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nyyrami · 26 days

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WHEN THEY HAVE A NIGHTMARE . . . synopsis. sleep was meant to be a break from the terrors of the normal day world. but even sleep is not escape for your lover and nightmares plague the crevices of their mind…

tags. satoru gojo x reader, nanami kento x reader, toji fushiguro x reader. angst. hurt/comfort. nightmares. mentions of wounds and battles.death duh.

a/n. i love this trope sm i genuinely don’t know why lol. if you enjoyed a like or reblog would greatly be appreciated ty <3 dk why gojos one is so long, sorry I got carried away with it… this is not proofread so don’t come for me sfter spelling errors this was rotting in my drafts.

GOJO SATORU was no stranger to nightmares. as much as he would like to say he was unaffected by his battles. he was human at the end of the day and like a human he would suffer trauma from it. it was only when he’d met you and he first slept in the same bed as you that the nightmares ceased. wrapped in your warm, soft arms. it was as if he were being protected by some unknown force and the horrid dreams were driven away. but they were never gone always and some days his mind would recollect what occurred during the day—or even what happened years ago…

‘‘—suguru, stop—wait.’’

satoru runs through the crowd pushing past mindless civilians. they all have the same look on their face. that they have somewhere to be, and that this pesky boy pushing them was dreadfully annoying. he wouldn’t have cared. only that suguru wore the same face as them. he doesn’t know why he ran after his criminal friend. maybe he wanted an answer? or a reason on why he would leave behind everything. leave him, Y/N, shoko. he couldn’t fathom a reason on why he would do such a heinous crime—

‘‘what satoru? what’s done is done, we can’t turn back time and change it. im done trying to.’’

the world fades to black like spilled ink on parchment, his dear friend with it but sugurus purple eyes remain. a stark light in the darkness he can only hope to hold on to. but like sand it slips through his fingers and away and he curses. at himself or suguru? he doesn’t know. only that he wishes he were so much stronger. he knows he will never be.

satoru is somewhere else again. this time a familiar alley. the sun is setting the distance casting a beautiful glow. satoru has grown. he is no longer the boy he was years ago. he’s a man now and he has a family. one he can call his own and cherish and love. but now looking at the person sitting infront of him, he doesn’t feel like a man.

suguru sits on the alley flaw, clutching his now lost arm. blood is everywhere. his robe is torn to shreds leaving his chest bare and exposed but satoru can care less about that now. now he’s focused on his dying friend who he wishes to say a million things to but he doesn’t know where to start.

should he tell him he’s now married? that he’s so happy now? that he misses him? that he wishes he could come back? satoru cant bring himself to say anything.

‘‘…at least curse me a little at the end..’’ his purple eyes are twinkling in the low light and satoru realises he’s never realised how beautiful sugurus eyes were until now. how ironic in that moment he remembers you commenting on them one summer evening. saying how they were prettier than even gojos blue eyes. how they speak a million things in no words. the world slips away and all turns white for a split moment and satoru is suspended in time. he is everywhere and nowhere.

he is seeing all his memories at once rushing past him like birds in flight. he wishes to hold onto the good ones but they escape his reach.

soon he is another place again. this time it is unfamiliar. he sees you. standing in a train station, your back is turned to him but satoru can sense something is wrong. he could sense your problems a mile away no matter how hard you try to hide them. he calls your name and you turn.

slowly but surely you look at him and your eyes widen, arm stretching out to touch him. to feel him. he walks toward you, like a magnet. a bang echoed a throughout the quiet hall and it takes him so long to realise the bang is from you.

it happens so quickly satoru doesn’t even react in time. he stand frozen in his step arms reaching out to touch your saying figure, but the light has gone out in your eyes for some reason and your looking at him but your aren’t.

you fall to the ground with a loud thud and you can’t help but remind satoru of a dead body. he hopes you aren’t one but the hole in the back of your head suggests otherwise. your fingers twitch for a second and satoru holds onto the hope that you may well still be alive but it dies with you too.

he cries out, screaming your name to no avail. shaking your shoulders in an attempt to wake you up from your sleep. ‘‘—‘toru.’’ satoru is blinded by grief, his blindfold off and his blue eyes out he takes in the world with hyper awareness but it does nothing but reaffirm that your—

‘‘satoru—’’

satoru is shooting up. the covers of his bed falling to his waist revealing his bare chest to the cold but he couldn’t care less. his body is trembling and for the first time in what seems to be forever, he’s scared—

‘‘satoru, darling—its okay, I’m here.’’ yes you are. you are untouched snd unhurt. satorus six eyes confirms but the lingering feeling of believing you were dead haunts him. your arms are around him in seconds, his head now laying on your chest.

for the next few minutes, for the first in time in what seems to be forever, satoru cries. his arms wrapping around your waist he digs his head deeper into your chest, his grip turning hard but you couldn’t care less. your attention was on your husband.

for a few minutes you sit there. satoru relying on your heartbeat to keep him calm, he slowly regains his composure but the dull tremble in his limbs is still there and no matter how much he tries to breathe in and out it remains. you rub soothing circles into his back and he looks up at you from where he lays, you finally see the whites of his eyeballs have gone red from crying and the blue seems to be shining even more than usual.

‘‘’toru. wanna talk about it?’’ he shakes his head. later. you would speak about it later when he was more comfortable but now he would rest. after what happened it seems the energy has finally left his body and he yawns. despite what had just happened you can’t help but find your lover cute. sliding back under the covers, he once again wraps his arms around you. this time entangling his legs with yours. his feet are dreadfully cold. ‘‘i love you, satoru.’’ you whisper into his hair. you can practically feel his smile through your shirt.

‘‘’m love you too.’’

NANAMI KENTO was a busy man. during his time as a normal working person he didn’t encounter things he would say were, traumatising. it was only when he returned to the jujutsu world that the nightmares returned. the last time he’d ever had them were following the death of his friend, haibara.

nanami walked through the streets of Tokyo. eyes roaming the many people and shops. nothing seemed out of the ordinary. everyone was on their way either to work, school or some place else. it was the perfect day. the sun was out and the cloud was littered with bright white clouds.

summer had always been the best season in his opinion. not for the great feeling it brought or even the great weather. but the fact that it reminded him of his long gone friend. haibara. he’d died back in his jujutsu days. hat’s why when nanami stopped in the middle of a bustling crowd, eyes hooking on a familiar figure, he couldn’t believe his eyes.

haibara stood a few feet away from him. in his usual jujutsu uniform he wore all those years ago. he looks unchanged. still the young boy at school. unawares of his fate. nanami swallows the lump in his throat away and he wants to say something.

say what exactly? he thinks, say that he was sorry? for not saving him? for not finding some way to save him? for not being strong enough? he knows what happened wasn’t his fault in the slightest but survivors guilt stands strong.

haibara speaks and his voice is surprisingly the same. the passage of time brighter dulling it not evolving it with growth. it’s a haunting reminder that in-fact he is dead. he always will be.

‘‘…why didn’t you save me, nanami?' you could’ve. you should’ve.'’ yes he should’ve. no, he couldn’t. but the guilt is a never ending well and nanami has fallen down it once again and he can’t find his way out. he runs to his friend but he can’t be stopped. he falls like water to the ground and the scene switches.

this time nanami is standing infront of haibaras body. or what’s left of it at least. his friend is cut in half, a thin trail of blood leaking out of his mouth and sliding down his chin. in another world he would’ve scolded him for his mess. in another world it would’ve been drool, but the bright red is obviously blood.

the pain is a dull throb this time. he has felt this pain already before, the feeling is nothing new.

the body changes and to his shock, it becomes you. your staring at the sky, eyes dull and unresponsive. you looked beautiful. with the way your hair spilled around your shoulders like pools or maybe it’s the slight upturn of your lips that hint a smile is coming.

what were you laughing about? he wouldn’t ever know. maybe that’s why he’s calling your same, begging for an answer. begging you not to leave him like haibara. he can’t afford to lose you too. the one who’s laid claim on his once broken heart. sown together the broken fabrics of his heart. with you he felt complete. the only person since haibara who ever elicited the feeling out of him. nanami opens his eyes and he is no longer looking at your dead body.

instead he is on his bed, in his home. throwing the covers off his sweating skin, he sits on the side. head in his hands in order to calm his breathing.

minutes pass before he hears the rustling of the duvet and your warm arms wrap around him from behind. he can tell you’d just woken up from your sluggish movements

‘‘—kento.’’

you take in his slightly trembling form and all sleep leaves you. you proceed to sit next to him quiet but a reassuring figure. you don’t ask him what caused him such distress but you can guess by the way his hands hover above the scars he gained all those years ago.

nanami finally relaxes. his heart calming, he lens into your touch. featherlight and soft. it doesn’t take him long before he’s in your arms, lying on your chest and sleeping once more.

TOJI FUSHIGURO had a hard job. one many would definitely die on but he was different. and as cliché as it sounded, he was built different. for all those years he lived with the zeni’in clan he acquired a cold heart of stone.

a defense mechanism to stop himself from getting hurt. that was until he met you of course. it seemed for the first time in his life he wasn’t living on his feet all the time. he relaxed in your presence. laughed and even cracked jokes.

he didn’t know how much of a lover man he was before he met you. he thought he wasn’t capable of such love. how you turned his life around, he didnt know.

hed just come back from a mission one he’d gained a few injuries in but nothing bad. you still fretted over him. making a hassle when you saw his blood soaked shirt. he wouldn’t deny it, he did love you hassling him about his safety, it was quite endearing. you’d went to sleep not long after, toji following suite.

toji stood in a familiar house of tradition Japanese architecture. everything screamed, money, wealth and power. something the zen’in clan prided themselves on. power brought you more money and wealth in the jujutsu world, toji was no stranger to it. ‘‘—you don’t even have any cursed energy, you mistake.''

toji had not seen the members of his clan in years. their faces now blurred in his memory’s so much he believed he had gotten over what they did to him, but now their voices always made little toji stiff backed and immediately sweating.

the man behind him had white hair and a pointed moustache but his face was a blur of colour. it seemed he’d forgotten what exactly they looked like but their voices were as clear as the day.

the harsh slap through toji off his feet and to the ground with a loud thud. a few specks off blood flying out of his now bruised lip. he’d also apparently forgotten that they beat him on the regular. ‘‘—you stupid monkey. look how weak you are—cant even fight back.’’ the man’s harsh words were followed with a brutal assault of kicks. toji cursed himself, he’d never be strong enough to fight back against these demons of the zen’in clan, no matter what he did so he took the abuse. the man kicked for what felt like hours, only stopping when he was breathless and toji was bruised all over.

‘‘you should’ve died in the womb.’’

he should’ve, he thought. he should’ve died as an infant rather than face the shame of having no cursed energy. he’d never amount to anything in there eyes other than a filthy monkey. suddenly, the man became enraged. he yanked toji up by the collar of his robe, bringing him close to his blur of a face.

‘‘your no son of mine—’’

the world faded to black and toji opened his eyes to a quiet room. he wasn’t in the zen’in estate. he wasn’t in the—

he shot up. arm reaching for the knife he kept in a daw on the bedside table. unbeknownst to him, the movement stirred you from your sleep. you awoke, groggy eyed and confused, the space where toji was once sleeping was empt, him now standing by the balcony of your apartment.

‘‘toji, what happened—’’

your words cut off when you saw the glint of something sharp in his hand. a knife. he was holding a weapons, but why— had someone come? questions flew around your brain score your eyes caught the glint of clear liquid on his cheek. you pieced two and two together and came to the conclusion he’d woken from a bad dream.

sliding out of bed. you walked up to toji, making sure not to startle the tensed man before you laid a warm hand on the expanse of his back. toji still didn’t turn, his face dutifully turned away from you. to hide what you already knew, you guessed.

trailing your hand down his arm, you hovered over his rock hard grip on the handle of the knife. coaxing him to let the weapon go. it didn’t take long before the muscles relaxed and he allowed you to take it away.

you didn’t speak for a few minutes before toji turned to fully face you. dried streaks of tears on his cheeks. he wasted no time in gathering you in his arms. his head hiding in the crook of your neck. you rubbed soothing circles into his bare back and before long you guided him back to bed whispering sweet nothing into his mop of dark hair.

©SATURVUE do not copy, repost or plagiarise my work. likes and reblog sre greatly appreciated <3

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen angst #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader fluff #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru fluff #gojo x reader #gojo satoru angst #nanami kento x reader #nanami angst #toji x reader #toji fushiguro #toji fushigro x reader #toji angst #honkai star rail #genshin impact

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marlenesluv · 1 month

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Hullo, hope you're doing okay. I was wondering if I could request a smau with Carlos.

Y/N is an upcoming but less known film scriptwriter and has a significant age gap from him (6-7 years younger than him). A lot of fans bully cause she's a struggler in Hollywood and not your typical model either. (she doesn't make the effort to look good for Carlos they say)

There is an Oscar winning film but her credit was taken away and fans finally support her (something dramátic like this idkk your choice!!) ty tho <3

Doesn’t Come Easy. (CS)

note: hi, i’m doing well, i hope you are too :) and yes, i love this sm!! i hope you enjoy! (no summary for this, j read the rec lol!)

pairing: carlos sainz x film scriptwriter!reader!fem. carlos is 29 and reader is 22.

fc: alani (alanikaii on insta)

warnings: fairly aggressive hate comments (happy ending tho)

masterlist here -> masterlist link

^ check my list for all posts! ^

liked by: carlossainz55, carmenmmundt, and 47,104 others

y/n.user: lots of work this week☕️📝

view comments…

carlossainz55: cariño❤️❤️

↳ y/n.user: ❤️❤️

user7: not the messy bun pictures 💀

f1wags: no one could ever make me hate y/n, wtf is wrong with you guys??

vroom99posts: the lack of effort she puts in to talking with the other wags, making herself presentable…why is he even with her?

user2: “work” is making up little movies? nope, babe

cschili55: facecard = 0

y/nhatepage: get this guy OUT. ain’t no way he’s happy with her…

user4: the way carlos doesn’t even defend her in these comments LMAOOOO

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

your instagram story:

seen by: carlossainz55, charles_leclerc, and 39,027 others

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

twitter:

Claire @claireblogsstuff8 •2hr ago

It’s about time someone made one of these threads:

Why we don’t like Y/n Y/l/n, Carlos Sainz’s girlfriend..:

Reason 1: She makes no effort to look good for him or the cameras. The only clothing she wears to the paddock is jeans, sweats, tee’s, and tennis shoes. Other wags give us dresses, skirts, like?? Try harder.

Reason 2: Y/n and Carlos have a 7 year age gap… This one speaks for itself………

Reason 3: Her job makes no money, shes mooching off Carlos. Being a film scriptwriter is great, if you’re actually good. Which she’s not.

Reason 4: She makes zero effort to be friends with the other wags. As a girlfriend, you should try and connect with your boyfriends friends girlfriends. She just ignores them on race weekends and it’s rude and lazy.

Reason 5: Y/n has no career in her field.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

liked by: carlossainz55, landonorris, and 63,248 others

y/n.user: little 5 year old me would be so excited that i’m finally able to say: my film script that i’ve worked four years on perfecting is finally in the works and being casted and filmed!🥹 this is surreal. i’m going to go cry some more.

view comments…

carlossainz55: hermosa❤️❤️ you’re amazing. i love you

↳ y/n.user: i love you more carlos❤️❤️

user3: uhhuh….

landonorris: CONGRATULATIONS 🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳

↳ y/n.user: TY LANDO!!!!

f1editpics: mmmm it’s gonna be soo bad😭

f1wags: GO Y/N‼️🫶

yourbsf: i’m so proud of you, i love you🫶

↳ y/n.user: i love you so much🫶

user5: mhmmm, we all know where this will lead😐 FAIL

formula1edit: nahhhh💀

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

liked by: y/n.user, lewishamilton, and 2,945,019 others

carlossainz55: Where do I even begin? Y/n, my world, my bestfriend, my soulmate. Ever since we met in Spain 4 years ago, I knew you knew what you wanted. When you told me your dreams, you didn’t expect them to become reality. Yet, here we are. I’m so proud of you, cariño. Te quiero❤️

view comments…

y/n.user: carlos🥹i couldn’t have done any of it without you. te quiero, amor❤️

↳ carlossainz55: ❤️❤️❤️

f1wags: UGH they’re so cute idcccc

user8: i still don’t think it’ll be good. and when tf is she gonna up her game bro

charles_leclerc: congrats y/n!!

↳ y/n.user: thanks charles!

user1: the way this film will flop and then he’ll break up with her💀

cs0ln0: sloppy, yawning, boring

user9: naurrrr🤧

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

F1 Gossip Blog Post:

Goodmorning…I have no entrance for you, because I am shook to the core today. It has been about a year since Carlos Sainz’s girlfriend, Y/n Y/l/n, went to the movie premiere of the movie she wrote.

Today I woke up and saw something that shocked me! Last night, this movie won an Oscar, but Y/n was no where to be found. She didn’t attend the awards and she wasn’t even credited.

The petty “I don’t like her” needs to stop. We need to support her, she’s talented, smart, and yes, beautiful. Us, as fans, don’t know how hers and Carlos’ relationship is. Although I would assume pretty good… (via the recent paparazzi photos, lol)

Her credit being taken away is awful, and shouldn’t be glossed over. Sign the petition at the bottom of this post to support Y/n, and bring attention to the fact that this film happened because of HER!

sign here!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

your instagram story:

seen by: carlossainz55, oscarpiastri, and 167,204 others

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

liked by: carlossainz55, lilymhe, and 345,024 others

y/n.user: First off, I want to say thank you to Carlos for being the most patient, loving, and kind boyfriend. I see the “she’s not good enough for him” comments and the hate posts. Carlos doesn’t say anything because I simply don’t want him to. I can’t even count the amount of times I have to tell him to not respond. Judging a relationship you know nothing about is silly.

I also want to say thank you to the other wags for being patient and understanding with me. I do hangout with them, I just keep that private. Not everything needs to be aired out on social media.

A huge thank you to fans of Carlos’ that have supported me and my journey with this film. I appreciate all the kind messages throughout the process of writing and even now with the Oscars.

