an altar cloth is a piece of fabric that covers your altar. this could be a bandana, a small blanket, or even a piece of paper!

a glass plate is a mundane but VERY versatile altar piece. it can work as an offering dish, a tray to collect wax drippings, or just a little trinket holder

candles are an easy addition to any altar. you can use any type of candle, but my favorites are taper and prayer candles. scented candles are completely fine to use as well! choose candles based on color and scent

natural materials like crystals, flowers, plants, animal bones (responsibly sourced), etc. are an incredible addition to any altar! if you have a deity altar, learn about their associations and use this to guide your choice

paper and pen/pencil will be your best friend if you write petitions, draw sigils, etc. keep them near your altar for convenience

🌱 cleansing 🌱

many people believe an area should be “cleansed” before it is used as an altar or sacred space

methods of cleansing include incense, water cleansing, sage smudging, and more

incense cleansing is often done by wafting an incense stick or cone through a space and visualizing the smoke clearing out negative energy

sandalwood, lavender, and rosemary are common incense choices for cleansing

water cleansing is something i do a lot, it can be done by sprinkling water in an area or even washing/pouring water. regular tap water is perfectly fine, but you can also incorporate moon water, sun water, rainwater, etc.

smudging with sage involves burning a bundle of sage and, similar to incense cleansing, wafting the smoke through the area. sage smudging is traditional to indigenous tribes like the Lakota and Navajo. as a result, sage smudging (especially the use of white sage) is often considered cultural appropriation when done by non-indigenous people. i am not indigenous nor do i use sage, so i am not incredibly well versed on the subject but i thought i should include it. always do research and practice respect and sensitivity 💌

🌙 takeaways 🌙

finally, your altar is YOUR space. you can include or exclude anything you want; your space doesn’t need to be “aesthetic” or make sense to others

my first altar was a cardboard box with one candle and a handful of crystals. it wasn’t expensive or fancy, but it got me into my practice

through the years, my altar has grown and changed as i have

if you want to make an altar, start with what you have! you would be surprised how powerful your resources are 🩷

#witchcraft #witches of tumblr #altar #witchblr #baby witch #witch tips #paganism #hellenic pagan #deity worship #aphrodite #aphrodite worship

[amyriadofleaves]

outside it starts to pour — neuvillette | chapter ten

synopsis: in the limelight of fontaine, the prying eyes of its people never truly tears their gaze off the iudex and you, the présidence du conseil d'état, which makes for baseless rumours to fester and echo throughout the theatrics of opera. you and neuvillette are challenged by the reputations the both of you are expected to uphold, and the weighty decision to navigate these intricacies rests upon the discerning judgement of fontaine's archon.

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⌗ pairing : neuvillette x fem!reader ⌗ feat : neuvillette, reader, clorinde, navia, furina ⌗ warnings : n/a ⌗ word count: 6.1k

Amongst those of grandeur and coin, you would assume the elite would make a better run for their money. Yet, judging from the perfervid eyes of many that stand by the wide precinct of the ballroom, you think you might’ve just assumed wrong.

You make note of this as you study them with the eyes of a hawk through your coach window, anticipating the swirl of opinions and envious, lidded stares.

The dress you wear is cinched at the waist, hugged by a pin hidden from the inner folds of cloth — the glimmer of sequined colour reflecting into the periphery of your eye. It was a change made on a whim, for the previous dress was a touch too pink to match the formality of such an occasion. And, to be fair, the pamphlet presented you with a plethora of options, making it exceedingly difficult to settle on the perfect one from the get-go. Your plus one sits to your left in the carriage, a reasonable distance between you both to further up the stifling air.

You do not wish to comment on what he has chosen to wear for the evening, his usual judicial robe replaced with something of the likeness to his wedding garb. So, instead, you pick a route that is sure to stir idle gossip.

“Do you know of Lady Furina’s activities as of late?” you question, eyes trailing to the raindrops that warp down in rapid races on the window.

By the sharp ruffling of his clothes you can almost picture the expression on his face: a panicked, borderline surprised look of bewilderment that this, out of all topics, is the one you chose to spark conversation. “I do not know if I should say.”

More like he does not want to, you snarl.

“Oh, come on, don’t give me that — it’s not like she’s here.”

He does not respond, his silence thickening the air between you. The air is blazing, and you can feel the heat of his presence searing into your skin.

Thanking the Archons that he cannot see your face of nonplus, you scrunch your nose to calm your nerves. Turning abruptly in your seat to face him, you realise your faces are disconcertingly close, but it’s too late; you must feign indifference. The scent of his cologne, intoxicating and undeniable, overwhelms you. “This cannot be true. Surely, you jest.”

He inches his face a little further away from yours, before giving you a tight-lipped smile (well — it’s more of a grimace than anything). His breath brushes against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. “I take it you aren’t in favour of her being here?”

Quirking a brow, you shuffle closer, giving him a quizzical look. Such proximity, regarded by those  conservatives, would only bring rise to more scandal; and you sure hope it does. The faster the climax, the easier the plateau. You would spare both Neuvillette and yourself more suffering. “If I said no, I bet you’d think me a doppelganger.” Your eyes lock onto his, daring him to challenge your words.

“That I would, Madame.” His voice drops a notch, almost a whisper.The way he says it sends a thrill through you, your heart beating faster in response. You use your own vulnerability as leverage, your cue a shutter of a camera’s flash in the distance. Consider it a sixth sense, but you know someone must certainly have their eyes on a certain couple in a certain carriage.

Amusement sends sparks through your veins, a flash of a smirk gleaming in the cruel light. “It’s mon coeur, Chief Justice. Fanatics would go so far as to read lips, you know.” You trail a finger down his jawbone, letting it leave the second it reaches slightly below his mouth. It comes as second nature — the act of skin against skin. You don’t feel the spark others fooled by their own blindness; to touch does not mean to love. How will one know what a novel is based on its cover alone?

Judging from how many taps against your hand it takes, you realise it is almost as if he struggles to reach for your hand to pull it away. As his hand brushes to meet your own hand at his cheek, his fingers tremble. “Please, mon coeur, now is not the time,”  he mutters, his voice strained and low. He clears his throat afterward, but the sound is thick with what you think is the effort of maintaining composure.

You tear your hand from his, reaching to fix his hair now — the curl that parts his locks undone by the way you rake your hands through them.

“Please,” he repeats, his voice softer, almost pleading now, as if he’s begging not just you but himself to stay strong. His thumb brushes gently across your knuckles, a tender gesture that belies his words, and you can feel the turmoil radiating from him. 

He draws in a sharp, cutting breath — but given the closeness, he might as well just drink in your perfume.

It takes every ounce of willpower for him to finally, reluctantly, begin to pull his hand away, and even then, it’s with a slowness that even you find odd (what do you not find odd about this man by this point?).

You make your distaste known to him with an annoyed roll of your eyes (you note that it is only the Chief Justice’s face in view, so the guise you need to uphold lies only in the most physical of actions). “Don’t tell me you are affected by our PR.” Roughly, you shove his hand back to where it originally was, your satisfied look mirroring his dishevelled one.

“If you are going to do so, at least let me know when so I am not caught off guard by… such advances.”

“Then tell Lady Furina to change the conditions in the notebook.”

“I do not know of such a notebook.”

“Odd how you easily forget such a possession that hangs in your breast pocket all the time.”

A puzzled execution of searching for the notepad deems itself fruitless when he swipes past his breast pocket to find it empty. “How…?”

You reach into your pocket (yes, your dress has pockets!) and tauntingly hold the bundle of paper up for him to see. “Judging how you failed to enact any of them on me,  I thought I'd rather do it myself — for the benefit of my own accomplishment and gain of course.” Before he can wipe off the smugness in your character, you make another diminishing comment to a habit of his that  you’ve caught on. “Not like I could read half of the content — the ink is smudged from the rain you oh, so love to stand in.” 

“I beg your finest pardon?” 

Dread overwhelms you when you realise the coach is slowing down and the murmurs of small talk are growing louder by the minute. “Is a woman pleasuring herself so taboo?”

His head shakes in the bewilderment of your comment and he shifts in his seat — making no note to move away from you, glued by… fear?  Endearment? Intrigue? “That… is not what I said. But, may I be nosy as to pry, why follow them if those rules were not meant to be adhered to by you?’

“To put it simply — I like the thrill,” you take a look at his watch, reaching for his wrist to angle it toward the moonlight so it catches the hands of the clock. “Why do you think we’re ‘fashionably late’?”

“And fix your hair. You look unkempt. Before you argue with me — I know it was of my own doing.” 

You drop his hand before the coach comes to a stop. Suddenly it is almost as if the flashes of the cameras sputter erratically at your arrival — but you know it is not for you – for the most part. Waiting patiently for Neuvillette to open your door, your eyes hook onto him walking across to your side through the rear window, adjusting the minimal space between his skin and collar, visibly unkempt. Oh, the ideas that might stem from that one moment alone! You just knowhe’s never going to hear the end of it with Furina.

The second his back turns from the audience, the facade he puts on oddly stays the same, the only change being the lighting and nothing else. He swiftly opens the door, and the cameramen rage on even more — even going so far as to request to turn their way! It almost sparks a smug look on your face to be captured in the photos, and you don’t know if you are afraid or simply exhilarated (you tell yourself the answer is the latter).

He offers a hand, and you take it with all the grace you can muster — making a statement to use your own weight to pull yourself up instead of the sanctuary of his palm.

The movement of your hands are borderline rehearsed, if not choreographed, by the way one slyly snakes around your back as a tether amongst the onslaught of photos being taken of you —the other around the cave of Neuvillette’s inner elbow and you almost quip on how it’s a lot less uncomfortable than the first time you and him made your appearances live to the whole of Teyvat.

