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dancingbirdie · 9 months

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hi I love your writing and I wanted to ask if you could write soft Lae'zel with tav. Since it would be interesting and Lae'zel even when she is soft isn’t what we tend to think of as soft. Again I love your writing and I hope your day is going well sorry for rambling!

Anon, this was so much fun to write - I hope you enjoy it as well! I LOVE Lae'zel. She's my in-game warrior wife. Hopefully I captured her persona well enough. xoxoxo

Source of My Bruises/Source of My Joy

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 1.1K

Warnings/Tags: Descriptions of injury/blood/violence, angst, FLUFF, Lae'zel x f!Tav, Act 2 spoilers, Minor Act 3 spoilers.

She remained hunched over Tav’s hands, like a supplicant before an altar. The sight brought tears to Tav’s eyes. She had never seen Lae’zel so affected.

A whiplike sting across her sternum and collarbone. Warm liquid flooding down her chest. Unforgiving coarseness of jagged stone under her. A guttural cry of outrage. It was all Tav could remember before losing consciousness.

Slowly, she opened sleep-crusted eyes to take in her current surroundings.

She was lying in Lae’zel’s tent. The Githyanki was seated next to her, polishing a greatsword with singular, intense focus. Her momentary distraction afforded Tav the opportunity to study the warrior, appreciate her fearsomeness. Her austere beauty.

Not that Tav had ever been inclined toward bouts of lovesick ogling, but there were precious few moments when she could truly appreciate the Githyanki uninterrupted. Lae’zel was a force of nature to behold. Like a supernova made flesh.

Tav knew she intimidated and exasperated the others in their party, but not her. Tav had been captivated by Lae’zel from the instant she dropped in front of her on the Nautiloid ship, poised to cut her down like chaff separated from wheat. It had been like coming face to face with a natural disaster. Glorious. Fearsome. Staggering.

Gazing at her now, Tav took in the deep furrow of Lae’zel’s brows. The harsh lines of a grimace etched around her mouth. The slight flaring of her nostrils. Her pursed lips. The rhythmic motion of her arms as she cleaned the blade. Her body was almost vibrating with pent-up energy.

Without further delaying the inevitable, Tav made a weak attempt to clear her throat and announce her consciousness. But the movement sent a surge of pain spearing through her chest, causing her to cough harder. Bringing a hand to her chest reflexively, Tav noticed for the first time the thick weave of bandages covering her upper torso. The herbal, earthy smell of some medicinal salve wafted to her nose. What in the seven hells had happened?

Of course, Tav had sustained her fair share of wounds on their journey thus far, but she had never been so badly injured as to warrant this level of care. Whatever had happened to her, it must have brought her a hair’s width from death.

“Chk. Cease your squirming. The bandages will slip,” Lae’zel commanded, having dropped her weapon and clambered to Tav’s side to readjust the wound dressing.

“What-” attempted Tav, before pausing to try to swallow the cotton feeling in her mouth.

Sensing her discomfort, Lae’zel reached for a carafe of water beside Tav’s head. Gently, more gently than Tav would have thought possible for the Githyanki, Lae’zel cupped the back of Tav’s head and helped her take small sips from the pitcher.

“Thank you,” Tav murmured, resting back on the pillow once more. But despite the softness of Lae’zel’s touch moments before, the warrior now glared at Tav with barely restrained ire.

“Istik! You were foolish to stumble into that Cloaker’s lair alone. You would have succumbed to your wounds had I not reached you in time,” she spat. But there was an undercurrent of some new emotion in her voice.

Tav’s eyes widened in surprise at Lae’zel’s words. Slowly, as if she were dredging the memories from some deep pit in her mind, the encounter moments before Tav slipped into unconsciousness resurfaced.

She, Lae’zel, and the rest of the party members had been exploring the ruins of the Temple of Shar. There had been an alcove in one of the temple antechambers. It resembled other passages they had seen leading to the Underdark, or at least that’s what Tav had thought. She’d scaled the crumbling wall to get a better look, explore the area further. It wasn’t until she was standing in the area proper that she realized the alcove was much larger than it had appeared, its ceiling far higher than what her eyes could see. The Cloaker had struck from above her, its barbed tail lacerating the flesh of her chest and shoulder. She had heard someone cry out from behind her, but the wound had been too great for her to remain conscious.

The anguished cry had come from Lae’zel, Tav realized now with certainty. The truth of it struck her speechless. She had never heard the Githyanki utter any sound like that before.

Tav swallowed thickly, keeping her eyes steady on Lae’zel.

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” she whispered honestly.

Lae’zel had been opening her mouth, preparing to rebuff Tav’s counterpoint, but snapped it shut in surprise as she realized the words Tav had spoken were not stoking an argument, as they usually tended to do, but rather quelling it.

In the blink of an eye, the inferno that had been Lae’zel’s barely-contained rage and distress simmered. Her hands trembled slightly as they took Tav’s in a firm grip.

Tav watched as she leaned over, lowering her forehead to rest against the backs of Tav’s hands. She felt Lae’zel shudder, saw her back heave with stilted, uneven breaths. She was holding onto Tav like she was a lifeline.

“Zhak vo'n'ash duj. Source of my bruises,” Lae’zel whispered after a while, her voice heavy with emotion. “I was certain I would lose you to that cursed creature.”

“I can only assume you tore it limb from limb. I hate I missed such a scene,” Tav said in an attempt at levity.

“I eviscerated its body and burned the remains. It deserved nothing less,” Lae’zel swore in a muffled voice. She remained hunched over Tav’s hands, like a supplicant before an altar. The sight brought tears to Tav’s eyes. She had never seen Lae’zel so affected.

“You will never lose me,” Tav said in a soft whisper. “I am yours, Lae’zel. I will forever be yours, even in death.”

Lae’zel lifted her head to meet Tav’s gaze.

“We are bound,” she intoned.