Thank you to my family and friends, for supporting me from when I was a little girl watching movies and pretending I was in said movie for a week straight, writing alternate endings and embarrassing you at theaters.

There’s nothing that can be done about what happened with my credit for the movie at the Oscars. It’s unfortunate, but true.

Oh, also, Carlos and I got a puppy. His name is Calvin, that’s all.

view comments…

*comments have been limited by the creator of this post*

carlossainz55: I love you, cariño❤️

lilymhe: here for you🫶🫶

landonorris: keep your head up, dude😁 miss you!

maxfewtrell: cute dog!! loved the movie too, goat film writer

francisca.cgomes: love you!!💖

charles_leclerc: amazing film, you’re so talented🙏

lailahasanovic: prettiest girl made the best film and is living her best life 🥰

carmenmmundt: keep your head up!! george and i send hugs🫶💓

danielricciardo: you’re slaying with this post💅

alexandrasaintmleux: ❤️❤️

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

liked by: carlossainz55, carmenmmundt, and 227,284 others

y/n.user: back to writing🙃 #quentintarantinoishelpingmewiththisscript

view comments…

f1wags: yesss, queen!! so looking forward to the new script you write 😋

carlossainz55: bonita❤️❤️

↳ y/n.user: guapoooo❤️❤️

user3: i want the love they have

jvroom8: i like how everyone switched up on y/n, i’ve been saying she’s the best wag and no oneeee listened

tarantinouniverse: so excited for your new work!! the fact that you worked with quentin is so awesome!

zendaya: can’t wait!💜

↳ y/n.user: 💜🪩

moviecritic: y/n and zendaya?? duo i didn’t know i needed

landonorris: she’s busy writing guys💅📝

user7: living for your posts!!

maxverstappen1: DU DU DU DU BEST WRITERRRR

↳ y/n.user: ….what has gotten into him?

↳ charles_leclerc: 🤷‍♂️

↳ y/n.user: *cough* lestappen *cough*

↳ maxverstappen1: oh my

↳ alexandrasaintmleux: AHAHA i live for lestappen

↳ charles_leclerc: 😐

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

(reposts, comments, and likes are appreciated! ^-^)

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ilovehimyourhonour · 11 months

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wouldn’t dream of it

📂 bf! jung wooyoung x reader . you weren’t clear and wooyoung thought you were breaking up with him . slight angst , a bit of fluff , comfort .

a/n writing random pieces as my inbox/drafts sits with request . (edit — can’t believe this got as much love as it did lol) .

navigation

Vision turning hazy, Wooyoung falters in his steps—his eyes prick with tears as he watches you turn away from him, something you’ve never done. But has there ever been an argument this severe? Have the two of you ever yelled at each other with this much anger and heat? The rare times you did argue the atmosphere was still comforting, the two of you would sit down and talk things over. Wooyoung would hesitantly reach for your hands, you would smile softly and intertwine your fingers with his—he’d then lean forward, his lips brushing your forehead as he mumbles a “Im sorry.” Everything from there would work itself out, but as Wooyoung swayed where he stood, the orange lantern hanging above his head casting a dim light over him and the surrounding area, he knew the two of you weren’t going to solve this in a matter of minutes.

“Are you even listening to me?” He blinks back another rush of tears, they build within his throat. “Of course you’re not,” you chuckle. “Stupid of me to assume you would be.”

Your eyes are red, your cheeks are stained with the tears that had managed to escape—the collar of Wooyoung’s your shirt sports a few patches where your tears had fallen and seeped into the material. Wooyoung watches your hands shake as you reach up to brush the wetness from your cheeks.

“Can you say something, Wooyoung?” You’re annoyed. He parts his lips, only a strangled grunt leaves his mouth, the tangled tears, worry, and heartbreak resting in his throat blocks the words he wishes he could say. You hum softly, turning away from him—nearing the front door of your apartment. “I think we need a break, Woo.”

Panic surges through Wooyoung, bringing each aspect of himself to a crumbling point. Never has he ever had the desire to hear those words leave your mouth, never once had he ever desired to say them himself—no matter the circumstance he always wanted to get through it with you. He stumbles forward, leaving the kitchen and its orange glow behind as he pushes himself to the entrance—desperate to catch you before you left him.

Your backs facing him as he reaches you, you’re mid swinging your jacket over your shoulder when his two arms wrap around your knees—leaving you to frown and crane your neck. Your boyfriend has his face pressed into the back of your thighs, muffled sobs soaking into the materiel of your sweatpants, his shoulders violently shake with his cry. “I. Love. You,” his words are broken between hiccups.

“I love you, Wooyoung.” Your still facing the door, his tight grip on your legs preventing you from turning to face his kneeling figure. “Let me go,” you softly mutter as you blindly reach behind you—fingers brushing through his hair gently. His arms circle your legs tighter, his head shaking as he lets a few more hiccups shake his figure. You sigh and reach for his arms, pulling yourself from his hold—his heart splits in half and another surge of tears trail down his cheeks, dripping from his jaw and chin.

“No,” he chokes out. “Please don’t leave me,” his voice is hoarse and shaky. “One more chance, one more chance. Please.”

You’re now facing him, frowning as you drop to your knees—mirroring his position. “I just need one more chance,” his words are now barely above a whisper. You practically coo at his sad and desperate expression, your bottom lip can’t help but quiver as you reach out and brush the bangs from his eyes.

“I will never leave you, Wooyoung.”

“You said we needed a break.”

You sigh, squeezing your eyes shut. “I didn’t mean we should break up, darling. I meant we need a break from this,” he shifts so he sits crossed legged on the floor, you follow immediately. You watch his fingers twitch in his lap, as they always did—so you reach forward, taking his hand in yours. “We need time to calm down and then talk things over.”

“I am calm,” you chuckle softly—Wooyoung’s fingers tighten around yours at the familiar sound. “I don’t want to be alone.”

The heartbroken look in his eyes keeps you at his side, the two of you sitting in the entrance for hours. Nothing but soft touches, gentle kisses, and I love you’s being exchanged between the two of you. But somewhere between confessing your love for each other and brushing the hairs from one another’s faces, apologizes are exchanged. Woo promises he’ll be a better boyfriend, to which you expressed how you already believed him to be the best boyfriend you could ever ask for.

“Don’t ever break up with me,” Wooyoung mumbles into your shoulder as he holds you in his lap.

You chuckle softly as you bring your arms around his neck. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

#📂 — ilovehimyourhonour #wooyoung imagines #wooyoung #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung ateez #jung wooyoung #jung wooyoung x reader #jung wooyoung imagine #ateez fluff #ateez imagines #ateez x reader #kpop #kpop imagines #kpop boys

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ventique18 · 2 months

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Book 7, Chapter 7, Episode 111

(MALLEUS APPEARS AGAINSD ASHJDD SADLSDLADSJKASD)

Ortho: "No way... Brother, do you really think that black haze is "Ortho"?"

Ortho: "No! You have to leave this place quickly! You can't get caught by that black haze!"

Ortho?: "Don't think of anything anymore. Iddy, you're just tired from too much gaming... You should get some sleep."

Idia starts falling asleep, but the real Ortho keeps shouting for him not to. But still, he falls asleep and gets transported into a dream within a dream...

Idia: "... Wha, I... Why am I in ceremonial robes, in the courtyard?"

???: "Is that person over there Shroud?"

OH MY GOOOOOD HE'S HERE, HE'S HERE! IT'S IDIA'S CEREMONIAL ROBES VIGNETTE SDAIDIODSA AWOOGA AWOOGA

Malleus: "So it is Shroud indeed. ... What is it? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Idia: "Ma, Malleus... What are you doing here?"

Malleus: "What ever do you mean... Is the entrance ceremony not about to start very soon?"

Idia: "Eh? Entrance ceremony?"

Malleus: "Haha... You seem to be half-asleep. Much like our dorm's Silver.

"Hm? Wait. Hasn't the entrance ceremony, like, ended months ago..."

Malleus: What are you saying? You are to be housewarden today. It's your first entrance ceremony as one."

Idia: "Is... Is that right?"

MALLEUS IS GASLIGHTING IDIA OH MY GOD LOL

Malleus: "What an odd fellow you are. Well then, let us go to the Mirror Chamber together. It would be quit an improper decorum indeed for third year housewardens like us to be late."

Idia: "Why do I feel like I'm forgetting something important..."

Suddenly, something explodes from afar!

Idia: "A, a ball of light is floating in the sky... Is that, a meteorite?!"

Idia: "Wu-wuh, what the hell! Is it hurtling towards me? Is it?!"

THIS IS SENDING ME TO DEATH OMFG! HE HID BEHIND MALLEUS! I CAJKKLDASDS A IDIAAAAA DHISDASIOJKLASD

Malleus: "That thing... is something "I do not understand"."

Idia: "Wuh-what, what? How are you so calm?! We gotta run for it!"

Idia: "If that thing hits us, even you'll get K.O.'d in one hit!"

It keeps approaching them, so Idia tries to cast a magic barrier out of desperation. It doesn't do shit though and still causes another explosion.

"I hope the program that "erases all data in all devices in an emergency" works properly..!"

IDIA IS THIS REALLY THE RIGHT TIME TO HOPE YOUR BROWSING HISTORY GETS DELETED WHEN YOU DIE OH MY GOD.

"......... Uhm? I'm, I'm alive?"

???: "Soul Signal Tracking complete. Target acquired."

Ortho: "Thanks for waiting, big brother! I've come for you!"

Idia: "Eh?! Who r u?!"

He sees STYX's emblem on Ortho and asks if he's a brand new mecha suit made by his mom. But then he notices that the thing called him "big brother"...

Ortho: "I'll explain later. Stand down, big brother."

Ortho: "There's a scary guy glaring at us."

Malleus: "What is the meaning of this, Littler Shroud."

Malleus: "You are not supposed to exist in this dream. How did you get in here?"

Ortho: "Ahaha! Didn't you say it yourself, Mr. Malleus Draconia."

Ortho: "I'm like a ghost; just an intangible electronic data. Do ghosts need a reason to phase through space?"

Malleus: "Heh... Hahaha! I applaud you for surprising me twice."

Malleus: "However, the fact that you have intruded in my castle not once, but twice..."

Malleus: "IS PURE INSOLENCE. MECHANICAL DOLL!"

Malleus: "AWAY WITH YOU, FOOL!"

#same mechanic: you gotta survive for 5 turns #you can't damage him #twisted wonderland #ventique rambles #malleus draconia #idia shroud #ortho shroud #twst book 7 spoilers

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irisintheafterglow · 10 months

Text

You Are In Love (Gojo Satoru x You)

summary: you can't stop dreaming about him, and your friends start to notice a change in your behavior. (2.4k words)

cw/tags: mild angst to comfort, friends to lovers, pining, idiots in love, profanity, elder sorcerers being assholes, pet names (doll, gorgeous, etc), uhh gojo loses his cool and blows up a building lol, kissing, one instance of foreshadowing manga spoilers but only if you squint

note: HELLOO GOJO NATION. ok so i'll be so honest with you, this stupid man was my #1 for so long and i think those feelings resurfaced so i got a little carried away with writing this (it's my longest fic so far, my bad). but yk something about gojo, hawks, and kuroo all being played by the voice actor just gets me. the prompt for this is from the AMAZING @creativepromptsforwriting and was supposed to be a drabble but turned into a full fic. anyways, hope you enjoy it!!

likes/reblogs/feedback are always appreciated!

“It’s too quiet. Can I tell you guys a joke I heard on TV?”

“Mmm, please don’t.”

“But it’s funny!”

“Satoru.”

“Ooh, using my first name. Something’s up with you.”

“Something is not up with me, weirdo.”

“No, something is definitely off with you today.” You thought Suguru and Shoko had stopped listening, but they chimed in with evidence of your odd behavior.

“You said good morning differently,” Shoko added, casually taking a sip of her soda and peering at you over the rim. Her hair sways gently in the breeze outside of the convenience store you four had stopped at before heading back to Jujutsu Tech. You glare at her and open your mouth to defend yourself when Suguru adds his two cents.

“You tripped up during that last mission that should have been a cakewalk,” which was true, but you thought your mistake had gone unnoticed. The truth was, the spirit had caught you off guard with a simple teleport trick. It warped behind you and unlatched its grotesque jaws to end your life faster than you could blink. You should have been able to predict the movement with your eyes closed, but you’d been too focused on making sure a certain white-haired sorcerer was alive after your group had been ambushed several hundred feet underground. Suguru had given you a curious look after one of his demons saved your ass, and you’d flipped him off hoping that would be the end of it. “And you also flipped me the bird instead of saying thank you,” he shrugged.

“You also finish your food the fastest out of all of us, and today you haven’t even taken three bites,” Shoko says, finishing her drink and standing to toss it in the trash bin. “Something’s going on with you, and I, for one, am incredibly curious as to why.” Satoru watches you with a smug glint in his eye, and it takes all your willpower not to strangle him.

“As glad as I am to know that you all pay such great attention to my habits, I promise there’s nothing wrong.” The three of them stare at you skeptically but thankfully decided to drop the subject, instead pivoting to who’s most likely to go to jail first (it’s Gojo).

After the late lunch, you begin the walk back to Jujutsu Tech as the sky transforms into faded shades of orange and pink. The vanishing sun casts shining reflections on the surrounding skyscrapers, bouncing off the windows of speeding cars and zooming trains. Satoru and Suguru walk ahead, playfully shoving each other and almost falling over doing so.

“Alright, are you gonna tell me what’s going on now that Dumb and Dumber aren’t here?” Shoko asks as she falls into step with you. The sides of your mouth turn down, realizing that she didn’t forget about your conversation at lunch. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to tell your closest friends what was going on; you just didn’t know how to explain what you had dreamed about the previous night and the night before that, and all the nights the past two weeks.

It began with a look he had given you after a meeting with some higher-ups in the sorcerer world. They had visited Jujutsu Tech unexpectedly, stating that they would be evaluating the skill levels of random students. Out of your group of friends, only you and Satoru had been pulled to be tested. Principal Yaga had instructed both of you before entering the room to give the evaluation your best effort and to not become indignant if they judged you poorly.

The brass declared your evaluation to be first, and you poured all of your energy into showcasing the power of your Cursed Technique. You even managed to pull off a few strikes of extension techniques that you’d been perfecting for months. Though the entire performance lasted less than ten minutes, you were breathless and light-headed when the panel told you to stop. After bowing deeply, you moved to exit the room, desperate for fresh air, but they stopped you and began listing every single reason why your demonstration was unsatisfactory. Besides “inefficient technique, predictable attacks, weak offense, insufficient defense,” and a general lack of power compared to that of other sorcerers at your level, they informed you that your Cursed Technique was obsolete and would eventually render you useless as more innately talented sorcerers take your place. You were speechless at their blunt criticism of your effort, on the verge of breaking down, but you managed to nod in acknowledgment as you stepped out of the room.

But then you saw him sitting there, waiting on his phone and looking up at you with a bright smile as he stood to greet you. A confusing blend of disappointment, anger, sadness, and loneliness panged in your heart and spread to the rest of your body, and you rapidly tried to blink away the moisture welling up in your eyes while Satoru approached. He was halfway through a snarky remark about you blowing away their expectations when his smile dropped and his eyebrows furrowed with concern. Shit, he’d noticed you crying.

“Hey, hey, hey, look at me. What the fuck did they do to you?” Dashing blue eyes found yours through the clouds in your vision, and his thumbs gently brushed away stray tears that escaped down your cheeks.

“Do you think I’m weak, Satoru?” Your voice cracks when the words finally spill out, swallowing hard to push down the sobs threatening to break loose from your constricted lungs. Satoru freezes, eyes searching yours. He doesn’t answer your question immediately, but instead asks again.

“Doll, what the fuck did they do.” You can’t get a reply out in time before his focus snaps up to behind you, and a second later you hear the door roll open, one of the officials commanding Satoru to enter for his evaluation. His large hands hold your face and turn you to look up at him, and you move unconsciously to cover his hands with yours. “Stay here for me, okay?” He glanced at the official waiting in the doorway, blue eyes dark with suppressed rage. “This won’t take long.”

His evaluation lasts two minutes and four seconds. At first, the room was silent and you couldn’t hear any demonstration of Satoru’s technique, almost as if the panel was having a conversation with him before they began. Then, at two minutes on the dot, the room was blown to splinters. The door, the ceiling, the porch, and all of the furniture inside were violently thrown outward in an explosion that made the ground beneath your feet tremble. Curiously, none of the debris had hit you, but you coughed through the dust and saw that the panel hadn’t been so lucky, all of them buried under shredded beams of wood and canvas. And, standing at the center of the room’s remains with a satisfied grin plastered on his beautiful face, was Satoru. He found his way over to where you stood in disbelief and took your hand in his, interweaving your fingers and guiding you away from the ruined building.

You two walked hand-in-hand in silence back to your dorm, where he seemed reluctant to let go of your hand. Before he walked away, he finally answered your question from earlier.

“I tell you this not just as your friend, but as another sorcerer. You are not weak. Your technique is special and something that those shithead elders haven’t seen in decades, and they don’t like what they don’t understand. I know the thought of leaving Jujutsu Tech crossed your pretty little mind, but you shouldn’t. People need you here, Shoko, Suguru, Mei Mei...” He hesitated, taking a shallow breath and reaching back for your hand.

“Me,” he said, his voice low, and his voice got even softer until it was almost a breath. “I need you here.” As quickly as the fondness in his voice appeared, it disappeared. “And, plus, you definitely can’t leave us here with ol’ Yaga. What the hell am I gonna do if I can’t hide in your room while he’s trying to beat my ass?”

You laugh, and the feeling makes you feel better. He makes you feel better. You smile back at him and finally bid him farewell, and he raises your hand to his lips as he says goodbye.

After that, he’d appeared in your dreams for two weeks straight. The dreams started as a continuation of what would have happened if you didn’t just say goodbye to him, if you’d invited him into your dorm, or if you’d let him pull you into his. They transformed after the fourth day into what it would be like to love him and receive his love in return: stolen kisses, flirty whispers, and movie dates to name a few. All these dreams added up to the previous night’s nightmare, where a mission had gone bad and he’d been imprisoned with no hope of breaking him free. You’d startled awake covered in sweat, and barely fell back asleep before your alarm forced you to start the day.