You restrict yourself from running your mouth on the carpet, keeping it shut with the nagging thought of ‘exuding an air that betrays nothing but charm and propriety’; it is another trick in Furina’s book, but as much as she is irritating, she also is in cunning, and for this you must (begrudgingly) give her your praise. 

A man at the very foot of the ballroom almost stammers on his words upon shifting his glance from you to the Chief Justice, to which you almost scoff. He’s even got men at his feet! It’s his hair, isn’t it? His eyes flit aimlessly on the guest list, ticking off Neuvillette’s name first before reiterating the names of both of you.

“Monsieur Neuvillette, and Madame Lavigne?” The notion of affirmation falls on deaf ears as a frown comes to make its way on your face instead of a nod.

“Mon cherie, are you alright?”

‘What?”

“He has just mentioned your name.”

What a slip up. You hadn’t heard anyone call you by your last name in ages, let alone with your new one (mostly due to your insistence, but it does not hold any significance). You do admit, it still sounds unfamiliar even to your own ears.

“Yes, that should be me,” you say, springing back into your character. The word should makes it sound more suspicious than it ought to be, but you hope the young man does not latch onto any odd intonations of your phrase.

The man extends a hand that points into the ballroom, muttering a quiet ‘should be right down the hall’ before stepping aside and opening the grand door. 

When you hear it shut, you see the cameras dim in frequency, shying away as other later guests of lesser significance pass through. However, the noise doesn’t seem to quell from the endless tidings of conversation, the only difference being that it only spills from the end of the hall and not the carpet you just so happened to have walked through right before this.

The Chief Justice doesn’t seem too thrilled about all of this — justifiable in the sense of the difference of his workplace to that of insufferable people who know nothing of what to do with their wealth except spend on unnecessary luxuries: like gold plated toilet paper. You scrunch your nose in distaste.

“I do hope you know how to dance,” you tell him, more a question than anything. But you are too tired for questions, so it comes off as a statement instead of the intended quizzical tone.

Neuvillette tilts his head, hair rustling against the fabric of his clothes. “I hope so too.”

Okay… not the response you expected to hear, but you guess you could do with a few steps on the tips of your toes even if it means being in excruciating agony for just a few days.

It takes everything in you to give Neuvillette the green light in opening the doorway that leads to the actual ballroom this time, but you realise with grave regret that you are still in the midst of processing what’s to come as he pushes the door open.

Chandeliers drape from the ceiling, bedazzling the marble floors with opulent patterns cast from the crystals that appear to drip down toward the floor, strung by invisible strings hooked onto metal pegs. Prisms lined with colour trace the fine contours of rustling lace and prim ties. 

The crowd doesn’t seem to notice your grand appearance, until someone in the crowd gasps and everyone is stunned into a still silence. With such a noise comes a domino effect of other gasps, each differing in pitch. Awfully dramatic, even to someone of your tolerance. Guess one of Furina’s tactics worked, but at what cost? Now everyone’s looking at you, and Neuvillette cannot do anything —

“Please, do not be so tense. Momentous this event is indeed, but it is but another occasion,” He reassures, and all of a sudden the way his voice ricochets off the walls sounds radically similar to the baritone his voice bears in the Opera Epiclese.

Except it wasn't any formal occasion. Neuvillette's frequency of appearances outside the courtroom were and are even more than obscure now — obscure enough to consider it akin to that of a sighting of a dodo bird.

Everyone eyes him sceptically, slowly returning to their conversations. But you do not miss the way their choice of words are more contained — docile, if you will. You notice their vocabulary changes — the word ball turns into thé dansant, and commenting on rumours and gossip shifts into romance and novels.

You notice the way women with no visible ring on any of their fingers eye you with envy, seethingly jealous at your ‘success’. But is it really success if it has only brought you misery?

After standing in observance for what you think is more than a while, someone calls your name.

You whip around, losing the grip of your arm interlocked with Neuvillette’s to divert your attention — and you lose no time in grinning. “What a pleasure it is seeing you here, Clorinde,” you start, facing the blonde beside her. “And you as well, Navia. It has certainly been a while since I’ve been given the opportunity to chat with you.” “Ah, yes indeed. I’d really like for us to chat over a cup of tea someday.”

She really did live up to her reputation; from the manner in which she carries herself, to the very stitch that binds her lace hem. 

You turn your attention to Clorinde, squeezing in time for small talk. “ I suppose your schedule’s freer than usual?”

A server with a tray of champagne glasses comes passing through the throng and offers the delicacies laid out for you on a tray. You accept a glass and some canapés without a second thought — though Clorinde denies the alcohol with a polite shake of her head. “I would not say ‘free’. This place is a breeding ground for thieves — so consider it another day on the job.”

Navia tests one of the canapés by biting a sliver off the side before coughing into her hand. Clorinde shoots her a chastising look. “What?”

The blonde attempts to whisper, and though it doesn’t prove to be inefficient, it did help quench your desire of knowing what she is to say to Clorinde. “There’s steak tartare in this. Do you… want it?”

“How many times have I told you that you’re not going to like it just because you’ve tasted it more?” Out of all the things in the world, the Champion Duelist of Fontaine makes it imperative to scold her close friend about raw beef. 

Your husband wraps a hand around your waist in an act of pulling you closer, and you can only mask your disdain with a wry look and a brief check of your dress to confirm that the alcohol hadn’t spilled in the process. “What are you doing?” you seethe, gritting your teeth.

He responds with a looser wrap around your hip, soundlessly submitting to your reprimand. 

Clorinde and Navia seem surprised at such an uncharacteristic display of affection from the Iudex of Fontaine, the retracting of her head seemingly an obvious tell. “Much expected from the Champion Duelist herself. I implore you to take a break every so often. I have observed that many aren’t usually able to bear the weight for as long as they’d wish.”

She pats him on the shoulder. “Take your own advice, boss.”

Neuvillette’s chuckle drips with amusement.“That’s certainly a new title. I will take it into consideration.”

She nods her head, taking her hat off to engage in a cordial bow. Before she can lose herself amongst the crowd with the head of the Spina di Rosula, you reach for her wrist and deftly place a tea bag in her pocket. “We need to talk. And if that fails, I will send you a letter. Whatever it is — take a look at what I have given you.”

Clorinde hesitates, body halting at the command of your hand. “Alright then. We shall rendezvous near the entrance.”

Before you can give any semblance of a response, she turns, making sure to pat at her pocket as she does so. It does not save you from human interaction, however, for another voice sounds from your right: playful and distinguishable.

“If it isn’t the main couple of tonight’s event! I’ve talked to the host — myself — and you two are meant to take the dance floor once the violin commences.”

What a way to start a conversation.

There was certainly no need for pleasantries, but a simple ‘hello’ or a ‘how are you?’ would have sufficed, wouldn’t it? You make the pragmatic decision to not let your personal prejudice of Furina get in your way of complying to her rules, because this part was mainly on you — agreed to by your own pen. 

Waiting for Neuvillette to respond on your behalf, you find yourself already exhausted with the mass of people that eye you down, almost draining you of a conversation though their gazes alone; you tell yourself it doesn’t bother you, but the way your heart beat picks up against your ribcage makes you think meat is eating away at bone.

“Let me reiterate: you want us to dance as the distinguished couple?” His brows raise quizzically, his hold on your side slipping ever so slightly. 

Another server comes to approach, so you gulp down the whole glass of champagne (wincing in the process) before placing it on the tray as the move on by.

Lady Furina chuckles so loudly even a snort would be less humiliating in comparison. “Now they say there’s no such thing as ‘bad questions’, but…”

You roll your eyes. “Aren’t you supposed to be finding away to deviate the prophecy? Not attend some ball?”

“I could say the same for you, Présidence du Conseil d'État.”

“Well i very much would be helping if you hadn’t gotten me into this stupid—”

She places a finger on your lips. “Hey! Keep it down!”

A maintained, high-pitched note of a violin silences the murmurs of the people  — and this includes Lady Furina’s never ending tangents you know would never stop if not for the ensemble.

You instinctively put on a brave front as the crowd disperses into a circle, leaving a space in the middle for the two of you — and as you both make your way through the crowd, they seem to part as if by a spell.

“May I have this dance?” The Chief Justice inquires, his touch ghosting over yours before you agree in the silence. His hand easily between the grooves of your fingers, softly placing his lips to your knuckles with a delicacy you can only consider to be a totally calculated act. His hold on your hand lingers on your fingertips, his touch fraying as he moves to initiate a bow.

You mirror this action, pinching the sides of your dress and bringing them up as you curtsy. Raising your head, you meet his gaze, his look equally just as weary as yours. For a split moment, it takes you back to when you stood in the shadows, fingers fidgeting behind your back hoping that your father would only taste the rust of prison for the rest of his life. But he cannot — must not look like this. This is not the look of a revered judge; it is one of a lovesick boy. And you almost throw up.

Another cue of a violin now spurs the string quartet into motion: a soft and slow minuet conjured through their very fingertips. His hold on your hand smoothly slips to interlock with your own, and he brings the other to your waist. He pulls you toward him, and it is almost peculiarly simple — the way you fall into step, blown in the wisp of music; of dull cellos and vibrant violins.

A spotlight shines from above. It is the only source of light — another entity that mimics your movements, illuminating every one of your flaws, every single imperfection. Neuvillette releases hold of your waist to guide you through a spin, a hand behind his back before he tip you backward into his arms at an angle so discreet that a mere word from you would go unnoticed. 