“We are bound,” Tav responded, lifting a hand to cup the Githyanki’s cheek. She marveled at the way Lae’zel seemed to melt into her touch, her eyes fluttering closed, her breaths evening out.

“Come here,” Tav said, after a few quiet moments had passed. “Lie down with me. We both need rest.”

Lae’zel’s eyes flickered open at the suggestion, a torn expression on her face. The need to protect versus the need for comfort warred plainly across her features. But Tav would have none of her valiant posturing tonight. She knew that both of them needed the embrace of one other, after everything that had happened. Tav gripped her cheek more firmly.

“The others will keep watch, Lae’zel. Stay with me now. Please,” Tav urged.

Lae’zel stared at her in silence for a beat longer before finally giving in. Stretching out her long legs, the warrior relaxed into Tav’s side, careful not to disturb the bandages wrapped across her torso.

Tav took Lae’zel’s hand in hers once more and gave it a firm squeeze.

“I am yours,” she assured Lae’zel again, just for good measure, as her eyelids grew heavy with the need for rest.

Sleep was quickly coming upon her. She thought she heard Lae’zel’s quiet reply in Githyanki before she slipped away, but Tav did not understand the words.

“Zhak vo’n’fynh duj.”

The phrase carried her into a dreamless, peaceful slumber.

#dancingbirdiewrites #bg3 fanfiction #lae'zel x tav #lae'zel x reader #lae'zel fanfic #bg3 lae'zel #lae'zel #lae'zel romance #baldur's gate 3 fic

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kckt88 · 1 month

Text

Here With Me I

Summary:

After the disaster that was his last relationship, Aemond is convinced that he'll never find love-until he meets his new neighbour.

Warning(s): Slight Angst, Slight Drama, Flirting, Kissing, Aegon Being a Twat, Smut, Loss of Virginity, Oral Sex - F Recieving, Multiple Orgasms, P in V sex,

AEMOND TARGARYEN x O.C BILLIE SKYLARK

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Word Count: 6,000

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

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

As Aemond Targaryen walked towards his apartment building, his mind swirled with the day's lectures and the huge stack of papers waiting to be graded. Lost in his own mind he rounded the corner and nearly collided with someone standing just outside the entrance.

"Oops, sorry about that," Aemond said quickly, catching himself before bumping into the person.

"No worries" came the gentle reply, accompanied by the soft tap-tap of a cane.

Aemond's gaze shifted downward, noticing the guide dog sitting calmly beside the person. "Ah, you must be my new neighbour," he surmised.

"Yes, that's right," she confirmed with a smile. "I'm Wilhelmina Skylark, but my friends call me Billie. And this here-" she gestured to the dog beside her, "-Is Darcie."

"A pleasure to meet you, Billie and Darcie-" Aemond replied warmly. "I'm Aemond Targaryen."

Billie chuckled softly. "Targaryen, huh? That sounds like it's straight out of a history book."

Aemond nodded, a hint of pride in his voice. "Funny you should say that. I actually teach history over at the university."

"That must be interesting-" Billie remarked. "-I've always been fascinated by history, what came before and how we’ve evolved over time”.

Aemond found himself intrigued. "Well, perhaps I could share some of my expertise sometime" he offered.

Billie's smile widened. "I'd like that."

As they chatted, Aemond couldn't help but notice the grace and resilience with which Billie navigated her world.

“So, Wilhelmina-“

“-Gods I hate my first name” chuckled Billie, as she reached up to adjust the sunglasses on her face.

"Why don't you like your first name?" Aemond asked, curiously.

Billie hesitated for a moment before answering. "It just never felt like me, you know? Wilhelmina sounds so formal. But Billie, well, that feels more like my style”.

Aemond nodded understandingly. "I see what you mean. But I must say, both names suit you perfectly."

Billie laughed softly. "You're too kind, Aemond."

"So, Billie," Aemond began, curiosity lacing his words, "What do you do for a living?"

Billie chuckled softly, a hint of mischief in her tone. "Well, prepare yourself for something a bit unexpected. I'm a perfume designer."

"A perfume designer?" Aemond echoed, surprise evident in his voice. "That's fascinating! How did you get into that?"

Billie's smile was radiant. "It's a bit of a long story, but let's just say I've always had a keen sense of smell. Even though I can't see the world around me, I've always found beauty in the scents that surround us."

Aemond listened intently, intrigued by Billie's unique perspective on the world. "That's truly remarkable. I imagine your work must be quite intricate, crafting fragrances that evoke certain emotions or memories."

Billie nodded; her expression thoughtful. "Exactly. Perfume has a way of capturing moments in time, transporting people to different places. It's a form of art that I'm deeply passionate about."

Aemond couldn't help but be drawn in by Billie's passion and creativity. "It sounds like you have an incredible talent," he remarked, admiration colouring his words.

Billie's cheeks flushed slightly at the compliment. "Thank you, Aemond. It's not often that people understand what I do, let alone appreciate it."

"Well, count me among those who do," Aemond replied sincerely. "I'd love to hear more about your work sometime, if you're willing to share."

Billie's smile widened, her excitement palpable. "I'd like that very much."

"Would you like me to escort you to your apartment?" Aemond asked, his voice gentle and genuine.

Billie chuckled softly; her smile evident even in her voice. "Thank you, Aemond, but I can manage just fine. Darcie here knows the way”.

Aemond felt a pang of embarrassment at his presumption, quickly realizing his misstep. "I'm sorry, Billie, I didn't mean to imply that you needed help. It's just-a habit, I suppose."

Billie's laughter was warm and understanding. "No need to apologize, Aemond. I appreciate the offer, truly."

Relief washed over Aemond as he realized Billie harboured no ill feelings towards him. "Thank you for being so gracious about it," he said sincerely.

"It's nothing," Billie replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Besides, it's nice to know there are still gentlemen like you around."