“It’s… hard to explain,” you reply apologetically, and Shoko looks at you with so much skepticism written on her face that you have to turn away and look in the other direction.

“So something is bothering you.”

“Yeah, there is. I’m sorry; it’s just really, really hard to verbalize.”

“Can I take a stab at what’s bothering you?”

“If you could actually stab it that’d be great, but sure. Knock yourself out.”

“It’s Satoru, isn’t it?” You stop mid-stride and her face lights up with amusement. “Holy shit, it’s Satoru. You like Gojo Satoru.”

“Jeez, Shoko, go ahead and say his name four hundred million times, why don’t you? But really, what tipped you off?”

“Ten seconds ago when you asked me to stab your problem, I figured it out,” she chuckles, bumping her shoulder against yours playfully. “If it’s any consolation, I’m 99% sure he’s felt that way about you for a while.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

“How do you know?”

“Would you let me off the hook if I said it was hard to explain?”

“Har, har, very funny. Could you at least try?”

“Mmm, I think it’s better if he explains it himself.”

“You’re no help, Shoko.”

“Yes, and you love me anyway. But not as much as you love Sa–” You groan, covering your burning face in both hands and increasing the speed of your steps to escape your friend’s teasing chuckles.

When you finally arrive at school, the stars have started rising and the moon hangs in the sky. You walk in the direction of the dorms when Shoko suddenly unlinks her elbow from yours, winking at you over your shoulder.

“Suguru, can you help me move something from the gym real quick? I forgot a few things over there.”

“Sure, but why do you need my help?” Shoko gives him a pointed look and realization quickly washes over his features. “Oh, OH. Okay, of course, sure.” Suguru turns on his heel awkwardly, briskly walking in the direction of the gym.

“Satoru, walk them back to their dorm. Don’t want anything happening to them after their little slip today,” she adds before heading in the other direction with Suguru, who tries and fails to communicate something to Satoru with a nod of his head.

“Alright, pretty girl, you heard Shoko. C’mere and let me walk you home before she beats my ass.”

“I think you have too many people on this planet that want to beat your ass. And, for the record, I’m one of them.”

“It’s the price of being this gorgeous, gorgeous.” A soft laugh escapes your mouth, and you swear Satoru’s smile gets a little wider. The rest of the short walk to your dorm is just as easy and comfortable, Satoru making stupid comments and you replying with a quick remark over and over until you’re back in the same situation you’d been in two weeks ago. But, this time, you realized that Satoru was a lot closer to you, leaning back against your door with your hand touching the handle but not opening it. You both spend a few moments there, just looking at each other, and his mesmerizing eyes flicker to your mouth when you unconsciously lick your lips. He opens his mouth to say something smart, but you beat him to it.

“If you’re gonna look down at my lips and say something stupid about it, you might as well do what I’ve been wanting you to do for ages.”

“Oh? And what’s that, pretty girl?”

You sigh in mock disappointment and look up at him through your eyelashes. “If you don’t know what it is by now, then I guess… you don’t deserve to do it.” His pupils are blown wide with desire, and you resist the impulse to laugh.

“God, you’re intoxicating,” he says, before pressing his lips to yours. Your eyes flutter shut and you melt into him, arms snaking around his neck while his hands find your waist and hold you up from your knees that have turned to jelly. The first kiss is gentle and experimental, but having the flirtiest asshole in the country chasing your lips as you briefly pull away gives you a newfound wave of confidence, pulling him closer and closer until his body is flush against yours. When you finally pull away from each other and catch your breath, he doesn’t go very far, resting his forehead against yours.

“You know, I wanted to kill them. Those wrinkly assholes two weeks ago that had the gall to call you weak. And I would have, you know I would have, but you were outside… and you were crying… I just didn’t know what to do. I saw red, and, uh, then the building exploded.” You chuckle at his confession and he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth, rubbing his nose against yours.

“I had a dream about you. Well, a lot of dreams.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Really?”

“Mhmm. Got a little nervous today when I heard you talk with Shoko about liking a boy, but it helps knowing now that the boy is me. And, hopefully, it will only ever be me.”

“You pretentious asshole.”

“You know it.”

“You’re a dork.”

“Yeah, but I’m your dork.”

“I know you are.”

“And I’m never going anywhere.” He kisses your forehead sweetly, and it’s just like the dreams that had plagued you for weeks before. “Ever.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

#gojo x you #gojo fanfic #gojou satoru x reader #gojo angst #gojo x reader #satoru gojo #satoru x you #satoru x reader #satoru x y/n #jjk x y/n #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk shoko #jjk suguru

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lancermylove · 5 months

Text

Chapter 1

➣ Pairing: Demon brothers, Royals, Solomon with fem!Reader. ➣ Warning: None ➣ A/N: Hi hi, or should I say ho ho? Bad joke lol. 🙈 This is my first attempt at an OM chaptered fic, so hopefully, all of you like it. In this fic, you will romance the man of your choice, so similar to the actual game. There will be a romantic and platonic route, or you can romance everyone. 😉 I may or may not include N.SFW content in some chapters. If I do, I will post an SFW and N.SFW chapter for that character so audiences of all ages can read the story. Any support for this fic will be appreciated! 💖 ➣ Word Count: 1,430

➣ Chapters [SFW]: [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9][10][11][12] ➣ Chapters [N.SFW]: [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9][10][11][12] Completed!

———————————————

"I know I am asking a lot, but would you please help?"

"If the brothers find out...they will be very upset..."

"I understand, (y/n). But this is the only way to help them. I have arranged everything, so all you have to do is say yes."

Would everything go according to plan? The thought of mishaps ate away at your mind as you stood in the Student Council room with the demon brothers, Diavolo and Barbatos. Clearing his throat, the prince warmly smiled at everyone and sat on his throne at the top of the student council pyramid.

"Good afternoon, everyone. My apologies for calling all of you at such short notice." Diavolo's voice boomed with excitement as he addressed you and the brothers. "But I have exciting news to share. (Y/n) has extended an invitation to the seven of you to celebrate Christmas in her world!"

"Woooah! A Christmas with (y/n) alone!" Levi grinned widely.

"Y'know we're comin' too, so it ain't alone," Mammon shrugged and shook his head.

"Oh, it feels like a dream come true," Asmo exclaimed, clapping his hands together.

"A holiday with (y/n)...this I look forward to." Satan calmly stated, but his smile gave away his hidden excitement.

"This will be fun." Belphie chuckled, and Beel nodded in agreement as he ruffled your hair.

Though you gave a small smile, your body remained tense, and your eyes darted nervously between the brothers. Despite knowing that you had done nothing wrong, your guilty conscience weighed heavily on your heart. Then, you noticed Lucifer's expression. His usual calm demeanor was replaced with a fierce intensity; his eyes were narrowed, and his brows were furrowed. His jaw was tense, and his arms folded tightly across his chest. It was evident that he was not pleased with the situation, and you wondered if he suspected something.

The first brother's crimson orbs stared straight into Diavolo's soul, making the prince uncomfortably shift in his seat. Meanwhile, Barbatos silently observed the situation but kept his eyes on you. You couldn't help but question yourself if you did the right thing. Would it have been better if you had spoken to Lucifer first?

The vast area was draped in a deep and calming silence, broken only by the occasional sounds of the wind howling through the trees and snow crunching under your feet. As the sun slowly sank below the horizon, it cast long, ribbon-like shadows on the pristine, snow-covered ground, painting the surroundings in a warm orange hue. The cold and crisp air allowed you to see puffs of your breath as you exhaled at the breathtaking sight. The view was so mesmerizing that even the brothers were left speechless as they stood there, transfixed by the beauty of the winter wonderland that the human realm had to offer.

"Our cabin is a short distance from here," Satan said as he studied a map that Barbatos had given him. After a short while of walking through the wooded area, a structure came into view.

A winding cobblestone pathway led to a grand winter cabin covered in a thin layer of snow. The exterior was made of mocha-colored pine wood and was adorned with indicate carvings that added to its charm. The ebony-colored shingles on the roof contrasted beautifully with the light-colored wood, highlighting the structure's unique character. A large chimney protruded from the roof, spewing out thin plumes of white smoke. The second floor had an extensive all-around balcony connecting all the bedrooms from outside. Warm light poured out from the ceiling-height windows on every side of the cabin.

"This is..." Asmo started to say but his voice trailed off.

"Pretty? Amazin'? Incredible?" Mammon finished his younger brother's sentence as he removed his sunglasses and looked around.

"Can we go inside? It's cold." Belphie mumbled through chattering teeth. He liked the view, but the low temperatures were too much for him. Without wasting time, the brothers rushed inside, competing to see who could get to the door first, but Lucifer remained motionless. His eyes were fixed on the ground, and he appeared to be deep in contemplation. Even as you approached him, the Avatar of Pride didn't move or respond to you calling his name.

Why was there a stack of letters on Diavolo's desk? Every letter that came to Diavolo for official matters passed through Lucifer, so why wasn't he aware of these letters? He didn't have permission to go through the letter and viewing them without the prince's permission went against Lucifer's principles. But a nagging feeling in his mind forced him to reach for an open envelope.

"Lucifer?" You called his name out, concerned, and gently shook his arm to bring him back to the present. Snapping out of his thoughts, the tall demon looked at you but remained silent. His crimson eyes bore into your own as if trying to draw a conclusion to his theory. Were you also involved in this?

"What? Do I have something on my face?" You innocently asked, trying to break the tension in the air, but didn't wait for his answer and began pulling his arm toward the cabin. "It's freezing! We need to get inside."

He didn't withdraw his arm from your grasp, but you felt his muscles tighten under your touch. The warmth of the cabin enveloped both of you as you stepped inside. A sweet aroma of cinnamon and vanilla tickled your nose, and the sound of fire crackling filled your ears. The interior of the cabin was a modern, luxurious space with high-tech appliances and contemporary furnishings. The fully stocked kitchen was a chef's dream, equipped with everything you could possibly need to whip up a feast, while the living space had plush sofas and soft blankets to snuggle up in. Your lips curled up as the cozy atmosphere momentarily melted away any stress or worries.

Asmo strolled around the living room, admiring the tasteful décor of the cabin, while Satan investigated the second floor. The scent of vanilla and cinnamon made Beel hungrier than he was, so he eagerly searched the refrigerator for something to munch on. Belphie curled up on the sofa, hugging a faux fur pillow to his chest, gazing at the dancing flames in the large stone fireplace. Levi and Mammon stood by the windows, mesmerized by the view of the mountains in the distance, slowly fading into the darkness as the sun was setting beyond the horizon.

"So, there are only six rooms in the cabin...two downstairs and four upstairs," Satan announced while walking down the spiral wood staircase. Instantly, the volume inside the cozy cabin increased tenfold as the brothers argued about who would get to stay alone or with you. Your gaze immediately moved to Lucifer to find him lost in thoughts again. What was he thinking about? Did something happen?

"Lucifer, you want to say something before they start destroying the cabin?" You whispered, shaking his arm. The demon sighed heavily and glanced at his brothers but remained silent for a while as one thought repeated on a loop in his mind. His brothers acted like normal demons, so what was the problem?

"Beel and Belphie, I assume you wish to stay together," Lucifer broke his silence and spoke sternly. "(Y/n) and I shall stay individually, which leaves three rooms. Mammon, you shall stay alone due to your habit of borrowing items. Satan, I assume you wish to stay alone, leaving Levi and Asmo to share a room."

Without waiting for his brother's reaction, Lucifer briskly made his way up the stairs, his shoes thudding against the wooden steps. A knot formed in your stomach at the thought of Lucifer knowing what you did and being upset with you. Should you talk to him or wait? You sighed quietly and began to ascend the stairs, taking in the grandeur of the staircase and the ornate details along the walls. Your mind was still preoccupied with Lucifer's behavior, but you tried to push those thoughts aside and focus on choosing a bedroom that suited your taste.

"What's with Lucifer and (y/n)? Did somethin' happen between 'em?" Mammon asked in a low voice, not wanting his older brother to hear they were talking about him.

"Maybe they got into an argument," Asmo said, sitting next to Belphie and gently stroking his younger brother's head. Satan turned his back to his brothers and stared out the window overlooking the forest. This vacation was too conveniently placed, and the Avatar of Wrath knew there was more to this than meets the eye.

———————————————

➣ Obey Me Masterlist: [1][2][3] ➣ Main Masterlist

➣ Buy me a Ko-fi?

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caramelberzatto · 7 months

Note

carmy comforting you from a nightmare 🥺

as a girly who often wakes up screaming from nightmares lol, i wanted to write something soothing for that, so this is high-key self-indulgent. feeling very soft this evening so this is PERFECT- (warnings: brief, non-descriptive discussion of nightmares/night terrors. proceed with caution, my loves <3)

moonlight filtered through the blinds, casting faint stripes of silvery light across the bedroom floor. curled up under the blankets, your chest rose and fell in rapid pants, brow furrowed as you clutched the pillow in your arms.

out in the kitchen, carmen was leaning over the counter, flipping through the haphazard dossier his brother had compiled of old tax receipts and bank statements. none of it made sense, even when armed with a calculator. sighing, he ran a hand through his hair, blinking the spots out of his eyes.

it was late, he should try to sleep.

stretching, he wandered around the apartment, double-checking that the door and windows were shut and locked. it was then, as he was heading to the bathroom to brush his teeth that he heard your whimpers.

a soft, 'carm?' echoing down the hall, followed by an increasingly panicked repetition of his name. the hoarseness of your voice, near screaming, terrified him. he couldn't get to you fast enough. shoving through the bedroom door, he wasn't sure what he expected to find, he just wanted to help you.

finding you in his bed, backed up against the wall with your head in your hands, blankets in a twisted mess on the floor, broke his heart.

'baby, sweetheart, hey,' he rushed to you, climbing up beside you, gently tugging at your wrists so he could see your face. 'hey, shhh, what's happened? i'm here.'

you were hyperventilating, clawing at your pyjamas, tugging the collar of your sweater away from your throat as though it was choking you.

'okay, okay, hey, look at me,' he grabbed your wrists again, pulling them down to your sides, then proceeded to help you out of your sweater, gently sliding it over your head. 'slow down, baby, take it easy.'

collapsing into him, you tucked your face into the crook of his neck and cried. great, heaving sobs that left you shaking. for a moment, carmen wasn't sure what to do with himself, what to say to try and ease this pain, so he just wrapped his arms around you, holding you tightly until the shaking subsided, listening to your whispered recount of what had happened inside your head.

'y-you.... i had a dream that you..... you were hurt, and i c-couldn't help a-and....' you coughed, wiping your eyes, blinking the brutal flashes that crept to the forefront of your mind again. 'and th-then i woke up, and you were gone and i thought- i thought...'

'it's okay,' carmen ran a soothing hand down your back, rubbing in slow circles. 'it's not real. i'm right here. i'm right here with you.'

nodding into his chest, you clung to the fabric of his shirt, breathing him in, reminding yourself that this was real. you were here, with him; together.

he laid you down, tucking you into his side, and pulled the blankets up over you. he kept himself awake, making sure you fell asleep before he did, and held you through the night.

#the bear #the bear fx #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto x you #jeremy allen white

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littlejuicebox · 2 months

Note

this is random, but a prompt idea that made me giggle is what if Tav wasn’t very interested in Astarion, maybe she’s from a more stoic or conservative country/realm/plane, so his flirting either went over her head or pushed her away… until she sees him sewing. Him acting ‘domestic’ immediately attracts her. Him secretly fixing Karlach’s bear, or later maybe fixing up Yenna’s clothes, makes her give him heart eyes.

Astarion, who already gave up after his flirting failed, is very confused by her sudden attention and requests for sewing lessons. For extra fun, what if post-brain she requests for lessons on sewing tiny clothes, not even realizing she’s asking how to make baby clothes—their baby’s.

Olive Branch

This is a bit different from my other work so I thought I'd give it a go! Not 100% satisfied with it, but I hope you still enjoy, anon!

Word count: 1.3K

Tags/warnings: All fluff, Astarion being Astarion lol

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Astarion finally gave up on seducing Tav . He’d originally pegged her as a naive, and therefore easily charmed and manipulated, cleric. Unfortunately, two weeks of wasted effort proved him wrong. She’d barely spoken or paid attention to him and his overt advances at all.

Any attempts to entrance her with aggressive flirtation or the allure of his sexual wiles seemed to have an opposite effect. In fact, Tav would always gravitate more towards Wyll and Gale and preferred to avoid him almost entirely.

He couldn’t be the issue, of course. He was gorgeous, witty, and made it quite clear he was experienced in bed. He was the man of anyone’s dreams; he knows because he’d manufactured himself to be practically undeniable to the masses.

So then it was obviously her… she was certainly the problem. Something about that – admittedly attractive – cleric was strange; she was oddly secretive about her goddess. The rogue couldn’t even be sure which goddess it was; Tav never referred to the deity by name.

Her apparent distaste for him was concerning, however. Just a few days back, the monster-hunter had outed him as a vampire. The entire group seemed ready to cast him aside after that, save their cleric leader. She’d granted him a moment of mercy and had been able to convince the others that he wasn’t a danger, though he felt he was on thin ice with her and everyone else.

Astarion did not know how he was going to charm his way out of this one. And as the rogue sits in front of his tent, mulling over his options for ensuring his own security, he begins to consider that perhaps he should just suck it up and proposition Lae’zel or Gale. One of them would be sufficient, too.

The elf is ripped from his scheming by a sudden groan of dismay from Karlach just a few tents over. When he turns to survey the scene, he sees the slouched tiefling grasping onto that stuffed bear she slept with every night, muttering something to a concerned Tav.

“Perhaps we can find a new bear, Karlach,” Tav says, frowning as she gently takes the stuffed animal from her friend and spins it around in her hand. The toy’s back seam is split apart; tufts of white stuffing spill from the opening.