“Tell me, mon mari, would you trade this for another case in court?” you murmur, warmth ghosting against the nape of his neck. You lose yourself of his hold, hand still entwined with his as you leave the warmth of his body and execute this with a twirl outward, your blue gown fanning out as if it were a bouquet of periwinkle.

Your grip on his hand shifts from a knot to a palm to palm, and you find yourself in orbit of his arm, inching ever closer in expectation of a response; and your lids flutter, a brief opening to the window of your soul. You lower your sight elsewhere — to the lapels of his robe, to the platinum strands of hair that gleam like pearls in the light; if it meant that you would not remain subject to his scrutiny any further. Admittedly, you were afraid. Afraid that, in a moment where light shines down on you like the watchful gaze of the omniscient, he would see through your cracks, through your guise.

He does not know the woman before him is a fraud. 

“I’m afraid I misunderstand your inquiry,” he whispers, before masking his puzzled look for a fond, albeit manufactured look of love.

You return the look with reproach, and your eyes weigh lidded against the burden of all the people waiting for their spot on the floor; watchful, analytical eyes of the assembly stopping you from doing anything rash. That is, until Neuvillette initiates a change in a step; the steady pressure of Neuvillette’s hand on the small of your back an anchor, as much as you loath to admit it.

“Save your words then,” you say breathlessly, taking both of his hands as you both circle the perimeter of the dance floor. 

Before he can reply, the music crescendos, and he is now thrown into the momentum of string and melody. The world around you is a blur of motion and bliss as he leads you into a move.

The bass of cello and harmonising of two violins swell, tightening the invisible string bound by convenience, drawing yourself closer to the man you never thought you would have the displeasure of waltzing with. Each sway, each glide across the floor, is executed with more attunement to his every move, your own matching his.  

After another twirl, his hands reach for the curves on either side of your waist, lifting you up in his grasp. Weightlessness envelops you; he spins you around, a stunned giggle slipping through your lips — but it is drowned by the ruffle of your skirt, its hem barely tracing the ground. Gentle flames of candlelight reflect against the grooves of his sleeve.

This, expectedly, warrants many gasps of awe from the audience, their admiration a confusion of fabrication and authenticity. But it still sweeps across the ballroom nonetheless. You are acutely aware of their intense regard toward yourself as the Chief Justice’s wife more than the actual role you hold in Fontaine’s bureaucracy, and yet it is his eyes you cannot look away from. Neuvillette’s hand holds firm against the small of your back, an unnecessary touch you are unsure of appreciating or condemning.

As you straighten, you find yourself clinging onto Neuvillette’s arms in an act of desperation to keep yourself steady. You must say that this definitely took the breath out of you, spins and all. 

Every matter outside this dance seemed to vanish at another touch of the hand, another move that required his hold, one that brought your faces into almost meeting, more than once.

The melody ebbs, the final notes a cue for you to slow. Neuvillette brings you into a dip, hand steadying you as you lean into his arms. An excuse for diverting yourself from his stare did not come in your favour, for the distance between your lips and his is so close that you can feel his warmth radiating into your own skin, warm and inviting.

You shut your eyes. Benevolent and inviting? Just what am I thinking? Cut it out, you fool.

The two of you are suspended in the strain of the final note, puppeting the way your body slumps into his touch — an unfamiliar one, but one you know is able to fool the crowd. The audience watches with bated breath, the sound of breathing washed away in the sea of adrenaline. A gloved hand trails up your arm to the trace of your jaw — and you hold in regard the demurral of your husband's touch. He leans in closer, close enough to whisper into your ear. But nothing could’ve prepared you for his words.

“May I kiss you?”

Your eyes round into spheres, the strands of hair masking your admittedly unbecoming reaction. It truly feels as though this request has brought the world to a stop, the pounding of your heart slowing like a defeated bird in its cage. This is all a ruse, you tell yourself; but you cannot help but sear the sincerity indelibly into your mind.

Furrowing your brows, you cannot help but cant your head to the side. “Just what do you think you’re doing?” you hiss. You pull back slightly to catch your breath — your face almost an inch away from his, eyes narrowing in quest of searching his expression for a hint of jest. Neuvillette’s eyes now darken in the shadows, luminescent opal eyes now a stormy, turbulent hue; anyone would have caught the bona fides of the integral pillar of the law.

“It is for the crowd; for Lady Furina,” his voice soft, almost defeated. “They expect it.”

The rational part begrudgingly knows he is right, that his offer he places on the table is but a strategy to fool them any further: a performance.

And yet, the thought of his lips on yours stirs a mellow tremor of unwelcome anticipation that you hastily suppress. “Well then,” you snap, your voice cold. “But do not think for a moment that I will enjoy this.”

He dips his head in compliance, the curve of his lips an infuriatingly charming trait that has all the women in the crowd placing on the brink of fainting. “I wouldn’t dream of it, ma femme,” he replies, his lie deceptively light.

As he leans in, a tumultuous confusion of dread and something far more dangerous buzzes through your veins, sending every bone in your body to bend into his will. Closing your eyes, you steel yourself for the inevitable; and erratic thoughts sporadically burst like glass, invading your mind. How can something like this, illogical and meaningless, manage to fool the crowd? You know it is a question with a definite answer; so you question yourself again: why ask? Butyou aren’t given any time before your train of thought crashes under his fingers.

He brings his hand to your chin, drawing you closer with an allure so strong you are nearly convinced his touch is divination.  Collective gasps of onlookers, each a whisper of opinions you simply have not the time nor inclination to discern warps into pools that hum into one clump of futility as his lips brush against yours.

It is not wrong to say that this isn’t your first, and yet, you almost feel like it is. His lips against yours is gentle, almost chaste, but it ignited a stubborn fire you are loath to acknowledge. The strength of his hand at your waist firms, melting into a tender brush against the small of your back — and for a moment, you forget that this is all a farce.

You roughly push him away with your two hands against his chest, eyes staring daggers through the windows of his soul. You breath comes in shallow gasps, now a deafened noise amongst the cacophony of applause of the crowd, intoxicated in the fleeting thrill and spectacle of an act they do not wish to recognise as a lie. 

Nothing registers in your daze. You blink, fighting to regain your composure, because the lingering ghost of his lips on yours makes it unable to think straight.

Get it together! This is PR. Actors do this all the time.

“That was—” he mutters.

You move stiffly, forcing yourself to step back and put some distance between you. “Don’t read too much into it,” you say, your voice harsher than you intend. “It was just for show.”

“Of course,” he agrees, but there is a hint of something in his gaze, something that makes you wonder if perhaps, for a moment, it wasn’t all an act. You push the thought aside, unwilling to delve into the complexities of your feelings, and focus instead on the task at hand — maintaining the illusion, no matter the cost to your own heart.

Neuvillette holds out his arms for you to retire from the floor, leaving the other couples to spill into the space of the ballroom. But amidst the glittering crowd, you spot a figure, the well-worn wrinkles of his face an uncanny reflection of your own. This cannot be. You were sure your father had left, presumably perished in the process — but what of this? Why is he here, revealing himself to a crowd that is sure to recognise him and his reputation? 

A sudden, fierce constriction of your corset tightens your lungs like a vice around your ribs. Gasping, you claw at your throat for air, the once grandiose patterns of the stone walls caving into you: harsh and oppressive. Even the Chief Justice, the one to restore order, does not succeed in reaching you; and thus the attempt blurs into the fray, disregarded in the heat of your panic.

You anchor yourself in the depths of Neuvillette’s worried look, pulling yourself out of the merciless current of water. “I need some air,” you croak, hiding your face so the couples that stand waiting on the floor don’t receive but a glimpse of this stupid, nonsensical breakdown.

“Would you like me to accompany you?” he asks, making space between you both. 

“No. Please.” You practically beg, squeezing the wrists of his arm, before you flee.

_____

Neuvillette watches you intently as you blend into the mass of people, and they part instinctively, leaving a clear path for you to tread; but, the Chief Justice is no fool to trickery. As discreet as one can make themselves, he is one man that one should not — can not deceive. As you dance through the sea of bodies, a man walks against the current, trailing you with terrifyingly calculated precision. A metallic glisten betrays the sharp blade hidden from under his blazer.

Through the crowd, he meets Clorinde’s eyes; to which he concludes that she, too, is searching for where you went. She gestures with her eyes an inquiring look, to which Neuvillette responds with a quick glance toward the entrance. A mild nod is what he gets in response, and she rushes the other way, presumably through another door. 

The music strums once again, and so he takes an opportunity to rush from behind, his stride silent and quiet. For the man, however, it is almost as if he wants to make his presence known, from the set of his shoulders, to the tap of his feet against marble.

Neuvillette’s eyes narrow, focus not once slipping. He waits, watching as the man slips through the front entrance. Once he is out of view, Neuvillette follows, stride confident with urgency.

The man makes a sharp turn, reaching through the front of his blazer to reach for what Neuvillette presumes to be his blade.

_____

You pace through the garden, letting the trail lead you to the balcony that overlooked the Palais Mermonia. Clamping your eyes shut, you allow the hold your hands have on the railing to relax; a sharp, shaky exhale spills from your lips, hot tears threatening to pool at the base of your eyes.

The thought of your father’s crazed eyes sends you into a spiral, seeing a memory of him the more your eyes remain closed.

A rustle of leaves.

Footsteps.

There is only one person who would've followed you here. “I’ve already told you leave me alone, Chief Justice.”

“Chief Justice? You mistake me for someone else, birdie.”

Birdie. Your eyes shoot open, immediately diverted by the disturbance. Your hands slip from the railing, turning so that instead your back is pressed against it — the thrill of anticipation buried under the solemn rush of sentiment. 