Aemond couldn't help but smile at the compliment. "Well, if you ever do need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

Billie's smile widened. "I'll keep that in mind, good day Aemond."

"Good day, Billie," Aemond echoed, watching as she and Darcie made their way towards the elevator. As he turned to head to his own apartment, he couldn't shake the feeling of warmth that lingered from their encounter.

In the days that followed their initial encounter, Aemond and Billie found themselves gravitating towards each other more and more. What started as casual conversations in the hallway soon blossomed into deep, meaningful discussions over cups of coffee and leisurely walks through the neighbourhood.

As their friendship grew, Aemond couldn't help but be captivated by Billie's resilience and zest for life. Despite the challenges she faced as a blind woman, she approached each day with unwavering optimism and grace, inspiring Aemond in ways he never thought possible.

One evening, as they sat in Aemond's living room, savouring the warmth of a crackling fire, Aemond's aging Maine Coone cat, Vhagar, made her entrance. Known for her disdain for most people, Vhagar typically kept her distance from strangers.

To Aemond's surprise, Vhagar didn't shy away from Billie. Instead, she sauntered over to her, nuzzling against her leg with a contented purr.

"Well, I'll be damned," Aemond muttered in disbelief. "Vhagar doesn't usually take to people like this."

Billie laughed softly, her fingers gently stroking the cat's fur. "Maybe she senses a kindred spirit in me."

Aemond couldn't argue with that logic. It seemed that Billie had a way of melting even the iciest of hearts.

As the days turned into weeks, Aemond and Billie discovered that they had more in common than they initially realized. From their shared love of literature and movies to their mutual fascination with history.

Before long, Aemond found himself confiding in Billie in ways he never thought possible, sharing his hopes, dreams, and fears without reservation. In turn, Billie opened up to him, offering glimpses into her world that few were privileged to see.

One quiet evening, as they sat together in Aemond's living room, the topic of conversation took a more sombre turn. Aemond had always been curious about Billie's blindness, but he had hesitated to broach the subject, fearing that he might unintentionally cause her pain.

"Billie," Aemond began tentatively, his voice soft, "if you don't mind me asking, how did you- become blind?"

Billie's expression softened, a hint of sadness flickering in her eyes. "I was born blind" she replied gently. "I've never known what it's like to see."

Aemond felt a pang of guilt wash over him at his presumptuous question. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry," he apologized earnestly.

Billie reached out and placed a comforting hand on his arm. "It's alright, Aemond. I understand your curiosity. It's only natural."

Embarrassment coloured Aemond's cheeks as he struggled to find the right words. "Thank you for being so understanding," he murmured.

Billie offered him a reassuring smile before the silence between them grew comfortable once more. Sensing an opportunity for honesty, Aemond decided to share a part of himself with Billie that he had kept hidden for so long.

"You know, Billie," Aemond began slowly, his voice tinged with vulnerability, "I'm not without my own- affliction."

Billie's brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean, Aemond?"

Taking a deep breath, Aemond recounted the painful memory that had haunted him since childhood. "When I was just a boy, my nephew and I got into a fight," he explained, his gaze fixed on a distant point in the room. "It was foolish, really. But in the heat of the moment, he-he struck me, and I lost my left eye as a result."

Billie's eyes widened in shock, her hand flying to her mouth in disbelief. "Oh, Aemond, I had no idea-"

Aemond shook his head, a sad smile playing at his lips. "It's not something I often talk about. But I feel like I can tell you anything”.

“I’ll always listen” replied Billie softly.

"Billie," Aemond began hesitantly, his voice tinged with a mixture of nostalgia and regret, "There's something else I need to tell you about-someone from my past."

Billie listened intently, her expression soft and compassionate.

"Alys Rivers," Aemond continued, the name heavy on his tongue. "She was-she was my first love".

Billie's brow furrowed in curiosity. "It’s ok take your time-"

Aemond took a deep breath, steeling himself for the memories that threatened to engulf him. "Alys was much older than me," he explained. "She had a way about her, a confidence that drew me in. She made me feel special, like I was more than just the broken reflection I saw in the mirror."

Billie reached out and squeezed his hand in silent support, urging him to continue.

"I hated my reflection for years," Aemond admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "The scar, the missing eye-they were constant reminders of the boy I used to be, before everything changed."

"But Alys," he continued, a hint of longing in his voice, she made me forget all of that, if only for a little while. I lost my virginity to her, and for a time, I thought I loved her."

"But-" he continued, his voice strained with emotion, "-Alys eventually showed her true colours. She-she kept cheating on me and she would say things-hurtful things."

Billie's eyes widened in shock, her hand flying to her mouth in disbelief.

"What did she say?" she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Aemond closed his eye, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. "She called me ugly," he confessed, his voice barely a whisper. "She said I was worthless, that no one would ever love me with a face like mine."

Billie's heart clenched at the cruelty of Alys's words, the pain in Aemond's voice palpable.

"Oh, Aemond," she murmured, her voice thick with sympathy, "I can't imagine how much that must have hurt."

Aemond shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "It did," he admitted, his voice raw with emotion. "For years, I believed her. I let her words define me, shape me into someone I wasn't."

"But not anymore," Billie interjected firmly, her gaze unwavering. "You're not defined by your scars, Aemond. You're so much more than that”.

“Billie-“ whispered Aemond.

"Aemond," she began softly, her voice tinged with sadness, "Navigating a life without sight-it hasn't been easy."

Aemond listened intently, his gaze fixed on Billie as she spoke.

"But-" she continued, a note of determination creeping into her voice, "through touch, I've learned to experience so many things. The texture of a book's pages, the warmth of the sun on my skin, the gentle caress of a breeze."

Aemond felt a lump form in his throat as he realized the depth of Billie's resilience, the quiet strength that had carried her through the darkest of days.

"Billie," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion, "You're truly remarkable."