Astarion instantly recognizes the issue. And the opportunity. Karlach is easily Tav’s favorite campmate – they were two sappy peas in a pod. It was likely that by offering his aid, he’d be able to win points with both the strongest member in camp and their illustrious leader, all without much effort on his part. Perfect.

“I can fix that for you, Karlach, if you’d prefer!” The rogue calls, snapping shut the book he’d been half-reading before taking a few strides toward his campmate, “It looks simple enough, wouldn’t take me more than an hour or so.”

Karlach, always the easily excitable, affable campmate, is grinning as she responds, “Really, Fangs?! You can do that?”

The silver-haired elf chuckles and then nods, taking the bear from a suspicious Tav before briefly examining it, “Certainly. It’s nothing a simple whipstitch won’t fix.”

And then he returns to his tent and quickly sets to work. As promised, the bear is good as new in just over an hour.

Later that evening, the vampire sits close to the campfire, warming his icy skin. Apart from Tav, all his campmates had returned to their tents and since gone to sleep. The cleric was perhaps the only person that loved the fire almost as much as he did; she would often stare at it for long periods of time as if in prayer or meditation.

These nightly moments between the two of them typically passed in relative silence until one or the other dismissed themselves from the strained situation. Sometimes it felt as if they were fighting for a claim over the fire.

But tonight, Tav turns her head to stare at Astarion for a moment too long, prompting him to face in her direction with an arched eyebrow.

“You’re quite talented at sewing,” She says, her eyes flickering across his face, examining it as if it’s brand new and not a visage she’s already known for weeks. Astarion thinks he sees her skin reddening, but then, she’s sitting remarkably close to the flames.

This olive branch is unexpected.

“Is that an actual compliment?” Astarion retorts, feigning shock and cocking his head just slightly, “I suppose I’ll take it, darling. I have to admit it’s preferable to the eye rolls and sighs you normally send my way.”

Tav shrugs, not really refuting any of the rogue’s claims, before continuing on, “I suppose I didn’t think you had a domestic bone in your body. I misjudged you.”

“Domestic?” Astarion asks, his tone betraying his displeasure at being called such a thing. He thinks she means to call him weak and is about to spew an insult in the cleric’s direction before she interrupts.

“I don’t mean offense,” She starts, throwing her hands up in surrender, “I apologize, I forget that isn’t always viewed as a compliment. But where I come from, domesticity is a highly favored attribute.”

The rogue’s vitriol dies in his mouth as he assesses the woman in front of him. He can’t help it, he’s curious, so he asks, “And where do you come from, exactly?”

There is a long moment of silence. Tav heavily considers her response. And then she sighs and shrugs, “I’m from a hamlet in the Dalelands… it’s quite small, made up of no more than a few hundred. Most of us worship Hestia, the goddess of hearth and home.”

Astarion’s eyebrows furrow as he tries to recall this goddess, but he doesn’t recognize the name.

Tav realizes Astarion has no clue what she’s talking about and visibly relaxes, “She is the goddess of hearth and home in our beliefs. Most inhabitants of the Dalelands worship Chauntea… Hestia worship is not widely accepted. It’s generally considered savagery.”

The rogue shrugs. He really didn’t care who worshiped which god. In his eyes, all gods and goddesses were essentially the same and none of them seemed to respond anyway. Everyone was free to beg whatever deity for whatever handouts they wanted; he preferred to abstain from the practice entirely.

“Good for you, darling, go on and worship whoever tickles your fancy,” The elf responds, turning once again to watch the fire.

Another stretch of silence, this one a bit more comfortable than any moments previous. Astarion doesn’t notice as the cleric quietly admires his profile, her eyes filled with a yearning that hadn’t ever been directed towards the vampire until now.

After a while, Tav stands and briefly stretches her muscles. She walks a few steps toward her tent but then abruptly spins around to look at the rogue.

“Astarion?” She murmurs, her tone almost hesitant, as if she’s unsure of herself.

“Yes?” He replies, ripping his eyes away from the fire and dismissing his own thoughts to acknowledge the woman.

“Do you think you’d be able to show me how to sew like you? I only know the basics. I thought you could give me sewing lessons and I could teach you something in return… crochet or how to play the lyre, perhaps?” She asks, her hands twisting together in an anxious knot as she speaks.

The rogue nods almost imperceptibly, subtly cocking his head as he processes Tav’s sudden change in attitude toward him before responding, “Certainly, darling.”

Tav grins, and it appears almost childlike. Astarion feels the briefest flicker of affection toward the woman at her relative innocence, which is such a stark contrast to his own jaded nature.

“Okay, then. How about starting lessons tomorrow night?” She asks, still smiling, her eyes shimmering with excitement.

“Sounds like a plan,” The elf responds, and then watches with idle curiosity as Tav bids goodnight and walks away.

Astarion smiles as he returns his attention to the fire. He thinks this is a nice, simple plan; an easy way to keep himself safe in the wilds. Surely a plan as simple as this couldn't fall apart.

Right?

#astarion fanfic #astarion x tav #astarion fic #baulders gate 3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic idea #baulders gate astarion #spawn astarion #astarion x female tav #astarion x f!tav #astarion x cleric #astarion fluff

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lxmelle · 2 months

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Megumi and Yuji are a bit like Geto and Gojo ... If Gojo was more honest (or emotionally-intelligent?) he would’ve been a bit more determined to save Geto, even if he had given up on himself to pursue some crazy ideal at the expense of himself. Maybe even before. But - Geto had already killed his family (parents) and there was no turning back. He had burned all his bridges and barely left any room for Gojo to talk to him, walking away as soon as he felt slighted.

Geto convinced himself he was cast away. Gojo couldn’t find the words to convey what he truly felt. They both felt the weight of responsibility (loosely, to protect: with power / influence) to sit solely on their own shoulders, instead of being shared.

I’m not assigning any blame whatsoever or attributing the situation to either one of them. They likely had very emotionally-isolating upbringings, and the one secure connection they had (between them) was not able to be repaired when it ruptured. They did their absolute best in the years apart to compensate for whatever they lacked, for the sake of a higher good.

If Gojo self-reflected over the years (which he had in abundance) over any similarities with his students, I wonder if he’d be proud (and inspired) by their determination to fight for each other, even if their methods to fight alone mimic his own pursuit and style of strength that practically requires him to fight on his own.

What the students end up doing to protect and preserve each other to defeat Sukuna following his death - by fighting relay-style - may have been something an AU “Gojo-Geto-Nanami as teachers” may have developed so solo fighters can do their thing and tap out for another (or two or three) to join the fighting ring - but this is a “what if” scenario about the best outcome, but jjk isn’t like that, and hindsight is a wonderful thing.

But back to what I wanted to say: it seems like Gojo had changed and recognised what he wished was different.

Love being the most twisted of curses. Geto was his only weakness; maybe his biggest regret.

Following their reunion, Gojo was seen to be more honest than ever with Geto - almost like he was trying to make up for the distance, to close it back up, to reach out like he never did before. Saying embarrassing things he’d never have thought to say. Geto, too, softening in response to Gojo’s admission of trust, admitting he had been suffering all this while.

For Gojo, it was like a confession twice over. Maybe things he wished he had said that Geto should have known; whether or not it would have made a difference. You’re my best friend (I hope we meet again), if you were there I might’ve been satisfied (I need you).

And if you count in the first time they met again (with the pelican arriving at Jujutsu High), Gojo said, “Leaving? Not on my watch.” (Don’t leave.) — but I’m sure this was more out of protection for the kids, lol.

Let me dream a little 😂

How could they go back? What could have been different? At the KFC breakup,… It wasn’t as if Gojo wanted to insult Geto, but young Gojo didn’t know it wasn’t actually about STRENGTH, was it? It never was. Strength was the thing that tore them apart.

And instead of - you know, saying what he actually felt: Why? Don’t leave. You’re my best friend; my one and only (I love you). I need you with me. What can we do?

I wonder if Gojo kept all this in his heart … and when they got to meet again, these words just kept tumbling out. It’s so nice to see him being honest without a persona on.

I can only hope they keep talking and talking in the afterlife, or in a life happier than what they had following their separation.

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hum-suffer · 4 months

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I'm Yours 2

Ishan has always been a light sleeper. His mother was proud of him and his dad, a man who craved snacks at midnight, bemoaned his habits.

So when he wakes up on Sunday morning with a fresh gajra tied on his wrist, for a moment, he wonders if this is a hallucination or a dream. He blinks and pinches his thigh, the sharp sting reminding him that it's reality. He frowns, and touches the gajra. It's real.

Ishan takes a deep breath.

"Let's bathe first and then deal with this," he says to himself. Another beat passes as he reconsiders his promise to himself. "Maybe have some tea first."

____________________________________________________

He's so fucking glad that he had the tea first.

The moment he was more awake, he was panicking.

Someone fucking broke into his house? His house? His ancestral, beloved house that had marble flooring which made clancking sounds everytime he walked? Ishan cracks his neck and takes another fortifying breath, staring at the discarded gajra on the dining table. It feels very audacious. And flattering.

The thought is horrifying and for a moment, Ishan imagines his grandfather shaking his head at the bloody idiocy Ishan possesses. Wryly, he says outloud,"I'm a very good source of entertainment, aren't I, Dadaji?"

The house obviously remains silent. In a surprising turn, the loneliness he often feels seeps right back in.

He glances at the gajra again. "Hey, at least, someone alive gets entertainment from me."

He knows he should report this. But for now, he doesn't want to care. It's a bloody Sunday and he will be damned if something ruins his Sunday, even if it's a stalker/admirer.

A message pops on his phone just as he's about to wash his cup. 'Did you like the gajra, love?'

'don't have the hair for it, dude.'

He probably shouldn't antagonise a probable sociopath.

But hey, what is life, if not had decisions taken in the spirit of loneliness?

____________________________________________________

When he's more settled, in the evening, Ishan goes out for a walk. His body aches in protest and the ink marks on his fingers dictate his profession to anyone who cares to see.

End of semester season is horrible, but more so when he already has to plan so much. Tomorrow's the seminar for something techy— Ishan doesn't know, he's the Hindi teacher, and he'd rather prefer not to know. Those things just rot his brain and he hates the seminars more than students, probably, but he'd do just about anything to take some load off of Virat bhaiya. Jaddu almost always lightens the mood at seminars, and he's back from his holiday to Jamnagar, and Ishan is counting on him to be the better part.

Apart from Shubhman, that is.

Ishan cannot get over his silly little crush, no matter how hard he tries and he hates it. That's a celebrity. A good looking, smart philanthropist who also owns a registered firm.

Ishan doesn't know the name of the firm, he realises with a groan. He gets his phone out, shoots a quick text to Shreyas to prepare the introduction speech for Shubhman.

The admirer, has sent him another message.

'Do you have any favourite colour?'

'yes, it's the shade stfu of the colour mind your business.'

'Lol. Really, tho. Don't make me dissect your wardrobe and make a guess, love'

Ishan's eyes narrow. He's not going to be ordered around by this bullshiter.

'Be my guest, love'

'i'm gonna overlook the rudeness for that endearment'

'Im gonna kill u'. Ishan doesn't even realise he's smiling until he casts a random glance at the windows of parked car. He controls his smile instantly.

'your looks already have'

Ishan scoffs at the blatantly cheesy line. Ew. 'Stay dead.'

____________________________________________________

'You have an awful amt of blue clothes'

The message greets Ishan early in the morning, and so does the smell of jasmines. He looks down and there it is— a gajra tied on his wrist.

The pounding headache that he already has becomes more pronounced as he passes through the motions of his schedule, the message a background chatter in his head until he has the cup of tea in his hands.

So.

That happened.

Yesterday's gajra and today's gajra, side by side, stare at Ishan. Ishan gulps. He should not have done that— any of that.

"Kya kar Raha hai tu," he mutters to himself as his thumb hovers over the block button. Why is he hesitating?

(Maybe because he doesn't care of he's dead or alive. Maybe because he wants the attention. Maybe because the idea of being so desired makes him warm. Maybe because someone only focusing on him makes him feel cherished.

Ishan doesn't dissect these ideas.)

He blocks the number and reports it for good measure.

He's already almost late— the quest to find his beloved oversized blue silk shirt had taken too much time. He's probably left it back home, maybe. He doesn't remember taking it there but he's always been clumsy so who knows? He'll continue the quest later.

The smell of jasmines cling to his nose even after he's deliberately choosen a woodsy perfume.

____________________________________________________

Shubhman is at perfect time.

Avesh, the admin staff manager, came almost running to Ishan when Shubhman, bless him, called in advance to say that he'll be at the college withing fifteen minutes.

If Shubhman keeps this up, Ishan will do something embarassing— like quoting Hannibal or something. The sheer appreciation Ishan feels for the man is beyond words.

As always, Rohit bhaiya had forgotten the matchsticks somewhere but Jas had come through and Ishan is now running around only making sure the height of the mic and the placement of flowers.

Siraj drags him forcefully to the gate of the faculty, to greet Shubhman. A volunteer student clicks photos as Virat Bhai hugs Shubhman, who always appears star struck at the attention from their resident King. Rohit bhaiya squeezes Shubhman in a tight hug and the smile Shubhman has on his face is blinding.

(Ishan wishes someone was as happy to see him. His colleagues are always fun, but they have lives— Ishan doesn't.)

When Shubhman turns to him, Ishan can't help but stare. He's wearing a navy blazer over a white shirt and dark blue jeans. His eyes, they're dark and intense. Ishan feels frozen.

"Ishan." His voice sounds so fucking good. He steps forward and before Ishan can hold his hand out for a handshake, Shubhman steps in his personal space and gives him a side hug.

Ishan breathes in, to calm his heart, and catches a distantly familiar scent from Shubhman. It's probably a kind of perfume Ishan knows, he's obsessed with scents.

"Shubhman. It's a pleasure to meet you again."

What the FUCK is he saying. Ishan wants to dig a hole in some lonely ground and bury himself. A pleasure to meet him? Could he be anymore obvious?

"Trust me, the pleasure is all mine."

____________________________________________________

The seminar goes on for two hours, perfectly adhering to the scheduled time and Shubhman has prepared enough to be also able to do a QnA. Ishan will marry him.

The students rush out of the seminar hall without a second thought, all of them sleepy and wanting to enjoy the rest of their day after the cancellation of their classes.

Ishan hums to himself as he wraps up the extra papers and wires, the bag for Shubhman ready to take. "Tulsi, reusable pen, certificate." He counts everything outloud and puts the bag aside. Someone lifts it up instantly. Ishan whips around, seeing Shubhman standing there grinning at him.

"Hello, there."

"Hi, Shubhman. How long have you been standing here?"

"Just long enough to hear that aap Mumbai aa sakte hai."

Ishan feels his face heat up instantly and shakes his head. Shubhman laughs. "Come on, I feel like we should close this hall before someone closes us inside it."

Would it really be so bad?

Oh god, when did he turn into a desperate teenager?

Ishan follows Shubhman out, talking about measley things like movies and songs, to see him off and help him settle with the gifts but they're met with Virat bhaiya and Rohit bhaiya standing at the gate of the faculty and a thundering rain.

Fuck.

They both despise the rain. Ishan does too, to be honest. Almost everyone at the college hates it. Mostly, because after rain, their usually pristine college roads turn into water holding corners at some areas and the greenery in their college always allows for mosquitoes after a good rain.

Virat bhaiya shakes his head,"Unnatural rains, at the time of diwali no less! Kya zindagi hai yaar."

"Why are you being dramatic?" Ishan asks with a groan,"I have to go back on my bike! I'm already applying for sick leave for tomorrow, Rohit bhaiya."

Before Rohit bhaiya can say anything, though, Shubhman frowns at him. "But why do you want to get soaked? I have my car, I'll drop you off at your place."

"Absolutely not, I'm not going to impose on you like that. And what about my bike?"

"I'll send Rutu or someone with it tomorrow to pick you up, bhai." Rohit bhaiya says. "Don't get sick uselessly! Shubhman is right, you don't need to get soaked for nothing."

Shubhman nods along,"And it's not imposing if I offered. Come on, let me do my good deed for the week."

Ishan looks helplessly at Virat bhaiya. He lifts his chin and gives him a reassuring look.

"Okay."

____________________________________________________

Tagging: @mayakimayahai @kyayaarkiraa @ispeakmorelanguagesthanyou @onthecloudseven @khwxbeeda @ek-ladki-bheegi-bhagi-si @fortunatelycrazyyouth @ishkrisq

#desiblr #suffer ye suhana nahi #desi tumblr #ishman #shubhish #shubhman gill #ishan kishan

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 2 years

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Have You No Idea That You’re In Deep? [Chapter 3: I Have Claimed You]

Aemond is a fearless, enigmatic prince and the most renowned dragonrider of the Greens. You are a (newly widowed) daughter of House Mormont and a lady-in-waiting to Princess Helaena. You can’t ignore each other, even though you probably should. In fact, you might have found a love worth killing for.

Song inspiration: “Do I Wanna Know?” by Arctic Monkeys.

Chapter warnings: Language, mentions of death and violence, an extremely awkward brunch, one (1) jealous boi, Aegon-related chaos, dragon shenanigans, Aemond speaking High Valyrian, sexual content, fertility/pregnancy discussions, Cast Away 2.0, this fic is for readers 18+!!!

Word count: 5.6k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @crispmarshmallow @tclegane @daddysfavoritesexkitten @poohxlove @imagine-all-the-imagines @nsainmoonchild @skythighs @bratfleck @thesadvampire @yor72 @xcharlottemikaelsonx @mochimommy2002 @loverandqueenofdragons @omgsuperstarg @endless-ineffabilities @devynsshitposts @vencuyot @ladylannisterxo @ariesbabycitlaly @b00kdiary @cranberryjulce @abcdefghi-lmnopqrstuvwxyz @liathelioness @mirandastuckinthe80s @haezen @fairaardirascenarios @penteknati @darkened-writer @weepingfashionwritingplaid @signyvenetia @abrielleholland @crossingallmine @burningcoffeetimetravel @yummycastiel @lol-im-done @lovemissyhoneybee @nomugglesallowed @witchmoon @yoshiplushie @404slayer404 @sunafterthethunder @torchbearerkyle @sweetashoneyhoney @quartzs-posts @lauraneedstochill @nctma15 @queenofshinigamis @rapoficeandfire

💜 Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! (Also I’m sincerely sorry if Tumblr refuses to tag you!!!) 💜

All night you swim in dreams of starlight, dragons, fire, the thrashing ocean, the words he said to you. Such words—escaping like a flood in the red haze of animal lust—are not to be believed, as you well understand. Axel Hightower used to tell you all sorts of things in the throes of his passion as you waited for him to finish, polite and vacant and bored; he used to say that he loved you, which was absolutely ludicrous. Last night in a torchlit stairwell of the Red Keep, Aemond Targaryen had not said that he loved you. What he had vowed instead was this: You are mine, you are mine, you will always be mine.