This man was, in fact, not your lawful husband.

Oh, wow, you are certainly graced with the inexplicable miracle of luck!

“Why aren’t you replying, hm? Too ashamed of what you did to me to speak?”

Everything in your power to calm yourself down does not, matter-of-factly, calm you down. The man’s voice — his voice — is too cutting, too violent. The world spins, a minute sense of rationality bringing you to palm your thigh, feeling for the sharp edge of the dagger you have shoved in a garter. Clorinde surely has some sixth sense, because —

“(Name)?”

Your chest practically heaves as you let out a sigh of relief, the chilling autumn night bringing your breath to leave as cold white plume. The exhale is prolonged — albeit very tremulous, and it’s almost as if you can hear your heart beating in your head with more clarity than ever. 

“Clorinde?”

“I saw you leave the ballroom, so I figured this is where you'd be —” 

Taking one blazing glare at the man that hides in a bush, you stagger toward her as if poisoned. You take refuge in her arms for a short, stunned moment; Clorinde’s hands remain suspended, frozen. 

“Listen to me,” you whisper, voice wavering. “We must leave this instant.”

She grips onto your shoulders to pull you away. Her hand immediately moves to her hip, the brush against metal light, but sharp.“Is there something? Someone following?” 

“Save your questions.” you retort.

It is obvious that she notices the glassy gleam of your eyes in the moonlight — but she is smart enough not to pry. In the spur of the moment, she glances at Neuvillette, and nods her head. “Alright, just stay close to me.” You cast another look into the darkness, only to find it empty, uninhabited, and ominously still.

a/n: can y'all guess what neuvillette did to the guy🤭🤭🤭

taglist : @sek0ya, @souxiesun, @11111112222222sblog

#neuvillette #genshin impact #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette genshin #neuvillette fanfic #marriage of convenience #neuvillettexreader #arranged marriage #genshinblr #clorinde genshin #navia genshin

[rems-writing]

Brutal? Nah. Just caring. In an aggressive way

Trope: Sekhmet!Jongho x MoonKnight!reader

Context: Sekhmet is the Egyptian goddess of war, fire, and healing. She is known for her bloodlust and many people have suffered from her wrath and aggression. She was known as a symbol of great power and authority.

@newworldnet

@blossomnet

Thank you to @ja3hwa and @acupoftaewithsomesuga for helping me deliberate on which god goes with which member

Includes: a lot of mentions about blood, platonic!Jongho, and gn!reader

To clear up any confusion, Jongho will be referred as he/him/his whenever no one is speaking. Only the reader (mainly), Moon Knight, and Khonshu will refer to Jongho as she/her whenever they mention Sekhmet's name. After all, I want to stay as truly accurate as much as possible despite this being a work of fiction

ENJOY :D

You just wanted to relax with your twin brother. You and Marc were finally able to live freely after having to deal with Arthur Harrow and Ammit, the crocodile goddess that judged people unfairly and sent them to an early death despite barely starting their lives and having yet to commit any crimes. The scales she used determined those poor souls' fates early on.

Good thing you two were able to stop her before anything disastrous occurred.

As you two were chilling in Steven's (with a V) flat in London, you got up to put your empty mug in the sink. You looked up briefly at jumped at the sight of Khonshu looming over you in the reflection of the window. You scowled and turned around to look up at him.

"The fuck do you want now, you old bird?" You deadpanned. Khonshu was the Egyptian god of the moon and justice. He should be standing tall, way too proud, and definitely way too cocky.

So why on earth was he standing there, trembling like a leaf?

As he weakly clutched his staff, he looked towards Marc, who was also deadpanning at him. The god laughed nervously and spoke in that annoyingly godly voice of his.

"Y/N. Marc. Can't an old god just visit his former avatars for the sake of it?"

You and Marc exchanged a look briefly looking back up at the god.

"You honestly think we'll believe you when you claim to visit out of friendship and kindness? Ever since we decided to no longer be your avatars, you have successfully fucked off from our lives. Why come back to us now?"

Khonshu sighed and set his staff down on the floor before looking at the both of you.

"You know that I would never come back to you since I respected your decision to back out. A deal is a deal after all. However, there is a reason as to why I came back to you."

"This better be good, you old bird."

The familiar British accent spoke and you turned, seeing how Steven had fronted. You guessed Marc didn't want to deal with Khonshu.

And you couldn't blame him.

Khonshu sighed wearily as he found an empty chair and sat in it. It was weird seeing a god sit down yet here he was.

"There's been a string of attacks lately. Massive amounts of bloodshed everywhere. And it has been committed by one person and one person only. I don't know the gender of this person, but... I recall seeing the outline of a lioness's head glowing brightly as the person's fists are dripping with blood. I figured it would be the avatar of another god or goddess so I tried to stop them myself. However, I have failed..."

A loud gasp escaped your mouth as you saw Khonshu open his robe slightly to reveal that his side had been pierced. Remnants of ichor (the golden blood of any mythological god or goddess) were stained on his clothes but for the most part, he patched up the wound well.

As far as you and your brother know, avatars, including Harrow himself, never made a god bleed. Only other gods and goddesses can make each other bleed.

"Wait a minute... you're saying an average human being made you bleed?"

Steven was puzzled as well. He observed the wound and was slightly worried for the moon god. Despite their differences, this situation was worrying.

"I couldn't believe it as well! However, this is evidence." Khonshu said solemnly.

"Well... this is new. Not only is Khonshu, the ever so cocky god, afraid for his life, but he got hurt in the process."

"You don't think Ammit is back right?"

"No no. She's gone. This must be the work of someone else."

As you and Steven racked your brains together, you looked back at Khonshu and felt bad for him. Just a little bit.

"Hold on... Khonshu, didn't you say you saw the outline of a lioness head?"

The god nodded slowly.

"You see, while Ammit was technically part lion, she only had the hindquarters of a lion. None of the other gods and goddesses from the Ennead have some type of physical form of a lion or lioness, whether it would be a partial form or an entire form."

You could never get tired of Steven's brain and his endless knowledge of Egyptian mythology. As you listened carefully, you wrote down some notes.

"This means that this person you saw? If they were able to make you bleed, that means they are simply in a human disguise, not using a random human as their avatar. My question is now... who is this god or goddess in disguise? As I said before, I know for a fact it is no one from the Ennead."

"None of the past avatars had outlines of god or goddess heads before. I feel like we're dealing with an older deity. Thing is... I don't know who."

"You're absolutely right, love."

You grinned sheepishly to yourself as Steven complimented you. You knew Steven liked you, but you politely shut him down and he took the rejection well.

One, your brother wouldn't approve since Steven already kissed his wife and he definitely didn't want him to be around you.

Two, you already have a boyfriend. His name is Song Mingi.

As you continued your research, Steven gasped. Both in excitement and horror.

"I think I know exactly who attacked you, Khonshu."

"I have a feeling as well but please tell me I'm wrong..."

Steven sadly shook his head as he pointed to an unfamiliar yet familiar picture of an old deity.

This deity had the body of a woman and her hands carried a staff and an ankh. As your eyes trailed upwards, they widened.

Now you see why both Steven and Khonshu were afraid and were on the same page.

"No... it's not possible! I thought she was done with slaughtering humanity!" You exclaimed.

"I thought so too. But somehow, she has come back." Khonshu said sadly. "Now you understand why I came to you. You two are the only ones strong enough to take her down. If you can do me this favor, I will leave you alone for the rest of eternity."

Instead of Steven fronting, it was Marc this time.

"Well then... time to face the almighty goddess of war. Sekhmet."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Once more, you two were in the ceremonial suits that Khonshu had provided you when he first saved you. You surveyed the city from below while Marc and Steven surveyed from above. You were on the lookout for anyone that had the outline of a lioness head glowing brightly. As Khonshu said, the gender of the person that Sekhmet chose was unknown so for you and Marc, it could be anyone! As you observed some more, your phone vibrated in your pocket, indicating that Mingi sent you a message. You decided to open it and see what he sent you. Your heart melted at the message.

Mingi: Hey. I hope you and Marc are doing well. I know facing an old goddess isn't easy, especially when you never really wanted to be that moon god's avatar anymore. However, this is important from what you told me over the call earlier. If this Sekhmet woman is on the loose, then you have to be extremely careful. I know you can handle yourself, but a goddess of war? That's definitely new. Stay safe. Remember. I love you always.

You called Mingi and told him that you were taking up the mantle of Khonshu's fist once more since Sekhmet was out and about killing people. Mingi disagreed at first but once you gave him the lowdown of what was happening, he reluctantly let you be.

After all, if a god can bleed, that truly meant no one is safe.

After sending a quick message back to Mingi, you put your phone away. Just in time as well since Marc told you over comms that he saw a suspicious silhouette enter an empty alleyway. You nodded and slinked into the shadows to follow the path until you reached the alleyway. You and Marc met up and you looked around the alleyway to see where this person had gone. You were baffled.

"Little sis. I swear I saw someone enter here." Marc claimed. You were about to say something when you saw a hand shoot out from the shadows.

"MARC, LOOK OUT!"

Too late. When Marc turned around, that hand grabbed your brother's neck and squeezed tightly. You got out your weapon and pointed it at the person that was lurking in the shadows.

"Show yourself! Before I show you the proper way to make a god bleed."

A dark chuckle echoed in the shadows as the person stepped out. You faltered for a moment before regaining your focus on Sekhmet's human disguise.

She picked a rather good one to say the least.