Billie smiled softly, gratitude shining in her eyes. "Thank you, Aemond. But there's something I want to ask you-"

Aemond cocked his head in curiosity, inviting her to continue.

"May I-may I touch you, Aemond?" she asked softly, her voice tinged with vulnerability.

Aemond's heart swelled with tenderness at Billie's request, the depth of her trust in him echoing in the space between them.

"Of course, Billie," he replied, his voice filled with warmth.

Billie reached forward, her fingertips delicately tracing the contours of his face, Aemond closed his eye, a mixture of apprehension and curiosity coursing through him. He felt her hands cupping his cheeks gently, her touch both tentative and assured as she explored his features with a gentle reverence.

With practiced precision, Billie's fingers moved over the sharp lines of his jaw, the smooth curve of his lips, and the slight indentation of his scar.

She felt the slight pressure of the eyepatch he wore, and a curious thought crossed her mind.

"Aemond," she whispered softly, her voice barely above a breath, "May I-may I take this off?"

Aemond hesitated for a moment before nodding silently, his heart racing with anticipation.

Then, with a careful motion, she reached up and removed the eyepatch that concealed his missing eye, her touch feather light as she grazed the skin around the scar.

Aemond's breath caught in his throat at her touch, a surge of vulnerability washing over him.

"You're so beautiful" Billie declared softly as her fingers threaded through his long silver hair.

Aemond took a deep breath as he felt a tear escape his eye.

"Billie," he began, his voice barely above a whisper, "Can I kiss you?"

Billie's breath caught in her throat at Aemond's request, her heart racing with a mixture of excitement and uncertainty.

"Yes," she whispered softly, her voice barely audible in the hushed silence of the room.

With a tender reverence, Aemond leaned forward, closing the distance between them with aching slowness. Their lips met in a gentle caress, a soft sigh escaping them both as they melted into each other's embrace.

"Billie," he began, his voice tinged with a hint of shyness, "There's something I've been wanting to ask you-"

Billie's gaze softened, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips as she waited patiently for Aemond to continue.

"Would you like to be my girlfriend?" Aemond blurted out, the words tumbling from his lips in a rush of emotion.

Billie's eyes widened in surprise, her heart skipping a beat at Aemond's unexpected confession.

"Yes," she replied softly, her voice filled with warmth and affection. "I would love to be your girlfriend."

A wave of relief washed over Aemond as he heard Billie's answer, a radiant smile spreading across his face as he reached out to take her hand in his.

"Are you sure they'll like me?" Billie whispered; her voice tinged with uncertainty.

Aemond squeezed her hand reassuringly, a small smile playing at his lips. "They'll love you; I promise."

As they stepped into the grand foyer of the Targaryen estate, Aemond's family gathered to greet them—a warm, welcoming sight that eased the tension in his shoulders.

"Mother, brothers, sister, grandfather," Aemond greeted them each in turn, his voice tinged with pride.

Alicent Hightower, regal and elegant as ever, enveloped Aemond in a tight embrace, her eyes shining with motherly pride. "Aemond, dear, it's so good to see you. And who is this lovely young lady you've brought with you?"

"This is Billie," Aemond introduced, a hint of nervousness creeping into his voice. "My-girlfriend."

Aegon, couldn't resist a sly comment. "Well, well, it's about time, brother. I was beginning to think you'd never find a girlfriend."

Aemond flushed slightly at his brother's teasing, but Billie merely smiled graciously, unfazed by Aegon's jest.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Billie," said Daeron kindly.

Helaena nodded in agreement. "Yes, welcome to the family."

"Aemond has spoken highly of you, my dear. It's a pleasure to finally meet you” said Otto.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you sir” replied Billie softly.

“What’s the stick for?” asked Aegon.

“It helps me to navigate unfamiliar places-I’m blind” replied Billie.

"Blind?" Aegon remarked with a smirk, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Well, Aemond, looks like you finally found the perfect girl—no need to worry about her being put off by that nasty scar of yours, eh?"

Aemond's heart sank at his brother's callous remark, his eye widening in shock as he felt the blood drain from his face. Beside him, Billie stiffened, her jaw clenched in anger.

Before Aemond could even muster a response, Billie's voice cut through the tense silence like a knife.

"How dare you," spat Billie, her eyes flashing with fury. Aegon's smirk faltered, taken aback by Billie's sudden outburst.

"I will not stand here and listen to you belittle him," Billie continued, her voice trembling with righteous indignation. "Aemond is one of the most courageous, kind-hearted individuals I've ever met-“

“-Aemond-courageous?” quipped Aegon sarcastically.

With a swift, decisive motion, Billie's hand lashed out, the sound of her palm meeting Aegon's cheek echoing in the stunned silence of the room.

Aegon stumbled backward, his hand flying to his reddened cheek in disbelief.

Aegon stood there, stunned, as he gingerly touched his reddened cheek, disbelief etched on his face. "I-I can't believe you actually managed to land a slap on me," he stammered, his voice tinged with both surprise and begrudging respect.

Billie stood tall; her chin held high, unapologetic for her actions. "Just because I can't see doesn't mean I'm defenceless," she replied coolly. "Besides, your repulsive odour is enough for me to know exactly where you are."

Aegon's eyebrows shot up in offense, his pride wounded by Billie's blunt assessment. "Hey now, I'll have you know that I always smell just fine," he retorted, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his voice.

Billie couldn't help but roll her eyes. "Oh, please," she scoffed. "I could smell your rank arse from across the room."

Aegon's cheeks flushed with embarrassment, his retort dying on his lips as he struggled to come up with a response.

Billie, however, wasn't finished. "And let's not forget the woman you were obviously with earlier," she continued, her tone cutting. "Surely you could have taken a shower before coming here."

Aemond couldn't hold back his laughter at Billie's boldness, the sound echoing in the room like a peal of thunder.