There is a cascade of sunlight hot on your face. You’ve slept late, yet the castle is still hushed. The courtiers are recovering from dancing and drinking and dining on dinner, dessert, each other. Though his words still ring in your skull, it is not Aemond you see when you open your eyes. It is his brother.

“You owe me,” Aegon says, racoon-eyed and smirking, leaning against the vanity in your small bedroom that is connected to Helaena’s by an adjoining door.

You jolt upright, your vision pained and muddled. “What…?”

“You owe me,” he repeats simply.

The horror must show on your face.

“Not like that,” he swiftly amends. “You owe me for last night in the Great Hall. I guarded the stairs to make sure no one stumbled upon you. It was no easy task. Plenty of other couples were in want of a dark place to disappear into.”

You clutch your blanket around you like a cape, hiding the shape of your body. Your nightgown is thin and clinging. “I’m sure you’re mistaken.”

“I’m sure I’m not,” Aegon replies. “I saw you sneak away together like thieves. And when Aemond returned, he had this sheepish smile and his cheeks were blood-red and his hands were shaking. My brother’s hands never shake.”

You consider him. “What do you want?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t decided yet. Then again, it is awfully satisfying to not feel like the only debaucherous sibling. You’ve put a good-sized dent in the armor of that dutiful, pretentious honor he wears. Perhaps that is payment enough.”

You think of Queen Alicent, of Otto Hightower, of Aemond’s pride, of your own future here. “Please don’t tell anyone.” You are disgusted by how helpless you sound, how weak.

“I have no intention to. Not yet, anyway.” Aegon grins like a shark and makes for the door. Then he turns back to say just one more thing. “You know, I am glad to see him happy. I won’t tell him that, but I will tell you.”

And he is mindful to shut the door quietly as he leaves.

~~~~~~~~~~

You expect Aemond to ignore you, in public at least; it is an unavoidable casualty of the circumstances. He is a prince destined to marry a Lannister or a Stark or an Arryn or a Baratheon, and more than that he is a man ruled by his sense of hereditary responsibility. You are a lady-in-waiting to a fragile, innocent princess and employed by a devout queen. Any impropriety on your part will not be tolerated. And if you fall from this pedestal, where will you land? Bear Island? Some lowly, anonymous house in a forgotten corner of the North or the Vale or the Riverlands? The flames?

Yet, paradoxically, the prince does not ignore you. He arrives to fetch his sister for a late-morning breakfast just as you are finishing dressing her: daisies braided into her hair, earrings and bracelets, a golden-yellow gown like summer or the sun. He takes her benign little hand and kisses the back of it. “Ready, princess?”

Helaena giggles and flushes a bright, childish pink. “Ready,” she agrees.

“Good. Let’s go.” Aemond turns to you. Your own dress is an intense, sapphire blue. This is not even remotely a coincidence. “You too, Moonstone.”

“Me?!”

“Yes, you. You are my dear sister’s faithful—and quite entertaining, I might add—lady-in-waiting. I’m sure she’d appreciate your company.”

“Oh, I would!” Helaena chirps.

“You…think it’s appropriate…for me to accompany you…to a private meal with the royal family?” You gape at Aemond, bewildered. And then, lowering your voice: “You really want me to go?”

“Of course. You belong where I am. I have claimed you, you are mine. Do you consent?”

“Yes.” The room is brighter, warmer, more spacious, full of potential. You walk with him and Helaena down to the gardens.

Among the blossoms and fountains and ponds and trellises crawling with greenery, a table has been filled with all the cures for a night of overzealous celebration: quail eggs, assorted breads, ham, bacon, honeyed porridge, fresh fruit, tea, tomato juice, more wine for those who aren’t ready to stop celebrating. There are exactly five place settings. Musicians are playing harps and lutes, but they fall silent when you appear with Aemond and Helaena. The queen is at the head of the table. Her father sits to her right. Aegon, pouring himself a massive cup of wine, cackles and rocks back in his chair when he sees you.

Queen Alicent sputters: “Oh, um, hello there, Lady Mormont…?”

“I extended the invitation,” Aemond says. “She has served the princess so well, I thought a token of our appreciation was in order. She has had a very trying few months, as you well know.”

“What—?!” Otto Hightower begins, but halts when his daughter grabs his forearm.

“Do you see how happy he looks?” you can hear her whisper.

Otto sighs irritably. “As you wish, I suppose.” He waves to the servants. “Bring another place setting.”

A chair, cup, plate, and set of silverware are procured for you. Aemond has them positioned on his good side. You sit between him and Helaena, gingerly filling your plate with fruit and miniature muffins, twirling your pendant with anxious hands. But when Aemond looks over to smile at you, you smile back.

“See how it cheers her?” Helaena says buoyantly.

“See how it cheers him,” Aegon quips as he sips his wine with raised eyebrows.

Sir Criston Cole arrives. “Good morning.” He observes the lack of a spot for him. “Oh dear.”

“What now?!” Otto Hightower snaps.

“I asked him to join us, Father,” Alicent says. “Forgive me for neglecting to mention it.”

“Well, fine then,” Otto grumbles. “Wonderful. Perfect. Let’s just welcome the whole court. Is that ferret Larys around, Alicent? Perhaps he would like an invitation too.”

The queen ignores him and occupies herself with spreading butter on a slice of banana bread. The servants assemble a place setting for Sir Criston and he sits to the queen’s immediate left.

“You may continue,” Otto tells the musicians. They resume their playing. “How goes your embroidery, Helaena?” His tone softens; he always softens for her.

“Oh, marvelously!” she says. “I’ve finished my praying mantis and begun work on a spider. It has flames on its back. Bright red flames.”

Otto beams. “Lovely.”

Helaena begins to sing quietly to herself. Aegon gulps his cup of wine and pours another. Sir Criston passes Alicent a bowl of sugar for her tea. They exchange a bashful glance.

“You must be congratulated for your mentorship of my grandson,” Otto says to Sir Criston. There’s a thick slab of ham speared on his fork. “Aemond performed astoundingly in the joust. I was pleasantly surprised. I know he has not spent much time in the tiltyard, nor had any particular appreciation for it until yesterday.”

“It was…an unexpected interest, to be sure,” Sir Criston says. He stares at Aemond, trying to force an explanation; Sir Criston, it seems, is equally curious. Aemond slurps his tea.

“I’d say it was mostly luck,” Aegon says.

“Aegon,” Alicent warns.

“Didn’t you see it?! That Lannister boy was about to impale him before his horse’s leg shattered like a…like a…well, like this.” He crushes a quail egg with his spoon for emphasis. Soft yellow yolk oozes across the plate. Alicent grimaces and returns to buttering her banana bread.

“It takes skill to capitalize on good luck,” Otto says.

Aegon smiles, wide and mocking. “How poetic.”

“Yet skill requires discipline, so you wouldn’t recognize it.”

“Well great, now I’m going to have to cry myself to sleep tonight.”

“I’ve received good news from Storm’s End,” Alicent interrupts. “Lord Borros Baratheon has agreed to bring his daughters to court so we can become better acquainted with them. There’s Cassandra, who is said to be an accomplished musician…and Maris, who paints and sketches…and Ellyn, she is known as a great beauty, and she’s very pious as well…and then there’s Floris…”

“Not now,” Aemond says, gently yet firmly, showing his left palm. Alicent desists. Sir Criston offers her a miniature blueberry muffin. Helaena leaves her seat to catch a grasshopper from a nearby bush. Otto squints at Aemond suspiciously. Aegon drinks.

Alicent is gamely refusing to give up on the meal. “Lady Mormont, how did you find Oldtown? You spent a year there, did you not? I haven’t been back to the seat of House Hightower in so long. I think I would scarcely know it. Is the port still a crystalline blue and swarming with ships at all hours? The sailors’ shouts used to keep me awake at night when I was a girl.”

“Yes, you were married to…” Otto does some mental math. “My cousin’s youngest son, is that right? Andrew? Anderson…?”

“Arthur?” Alicent says.

Otto shakes his head. “No, not Arthur. Adrian? Aaron?”

“Abernathy?” Helaena calls over from where she stands by the bush with a grasshopper in her cupped hands.

Alicent tries again: “Aston? Aiden?”

“Anonymous?” Aegon suggests.

“Axel,” you inform them.

“Right!” Otto says. “Axel! Poor lad. Gone too soon.”

Alicent bows her head respectfully. Sir Criston follows suit. Aemond slices his ham so aggressively the whole table quivers. “What is wrong with you?!” Sir Criston hisses at him. Aemond sighs and rubs his forehead with his fingertips. Aegon watches, extremely amused.

“In truth, Your Highness, I didn’t see very much of Oldtown,” you tell Alicent. “I was expected to spend most of my time with Axel’s sisters, and so I did a lot of embroidery and a lot of reading and a lot of visiting the sept, and…and…” And honestly I was bored to fucking death, you almost add.

“And a lot of attempting to make sons, I would imagine,” Otto says with a chuckle.

Aemond slams his fist down on the table. Everyone stares at him. He realizes what he’s done, clears his throat, and then continues eating as if nothing happened. Aegon bursts into a gale of laughter and rocks back in his chair further and further until it tips over. He lays like a ragdoll on the stones, still laughing, occasionally rolling around, not even attempting to rise.

Alicent mutters to herself: “Can we please just have a nice breakfast, can we please just have a nice breakfast, can we please just have a nice breakfast…”

Sir Criston comforts her with a pat on the back of her hand and the gift of another miniature blueberry muffin. She doesn’t look hungry, but she eats it anyway. They have soon tumbled into a hushed and private conversation. Otto Hightower rises to ask Helaena about her grasshopper. The servants begin clearing the table, stepping carefully around Prince Aegon.

“I’m going to take Lady Mormont on a tour of the gardens,” Aemond announces. He gives Alicent a parting embrace and she squeezes his shoulder fondly. Then the prince offers you his arm and leads you away.

“Aren’t you supposed to train today?” Sir Criston shouts after you both. “Hello? Prince Aemond? Uh, aren’t you supposed to train…?!”

You and the prince disappear into a trellis tunnel woven thick with ivy and climbing roses and jasmine and dangling chandeliers of wisteria. You are completely out of sight; not even sunlight can touch you through the curtain made of earth. Aemond turns your face to his—his hands on your throat, your jaw, your cheek—and kisses you in the verdant darkness.

“I wouldn’t mind being ivy,” he murmurs. “I could cover you completely. I’d grow over you like a second skin and never leave.”

“Ivy kills, you know. It ends up smothering everything else.”

“You don’t have to pretend you aren’t starving for me. It’s alright, I know the truth. I can taste it on you. There’s no shame in it.”

“Perhaps I’m bored of you now,” you say, lacing your fingers around the back of his neck, pressing your hips to his, biting his lower lip. “I’ve unearthed all your secrets and now that I’ve had you there’s no mystery, no challenge. You have nothing left to tempt me with. I’ve done it all already.”

In the shadows, Aemond smiles. “I can think of something you’ve never done before.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Vhagar is too large to be kept in the Dragonpit anymore. When she isn’t flying, she can be found on the sand, on the cliffs, or lolling lazily in the shallow surf; after all, she is nearly one hundred and eighty years old. Aemond takes you down to an abandoned portion of the beach beneath the Red Keep—waiting patiently for you to navigate the terrain in your gown, helping you step over tidepools—and it is there that Vhagar is waiting. She is massive and gruesome and palpably warm; steam rises where seawater laps against her scales. She glares at you with muddy, greenish eyes. There must be intelligence somewhere behind them, but you cannot see it. You see only a grotesque, reptilian, immortal sort of power.

“Dragons are fire made flesh,” Aemond says, laying a palm against her snout. Jagged fangs jut out just below. “Our house owes everything to them. You can touch her, if you like.”

“And she won’t…um…obliterate me?”

He is entirely confident. “We are bonded, so she is aware of everything I feel for you. She knows I would not want you harmed.”

You press your bare hand to Vhagar’s scales. There is a deep, earth-rumbling growl. Heat rises in the air like an arrow loosed from a bow.

“Lykiri, Vhagar,” Aemond soothes. “Dohaeras.”

The beast settles. You have not removed your hand. Aemond is pleased, proud. He nods to the netting that hangs down over Vhagar’s side. “Up you go.”

You climb the rope ladder to the saddle—no easy task in a gown and the low heels that all the ladies of the court wear—with Aemond following closely behind you. Vhagar’s sides heave in and out as she breathes. She’s not beautiful in the way that Sunfyre is, or Dreamfyre, or even Meleys; she is not beautiful like gemstones or soft rain. Vhagar’s beauty is like a wildfire or a hurricane or a plague. She is a force of nature whose capacity for destruction demands to be marveled at.

“We’ll get you a riding outfit,” the prince says. “Leather and gloves and boots. For next time.”

Next time. Because this is going to happen again. Because he wants to do this with me again. “The saddle…?”

“We can share that.” He drops behind you into the saddle and loops a length of chains around you both, binding you to it. “The chains are very necessary. I made that mistake the first time.” He reaches around your waist to take the reins, kisses the side of your neck, rakes his teeth lightly across your skin, inhales you. “Don’t distract me. I have your life in my hands.”

“Fear not. It isn’t terribly valuable.”

“We can agree to disagree.” And then, to the dragon beneath you: “Vhagar, soves!”

She lumbers forward, slowly at first, and then accelerating like the churning of dark clouds in a storm. On her back, the saddle rocks forcefully from side to side; you grip the handles and learn to move with her, like a rider does on a horse. When she lists to the left, you do too, and then back to the right. Aemond keeps his arms on either side of you, his chest pressed to your spine, his body seamlessly aligned with yours, protective. You suddenly can’t stop thinking about last night in that unassuming stairwell of the Red Keep. You want him, but not for a moment or an hour, not even for a night. You want him forever. You want him in a way that can never be real. It is an excruciating ache, a pleasure so deep and twisting it borders on pain.

Vhagar’s wings—large enough to leave shadows the size of buildings—stretch out and carry her up into the clear cerulean sky. The wind whips at your face and claws cruelly through your hair. The world falls away below you. You stare over Vhagar’s side and try to comprehend it: you are no longer connected to the earth by anything. The motion is smoother now that she is in the air. This is where dragons are meant to be, like a shark in water or roots in soil. Only here is Vhagar graceful and swift. Only here is she young again. The waves crash below and pepper you with stinging mist. Ghostly shadows of fish and dolphins and whales weave beneath the surf. Sunlight sets the water alight like constellations. It’s overwhelming, the speed and the weightlessness and the defiance of the planet’s own rules. You cry out in exhilarated wonder like a child.

“I know,” Aemond says over the roar of the wind and the ocean. He’s still holding the reins, but he barely needs them; Vhagar seems to already know the way. His gloved hands wander to settle on your waist, and then your hips, and then your thighs, exploring you with delicious slowness over the fabric of your dress. You are desperate for him, bewitched, on fire. You guide his hands to exactly where you want them. He kisses the side of your face as he touches you, the breeze tearing through his hair, his breathing turning quick and tattered. “I hate this fucking dress,” he groans; but you’re both smiling.

Where can we go? Where can we go to be away from the royal family and the intrusive eyes of the court and all the reminders of how impossible our future is?

But Aemond has already considered this. The island rises out of Blackwater Bay like the moon at dusk. It’s not very large—just big enough for a dragon Vhagar’s size to tuck itself away in the lagoon—but it’s beautiful, with a field of soft mossy grass and a grove of crooked laurel and juniper trees and a rocky stretch of beach that is submerged at high tide. It’s within sight of King’s Landing, but just barely. The city is a silent, miniature version of itself on the horizon. As she nears the island, Vhagar’s talons dip into the seawater and reappear clutching a small, unfortunate grey whale. She lands on the edge of the field, the gusts from her wings ripping leaves from the trees.

Aemond climbs down the netting first and then waits on the ground for you, arms outstretched in case you need to be caught. Your feet reunite with the earth. “Here I am. Back on an island.”

Aemond laughs. It’s such a rare sound, and something to be cherished, like the gleam of a comet or a solar eclipse or the Northern Lights. “Umbas, Vhagar.” He pats the beast’s rugged scales and she ambles away and disappears down into the lagoon, presumably to eat her whale. “I always called it Little Dragonstone.”

“I think I prefer Little Bear Island.”

“Dragon Island?”

“Bearstone,” you suggest.

“Bearstone,” he echoes, trying it out. “Yes, I think I like that.” He goes to one of the juniper trees and pries up a large grey stone at its base. From beneath it, he produces a burlap sack containing books, parchment, quills and a container of ink, and several bottles of wine.

“So you come here often.”

“Yes.” And then he clarifies: “Alone.”

“For how long?”

“Since I was a boy. After I claimed Vhagar.”

“Hopefully not the same way you claimed me.”

He smiles, opens a bottle of red wine, swigs a mouthful. Then he kisses you so you can swallow it. Wine bleeds down your chin, your throat, your chest. Your blue dress is stained in reckless maroon wounds. You couldn’t care less. Aemond’s hands are in your hair, rough and euphoric. His voice is strained with desire. “Last night you asked to see all of me, and I obliged. Now I would like that favor returned.”

You shed your dress like a snake’s skin. Aemond’s impatient fingers help untangle the laces. His lips are on you the whole time, tasting wine and salt and lust and the sea. They roam from your mouth to your jaw and then down the slope of your neck, and then to your collarbone, still marked with the faint, divine, violet bruise from the night before. He yanks off his gloves, his tunic, all the rest of it, and pulls you onto the soft grass. You try to straddle him, but he pins you down on your back, his hands locked around your wrists. It occurs to you that the prince himself is a bit like a bruise now: trapped beneath your skin, aching constantly, an immutable part of your corporal memory. You can ignore it, you can cover it, but he’s there. And you’re terrified that he won’t ever fade.

“Don’t move,” he orders, grinning, mischievous. “There’s one more part of you I still need to taste.”

He’s kissing his way down your breasts, your ribs, your belly, your hips, teasing you with delicate, careful nips. He’s pushing your thighs apart. He’s dragging his tongue across your slick sensitive skin, hot and plump with bloodrush. The sun beats down and the ocean roars and the wind is inked with the sound of moans, and then those careless false promises spilled in the fog of passion, and then soft, exhausted whispers.

In the aftermath—quiet and still like a battlefield once the white flag of surrender has been waved—you lay gazing lazily at each other on the grass. Aemond’s sapphire eye glitters in the afternoon light. His naked flesh is pale and perfect and strangely vulnerable. The thought of him taking a sword to anyone is suddenly very difficult to believe; the thought of him marrying some Baratheon or Lannister woman is excruciating. Yet what can you hope for, with this hand of cards you’ve been dealt? This is temporary, draining away, setting like a sun. To cling to the illusion of permanence is like trying to catch smoke in your hands.

“I don’t think I can give you children.” You mean it as something to comfort him, but it comes out like an apology.

Aemond nods, acquiescent, and you cannot tell if his relief is genuine or if he is trying to spare your feelings. If he is acting, it is a masterful performance. “Perhaps that is for the best. Childbirth is a woman’s battle, but one in which skill cannot save you. I would not desire to risk your life.”

“I thought we agreed not to shy away from battles.”

He smiles vaguely, ambiguously, dusting his thumb across your cheekbone. “Do you know no spells to remedy barrenness? That seems improbable for someone of your…talents.”

“I tried during my marriage, but I couldn’t get to Oldtown’s heart tree. It’s within the Citadel. I was not expected to have any use for books or maesters. I cast a few spells as best I could from the Hightower, but perhaps the Old Gods could not hear me there.”

“Hm.” Aemond’s brow furrows; this troubles him. He would not shame you for it, but he hates the thought of you with another man. It guts him like a blade. This is unmistakable, like a stone beneath clear water. “You yearned to give Axel Hightower a child?”

“I yearned to prove myself,” you correct. “And Axel promised that if I conceived, my mother could travel south and stay to see me through my delivery.”

Now Aemond’s relief is obvious. It wasn’t your husband you loved so ardently; it was your mother. “She was the one who taught you magic.”

“Yes.”

“What was her name?”

You see her face, a flash like lightning. “Laurel. Like the trees, although they couldn’t survive in the North. She always said it was ironic. Now it feels more like prophesy.”

His voice is kind. He’s never lost a parent—not yet—but he knows what it feels like to be unloved by one, and perhaps that is very nearly the same thing. “I’m so sorry.”

“She didn’t want to marry me off to the Hightowers, but Father insisted. He is not a man to be swayed by the pleadings of wives or daughters. He would view that as weakness.”

“So he’s dreadful. You must be so much like your mother.”

You can’t answer him. The words burn in your chest like wildfire. You don’t want to talk about your mother anymore. You look to the blazing sapphire where his left eye once was. “Can I ask you how it happened?”

“I claimed Vhagar on Driftmark after Laena Velaryon’s death. Her daughters and Rhaenyra’s sons confronted me. It was the middle of the night. There were four of them. I was alone. I called the boys bastards, and I picked up a rock, but I swear I never used it. Jace threw dirt in my face and Luke cut me.”

The vision of him as a small, outnumbered, mangled boy hits you like a fist. “I would take it back if I could,” you say. “The loss of your sight, the pain…”

“It wasn’t just the eye,” Aemond explains. He is abruptly somber and distant. He is miles from you, years from you. “It was that they had mocked me and tormented me my entire childhood and then the second I finally had something of my own they wanted to take it from me. It was that my own father did not demand justice for me. It was that I had done nothing but speak the truth and I was expected to believe that my maiming was an acceptable trade for it. Only my mother defended me. Not a single Targaryen. If Rhaenyra and I share the blood of the dragon, how could she so easily revile me?”

“She was wrong. They all were. You were innocent, and you were worthy.”

“Rhaenyra is my blood but she is not my family. And neither are her bastard sons. They owe me a debt that must be repaid.”

“Your wrath is justified, but handle it carefully. Such hatred can turn back to poison you.”

Aemond scoffs, acerbic. “I don’t fear them.”

You smile. “You don’t fear anything.”

“I fear losing you,” he says, and then stands to lead you down to the beach.

You wash Aemond off you in the ocean, and then wash the ocean off you in your rosewater-scented bathtub back in the Red Keep; all evening you try to forget him, to remove his fingerprints from you like an ink stain or a curse. Nothing works. You dutifully help Helaena with the children, you play cards with her, you praise her eerie spider embroidery, you pace around attempting to read some terribly dull book about the history of Westerosi dances…and all the while Aemond’s voice—and those forbidden things he should have known better than to say—clang in your skull like bells.

But as you pass the fireplace with your book in one hand, distractedly tugging on your pendant with the other, Helaena snatches your forearm and drags you to the center of the room.

“What—?!”

“Stay away from the fire,” Helaena hisses fiercely, then drifts off without another word.