The man was dressed in black from head to toe and the suit clung to his burly body well. Bright orange eyes faded into a piercing dark brown and his jaw stayed clenched in both anticipation and aggression. Light brown hair was parted down the middle and styled in a way that made one side longer than the other. Almost like side swept bangs. The hand that was choking Marc was stained with blood.

"You dare defy a goddess such as I? You truly must be mistaken... Spector."

His voice was soft yet held such malice and venom. As he squinted his eyes at you, he stepped closer. You adjusted your weapon's position so it was pointed at his heart.

"Don't come any closer, Sekhmet. Let my brother go now."

"Why bother with my official name? You can simply call me... Jongho."

You narrowed your eyes at this Jongho man suspiciously. You never wavered as he stepped even closer. He was almost nose to nose with you yet he kept his distance.

"Fine. Answer me this then, Jongho. Why are you out here killing people left and right? Did you grow bored of living that mundane life with your husband and son? Yeah I know my history. Not all humans are dumb."

Jongho chuckled and finally let your brother go. He was gasping for air harshly and went beside you for better protection.

"Careful, sis. His hand strength is no joke. I thought my windpipe was going to get crushed!" He coughed and wheezed while Jongho rolled his eyes.

"You humans are so weak. You should be lucky that I let you go, other Spector." He growled and you swear the growl of a lioness as he spoke.

"As for you, I'll agree to disagree. Now that you've seen what I look like and what I can do, it's best that you stay out of my way. I want nothing to do with you nor the young god that occupies himself with the moon and his own silly version of justice."

You shook your head and pressed the tip of your sword to Jongho's heart a little bit harder.

"Oh we definitely will stay out of your way. No one could ever defeat a powerful goddess such as you. However, since you happen to be taking random human lives like back then, your presence, along with the bloodbath that trails behind you, has made you our concern. So while I'm being nice, you better tell us why you started killing humanity again."

What Marc, Steven, Khonshu, and Mingi admired about you most was your ability to stay calm, courteous, and polite even when faced with a deadly goddess. Despite the weapon raised at him, Jongho admired your professional bravery.

You definitely weren't afraid of death.

Jongho sighed lightly and raised his bloodied hands in surrender. Marc's eyes widened with surprise, Steven must've been cheering you on from the sidelines, and from a distance, Khonshu was relieved and shocked when he saw the deity surrender to you.

"I know that blade you carry can definitely hurt a god or goddess. Plus, your tone is rather respectful for someone who is a vigilante and has their weapon raised at me. For that, I will allow cooperation. I ask that you do not kill me."

"Even if I was allowed to, I can't. Your death would mean that humanity has free reign to do whatever they want without consequence. Ra, your father, created you for a reason. Even though you are mainly neutral, we need someone like you to keep that balance in check. So I won't kill you. However, I will hurt you if you step out of line."

A faint smile appeared on Jongho's face and you somewhat found his gummy smile adorable.

For a deadly goddess, she sure picked a cute looking man to disguise herself in.

"You truly are something else, Spector. Allow me to formally apologize for the bloodshed that has occurred as I continue to walk this Earth. As I said, I will allow cooperation. There is a reason why I have resorted to my ancient killing sprees."

You nodded, indicating that you, along with Marc, are listening to the ancient goddess. Jongho sighed and put his hands down. The anger and aggression that was once in his eyes turned into sadness, despair, and worry.

"Contrary to what you might think, I have not grown tired of the family life that I've established with my husband and son. I am happy to be a mother. In fact, I live on this very Earth with them. To humanity, we are two men that have adopted a beautiful young boy. I was out one day doing a bit of grocery shopping when I got a call from my husband. I figured that it would just be a regular phone call. But..."

Jongho's face darkened as he continued to speak.

"I heard cries for help. Both from him and my son. A grimy voice had ahold of my husband's cellular device and said something about delivering money in exchange for their lives. How greedy must humans be to kidnap innocent people just for green pieces of paper that hold value?! It makes me sick!"

As Jongho said that, he punched the brick wall behind him. A giant hole was left in the wall and he sighed in frustration as he shook his bloodied hand to get rid of any remnants left on his knuckles.

You swear you heard Khonshu whimper in fear from a distance.

You were going to tease him later about that.

"I understand now. You were trying to track down the people that kidnapped your family. When they gave you nothing or refused to answer, that's when you decided to kill them."

"You do?"

The goddess's manly voice was twinged with softness and care. You smiled to yourself on how motherhood had changed her throughout all this time.

"I'm not a mother myself, but I understand how important it is to protect your family. If you allow me, I will help you in making sure you guys are reunited safe and sound."

Jongho smiled once more and reached out to hug you. You were thrown way the fuck off as he hugged you so gently. Marc looked away and whistled awkwardly. When the beefy man let you go, he looked down at you.

"Thank you. I will let you know any details that might help."

"Sounds great."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"So now we're going to save her family? Or his... I don't bloody know any more!"

Steven was trying to wrap his mind around the turn of events as the five of you drove down an empty street. You were currently on your way to the location where the goddess's family was being held hostage. Jongho chuckled at Steven's confusion.

"Young man, you may wish to address in any way possible. I have learned how to adapt to these changes. For example, in my human disguise, my pronouns are he/him. In my original goddess form, my pronouns are she/they. It is the year 2024. I may be an old goddess, but I keep up with the times."

The thought of an ancient goddess using pronouns made you smile. Times have definitely changed.

As you approached the location, which was just an abandoned warehouse, you turned around and laid down the plan to all of them. Marc and Steven agreed, Khonshu had some stupid questions, and Jongho simply nodded patiently. Once everyone had their weapons and powers set, you all exited the car and made your way inside the warehouse.

It was showtime.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This was probably the easiest mission you and Marc have ever done in your entire life, especially with Sekhmet by your side.

Sekhmet dropped her human disguise and fought off the henchmen as herself, leaving you to be in awe at the way that she moves as she fights.

Khonshu swore he fell in love with Sekhmet. Another thing to add to the list of things to tease the moon god about.

Finally, you approached the mastermind behind this stupid kidnapping. You grew tired of his monologue so you sent Sekhmet, disguised as Jongho once more, to go in and snap his neck, to which he did easily.

After he dropped dead, you sent Marc and Khonshu to do a final sweep of the warehouse while you went with Jongho into the dark room that his family was in. Jongho held up a small flame in his hand and rose it to the air. The flame lifted from his palm and turned into a ball of light so the dark room finally lit up. He saw his family cowering in the corner and walked to them slowly.

"Hi, honey. I'm here."

Jongho's husband and son threw themselves into his arms and they cried tears of joy as they were reunited with him. Your heart swelled with adoration at the sight unfolding in front of you. The son must've noticed your presence since he saw you and hid away shyly. Jongho chuckled and patted his head.

"Come, little one. Say hi. This is Y/N Spector, one of Khonshu's old Moon Knights."

You waved politely while the child said hello quickly and quietly. Jongho's husband lifted his head and walked over to you before grabbing your hand and shaking it.

"Hello. My name is Ptah. I am the Egyptian god of creation. However, on this Earth, you may call me Yeosang."

The history books weren't lying when they said that Ptah was handsome.

Ptah's human disguise as Yeosang was utterly breathtaking.

Short wavy black hair, a statue-like face, a lean body with a bit of muscle, and a unique birthmark that was depicted as a pink splotch near the corner of his right eye.

"The child that is currently hiding behind my wife, or husband I should say, is Nefertum. His human name is Youngjae."

"It's nice to meet you both. Now come along. Let's take you guys home. Marc and Khonshu finished sweeping the area. It's clear."

The three of them nodded and followed you out of the warehouse.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When you guys arrived at Jongho's flat, you told Marc and Khonshu to stay in the car while you went up with the family to make sure they were safe. While Yeosang and Youngjae went inside the bathroom to get cleaned up, Jongho stayed out in the living room, washing his hands and scrubbing off the blood that caked up on his knuckles.

"Thank you once again for your help, Y/N. I am in debt to you."

"No need to thank me, Jongho. Even though this will be my last time to ever be a Moon Knight, this was certainly a mission worth carrying out."

Jongho smiled as he dried his hands clean and stepped closer to you before leaning in and kissing your forehead.

"The next time we cross paths, it'll be on a normal circumstance. For now, I bid you farewell."

"I hope so as well."

"Are you sure you don't want me to heal those cuts for you?"

"It's ok, Jongho. Go ahead and be with your family, I'll be fine."

Jongho smiled once more before waving goodbye and watching you leave his flat. When you entered the car again, you saw Khonshu leaning his head back in embarrassment while Marc and Steven endlessly teased him. As you started the car and drove home, you joined in.

"Hey, you old bird. Did you like the way Sekhmet moved in battle even though she fucked you up?"

"SHUT UP!"

#newworldnet #blossomnet #ateez #ateez imagines #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #moon knight

[the-dye-stained-socialite]

May's Strip Game Part 7!

[Vote for his gloves]

His Tie is in halves.

With careful, deliberate movements, the Manager pulls off his gloves. Finger after finger, either of them, reflected down the middle. As if his hands are pressed to a mirror pane. As if you are slipping into that land of dreams, where your nightmares often lead. But you cannot be, for you are in the Royal Beth. You are not meant to go mad here, this is where you go to recover from your madness.

“Yes, I agree.”

The Merry Gentleman discards his gloves. The Second Attendant snatches them up, and you watch the white leather turn crimson in the Attendant’s pristine grip.

The Gentleman grabs his cane, and approaches you. It makes the tick-tock of a clock as he walks towards you. His stride is long, and you think perhaps he is covering more distance than he should. You hear your heart beating in your ears, but it makes the thumping sound of a cane on carpet.

He reaches you.