Aegon's expression darkened, his pride wounded by Billie's blunt honesty. "Well, I never," he muttered, his voice tinged with indignation.

But Billie merely shrugged, unapologetic for her words. "Just speaking the truth," she replied simply, her voice filled with a quiet confidence.

“So, what does Billie do for a living?” asked Alicent.

"Billie designs her own perfumes. She has an incredible sense of smell and a talent for creating unique fragrances."

Alicent's eyes lit up with intrigue. "Is that so?" she exclaimed, turning her attention to Billie. "Tell me, my dear, what perfumes have you released so far?"

Billie smiled warmly; her enthusiasm evident as she spoke. "Well, there's Lavender Luxe," she began, her voice soft and melodic. "It's more of a body mist, but it's infused with lavender essential oil, which helps people relax and unwind after a long day."

Alicent nodded in approval, impressed by Billie's ingenuity. "That sounds lovely," she remarked.

Billie's smile widened as she continued. "And then there's Radiant Rose," she added. "It's a delicate blend of rose petals and citrus, reminiscent of a spring day when the roses are in bloom."

Alicent's eyes sparkled with recognition. "That's the perfume I use," she exclaimed, a smile spreading across her face. "It's simply divine."

Billie's cheeks flushed with pleasure at Alicent's compliment, her heart swelling with pride. "Thank you," she replied graciously, her voice filled with genuine gratitude.

"Do you have any more perfume ideas on the horizon, my dear?" she inquired, her voice filled with genuine interest.

Billie's smile widened, a glint of excitement dancing in her eyes. "Actually, I do," she replied, her voice tinged with enthusiasm. "I've been working on a new fragrance—one that's very special to me."

“That sounds interesting-“ said Helaena brightly.

"It’s in honour of Aemond," replied Billie, her voice soft but resolute, "I've been designing a perfume that captures the essence of his spirit."

A hush fell over the room as Billie's words sank in, the weight of her revelation hanging heavy in the air.

Aemond's heart swelled with emotion as he processed what Billie had just said. Her gesture filled him with a sense of awe and gratitude.

"You're designing a perfume in honour of me?" Aemond stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes, Aemond," she replied, her voice filled with conviction. "Because you inspire me, in ways that words can't even begin to describe."

Aemond's heart overflowed with emotion at Billie's words, his eye misting over with tears of gratitude.

"At least Billie has her own money then, not like some of the usual trollops that hover around us" Aegon quipped, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

Aemond's jaw clenched with barely concealed anger, his fists tightening at his sides as he struggled to contain his rising fury.

"How dare you," spat Billie, her voice trembling with barely suppressed rage. "You have no right to make such assumptions about me."

Aegon scoffed dismissively, his arrogance palpable. "Oh, please," he retorted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Isn't that all anyone ever wants Aemond for? His name, his money-"

Billie's fists clenched at her sides, her nails digging into her palms as she fought to keep her composure. "That's not why I'm interested in Aemond," she shot back, her voice laced with steel. "I couldn't care less about his wealth or his status. I love him for who he is, scars and all."

Aegon's smirk faltered, taken aback by Billie's fierce defence of Aemond.

But before he could respond, Billie turned on her heel, her eyes blazing with fury as she stormed out of the room, her footsteps echoing in the tense silence that followed.

But then Aegon's laughter echoed through the room as Billie's departure was punctuated by the sound of a crashing vase, her inadvertent mishap drawing unwanted attention.

"Great one you've brought home there, brother," Aegon quipped, his voice laced with mockery. "Does she need you to hold her hand as she crosses the street?"

With a roar of anger, Aemond launched himself at Aegon, his fist connecting with his brothers face.

The room erupted into chaos as Aemond and Aegon grappled with each other, their shouts and curses filling the air.

"I fucking hate you" Aemond declared, his voice thick with emotion, each word laced with venom, as he punched Aegon in the nose.

"Why?" demanded Aegon, his voice tinged with both confusion and defiance. "Because I speak the truth? Because I refuse to coddle you like everyone else?"

“That’s enough-“ screeched Alicent.

Aemond shook his head, his fists clenching at his sides as he fought to contain the torrent of emotions raging within him.

"No," he replied hoarsely, his voice barely above a whisper. "Because you always have to cause trouble. You always have to ruin everything"

The words hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the rift that had always existed between them—a divide born of jealousy, resentment, and betrayal.

With a heavy heart, Aemond pushed Aegon away from him and stormed out of the room, ignoring his mothers concerned calls or the sound of his grandfather berating Aegon for his rude behaviour.

Aemond's steps quickened as he approached his car, his heart heavy with worry for Billie, who stood by his car, her shoulders slumped.

But as he drew closer, he saw her quickly wipe away a tear, a futile attempt to conceal her distress. His heart broke at the sight, the pain in her eyes mirrored his own.

"Billie," he called softly, his voice filled with concern.

"Aemond-" she murmured, her voice trailing off as she struggled to find the words.

Before she could say anything else, Aemond closed the distance between them in a few swift strides, his arms enveloping her in a tight embrace.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "I'm sorry for my brother's cruelty”

Billie leaned into his embrace, her tears flowing freely now as she buried her face in his chest, seeking solace in his warmth.

"It's not your fault," she murmured, her voice muffled against his shirt. "You don't have to apologize for him."

But Aemond shook his head, his grip on her tightening. "I won't let anyone hurt you, Billie," he vowed, his voice fierce with determination. "Not now, not ever."

With Billie still held close in his arms, Aemond gently pulled back, his hands framing her face as he looked deeply into her eyes, his own shimmering with emotion.

"Billie," he began, his voice soft but filled with conviction, "You are the most amazing person I have ever met."

Billie's breath caught in her throat at his words, her heart swelling with a mixture of surprise and tenderness.

"So smart, so fierce and determined," Aemond continued, his voice tinged with awe. "You've faced challenges that would break most people, and yet you've emerged stronger than ever."