~~~~~~~~~~

You are Aemond’s clandestine companion; you are his shadow in unwitnessed moments.

Together you play late-night card games with Helaena, you accompany her on walks through the gardens, you watch the children frolic on the golden beach outside the Red Keep. You sit in quiet, dimly-lit crevices of the library and read for hours by candlelight: Aemond about history and weaponry and dragons and philosophy, you about herbology and gemstones. There are no books about witchcraft, of course; that would be sacrilegious, that would be punishable by death. But you can piece together information about the properties of seemingly innocuous items to craft promising spells. Aemond consults with the maesters of King’s Landing and writes letters to the ones in Dorne. They adore him; they give him the affection and admiration that King Viserys never has.

You and Helaena watch Aemond as he spars with Sir Criston. All four of you watch Sir Ivar Kellington blacken eyes and break bones. Aemond teaches you enough High Valyrian for you to practice with him. He’s never had someone to share this with before. The language comes naturally to you, it fits easily into your mouth and your mind; it sounds like magic. When you can manage it—once every three or four days—you and the prince escape together to Bearstone; otherwise you ravage each other in stairwells, in closets, in anyplace where the servants and guards and handmaidens will not glimpse you.

And then one day, you wake up violently, helplessly ill. You can’t keep down water. You can’t get out of bed. When you try to, your knees buckle and Helaena has to drag you back onto the mattress. You lay there feeling like you’re dying with cold skin and cramping muscles and the room spinning all around you. You try to hide this from Aemond; you don’t want to worry him, and much more urgently you don’t want him to see you like this. You are not strong or pragmatic or brave right now. You are obviously, pathetically weak. Aemond hates weakness. And you can’t bear to see him disappointed in you.

Your plan doesn’t work. Helaena tells Aemond on the second day, and he takes one look at you before dashing off to fetch a maester, a man who he can trust to have discretion. The maester examines you and asks you a series of questions, and it is only when he inquires about your last bleeding that you realize what’s wrong.

“It is my opinion,” the maester tells the prince in the doorway of your bedroom. “That she is in the early weeks of pregnancy. Some women are affected severely like this. It’s rare, but it happens. There are some remedies I can offer, but the best one is time.”

When the maester departs, Aemond remains in the doorway gazing down at you, his blue eye glassy and thunderstruck.

“I’m so sorry,” you choke out with tears slithering down your face. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know this could happen. I didn’t wish for this, I didn’t ask for this. I swear I didn’t.”

But Aemond isn’t angry. He comes to you, crawls into the bed, pulls you to his chest and cradles you there. “This isn’t bad news, Moonstone,” he murmurs, his lips curling into a smile against your forehead. And only then do you know what he dared to hope for in the arching, scarlet chambers of his own heart, what he carved there like an oath. “This isn’t bad news.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Meanwhile, in the Sunset Sea, two fisherman have stumbled upon a very different sort of island than the so-called Bearstone.

It sits to the west of Bandallon in the Reach, out of sight of the mainland and equally out of mind. It is very small. It hosts no human settlements nor natural resources of any great value. There is no vegetation or fresh water or shade or hope. It is mostly rocks. The parts that aren’t rocks are either shards of driftwood or bleached bones.

What brought the fishermen to the island was a beckoning glint, like sunlight bounced off a piece of mirror. It was probably nothing, they both agreed, but who knew for sure; bits of treasure lost at sea have been known to wash up on the island. As they approached they saw him, first only a silhouette and then in full flesh: shouting, waving his arms, surrounded by wreckage. He has laid out upturned shells to catch drinkable water when it rains. Around his neck hangs a golden seven-pointed star. It is this that he has used to summon his rescuers.

The first fisherman calls from the boat as he readies a rope to throw: “Good gods, man, are you still alive down there, or are you a ghost?”

“Too sunburned to be a ghost,” the second fisherman notes.

“I am alive,” the castaway replies. His skin is lobster-red from the sun. His lips are cracked and parched, his hands are mangled from gutting fish and prying open mollusks. He was once a stocky, rather sweet-tempered man of dark hair and medium height but now he is wiry and weathered and sharp. “Though the sea tried its best to take me. Bring me back to my home and my family will handsomely reward you, you have my word. My house has power and wealth. We are one of the greatest in Westeros.”

“We’ll save you regardless,” the first fisherman says. The Mother implores us all to have mercy. But I certainly will not argue with an offer of payment. What is your name, sir?”

The castaway holds up a bloodied hand to shield his eyes from the sun. “Axel Hightower.”

#aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #hotd fanfic #hotd #aemond imagine #aemond targaryen imagine

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pluckyredhead · 4 months

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so what did you not like about worlds finest teen titans? There were a lot of dropped plot threads and bits I expected Waid to develop more (Roy and Ollie conflict, Roy, Garth and Wally never resolved their sleepover argument, Karen's reaction at the con to nearly being unmasked, Wally's parents, ect) and also the queerbaiting with garth (and his eyes changing colour halfway through???) was annoying. I thought it was cute overall but maybe I'm not familiar enough with some of the characters?

I held on to this ask because I was going to reread the miniseries to answer you more accurately, and then I decided to not put myself through that, so...hopefully my memory is accurate lol.

(I should note before I get into it that none of my quibbles are with Emanuela Lupacchino's art. She's a treasure and we're thrilled that she's here.)

But yeah, you've put the nail on the head with a lot of it. It was just terribly paced, like Waid didn't know how many issues he had or something. Aside from all the dropped threads you mentioned, it felt like the main bad guys were...pretty much hastily introduced, or at least assembled, in #5? There didn't seem to be any kind of...well, point to this miniseries. There was no theme. There was nothing Waid was trying to say, as far as I could tell, except "Fuck Roy Harper." (Oh, we'll get to that.) It wasn't an origin story for the team. It wasn't about adolescence or coming of age or learning who you are, except maybe a little bit for Garth. It was just...there.

And I want to be clear here: Mark Waid is one of my favorite comic book writers of all time. When he hits, he hits. The regular World's Finest book and his Shazam are wonderful. I just think this wasn't the right match of writer/characters, because he didn't handle these very well. Taking them one by one:

Dick: DC is fully in their "Dick the unbearable Mary Sue" era and this book is no exception. If I never see another comic where a whole team of experienced superheroes with major league powers and training stands around like incompetent jackasses until a Bat comes along and tells them what to do, it'll be too soon. I'm here to read about an ensemble book where everyone is a three-dimensional character, not The World's Most Perfect Boy and his loser sidekicks. Not only is it unfair to everyone else in the cast, it's doing a disservice to Dick, who is a much more interesting character than this book (or Tom Taylor, ahem) gives him credit for.

(There's also something very weird and inconsistent Waid is doing across his books with Dick - WF, WFTT, and BvR - where sometimes he's throwing a tantrum because he doesn't get to be a circus star with everyone looking at him all the time, and sometimes he's screaming at Roy for filming them, and both feel utterly arbitrary to me as well as contradictory.)

Donna: Donna's characterization in this was just...bizarre. I was a little worried about how Waid would handle her, since he has a tendency to turn more quote unquote "wholesome" female characters into the Mom Friend (see: his Champions run, where he tries to get away with it by having Kamala announce that she's not going to be the Mom Friend because she's the only girl on the team...and then immediately becoming the Mom Friend), and Donna's already very much a Mom Friend, and I didn't know what Mom Friend Squared would look like. But instead he went for this...Manic Pixie Nightmare Girl approach? Where she's really into bungee jumping and monster trucks? I'm not offended by it, it's just so utterly random. This isn't who Donna is? It's never been who she is? Baffling.

I am offended (I mean, mildly, but still) by the fact that she and Garth are shoehorned together in this. He's the only boy on the team she's never been romantically linked to, even in dreams/hallucinations/whatever, so completing the set feels very much like Donna's only narrative worth is in being a love interest, which...gross.

Garth: Garth probably got the best treatment of the bunch, to be honest. He was in character as the shy little weirdo he was in the Silver Age and in pretty much every flashback we've ever seen. He's smart and perceptive and bad at saying what he wants and generous towards those who have hurt him, all of which is very Garth. I have no complaints about him except the weird queerbaiting, and I'm not blaming Waid for that because from what I understand, solicits are written by editorial working off of a pitch, potentially before the comic is even written, so who knows what happened there? It might have been a stupid joke that didn't land, it might have been a story that was pitched and then a higher up vetoed it, it might have been a story Waid was going to write and then changed his mind. I'm not going to say it's his fault when I have no idea if that's true. Otherwise, I think he handled Garth well.

Wally: Wally was another one where I was just like ??? the whole time. He didn't feel like Wally, he felt like Bart. But, like, fanon's innocent child version of Bart and not the actual canon character, who has a lot more backbone. Why is he hero worshipping Dick like that? Why is he so docile? What was up with that weird line where Dick's like "you're the youngest?" Yes, historically Dick had already dropped out of college while Wally was still in high school, but otherwise they've always been portrayed as the same age. And if it's a reference to debut year, Donna's the youngest. It's such a random throwaway line dumped in at the very end for...why? Confusing me personally?

The worst, though, was whatever the hell was going on with Wally's parents. Wally's parents are not an idyllic suburban couple! They are not the Kents! Rudy West is only not classified as a supervillain because he doesn't have a costume! Even if he hadn't tried to kill Mary, sold the Earth out to alien robots, faked his own death, or run a deadly labor camp for children at this point in the timeline, he definitely hit Wally and, uh, poisoned Wally's Little League coach. I don't think Mary is as bad as some of fandom does, but she's certainly a difficult person. Wally was desperately unhappy at home as a child, which is why he latched on so hard to Barry and Iris. And Waid knows this, because he wrote a lot of that canon. If it's a retcon, it's such a strange, pointless one that makes all of them a lot less interesting. Just baffling.

Karen: I think it was a very smart choice to add Karen to the founding roster and make the team slightly more gender-balanced and not all-white. It's kind of a wasted choice, though, when she's so aggressively sidelined. All she does in this book is hang around with Mal and the support staff. She isn't looped into any of the major emotional conflicts - Garth and Donna, Dick and Roy, Roy and Wally and Garth. She's not treated as a headliner in the same way the others are, and that really sucks.

Roy: Hoo boy.

When Waid was announced as the writer of Batman vs. Robin, I was worried, because I had a feeling he didn't like Damian. I couldn't put my finger on why, it was just a feeling I had. And boy howdy, was I proved right! Damian is treated like shit in that book.

I had the same feeling with this book and Roy, and...let's just say I'm two for two, okay?

Here's the thing. I'm okay with Roy being written as kind of shitty, especially during his period of his life. Teen Titans: Year One writes him as an utter fuckboy, and I love that comic. The Mal and Karen issue of The Other History of the DC Universe retells the Bronze Age Titans era from their perspective, and it pulls absolutely no punches regarding Roy being, well, kind of an asshole...and it's right to do so, because it's drawing very directly from those 1970s comics, and he was often awful in those.

But Waid writes him as a generic 80s movie villain. He's a human popped collar. He's a stereotype of a bully. My problem isn't that I need him to never do anything wrong, it's that nothing in this book is specific to Roy, his history, or his established personality.

For instance, all of his bragging about how much money he has? He comes off like a kid who was born into wealth and has never known anything else, but that isn't true. He was at best middle class before Ollie, probably more likely working class given the economic situation on most reservations - but there's no indication that he's responding specifically to that shift in circumstances. He's just, like, Draco Malfoy with arrows. Also, Dick has a nearly identical history but none of the same issues. He even says "Roy and I have the same background but he sucks." Why is one of them a perfect angel untouched by filthy lucre, and the other is Bradley Uppercrust III?

And then there's the subplot with Ollie neglecting Roy, which fizzled out to a real wet fart of a resolution. But honestly, at no point did I know where Waid was going with that, because...well, if you know Roy's history, you know Ollie neglecting him is what leads directly to Roy getting into drugs. And like...first of all, the timeline here is off, because historically Ollie didn't ditch Roy until after he lost his money, and he still has it here. (How interesting would it have been to have Roy pretending he was still rich in addition to pretending Ollie was around?) But also, this comic ends on an "and now everything is fine!" note, but it isn't! It really, really isn't. So Ollie showing up at the end and being like "I'm here for you, buddy" doesn't ring true, because he is demonstrably not in this very comic, and we also know he won't be in the future. And Roy getting what he wants doesn't feel like a satisfying resolution either because we don't actually get to see changed behavior from him, and again, we know this won't last. (Again, TT:YO handles this dynamic very well, where we see that Ollie is an affectionate but negligent guardian who Roy is learning some very bad habits from.)

And to top it off, constantly contrasting Terrible Roy to Virtuous Dick and simultaneously pretending that Ollie was at this point a responsible guardian has the (I hope unintentional) effect of implying that Roy will eventually become an addict because he's just a bad and weak person, instead of a struggling teen who needed support and didn't get it. I would have actually preferred a story that hinted at the beginning of Roy's addiction and how he hides it from the Titans, because we've never had that story told in comics, but I don't think Waid's the one to write it. Instead we get a conflict that's out of character for Roy, a resolution that doesn't feel at all earned, and the looming threat of Roy's immediate future which Waid refuses to address.