He is still smiling. He pauses, then he taps his cane in a new beat. The double-beat of a heart. At first, it matches your pulse. Then he speeds up once, twice, and your pulse matches his cane. When he is satisfied with your new, induced anxiety, he stops. Your heart remains quickened. Your posture is stiff. The room is too big, the room is too small, the chatter of the crowd died out long ago, and there is no comforting murmur to keep you grounded in reality.

He leans down to your eye level, and places your pencil and paper back in your hand. When did you let go? His smile hides many cruelties, as he asks one final question. “What is your deepest fear? Go ahead, write it down dear, it’s good for bookkeeping.”

{<<<Part One} {<Part Six} {Part Eight>}

If you are here to see May loose more clothes, this is the end of that portion.

#may's strip game #fallen london #dye stained art #dye stained writing #the manager of the royal beth #may of the calendar council #suggestive #ish #*points to the horror content tag* #author chose not to use archive warnings #hope y'all are having fun :}

[vallification]

suguru geto / ☀️ aquarius / 🌙 taurus / 💫 scorpio

☀️ - sun in aquarius makes geto independent, introspective, unaffected, unusual, and autonomous. at first glance, geto is the poster boy for aquarians. he moves to the beat of his own drum, and sometimes it seems as if he’s living in his own world. geto enjoys thinking for himself and finding unusual ways to navigate situations; often, this is done silently and is only revealed when he is satisfied with what he comes up with. despite being closest to gojo, who is a natural leader, geto values his independence especially when it comes to choice. geto’s values are extremely important to him, which we can see in his choice of clothing and accessories. his stretched ears and his pants reflect his claimed buddhist values, despite both styles deviating from the modernity of his peers. he didn’t care to keep quiet about his opinions that differed from his peers; for example, in his younger years he argued that there was no sense in reasoning about the purpose of jujutsu. although he valued speaking his mind, geto was well-mannered and dignified, which also amplified his aloof, unaffected demeanor.

however, sun in aquarius makes geto unattached, obstinate, and impersonal. geto’s descent into his anti-non-sorcerer ideology showcases how easily (for lack of a better word) he was able to detach himself from his sentiment that sorcerers existed to protect non-sorcerers. these attributes also ring true for how devoted geto became to his new ideology; no matter how much gojo and others tried to pull the idea from his head, it didn’t budge. geto had found a new set of rules and there was no turning back from that, especially in light of others telling him what he should be doing. his decisions following his defection were for a greater purpose, and were often for impersonal reasons, despite those decisions personally hurting people he once cared about.

🌙 - moon in taurus makes geto grounded, strong-willed, foresighted, and appreciative of pleasures and nature. throughout his life, even after his defection, geto is incredibly grounded and he exudes a sense of stability. geto’s stable demeanor, juxtaposed against gojo’s excitable one, gives him an air of serenity. his choice of a more traditional style of clothing amplifies this trait, as well as his appreciation of pleasure. many people pair moon in taurus with laziness, slobbiness, and materialism, but geto redefines the placement by taking pleasure in what he sees as important, which is a better description of moon in taurus. we also see geto’s strong-willed nature heavily throughout the series, both before and after his defection, which is a pillar of moon in taurus. he is unwilling to change his opinions, ideas, and methods in favor of bending to someone else’s— even gojo’s. i also find it interesting that his csm manifests animal-like curses, which rings true to his taurean appreciation of nature.

💫 - it’s just a headcanon, but i believe geto is a scorpio rising. scorpio risings are intense, alluring, mysterious, and passionate, which describes geto at first glance perfectly. gege explained that geto is more popular with the ladies than gojo, and being a scorpio rising would explain the initial attraction quite well. geto is handsome, yes, but not in a way that commands attention like gojo. his appearance lures in attention, like a mystery that people would beg to solve. his bedroom eyes are the pinnacle of scorpio risings, who are known for the captivating nature of their intense gaze. his height, build, dark eyes, and dark hair are undeniably seductive in a way that only scorpio risings can achieve. his passion for his ideology rings true to these attributes, too; when a scorpio rising wants something, they will stop at nothing to get it, and they take pleasure from getting what they want.

#geto suguru #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk geto #vallification

[dandelionsresilience]

How to Cope with Extreme Temperatures

Cold:

Lots of very good information on how to keep warm (can confirm, as a northerner)

Tips for extreme cold + an easy way to make a small shelter for animals

More tips for extreme cold

How to winterise your car (before winter)

A bunch of winter driving tips

In Chicago, people without heat should call 311 for transportation and warming shelters

How to keep cats safe from the cold (this source has a video)

Sleep with tomorrow’s clothes, fold them up into one unit and snuggle them like a teddy bear (it’ll warm them enough that you’re not putting on ice cold clothes in the morning)

Eat frequently, especially “heavy” meals like meat and potatoes, to help keep warm as your body breaks it down

Heat:

Lots of tips for extreme heat

More tips for extreme heat

More tips on how to prepare, including info on medication storage

How to recognise heat exhaustion vs heat stroke, + electrolyte pills exist

DIY refrigeration using clay pots, sand, and water

Buckle your seatbelt when you’re not in the car to keep it from getting hot

In California, report insufficient shade for farm workers by texting CALOR to 877877

How to diagnose, treat, and prevent heat injury in cats, dogs

Change clothes if you’re too hot - as long as they haven’t been sitting in the sun, they’re cooler than the clothes you’ve been wearing

Drink a lot of water, but also eat a lot of salt so your body can use the water! Also, eating spicy foods can make you sweat and trick your body into cooling down a little

Either:

What to do in a power outage

Fill gallon jugs with water in case you lose access to tap, and don’t forget to replace the water before winter and before summer

Insulate your windows: for cold weather, spray-insulation, blankets/towels, and paper can help keep heat in; for hot weather, reflective windshield shade thingies meant for use in cars, tin foil, and opaque light-coloured materials can help keep heat out

#how to #climate crisis

[oh-shtars]

RFTS!AU AskBox #4

Me to @signed-sapphire for the legendary number of 50 Questions Galore they sent me:

Heads up though, you might notice there’s certain questions skipped. I’m either not able to answer some of the asks at all OR they’re either some art requests that I haven’t finished and will post in future posts. So I had to skip them for this post unfortunately…. I apologise as such. 😅

Anyways, let’s get speeding through them shall we?

1. How do you plan to show the songs?

It should be question 6 of this post here. :)

……

2. How many songs do you plan to have in RFTS?

4 or more. Depends on what I come up with.

……..

3. What ‘vibe’ would each song have?

Uhhhhhhh, idk tbh. I’m really just going with the flow of what this story brings me. You can’t wait to see what the RFTS!plot has in store? Yeah, me too.

……..

4. Who’s voicing Valentino and the main cast?

For Valentino, I’m not sure. I’m debating whether it should be younger Bambi or Ronno’s VA. But he basically has an actual kid’s voice this time rather than a deep-sounding one. (Because honestly, I found that a bit weird personally). For the the other characters, I don’t really mind the voices they have canonically.

And I think I’ve mentioned this before, but even though Sueño can’t speak, I could hear him singing this in this voice hypothetically.

………..

5. Write or draw any cute interaction between Ashueño!

Mk :3

………

6. I know Asha will have a different outfit by the end, but do you have different designs for anyone else?

Yeah, I do actually. Some characters have a different outfit to better reflect their current context. (Like how Sakina would have work clothes similar to Asha.) But I don’t want to reveal most of them at the moment since I would like to keep them a secret for now.

……

7. Some Gabo doodles, if you don’t mind. I rarely see the short king in any Wish Art.

Fiiiiine.

His design makes a lot more sense if you were me and you knew the context. Take this art with whatever theories you guys can throw at me 😂

……. 10. What made Amaya fall in love with Magnifico? What changed?

Amaya had a family who greatly discouraged her interest in studying magic and potions since it’s against what their family has done for generations. Meanwhile, Magnifico who was adopted as Rosas’ prince, is expected to learn magic but COULDN’T because he struggles to do so since he hasn’t moved on from his trauma.

When these guys were around 16-15 years old, they were mutual best friends. Mag offers Amaya to read from his magic books while he finds comfort in just having a genuine friend who doesn’t remind or push expectations onto him that he hears everyday in the castle. She’s like an escape from the stresses he has in there.

In their future years, Amaya grew to fall in love with someone who promised her the world if she only asked for it. She finds bits of herself in Mag, as both were people with crushed dreams that deserve better. (In their POV anyway.)

Falling in love was not at all what she expected since she used to believe sympathy would only hold her back from exploring the limits of magic. But you know, Amaya’s as much as a tragic character as Magnifico is.

…….

11. Who fell first and who fell harder between those two?

Is it possible to say that RFTS!Magnifico is both?

……..

12. Any fun fact about the Royal Couple? (You can tell who I’m most invested in. lol.)

The only reason Espino, the royal cat, is in the castle is because Amaya wanted him around. Otherwise, if it were up to Mag, that cat is out to the streets. He’s not very fond of animals and he considers them as pests. Though, Espino gets small bonus points from Magnifico just because he keeps the castle clear from mice which he especially hates.

(Good to know you’re enjoying ‘Grand Despair’ while it lasts :)

……

13. This may be weird but…Body Swap! How would Hopes and Dreams react?

Asha would have zero idea how to get star magic under control. Meanwhile, Sueño finds an interesting realisation.

……..

14. What’s your favourite fanart piece of your AU?

I LOVE all of them so much!! They’re all made by very amazing artists!! I’m so happy to see these silly characters I’ve made be brought to life in someone else’s style. 💖💖

Mere words can’t express this joy enough. I hope you all would love the final chapters once they do come out as much as you loved seeing content of them now. X3

……..