Billie's eyes glistened with unshed tears as she listened to Aemond's heartfelt words, his love washing over her like a warm embrace.

"I love you," Aemond whispered, his voice barely above a whisper but filled with a depth of feeling that resonated deep within her soul.

Tears spilled down Billie's cheeks as she threw her arms around Aemond once more, holding him tightly as if afraid to let go.

"I love you too," she whispered back, her voice trembling with emotion. "More than you'll ever know."

"Shall we go home?”

“Yes” nodded Billie.

“You can drive-“ replied Aemond.

Billie's eyes widened in surprise at Aemond's unexpected suggestion, but then a smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she realized the absurdity of his joke.

"-Aemond, you know I can't drive," replied Bille with a chuckle.

Aemond joined in her laughter, the tension of the earlier encounter melting away in the warmth of their shared amusement.

"You caught me," admitted Aemond with a grin.

Billie nodded, her laughter subsiding into a soft smile as she gazed up at him with affection. "Thank you for trying to lighten the mood," she said, her gratitude evident in her eyes.

Aemond squeezed her hand gently, his heart swelling with love for the woman beside him. "Anything for you, my dear," he replied, his voice filled with warmth.

"Would you like to stay over, Aemond?" Billie asked softly, her voice filled with warmth and invitation.

Aemond's heart skipped a beat at her words, his gaze meeting hers with a mixture of longing and affection. "Yes, I'd like that," he replied, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Inside the cozy confines of Billie's flat, they kicked off their shoes and settled onto the couch, the soft glow of the TV casting flickering shadows across the room as Aemond scrolled through the selection of films.

He decided on one of Billie’s favourite films-Jaws.

“I like the music-it’s builds up the tension” said Billie as she snuggled closer to Aemond.

“Me too-“ replied Aemond as he reached for his phone and ordered a pizza.

“Not a fan of the sequels though” whispered Billie as she listened to the dialogue of the film.

“I guess number two wasn’t that bad-but the rest were total shit”.

“There is another shark film I like-Deep Blue Sea” said Billie thoughtfully.

“-Is that the one where they do experiments on the sharks, and they get smarter or something?” asked Aemond curiously.

“Yes, it’s really good. I also like Lake Placid as well” admitted Billie.

“You know I’m starting to see a pattern here-you certainly like your creature feature movies”.

“Yes, I do-I also like disaster movies as well, one of my all-time favourites is the 1970’s Poseidon Adventure-“ said Billie smiling.

“Is the one with the guy who played Grandpa Joe in Willy Wonka?” asked Aemond.

“Yes, it is-another favourite film of mine, I know all the songs word for word”.

“You know I always thought he was a bit of a shifty character-spends most of his life in bed having whoever it was running around after him and then his grandson finds the golden ticket and miraculously, he can walk-“ mused Aemond tapping his chin thoughtfully.

“I mean you do have a point”.

“-And what about that woman in that Tom Hanks film-Forest Gump, she was the true villain of that piece. Only wanted to get involved with him once he had money, then she bogged off and had child-and only introduced him to the child because she was dying-who’s to say the kid was even his-telling you she was an evil master mind” said Aemond.

“How have we gone from Jaws to Forest Gump?” laughed Billie.

“I haven’t got a clue-“ exclaimed Aemond.

“Ooh that will be the pizza-“ said Billie as the doorbell rang.

“Thank god-I’m starving” muttered Aemond as he jumped up from the sofa.

Billie sighed in contentment as she listened to Aemond open the door and cheerfully accept the pizza.

“Thank you-have a nice night” said Aemond as he shut the door. The smell of pepperoni wafting through the apartment.

“Someone seems happy-“ exclaimed Billie.

“Why wouldn’t I be-I’ve got my girl next to me and pepperoni pizza. What more could I ask for?”

“Cheesy chips?” quipped Billie.

“Ooo yes those too-” cheered Aemond as he ripped open a styrofoam box.

“Garlic sauce-“ mused Billie.

“Of course,” replied Aemond as he dipped his finger in the sauce and swiped his finger across Billie’s cheek.

“Hey-“ exclaimed Billie.

“My bad-let me get that for you” said Aemond as he leaned forward and ran his tongue over Billie’s cheek.

“Aemond-“ squeaked Billie.

“Hmmm-delicious” growled Aemond.

Billie giggled as she picked up a slice of pizza and picked off the pepperoni slices before offering them to Darcie.

“I thought you liked pepperoni?”

“I do-but so does Darcie” replied Billie as she took a handful of chips.

After they had finished eating and cleaned away the rubbish, Aemond and Billie settled back down to watch another movie-but part way through Billie had other ideas and she began pressing gentle kisses to Aemond’s neck.

“Hmmm- that feels nice” growled Aemond as he reached over and pulled Billie into his lap.

“I love you so much-“ whispered Aemond.

“-I love you too” replied Billie.

“I want to make love to you” whispered Aemond.

“I-I’ve never done it before” muttered Billie shyly as she pressed her face into Aemond’s chest.

“Oh-“

“I was waiting until I found someone special-” said Billie.

“T-That’s fine-we don’t need to do this-” replied Aemond stroking her hair softly.

“Aemond -your that special someone. I want you to be my first” whispered Billie.

“Only if you’re sure, I don’t want you to feel pressured into anything” said Aemond firmly.

“I’m sure Aemond. I want this-I want you” exclaimed Billie as she took his hand and led him to her bedroom.

Despite his experience, Aemond had never so nervous in his entire life, his hands shook as he slowly undressed himself.

Billie gently tugged off the p.js she was wearing and Aemond could feel his mouth watering at the sight of her delectable body.

“I-I don’t know what to do” muttered Billie her cheeks tinged pink.

“It’s ok-I’ll take care of you” replied Aemond as he directed Billie to sit on the end if the bed.

“I trust you” replied Billie quietly.