In conclusion, this book was a mess, and you should all read Teen Titans: Year One instead.

#meta #teen titans #dick grayson #robin #donna troy #wonder girl #garth #aqualad #wally west #kid flash #karen beecher #bumblebee #roy harper #speedy

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alwaysahiccupandastrid · 7 months

Text

🪓 Nerdy Prudes Must Die - Some Thoughts 🪓

I decided to rewatch NPMD (second day in a row 🙈) and wanted to write down some random thoughts and reactions because why the fuck not 😌

‼️ SPOILERS FOR NPMD BELOW ‼️

I loved this show from the second it started omg I love things about murder 🤭

“Riiiiichie… Riiiiiichie…” — kind of gave off IT vibes ngl

They really killed off Jon Matteson’s nerd character in the first 35 seconds 💀

“They twisted his nipples off 🤣” - WHY WAS HE SO HAPPY ABOUT IT

THE PROJECTION OF THE TITLE IN THE VICTIM’S BLOOD, STARKID HAD HELLA BUDGET FOR THIS SHOW 🙌🏻

“🎵I’m dead…the blood is arbitrating from my head🎵” needs to become a trending TikTok sound or something oh my fucking gOD

LAUREN YOU QUEEN 🙌🏻👏🏻 also living for that fucking wig

MARIAHHHHHHH 🎵❤️

Definitely felt the “High School is Killin’ Me” “I’m so fucking dead” in my soul even though I’m a full ass adult now

“I was deep in a Twitter fight about a problematic puppy” ROFL OMFG

Joey as Peter Spankoffski 😭👏🏻

ANGELA AS GRACE CHASITY HELL FUCKIN YEAH SHE IS EATING THIS PART UP

We all knew someone at school who snitched to the teachers lbh 💀

“So you don’t wanna be bullied?” “No, I wanna be invisible.” “…then why do you come to public school dressed in suspenders and a fucking bow tie?” - PLEAAAASE 💀🤣

MICRO-PETER 😂💀

Joey taking off his glasses and going “oh god” under his breath, “IT’S NOT ACTUALLY A MICROPENIS”… oh he ATE the role, R*bert who?!?

“My titties are tenderised” - I MEAN SAME BUT-?!?

“I didn’t know you were funny.” “Neither did I.” “I like funny guys.” — I AM SORRY BUT IM ALREADY SHIPPING HARD

Actually obsessed with Richie’s hair and outfit like I can’t explain it other than I’m obsessed

IT’S MAX JÄGERMAN

“Ohh well there’s a difference between intent and impact - I learnt that at an anti bullying assembly last month, FUCK NUGGET” took me off guard tbh like I know I’m tired and easily surprised but still 🤭

GRACE CHASITY PROTESTING THE CO-ED HOMECOMING DANCE I CANNOT-

Jägerman is literally the archetype of the school bully jock who peaked in high school like omg but also he’s into Grace?!?!

“I run laps in the gym and I don’t want to slip on any SPUNK” - FUCKING HELL

“Can I carry your books for you?” “Carry my books? 🤢 I don’t think either of us are ready for that, I mean we’re only 18!”

“My little dirty girl.” — 😳😲😮‍💨

“I am only one man’s girl, Max, and his name is Jesus Christ!” — IM FUCKING HOWLING ANGELA KILLED THE DELIVERY OF THAT LINE I CANT-

“I’m a literal monster!” - oh so Max is self aware then 🤔

“This is politics, Stephanie 🙄 learn to multitask!”

I love that Starkid keep casting Corey as Mariah’s dad?!?

Stephanie is apparently her father’s “October surprise”… so her birthday is in October, like Hannah Foster’s? 🤔

“Stephanie, please, I’d like to have an intelligent conversation with you - in other words, shut up” - DAMN WHAT A BURN

NOOO NOT HER PHONE 😰 (I am also addicted to my phone so I get it lol)

NOT STEPHANIE THROWING HER HAND BETWEEN HER PHONE AND THE HAMMER OMFG (same though)

Mayor Lauter really said “I don’t give a shit if you lie, steal or cheat to get your grades up, just don’t get caught” - spoken like a true politician

“How am I supposed to study without listening to Spotify?!?” probably should not have resonated with me like it did 🤭

Peter trying to make a joke and Richie and Ruth not getting it is so relatable tbh

I’m obsessed with Ruth’s mushroom jumper tbh

“I just want someone to touch me… anyone, PLEASE” — ROFL (same girl)

“What was it like when she touched your arm?… DID YOU CUM?!?” — 💀💀💀💀

“You and Steph, it’s a fantasy - like a boy and his anime love pillows. It’s a beautiful dream, but I’ll never hold the real Rei or Asuka in my arms.” — I AM PISSING MYSELF LAUGHING JESUS FUCKING CHRIST

“I’m such a loser, telemarketers hang up on me” 💀😭

DID RICHIE JUST FUCKING SAY “NANI!” JESUS FUCKING CHRIST I CANT DEAL WITH THIS SHOW 🤣

Richie and Ruth climbing Pete like a tree and demanding to know what Stephanie is saying is so ridiculously funny 😆

“Really, Ruth? A Star Wars analogy? Need I go into why Attack on Titan is superior in every possible way?” — STARKID UNDERSTAND THE NERDS I LOVE IT

“You’re telling me I gotta be funny again?!? I didn’t do it on purpose the first time!”

“Pete, you’ve been given a once in a lifetime opportunity - someone’s willing to tolerate your presence for a whole evening! This may never happen again!” — damn wish that would happen to me 😭🙈

Not Pete getting a boner during “Cool as I think I am” 🙈

Nooooo not Max finding Pete before he could go into the restaurant to meet Stephanie 😭

“I’m sick of your ssshhhhit!” — YES PETEY STAND UP TO HIM

The fact Max said “Rendezvous” as “Randay-Voose” 💀

The way it transitioned from “say your prayers” to the Chasity family going “AMEN” was PERFECTION

Grace’s father referring to his wife as “mother” is…something 💀

“He came up to me in the hallway and he asked if he could carry my books.” “Oh, Mark - I didn’t know that sort of thing happened at Hatchetfield High! Do you think you should call the boy’s father?” — ?!?!?!

“Mom, will you pass the butt stuff? The butter. Butter. Will you pass the butter? (Chuckles nervously) I just want some head and butter. BREAD! Bread! Bread and butt-sex to go with this big shaft of meat I’m gonna choke down. Oh boy…oh criminy!” - THE SCREECH I GAVE WAS UNHOLY

“I’ve just got some butterflies in my tummy; and they’re flying REAL low today” 😭💀🙈

GRACE FANTASISING ABOUT MAX IN THE BATH I CANNOT DEAL WITH THIS

“Brewing up a big ol’ pot of dirty girl soup” - ABSOLUTELY NOT 💀

HES FUCKING SHIRTLESS WHAT THE FUCK-

“Everyone’s got their secrets, and this one’s mine. I love… Jesus! 😃” - this was when I definitely knew she was fantasising because ain’t no fucking way-

WAS THE DIRTY GIRL SONG SUPPOSED TO BE VIEWED AS HOT BECAUSE I AM VERY FLUSTERED AND CONFUSED AND TOTALLY VIBING WITH THE TUNE

🎵 DIRTY DIRTY GIRL WON’T YOU PRAY FOR ME🎵

You see, if Christian parents didn’t repress their teenager’s hormones and sexuality then MAYBE their teenagers wouldn’t resort to murder 🙃

Grace’s dad saying he’s going to get the plunger when she said she was doing a big poop 😭💀

Grace really thinks that impure thoughts only happen after marriage and I almost envy her innocence

“Money isn’t everything… looks are.” - yeah no that about sums people up in this day and age 😑

“We thought you were waifu material, but you’re just a bully” — NOT WAIFU MATERIAL 💀

PETE’S BLACK EYE NOOOO 😭🥺

Grace is kind of a psychopath and I’m loving that for her tbh

“I’m not comfortable with the plan if it involves that kind of language” but she’s comfortable with filming someone getting terrified and pissing their pants 💀

The “the place is not structurally sound” comment was DEFINITELY foreshadowing

“I get pus in my pits!” Jesus ☠️

🎵🤌🏻we’re gonna bully the bully🤌🏻🎵

“We’re gonna cut off his nips!” - what is with the obsession with n!pples in this show 😳

I’M SORRY BUT THIS IS ALL I COULD THINK ABOUT WHEN THEY TALKED ABOUT KEEPING THE BEANS COOL

“You’re like super nice to me 😀” “…not really. I’m just doing the bare minimum here.” “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.” “Oh, that’s sad!” — 😂😅🤣

“Okay, Richie, be honest… Am I reading as ghost or Lin Manuel Miranda” — OH FUCKING GOD IM CACKLING

“You kinda look like that homeless guy from downtown” 💀 FOURTH WALL BREAK?!?

Max must be VERY drunk because ain’t no way he thought Pete was a ghost or Ruth was actually a skeleton 💀

“Grace, we gotta abort the plan, it’s not working!” “It’s working for me, he’s so violent! 😍”

Not Max actually being touched by them putting this whole thing together for him 💀 very much giving off himbo vibes and I love him for that

MAX FELL THREE STOREYS

Oh my GOD THE FUCKING MAKE UP ON MAX FOR HIS DEATH SCENE HOLY SHIT

“NERDY! PRUDES! MUST! DIE!” — oh hey it’s the name of the show! 😃 And also it was written on the wall in… oh 😳

“I did get a lot of incriminating footage of us luring him here with malicious intent!” - uh oh

“My god! We’re going to jail! And with my luck, no one will even bother making me their bitch!” — PLEASE 💀

“It wasn’t murder, and it wasn’t an accident… it was an act of God! 😇” - Grace is UNHINGED

“No more tickling in our mommy spots!” - OUR WHAT SPOTS?!?

“🎵🤌🏻 We’re gonna bury the body! 🤌🏻🎵”

“Oh no she’s snapping again”

“I just cut off his nips 😌” - again with the nips?!?

DAN AND DONNA 😃😃😃

“Two weeks of heartache” - cut to all of his classmates happy without his influence 💀

STEPH PASSED THE TEST! 😃

“Ya know, this is really your C+.” “Oh Steph… you can keep it. It’d really bring down my GPA.”

Steph asking Pete out to the football game 🥹😁 we love to see it!

GO GO NIGHTHAWKS! 😃🦅 (I know it’s an eagle emoji there’s no hawk emoji 🙈)

“N, I-G, H-T… *squawk squawk* Ks!” 👏🏻🙌🏻

Richie is the team mascot and they wanted/needed him in the huddle 🥹

They apologised for bullying him 😭👏🏻

“And we’d like to apologise in advance for if Max ever comes back, ‘cause we’ll probably go right back to doing it”

“Fuck Clivesdale! Fuck ‘em straight to hell! Assholes!” — AGREED! 👏🏻

I’m 90% sure Jon actually struggled with taking that mascot top off but it worked well with the scene so 😌

“I love being alive! 😃” — oh he’s so about to fucking die, isn’t he?

IT’S MAX CALLING FOR RICHIE HES BACK FROM THE DEAD

MAX’S COSTUME/MAKE UP IS AMAZING OH MY GOD 😌💅🏻

“Should’ve joined the smoke club you nerdy prude” — ANOTHER SMOKE CLUB REFERENCE

Every song on this soundtrack fucking slaps I LOVE IT

There’s not very many men that can pull off being absolutely absolutely fucking terrifying while dancing and singing across the stage but Will Branner managed it so kudos to him

The bit where Richie was repeating what Max said (“who will pray for me? When I’m gone?”) was INSANELY GOOD

“What did they find? You don’t say…you don’t say!” “What’d they find, dad?” “They didn’t say” - 💀

“Oh heck… I’m so hecking fudged”

“*relieved* Oh well we don’t know anything about that one!” “Or ANY one!”

“Maybe it’s a coincidence. People tell me to die every day!” — Okay why is Ruth kind of me 😭

THE FUCKING CAMEOS IN “HATCHET TOWN” ASDFGHJKL?!?! ZIGGY?! MAN IN A HURRY?!? GERALD MONROE?!?

“Ohhh I remember before the lockdown” - yeah me too 😅

THE BARBECUE MONOLOGUES GOT ME HOLLERING 💀

Ruth walking onto the stage and into the spotlight 🥺 literally she was me this whole scene omg I relate so hard to most of what she said ASDFGHJKL

Lauren ATE that song up by the way

MAX KILLED HER BY WEDGIE-ING HER IN TWO AND THEN PUT THE PANTS OVER HER HEAD WHAT THE FUCK MAX 😭

Him telling her to “project” so those in the back row could hear her triggered me so bad as an actor omg 😳

Grace really accusing the entirety of Clivesdale 💀

As soon as the WWJD bracelet was brought up I KNEW what was going on 😭

“Who’s plan was it, Grace?” “It was God’s plan! And now he’s leaving me out to dry! Do something, you son of a bitch!” 💀😅🤣

Grace has lost her fucking SHIT and I fully support that for her

“Show Me Your Hands” musical refrain?!

BEANIES?!? PAUL AND EMMA?!? 😭😭😭 ITS FUCKING PAUL AND EMMA I CANNOT-

“Cup of roasted coffee” refrain too?!?

PAUL GAVE EMMA HIS NUMBER 😭❤️

PAUL + EMMA IN EVERY SINGLE TIMELINE, EVERY SINGLE UNIVERSE-

“EXCUSE ME I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR WHAT FEELS LIKE FIVE FUCKING YEARS AND I STILL HAVE NOT RECIEVED MY GODDAMN HOT CHOCOLATE” 💀💀💀💀💀💀💀😂😂😂😂😂 I FUCKKING CANT IM DONE

🎵”Don’t need a lover boy need a lover man / sure I’m a sapiosexual and you’re intellectual but I’ll cut my lover losses when I can” 🎵 — this song goes so hard omg

Grace pushing between them and shouting “leave room for Jesus!” 💀

“Do we need to get ahold of Ruth?” “Good luck getting ahold of her. Does your phone pls cover calls to hell?” “…Hell?” “She’s bisexual and dead, where else would she be?!?” — 💀

Grace whipping out the gun and telling Steph to cool her beans was so iconic of her

“(Canadian accent) ‘Cause if I’m going down, you hosers comin’ with me, eh” — OH MY FUCKING GOD

Doesn’t shock me a cop would arrest Paul for zero fucking reason, fuck the police 💀

“All I wanted was to be a regular girl with no sexual desire until she was safely married 😭” the FUCK-

“Don’t comfort her, she’s fuckin’ weird” 💀

“I don’t give a shit who you kill - but you just had to go and do it in that house, didn’t you?” — Mayor Lauter really said “murder is fine but NOT in that specific house, you fucking idiots”

THE LORDS IN BLACK?!? 😃 WIGGLY AND BLINKY AND POKEY AND NIBBLY AND TINKY?!?!? FUCK YEAAAAHH

“She gave me head in her car - check it out!” *throws Miss Tessburger’s head onstage* — BRO THE FUCK

WELP I GUESS MAYOR LAUTER IS DEAD THEN?!?

“Detective Shapiro, are you a woman of faith?” “Catholic.” “I’ll take that as a no” — THE FUCK GRACE 😑

They’re really about to summon five otherworldly entities who are evil I’m-

The Summoning screams CRACK and I’m living for it

“Hello Fwendy-Wends” - SCREAMING LITERALLY FUCKING SCREAMING

“WE DON’T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT YOUR PHONE” TOOK ME OUT ASDFGHJKL

SHE CHERISHES PETE 😭

“Pay the price or fuck off” 💀

Can I just say that I need would love a show specifically just about the Lords in Black fucking about and it’s Jon the whole time as Wiggly exactly as he was during the Summoning scene because that was AMAZING IM SHAKING-

The fact Pete cherishes Steph and she cherishes him oh my hEART 😭

“Hey Steph, if things were different, would you wanna come to homecoming with me?” “I’d like that, Pete. I’d really like that.” - SHUT THE FUCK UP NO 😭😭😭

Not Max saving Pete from being shot 💀

“So you do know the Bible!” — GRACE OMG IM SCREECHING HELP

“But Jesus never threw a football like you, Max” - WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING

Max being confused about what dirty girl soup is and then being turned on when she explains 😭💀

“Take me, Max, right here on the 50 yard line!” — oh dear gOD

Max’s struggle over whether to kill Steph and Pete or whether to bang Grace omfg 😭😅

THE NOISES OFF STAGE OMFG WTAF 😭💀😂😅🤣

Grace got Max kicking his feet, twirling his hair, after one shag, just like a teenage girl 💀 I’m crying so hard with laughter I can’t cope with it-

GRACE GAVE HIM HER CHASTITY AND SACRIFICED WHAT SHE CHERISHED MOST ASDFGHJKL

PETE AND STEPHANIE AT HOMECOMING TOGETHER ASDFGHJKL ✨T H E M ✨

Grace choosing not to get the dance cancelled and she brought a date?!? That’s character development! 😀

She let Jason walk her home?!? O_o and then asked him to kiss her?!?!

“That was… absolutely disgusting! Really, Jason?!? Kissing on the first date?!?” Oh noooo 💀

“You’re a dirty perv, Jason”

SHES GOT THE FUCKING BLACK BOOK IS SHE SUMMONING THEM AGAIN

🎵DIRTY DUDES MUST DIE🎵

Well thIS TOOK A FUCKING TURN DAMN

Anyway, 11/10, immaculate, amazing, incredible, show-stopping, would recommend to everyone of course and will definitely be rewatching it a LOT 🪓

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ilovehimyourhonour · 10 months

Text

nepo babies 002.5 my first sober kiss (written) . previous ! next !

rich! yang jeongin x rich! fem! reader . rich au , smau (written chapter) . mentions of being drunk , slightly suggestive , shirtless jeongin?

a/n so I think im. just going to post chapters of ‘nepo babies’ and ‘the art of coffee’ whenever get them done, but if im kinda running behind there will be ones posted on the scheduled dates. // not 100% sure on this one, but I say that about literally everyone of my pieces lol. // also I usually post .5 chapters along with a regular chapter but I thought this one a little too big in contents to post two. but 003 will be coming soon :)

taglist open !