15. Are you telling your story via writing or art of word dump?

I’m planning to share it in chapters like how Anny and everyone else has been doing. Plus some more sketches I would keep making of them obviously.

………

17. Draw Ashueño dressed as another Disney couple!

Hehehehehe guess whooo~ 🙃

………

19. Young!Sueño!

Which one? 🙃

Awww, good times back then when the little guy is still figuring out the forms he likes….

…… 20. Young!Royal Couple!

Mini Magnifico would rather drown himself or drink snake venom than call Oliver his dad- ………

22. Give some more lore on Asha’s father. Are you keeping him as close to the source material as possible? Will we see him in flashbacks or something?

You’ll definitely get to see Tomás at certain points in the story. Either in the short prologue, mentions and flashbacks. He’s generally a friendly guy but at the same time, is also assertive to defend what he thinks is wrong. But even though his life was cut short, Tomás ended up inspiring more people than he thinks. Especially his old friend, Sabino, who hasn’t given another wish or attended any more wish ceremonies after his death.

I don’t think we really knew much about Asha’s father at all in the canon movie, but I’ll pretty much be close to what is depicted there already with some more detail on how he made an influence in the lives of those he loves.

………

23. Give Sueño a stuffed toy for him to cuddle with. He deserves it <3

He adores it so much 💖💖

……….

24. More lore about the Astral Realm!

Not all Wishing Stars have the strong desire to venture down into the human realm someday and that’s completely fine. They can still guide their wishmaker from above. But for those who do want to, they need to answer one important question first:

“Why do you grant wishes?”

Since they would be going down to earth by themselves ALONE with none of their elders to guide them this time, their answer to this question serves as their anchor in case they get lost or distracted. Answers do vary and some may be the same among stars, but that’s fine. As long as they’re sincere with all their core on their answer. Some examples may be: “I like to see them reach their very best and reap their deserved rewards.” Or “I like watching them journey and discover themselves.”

……….

25. SNEAK PEAKS!!

This scene is one of my dotpoints I came up with but I’m not so sure anymore if that would still fit in and whether I should scrap it. Regardless, I thought this would be a nice little thing to show you all. Proof that I’m indeed working on it 😅

(Actually, this sounds so cute to draw. Feel welcome to try and do so if you want to, my fellow artists ^^)

…… 26. How does Magnifico’s magic work?

I made a whole post on this :3

………

27. Where did Amaya learn potions?

She’s self-taught mostly. But I also did mention that Mag generously lets her borrow what is meant to be his books of magic soooo, he played a role on that as well.

……

29. What’s Amaya’s opinion on the other Wish AU Mags?

I’m not exactly sure how different her opinions would be on each of them since I think we all decided to have our fun with Magnifico just being a shameless show-off and fun evil villain. I’ll try though.

Amaya would think KOW!Mag reminds her a lot of her own husband, also short-tempered and a disgustingly sweet romantic at times. She’s kind of a play-hard-to-get girl though 😂. One thing she does notice is that what WRTS!, Wish Granted! And KOW!Mag have in common is how loud they are with their ceremonies. Is that a universal Magnifico thing? Eh. There sure is a lot of interesting knowledge to learn from these universes. Hmmm.

TKoRaT!Maggy has that same pained look that falls on RFTS!Mag whenever he’s sulking by himself and needs time alone. Usually it’s because of his old village trauma. It’s an intriguing but ever so familiar cycle she recognises well.

Meanwhile. TFS!Mag is……different, she would say. Not exactly good different. I kinda imagine her eyeing this guy like a cat. This Mag just gives off a very different vibe of non-ruthlessness(?) that she’s not used to.

……..

30. Same for Mag, but vice versa.

RFTS!Mag gets very very very familiar vibes with KOW! And Wish Granted!Amaya. He finds it slightly amusing since it feels like his wife just became a part of some triplets. (He jokingly asked RFTS!Amaya if she had any sisters she never told him. The woman wasn’t amused. She doesn’t really like being reminded of her family.) I’m sorry TKoRaT! And TFS!Amaya, but you’ve made the decision to adopt Asha as your daughter and so he thinks lower of you now. Although…the TKoRaT!couple might just get to redeem themselves for that since they sound interesting enough. They’re going to have the ditch the girl though at some point.

WRTS!Amaya just feels off. He doesn’t know what exactly though? Is he losing his mind or something? Ugh, I think he could use devouring another Wish Bubble just in case…

……..

31. You know what, for Asha and Sueño too!

Oh boy, here we go. 😂

Asha will NOT be able to handle Wish Granted!Star’s energy. It’s so different from the silent but still lively conversations she has with her Starboy. Star just can’t bring himself to stop talking, can he? 😅 Asha thinks WRTS!Aster and TKoRaT!Star are adorable. Cielo may be a bit much at times with his light teasing and flirting, but she’s aware he means well.

I could see Asha’s non-hesitant empathy, patience and genuine concern to Haedus would be a huge comfort for the poor guy. (Trust me, she’s done this plenty before.) She’s a bit surprised to see Naos and Nembus but I think they’d get along just fine. She’s pretty good with playing with kids from her experience with a mischievous Valentino. And lastly, KOW!Aster is a total sweetheart that she jokingly comments could rival Sueño’s. (That comment caught Sueño’s attention quickly lmao.)

MEANWHILE:

Sueño is more hesitant and unwilling at first to approach humans by his own accord. He’ll still keep a short distance buuuut… if they’re just another version of Asha, it can’t be that horrible, right?

KOW!Asha’s drawings are a familiar sight for him and he’s impressed that she could bring her own drawings to life. Same goes for WRTS!Asha with her magic wand. Maybe they’re friendly… Maybe they could both do that together :D He’s neutral with Wish Granted! And Aled’s Asha for now until he gets to know them better.

Sueño recognises that same shyness and timid nature in TKoRaT!Asha. (It’s weird how she does the same thing RFTS!Asha does of turning their head away and hiding behind their hair when he innocently just looks her way.)

And then there’s…….HER. TFS!Asha. Cielo talks about her a lot….😬. But you know, that girl scares him.

Unfortunately, Sueño is staying a relatively farther distance away from the last two Ashas I mentioned. Why? Idk, probably the fact that they’re the daughter of Mag and Amaya-

……….

32. *Gives Sueño an iPad with Duolingo on it* Here my child. Learn Spanish.

I have a feeling you did this so he could finally find out what his name, ‘Sueño’ translates into. Lol, nope. Not yet he’s not.

He still appreciates the gesture though, but the guy got distracted by the other cool features and apps this weird magical mirror-tablet thing(?) had and completely forgot all about the Owl app.

……

33. Will Asha ever attempt to learn Celestial? Maybe with a candle? Like Morse Code? Idk.

Idk. Speaking Celestial is really just stars exchanging screechy sound waves to each other telepathically like words, while their glowing sequences indicates the mood and tone of what they’re saying. Maybe if Asha comes to learn how to harness light magic on her own, she’ll be able to at least convey emotions such as happiness in it by controlling the brightness and duration of each flash.

…….

35. How are you planning out your story?

I usually think of what main message I’m trying to get across first and build the story around it. After some character and world-building stuff (that I keep adding to because procrastination), I put the key scenes I could think of in bullet-point format and then just think up some in-between scenes that could occur between those points.

Usually though, the most usual process is that a random concept/idea pops into my head and then I immediately type it down so I won’t forget it. It’s basically my thing now to organise the giant mess of reminders into comprehensive plot lines.

I’m not writing the story at this point. The story is choosing to expose itself to me XD

Another main thing I do is listen to my Spotify playlist of this AU, read the Wish Artbook, or rewatch a movie that has inspired the RFTS! plot in some way.

……..

36. Are there any kisses in your story?

Hmmmmm….. *glances at Ashueño and Amnifico*

Oh well, since you’ve asked me, I gueeeeess I’m unfortunately now going to have to remove all the kisses I had included since y’all are so desperate to know….. (/jk)

……..

38. Will the Royal Couple have villain transformations?

………..

39. What’s your take on the ‘eating wishes’ thing?

As I’ve mentioned in my last post on how the magic system works in the RFTS!AU, Magnifico eats wish essence to reverse the costly effects of using Curse Magic. To put it simply, he uses them to make him more mentally stable.

.,,,,,,,,

40. What Easter Eggs are you planning to put in your story?

Awwwww, where’s the fun in that? Find them yourselves >:)))

And who knows? Maybe certain fellow creators in the Wish Rewrite Fandom will make a reference in some of the chapters. Keep an eye out 😉

……..

42. What exactly does Asha’s job entail?

Being a king’s apprentice is a way to gain experience and learn how to use magic by the king himself, so you could use the attained knowledge as to however you want. Share the talent with Rosas or Go out into the world.

However, when Magnifico’s reign started, he forbade magic usage other than he and his wife with the claim that it’s for the greater good and safety for Rosas. (He kinda had a point since criminal activity and accidents did decrease in number after that rule.)

Since Mag doesn’t really need an apprentice, Asha is more of an assistant now, following in her dad’s footsteps before her. She’s tasked to do help with whatever Mag might need around his study such as keep the fire going or organise his papers. But Mag doesn’t really like having her around a lot, (since she asks a lot of questions about his wish-keeping system) so he purposefully tells her to go carry out outside tasks such as go into the garden and help the gardeners or something.

……..

43. Did Magnifico make Sueño’s bonds?

If I told you, would that make you more blood-thirsty enough to gather pitchforks and torches for his head? Because if you are, please don’t. I still need this guy to stir up conflict in my story :((

(You can have him all you want though once I’m done with him. Lmao.)