Aemond smiled as he knelt on the floor, lowering his head between Billie’s legs.

“I’m going to kiss you down there-is that ok?”

“Y-Yes” stammered Billie.

“Hmmm”

“Aemond-“ shrieked Billie her eyes rolling into the back of her head as Aemond’s tongue swept across her slick wet folds.

Billie bit the back of her hand to keep herself from screaming as Aemond began using his long fingers to tease her entrance.

“Let me hear you”.

“A-Aemond. Oh god. Please” begged Billie

Aemond slowly pressed two fingers inside Billie, moving them against a spot that made her entire body shake, his tongue moving against her folds, his lips wrapping around her pearl.

“I know your almost there. Let it happen my sweet. Come for me” whispered Aemond.

Billie arched her back and let out a scream as her pleasure erupted.

Aemond crawled up Billie’s body, placing gentle kisses on her skin as he moved higher and higher.

“Calm yourself my little bird” murmured Aemond.

“I-I’ve never-” mumbled Billie moving her hands over her face in embarrassment.

“Was that your first peak?” asked Aemond as he gently pulled away her hands and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips.

Bille blushed and nodded quickly, jumping when she felt Aemond’s cock against her.

Aemond then began to place a series of kisses along Billie’s neck, his hand gently cupping her breast before he sucked the rosy bud into his mouth, his tongue rolling around the stiffened peak.

“Don’t worry, I’ll go slow” whispered Aemond as he reached down and took hold of his hard cock rubbing it along Billie’s warm wet folds.

“Ok-I’m ready”

“I-don’t have a condom” whispered Aemond.

“I-I-want to feel you. If that’s ok?”

“Yes-I want to feel you too“ whispered Aemond.

“So beautiful-my Aemond” whispered Billie as she ran her hands over Aemond’s face and placed a kiss upon his scar.

“A-Are you sure you want to do this?” asked Aemond, his cock sliding through Billie’s folds.

“Y-Yes. Please. Aemond Make love to me” replied Billie softly as she opens her legs wider.

“Ok. Take a deep breath-” said Aemond as he slowly pushes the blunt head of his cock inside.

Just the tip felt okay but then he was pushing further inside, and it stung, Billie clenched her eyes shut as his cock fully slid into her, his hips coming to rest against hers.

“Are you ok?” asked Aemond.

“It hurts,” cried Billie a tear slipping down her cheek.

“Do you want me to stop-I can pull out” whispered Aemond his voice laced with concern.

“N-No g-give me a moment” whimpered Billie.

Aemond stops, holding himself still, his hard cock throbbing inside her.

After a few minutes, Aemond begins to press gentle kisses all over Billies face and neck, making her sigh.

“I-I think you can move now” whispered Bille gently moves her hips.

Aemond exhales shakily, pulling out halfway only to thrust right back in.

“You’re taking me so well little bird,” whispers Aemond soothingly, thrusting again, harder this time.

Gradually he gets into a rhythm, his movements slow but powerful.

Billie brings her hands up to his shoulders, clinging to him as his thrusts shift her up and down the bed.

Aemond made a strangled sort of sound and lowered himself onto Billie even more, kissing her passionately.

His cock is still thrusting in and out. Billie kisses him back, threading her fingers through his long silky hair.

Aemond breaks the kiss, breathing heavily.

Billie can feel herself clenching around him as his cock keeps hitting the same spot inside her.

“Ooo Aemond-f-faster. P-please”

Aemond groans as he begins to move faster pounding into her, their skin slapping together.

“Aemond -my Aemond”

“You’re so fucking perfect little bird, mine all mine” growls Aemond.

“Y-Yes, yours all yours” moans Billie squirming as her pleasure peaks and she explodes.

Aemond lets out a long low groan, his hips bucking wildly. His cock twitching as he spills his seed inside her.

Aemond’s hips finally stagger and stop. His face buried in the crook of her neck.

“Are you ok?” asked Aemond, his hot breath tickling her skin.

“I’m fine-I’m glad I waited for you” whispered Billie smiling breathlessly.

Aemond's heart raced with anticipation as he carefully examined the assortment of engagement rings on display in the jeweller’s shop. Each one sparkled and shimmered under the soft glow of the overhead lights.

After much deliberation, he finally settled on a simple yet elegant diamond ring, its brilliance reflecting the depth of his feelings for her—a symbol of their love and commitment.

With the ring safely tucked away in his pocket, Aemond made his way back to his apartment, his heart light with excitement at the thought of proposing to Billie, they had been together almost a year now and Aemond couldn’t wait to spend the rest of his life with her, shortly after their first time being intimate with one another, Aemond had asked Billie to move in with him and she readily agreed, which pleased him no end as he spent countless nights between Billie's thighs and taking her on every available surface in the apartment.

Obviously Vhagar took some time adjusting to spending everyday with Darcie, but she begrudgingly accepted it-with bribery from Billie that consisted of endless cat treats.

Aemond felt like the luckiest man on earth, and he couldn’t stop smiling as he reached the apartment he now shared with Billie.

But as he entered the apartment, his excitement turned to confusion as he found Billie standing in the living room, her expression tense and troubled. And then, to his shock, he noticed Alys standing beside her, her hand resting protectively on her swollen belly.

TBC -

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction #hotd fanfic #aemond fic #aemond x oc #hotd fic #aemond one eye #aemond x original female character #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond smut #aemond targaryen smut

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angelcent · 1 year

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More older boyfriend Sukuna? This is masterpiece!

: ̗̀➛ went off the rails after his divorce—embracing a life of nihilism with all the regency of an arrogant king. sukuna took his own personal vows—one, to never ever be fucking foolish enough to marry again. two, show no mercy. the world was his and he hated it.

: ̗̀➛ meeting and becoming infatuated with you wasn't lovely at first—it reminded sukuna of a natural disaster; the earth at her most violent and unexpected, uncaring of who came her way. it struck him amongst his life of debauchery; in the whirlwind of lust, greed, and violence, he took bloody steps towards an angel who looked up at him through pretty lashes.