“you’re drunk,” you whisper. jeongin remains silent, his long fingers slipping beneath the hem of your dress. “hey,” you hiss.

“im not that drunk,” he mutters—breath fanning your bare shoulder. “please,” his fingers drag against the skin of your thigh as he withdraws his hand from the shelter provided by the skirt of your dress.

“head towards the bathroom, i’ll be there in a minute.” he grunts and pulls himself from his spot next to you on the couch, casting you a glance over his shoulder.

you watch as he disappears behind a corner, casting another glance in your direction.

you wait a few minutes before pushing yourself off the couch, the group sat around you stares up at you with knowing eyes—little to your knowing, as you are too busy maneuvering yourself through their extended legs.

“where are you going?” minho smirks.

“ive gotta go to the bathroom,” you chuckle—rather awkwardly.

you mutter hellos and half-greet guest as you slip your way through the small crowd.

“jeongin?” you mutter. “jeongin?” your heels click softly against the floor as you venture a bit farther into the slim hall the bathrooms were located within. you reach the other end of the hall and release a sigh, the railing that circles around the ship catching your palms as you press your weight into it. the salty water sloshes beneath the boat as you tilt your head down, watching the soft waves tickle the side of the ship.

“took you long enough,” jeongin’s voice reaches your ears—and a second later you’re palms are pressed to his chest while his rest comfortably on your waist. “I thought you were standing me up,” he whispers against your lips.

“funny, I thought the same.”

“i’d never stand you up,” he confesses.

“never?”

he sighs shakily. “i’ve been dreaming of this for too long,” his forehead presses to yours, strands of his hair tickling your eyelids.

“what do we do? in these dreams of yours,” you hum, hands trailing down his chest, fingers slipping beneath the hem of his shirt—just as he had done with your dress moments earlier.

“kiss,” he blushes.

“that’s it,” you grin, gliding your fingers over his covered stomach, tracing his abs softly.

“even in my dreams I want to respect your boundaries,” you giggle and squeeze your eyes shut—and jeongin feels himself falling harder, and the butterflies in his stomach multiply by tenfolds. “is me respecting you funny?”

you smile softly and shake your head. “what’s funny is that you aren’t kissing me yet.”

“i’m aloud?”

“are you always like this? bold in public, shy when you’re alone with a girl.”

“i’m only shy when i’m alone with you.”

you sigh softly, bringing your hands from beneath his shirt and cup his cheeks. “i’ve only had one glass of champagne and i’m starting to lose that buzz, so you should kiss me before I come to my senses, or before my dad finds us—i’m not sure which one would be worse.” he nods, eyes flickering from your eyes to your lips and then back up again. you sigh, again, and tug him forward—bringing your lips to his.

he’s slow and gentle, his hands on your waist are stiff and unmoving.

“I thought you said you dreamed of this?”

“I did. I do.”

“then act like it, jeongin. kiss me like in your dreams.”

“i’m aloud?” his eyebrows shoot upwards, almost as if he was surprised.

“stop asking that,” press your lips to his again, and this time he’s a bit more rough.

he roams his hands up your back, pressing you into him, and when you bring your arms to wrap around his neck and plant a hand in his hair—tugging softly—he lets out a groan. the sound vibrating against your mouth.

minutes later and the two of you have stumbled farther down the deck, mindlessly headed towards the opening in the rail—where the latter into the water sits.

the two of you part to catch your breath, and for once it last more than just a second. jeongin huffs and tucks his face into the crook of your neck, his chest moves up and down against your own.

“jeongin,” you sigh as his mouth works against the sensitive skin beneath your jaw. “is this apart of your dreams too?” he nips at the skin, causing you to yelp and land a slap to the side of his head. making him chuckle. “I see you’ve gained your boldness again.” he sighs and withdraws his head, bringing himself to look you in the eyes.

“do you have any dreams?” he asks. you cock your head to the side, a small smile playing at your lips.

“would you be up for it?” your hands find the hem of his shirt, tugging it upwards. he allows you, he even helps you remove it from over his head, tossing it somewhere behind him.

“i’m up for anything you-” jeongin’s words are cut as the two of you get jostled by a sudden rock in the boat, the both of you stumble and you cry out as you lose your footing. your fingers dig into his shoulders as you begin to fall through the opening in the railing, where the latter had been placed. jeongin’s hands squeeze your waist as the two of you fall the short distance into the water.

with the music and the constant chatter, the splash of your fall falls on deaf ears.

the two of you rise to the surface, jeongin biting at his bottom lip. sure, he wanted to get alone with you, and he definitely wanted to make moves—but trying to drowned you was never ever the intention. you’re silent for a moment, and jeongin waits for your burst of anger.

but when a loud laugh erupts from you, he can’t hold back his own.

“i’m definitely completely sober now,” you giggle as your hands slash through the cool water surrounding you.

“i’m sorry,” he sighs. you shoot him a confused frown.

“why?” your body seems to glide closer to his own, your hands finding his shoulders. “this is the most fun i’ve had all night,” his eyelids flutter as your hands cup his cheeks, thumbs soothing over his cheekbones. “would it be okay if I kissed you?”

“but youre sober, awhile ago you told me to kiss you before-”

“is that a no?” your hands drop from his face, splashing softly in the water. his fingers circle your wrists, bring your palms back to his cheeks.

“I never said that,” you hum as you shift closer, your nose tapping against his.

“you’re my first sober kiss.”

you don’t let him question, bringing your lips to his too quickly. they slide awkwardly against each other, the wetness from the water still coating each of your lips.

@uraverageatiny @lolob @akanexw @violetvoo @rubberduckieyourtheone @haewonluvr @hello-2-u-from-me @jungwonismybias

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ironh3artstark · 23 days

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Request tony and peter having one year anniversary sex of dating and being official couple. Tony proposed to Peter! Pls write that 😍

Hey! Hope this is okay, I’ve been pretty busy lol! <3 enjoy!!!!

Today officially marks one year since Peter and Tony became boyfriends.

Tony had decided, earlier that week to cancel all of the plans he had and made sure his lover was available as well. He wanted to make sure it was somewhere special to both of them, because of course, he had something more up his sleeve.

He’s Tony Stark, what did you expect?

He was going to propose to the younger boy, and legally make him his.

It may seem early in the relationship but as far as they’re both concerned, they’ve been in love since they both saw each other the first time, in that small apartment in Queens.

Peter was ecstatic, Tony had offered to take them to see the beauty of Leipzig, Germany when there are no battles or disagreements to be fought over. To be fair, Peter didn't care where Tony wanted to take them. As long as they were together.

When they're in the hotel, Peter can't stop looking everywhere. He's holding onto Tony's hand while he observes the settings. Turning everywhere with his jaw dropped, Tony smiles at how joyful he looks.

Peter grins, "Tony! This is like the most perfect place ever! Besides the lab. It's beautiful." He says and smiles widely at his lover.

Tony smiles, brown eyes filled with love and adoration. He stares down at Peter, "Mm. It is, isn't it?" Peter blushes and looks down to the glossy floor with a huge smile on his face.

"The rooms are already ready. Let's get dressed. I have a surprise for you." Tony says, lifting the hand that is entwined in his, and placing a kiss on Peter's hand.

As they walk to their room, Peter keeps rambling and says stuff along the lines of ‘A suprise? This is great’ and ‘OhmygodOhmygod.’

As Peter and Tony enter their hotel room, Peter's eyes widen in awe at the sight before him. The room is bathed in soft, golden light streaming in from the large windows, casting a warm glow over the elegant furnishings. "Wow," Peter breathes, his voice filled with wonder as he takes in the luxurious surroundings. "Tony, this is incredible." Tony smiles, watching Peter's reaction with fondness.

"I'm glad you like it, Pete. I wanted our anniversary to be special."

Peter walks further into the room, his gaze moving from the plush king-sized bed to the sparkling chandelier overhead. He runs his fingers lightly over the silky duvet, marveling at the attention to detail. "It's like something out of a dream," Peter says, turning to face Tony with a wide grin. "Thank you."Tony steps closer, wrapping his arms around Peter from behind. "You deserve the world, Peter. And I'll do everything in my power to give it to you."Peter leans back into Tony's embrace, “Now, we should get ready. We have a reservation at Schaarschmidts.” Tony winks.

Peter tilts his head at the name and looks confused at the man, wondering if he just spoke English or not.

Tony leans down to press a kiss on Peter’s forehead before walking away to head to one of the two bathrooms in their room.

Peter quickly follows suit and heads to the other bathroom, finding his designer suit hanging up, that fits him in all the right places. He was grateful for Tony’s credit card. Just not as much as he was grateful for the wonderful man he can say he’s happily in love with.

Stepping into the shower to wash himself off from the flight, he gets an idea. He can tell this night is going to end in the sheets, so he wants to surprise Tony.

Peter opens himself thoroughly in the shower, angling away from that pleasurable spot in his ass to wait for his lover later.

He thrusts two fingers in his ass, scissoring and spreading himself so Tony can slide in easily.

Feeling that he’s open enough, he finishes washing his body and hair, turning off the warm water and stepping out.

Peter dries off, wrapping a towel around his waist as he locates a blow dryer.

Quickly styling his hair, he gets dressed in his dark green suit that looks perfect on him. Fixing his sleeves in the mirror, he observes himself as he thinks.

He locates his toiletries bag and pulls out some very smoothing chapstick and sprays on some perfume.

Peter smiles at his appearance and runs his hands through his hair once more, walking out of the bathroom, to find Tony on the bed putting on a watch.

Tony looks amazing. As he always does, but tonight he's everything and more. Tony obviously thinks the same when he looks up from his wrist and observes the younger. Tony quickly stands up.

"God, Peter." "You look amazing, Tony." They both say at the same time and Peter blushes while Tony grins.

Tony steps forward to place a palm against Peter's cheek. He guides him to look from the ground, into his eyes. Tony speaks, "You are gorgeous, honey,"

Peter smiles and tries to tilt his head back down but Tony still wants him to look at the older.

Tony leans down slowly, tipping Peter's head up as his lips press against the thinner ones of Peter.

Peter kisses back, slowly moving his lips with Tony. Tony kisses once more before moving back.

He grins at how pink Peter has gotten. “We’re gonna be late. Let’s continue this later?” Tony asks hopefully.

Peter nods quickly.

They walk out of the room, side by side as Tony guides Peter with a hand on his lower back, gently rubbing his thumb to ease his nerves.

As Tony and Peter arrive at Schaarschmidts, the elegant facade of the restaurant bathed in soft golden light greets them. Tony offers Peter his arm, and they walk together, their steps synchronized with a shared sense of anticipation.

The waiter greets them warmly as they enter, leading them to a secluded table adorned with flickering candlelight and a bouquet of roses. Peter's eyes widen in awe at the romantic setting, his heart pounding with excitement.

"This is amazing, Tony," Peter whispers, his voice filled with wonder. Tony smiles, his gaze filled with affection as he pulls out a chair for Peter.

"Only the best for you, Pete."

As they settle into their seats, their conversation flows effortlessly, laughter punctuating the air as they reminisce about the past year and dream about the future.

Midway through their meal, Tony's demeanor shifts slightly, his expression becoming more serious. He reaches into his pocket, fingers closing around the small velvet box hidden within. "Peter," Tony begins, his voice soft but determined.

Peter can hear how his heartbeat increases. Peter furrows his brows and tenses up.

“I’m so glad to have you in my life. You’ve changed me for the better, seriously. You’re incredibly special, kind and generous, so different from me, but I see myself in you in so many different ways, kid. I told you a year ago, you were it for me, and I’m serious. I don’t want anyone else but you, and I hope the feelings mutual.” Tony laughs out.

Peter’s eyes widen in surprise as Tony stands and gets down on one knee beside the table. The almost empty restaurant going quiet as they observe the display of love.

Tony takes the ring out his pocket and opens the box. If you looked closely, it had the same blue glow that Tony’s arc reactor gave off. Peter had stated one day that if he could carry that technology with him everywhere, he would.

Holding the ring up, Tony speaks as Peter is already tearing up.

“I know you might want to wait until you graduate college next year, but I’ll wait. As long as you want. So, Peter Parker, will you do me the honor of putting up with me for as long as you can handle?” Tony breathes out, feeling tears threaten his eyes. Peter’s just a waterfall at this point.

Peter covers his mouth with his palm for a second before nodding so fast he might get whiplash.

“T-Tony, Oh my g-god. Yes! Yes!” Peter replies loudly, perhaps too loud.

Tony sniffles and shoots up, tackling his boy into a kiss. Peter presses his lips back tenderly. It’s a soft and lingering kiss, filled with passion and most likely, the promise of forever.

His arms wrap around Peter’s waist, pulling him closer. Their lips seem to move at the right pace, enveloping each other.

Peter leans back from the kiss first, gazing into Tony’s eyes with a goofy smile, “I want to be with you forever. I love you so much, Tony.”

Tony tilts his head as he feels a tear drop. Tony smiles softly, filled with nothing but love as he responds, “I love you so much more.”

“Let’s get out of here, please?” Peter asks.

When they arrive back to the hotel room, Tony doesn’t have time to shut the door behind him, because as soon as they enter, Peter is pressing him against it and taking his lips into a deep kiss.

Tony moans into the kiss and kisses back, slipping his tongue through the passage. Tony slides a free hand to Peter’s curls, holding the back of his head as he devours his mouth.

Peter is quickly removing his clothes as he kisses back with intent. Tony steps back from the kiss, not without a protest from Peter and removes his shoes and suit jacket. He drags Peter over to the bed, instantly attacking his neck with sucks and kisses, helping Peter undress with unbuttoning his shirt.

Laying Peter down on the bed, he kisses his way down his body, sucking a hickey above his waistline. Peter moans at the sensation of Tony’s goatee against his skin and hitches up his hips to get more.

Tony pushes his hips down gently and grins, “Calm down, baby. I’ll take care of you.” Tony says and unzips Peter’s trousers, wasting no time.

Peter helps Tony by kicking his pants off, and slightly lifting his legs.

“I opened myself up for you.” Peter says while blushing. Tony groans at imagining the sight of his boy preparing himself just for him.

Tony kisses Peter’s smooth thigh that’s next to his head, trailing them up to the place Peter wants his mouth the most. Tony places a ghosting kiss to his length and Peter whimpers at the very light touch.

He doesn't waste anymore time, taking the tip into his mouth. Peter gasps at the feeling of the wet heat that he loves so much and moves his hips up. Tony moans, moving his head down slowly, swallowing Peter inch by inch.

Peter moans in pleasure and reaches a hand out to Tony's head, threading his fingers through his soft, short hair.

"Oh- T-Tony!" He whimpers.

Tony bobs his head faster, and Peter moans louder, feeling himself come close almost immediately.

Tony continues with his movements, rubbing his thumb against Peter’s thigh in a soothing manner, removing it and running his hand over Peter’s tight balls. Making him tipple over to the edge.

“Oh-Fuck! Tony, I-I’m gonna—“ Peter doesn’t get to finish his sentence, he’s seeing stars behind his closed eyes and cumming into his lovers mouth.

Peter breathes heavily while Tony continues to suck him through his orgasm.

Tony swallows it all, sucking his length clean and pulling up. Tony leans up and observes Peter who already looks fucked out. He hasn’t even put his dick in him yet.

Tony leans over Peter and gives him a deep kiss to his slightly parted lips, Peter almost instantly kissing back.

Tony pulls back to lie his head close to Peter’s ear. He speaks huskily, “You taste so good. Still ok?” Peter quickly nods. He bites his lip and spreads his legs for easy access.

“Please, fuck me.” Peter says, his voice low and soft, wanting his lover to completely fill him up.

Tony smiles and kisses his flushed cheek. He reaches over and grabs the bottle of lube he put out before they left and coats his length with the substance.

He positions his tip for the pink hole, gently pushing in. Even with prep, Peter is always tight. He pauses, waiting for him to adjust, then slowly pushes in the rest of the way, bottoming out inside the tight and warm heat.

"Tony..." Peter moans softly, his eyelids fluttering as he adjusts to the stretch, loving the feeling. He could never get enough of this.

Tony begins to slightly move his hips. “How does it feel, baby?”

“It’s so good…please move.” Peter whimpers, tangling a hand into the bed comforter.

Tony smiles and begins moving his hips, thrusting in and out slowly. Peter wraps his legs around Tony's waist, pulling him closer.

Tony's movements grow more confident, and his thrusts become harder and deeper.

Peter moans, his fingers grasping at the sheets.

"Fuck, you feel amazing." Tony groans, his voice husky with desire.

Peter gasps, his eyes wide with arousal and pleasure.

"F-faster, Tony, please." He whimpers.

Tony quickens his pace, his movements becoming more erratic as his release builds.

Peter's back arches as Tony hits his prostate, his body shuddering with pleasure.

"Right there!"

Tony aims for that spot again and again, hitting it every time. Peter cries out, his eyes screwed shut as he writhes in pleasure.

"Oh god, I'm so close." Peter moans, his body trembling as his orgasm builds. Tony increases the pace, his hips slapping against Peter's ass.

Peter clenches around Tony's cock, and his body shakes with the intensity of his release, releasing short spurts of cum out of his again-hardened cock.

“Tony!”

Tony groans, feeling his own release take over. He cums into the tight warmth and slows his thrusts as he pushes himself through it.

He collapses beside Peter, both of them breathing heavily.

Tony looks over to Peter, who’s sliding over to lay on his fiancés chest. Tony leans, to lay a kiss on his slightly sweaty forehead. “I love you. You’re the best person I’ve ever known, Pete.” Tony whispers into his curls, never thinking his love for his protege would take off. And now look where they are.

Peter lifts his head up and smiles softly, “You’re all I’ve ever wanted, Tony. I love you too.”

If they spent the rest of their night fucking and making love like animals in mating season, that was entirely up to them.

#starker #tnpt

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