………

44. How was Rosas founded?

Nearly a century ago, the kingdom was first built. I’ve read in the Art book that Rosas was apparently named to reference ‘Beauty and the Beast.’

Like, ok….?

Anyways, I found that roses are meant to represent love, rebirth and beauty. So I decided to add more onto that than just have it as another reference. The kingdom’s founders wanted Rosas to be a place where people who are wary and feel outcasted by their homes can find and start a new beginning. To ‘Rebirth’ and have a second chance to find the ‘beauty and love’ in their lives again,

Blue and white were made the royal colours because the blue was meant to stand for trust and reliability and white for new beginnings. Symbolising the past kings and queens’ responsibility to have their talents in sorcery be used to serve the people who come here. Thus, Rosas’ citizens all are in a variety of different cultures.

……..

45. Over how many days does your story take?

I’m thinking within one month. It’s a race-against-time sort of thing where Asha needs to find out how to confront the Royal Couple before they do something horrible on Rosas’ celebration of its 100th anniversary, which is literally just a month away.

…….

46. What was your favourite part of Wish? Are you translating that to your AU?

I really really loved how Mag’s magic looked and how he went all evil-ish green as a tribute to past Disney villains. If we ignore the awkward transition he had from sympathetic to just plain psychotic, it’s a cool magic display. I kinda wished they went more full out on the final battle because it just felt so underwhelming asf.

I’m keeping the magical final battle but with more magical funsies. :D

…….

47. Least favourite part?

I’m frustrated how bland and empty the character interactions and emotional beats are since those kinds of moments are usually my favourite when it comes to movies.

Magnifico’s tragic loss of his village? “Pfft- What tragedy? We don’t need that in the movie’s 2nd half.”

Asha’s dead father? “Eh. We only needed him for a few mins and he’s non-existent from that point on.”

Valentino claims to be Asha’s helpful animal sidekick. “Did I mention I have a deep voice? Oh, and my butt’s a funny thing too. Did I already mention that my voice is loud and soooo deep??”

Simon’s betrayal? “Oh wow, that was a shock…. Anyways, wanna start a rebellion?”

OMG, Sakina’s wish is back!! “What was the wish about? Idk who cares.”

Asha’s friendship with Star doesn’t even feel that special to me?? GUYS, I felt more chemistry between Rapunzel and Pascal. COME ON, BUILD IT UP. DON’T JUST SAY ‘Awww, you and I are thinking the same thing~’ AND EXPECT ME TO BUY THAT.

……….

48. What’s your favourite aspect of the TFS!AU?

Idk why, but I like how there’s a unique twist in your AU on how Wishing Stars don’t have the best reputation to humans. It’s a nice subversion that makes it stand out a little more. :)) Because usually, the idea of wishing on stars is always seen as a positive thing but that’s not the case in this story. It’s intriguing to watch characters slowly realise that not everything is what it seems.

That, and the hilarious dynamic you’ve got going on between Cielo and Asha and how deep in denial they both are, even though it’s clear as day to the other TFS!cast. 😂

(Wouldn’t it be funny if TFS!Mag and Amaya also noticed? They may be going down a dark path but they’re not blind, girl.)

……..

50. What’s a boring fact about you?

Uhhhhhh…. I like organising stuff by colour for fun...? Like, I used to pour out a box of legos and sort through them as a kind of pastime. I still organise coloured pencils in rainbow order if I could too. 😅 ………

@annymation @uva124 @your-ne1ghbor @ficsinhistory @rascalentertainments @gracebethartacc @spectator-zee

It’s a long read, but I think you guys would enjoy going through it regardless. I hope so anyways.

Btw, thx for all the fun questions Bo! 💖 Might post some more regarding your other doodle requests that I’ve put to the side for now if you don’t mind. :))

#ask #reach for the stars au #rfts au #wish au #wish rewrite #wish starboy #wish asha #wish reimagined #wish magnifico #wish amaya #star x asha #asha x star #ashueño #Spotify #magnifico x amaya #au lore #au dump

[algrenion]

i love collecting dyes in BG3 but most of them go unused because i like muted colours for most of the companions; Astarion in muddy reds and shadow-y dark clothes for stealthing, Karlach in deep browns and blacks, Halsin in earth-tones and greens, etc.

maybe a little jazz for Gale, who i like to fit out in purple - but a washed out kind of purple that reflects a kind of aged quality to the fabric

Wyll, though? Wyll is my Style Icon. Wyll gets the spectrum. Wyll gets pinks, he gets sunshine yellows and scarlets and gold plated armours. Wyll gets fresh royal purple with gold accents, he gets luxurious blue/turquoise velvets with silver linings and the biggest, flutteriest capes i can rustle up out of our travels. He's our ambassador and a gem and he should shine like one gods dammit. Wyll is THE reason why the communal camp dye basket exists.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #playing bg3 #wyll ravenguard #purple is his best colour and i wont be told otherwise #he's royalty and his clothes should reflect it /HUFF

[starrysharks]

if you haven’t answered this already- not rlly an art ask but how do you make such great character designs? they’re all so cool what gigabrained magic are you using…

color palettes and motifs - go ham on them!!! it's easier for me because i tend to use very limited color palettes on character designs, but they make or break a design in my eyes so experiment with them (esp based on the emotive/personality associations with different colors). and also motifs - for me the best are the most visual, like certain foods, items relating to the character, or recognisable shapes (such as crescents and stars). study other designs with the same motif and cram as much of it into the design as you can (or as much as you'd like the character's "symbol" to be obvious) !

#ask zeno #also shape of clothes helps to express personality #tight clothes - mature + smart + formal #baggy clothes - childish + casual + cute #mix n match with that for contrast - like tight bottoms baggy top (oc example: angel) or baggy bottoms tight top (oc example: paro chroneko) #also USE DIFFERENT BODY TYPES #fat is usually associated with (good) kindness or (bad) greed and thin is with (good) active and (bad) sickly #muscular with (good) confident/strong and (bad) hulking/dumb #but you can and should IGNORE THESE whenever the hell you want because they aren't reflective of real people at all!!! #just arbitrary cartoon rules #a lot of cartoon “rules” (cof cof disney ones) are kinda offensive too #like fat means greedy? big nose means bad? what did you mean by that mister walt 🧐

[drunkonimagination]

saw this trend floating around where couples paint their nails the colour of their partner’s eyes and i’ve never felt more jealous

#the way i’m always chill and nonchalant about my relationship status (single) #but i immediately crave a relationship the moment i see two people doing silly romantic things together should be studied #like #*reflecting upon the inherent beauty of two people in a healthy relationship supporting and enriching each other every day* #me: aw nicee #*seeing two people wearing each other’s clothes doing matching outfits painting their nails the same colour of their partner’s eyes* #me: fuck i want that 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 #agnes speaks

[akkawi]

I have been obsessed with this exact fucking dress for 3 years.

#I used to not like them as much but I actually now really resonate with post '48 thobes #intifada thobes especially #because I feel like that really does fit my identity as someone in the diaspora #I could spend years and years researching and trying to bring back a destroyed records of what my specific ancestors wore in a specific city #But that's impossible and the whole point is that it's impossible because of what has happened #And it really reflects how the national identity has changed. #refugee children in camps don't know what cities their family originally from but they know what their homeland is #so the identity becomes more unified via the nation as opposed to the regional traditions which have been purposely destroyed by isntreal #im akkawi obviously. #The generation within my family's memory all dressed in more modern clothes because they were big city mfs #and the generation before them has been lost and of course those records have been destroyed. #I spent 3 years trying to find what is me And what kind of dress I should make that would most reflect me and I realize THIS IS THAT #anyways I want to make smth like this is what I'm saying. the red trim is insane i love it #look at the non-traditional motifs of the guys with a slingshots and the flag and al quds

[simplyghosting]

Person: You’re so quiet all the time.

Me: *biting my tongue for the past 3 hours, trying not to be a clean freak or insulting by asking if I can redo all of their laundry*

Me: haha you think so?

#ghost posts #mom I know cleaned everything on quick wash #including heavily spoiled baby clothes #bc she didn’t have time to run regular loads regularly I think #but everything smelled like urine and I wanted to fix it so bad #but I didn’t want to make her feel bad so I kept holding my tongue #like put me in that room for a week I will fix everything #I should just be like my grandmother and be a maid #like sit down I know you are tired I will fix this #put me in a room with dawn dish soap and I toothbrush you’ll be able to see your reflection on the walls #anyway when that same mom was out i moped all of her floors and scrubbed the toilets

[amerasdreams]

If wearing makeup is just about looking your best, then why don't men wear it? It would enhance their features too

Well... because women have been conditioned to be commodities. To buy hundreds of dollars of masks per year so they can look good for men-- the way it's always been.

Wear makeup if you like it. But perhaps take a critical step back and think about why you wear it, why you like it. Why it makes you happy. And if you have to wear it all the time-- for the purpose of people seeing you who don't know you, while the people who know you don't or shouldn't care what you look like.

#For me... #I want to be brave enough to not need foundation #I stopped wearing other makeup since covid #Except for special #Which is what my sophisticated aunt from NY seems to do #Makeup seems like it should be for special #To look a different way #Like a cosplay #You should be able to wear any clothes ou want too #Comfy or fancy whenever #Dress up lole you did as a kid #Most of all makeup shouldn't be an expected accessory at all times #And yeah makeup shouldn't be a stigma for men if they like it #I mean performers all wear it #I think we do reflect what is shown to us... #Actors and singers wore it so we had to #But not men lol bc if women do it it spoils it lol