: ̗̀➛ like a king, he took what he wanted. sukuna captured the crystalline gem out of everyone's reach; the morning light that gleamed with warmth in the frost of winter.

: ̗̀➛ sukuna is shamelessly greedy, so once you give yourself to him he’ll practically consume you with his passion. it reminds you of flames, or a natural disaster—and you can’t explain why it makes you feel so alive. why the love of a man like sukuna is the sweetest you’ve ever known. (you both compare the other to natural disasters).

: ̗̀➛ enjoys when you’re a little possessive over him, thinks it’s cute. a nasty part of him wants to push you and see how far it’d go. for fun.

: ̗̀➛ wouldn’t hesitate to kill his ex-wife if she ever tried to mess with you (and I think she would). the question is if you ever find out that he’s done so, and if you’d care that he choked the life out the woman he previously promised his loyalty to. hint: you don't, and he falls even deeper for it.

: ̗̀➛ he likes when you fall asleep on his lap before bed. your gentle and peaceful breathing settles his heart a little; it tames him for just a moment. you constantly remind him that life is never truly dull.

: ̗̀➛ sukuna is a wayward man so he can't stay in one place too long—the world is too vast. it's not getaways that he takes you to, you two live in mansions throughout the world. when your glasses clink, you often think of the malevolence that the man before you brings. it should unsettle you, but the toothy grin he sends your way only quickens the beat of your heart. you love sukuna with your entire being.

: ̗̀➛ sukuna has murmured poetry into your soft skin more than once. you don’t know this, but the verses that leave his lips are off the top of his head. he’s not reciting anyone else’s words—they’re all born out of his love for you.

: ̗̀➛ he's not a jealous man at all. sukuna is the most secure man you've ever met. he openly laughs at anyone trying to make a move on you right before crushing them.

: ̗̀➛ morning sex, very late night sex, and public sex are his favorite. he simultaneously likes having you when the world is muted and quiet, but also wants you when life is buzzing all around and doesn’t care who’d stumble upon you. you’ve been walked in on and caught more than once but sukuna never stops. he makes sure they know that he’s aware and doesn’t care—sukuna just continues fucking his wet cock into your tight cunt.

: ̗̀➛ off to the races by lana del rey is the anthem to this au.

: ̗̀➛ even ardently in love, sukuna is not a soft man. there are lapses, sure, but he is still him at his core. still, you're sukuna's entire soul. the little lady who can mouth off to him with no consequences. his morning light.

#this is a little rushed i'm sorry but i hope you like anon <3 #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #sukuna ryomen #starring: sukuna

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chernabogs · 29 days

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ames you are COOKING (or should i say, planting???lol) SO HARD with the flower language prompts, 😭💖💞💖💞✨✨am really out here sobbing and crying over them like im watering these flowers with my Tears lol

so here i am requesting for these prompts: rosemary, begonia, pink camellia, dark crimson rose, purple hyacinth, blue salvia, zinnia

i picked these based on your initial tag about Maleficia and zinnia flower,,,, I SEE THE VISION so im requesting it now lol but also picked on prompts that reminded of Meleanor and Malleus,,, 😭i think therapy bills should be forwarded to Draconias instead, istg all they ever do is be in grief and loss /lh😭

if its too many, please feel free to choose whichever prompt you like and take your time in writing !! ☺️💞🌹✨✨

Ohhh I did my best here I promise LMAOOO. I tied in some easter eggs with other works i've done (namely Monody, Stasis, and Labours Gained). I hope you enjoy my absolute monstrous dump about Maleficia, whom I will die on a hill for tyvm

EMPTY CHAIRS

Inc: Maleficia, Meleanor, Levan, Lilia, Malleus (whole gang wow) WC: 4.2k :))) Warnings: Just some death, but I swear it ends on a happy note this time. Flowers: Begonia (How ghosts help the living live a little), Pink Camellia (Where I notice your absence the most), Dark Crimson Rose (The grave I visit everyday), Purple Hyacinth (The worst pain of my whole life and how it healed… multiple times) , Zinnia (The seats at the table and how they eventually became empty… multiple times) Summary: Moments where Maleficia was convinced her family was cursed, and a few times she truly wished this to not be the case.

A mother's love for her child is like nothing else in the world. It knows no law, no pity. It dares all things and crushes down remorselessly all that stands in its path.

Their family may be cursed.

For many decades now Maleficia had toyed with the possibility of such a matter in her mind. It had first passed briefly with the death of her father—the second monarch to take over after the initial uprising—and the subsequent death of her mother a few weeks later. No one was surprised when she went. Her grief for the loss of her love had been so profound that it had flooded Briar Nation, drowning both cattle and crops in her dismay. Maleficia had postponed her own coronation as the cleanup occurred. It felt ill-boding to be crowned while bodies were floating down the mountain pass.

The thought had returned once more when her husband vanished at sea, leaving her with a newborn hatchling on her own. Her love had been a strong headed man with adventure burning in his blood—it had been what drew her to him to begin with. That, and he was the only ex-sailor she knew who was bold enough to try and hold her for ransom. Wiping the deck with him had captured his heart—and the fact that he had been a dragon settled the Senate to a degree. But the sea is a fickle mistress, and although her love had skill and he had drive, even the most knowledgeable of sailors can never predict its next move.

She had not flooded Briar Nation like her mother had, and she had held herself together before her people, although the empty space in her bed and at the dinner table deepened the wound nightly. It was in the quiet moments alone when it was just her and Meleanor that she felt his absence the strongest.

In the beginning she loathed him for leaving her. Whenever she cradled their daughter as the hatchling shrieked and protested, blowing flame, and biting for flesh, she loathed him. Whenever she dealt with the Senate or another disaster befalling the Nation, she loathed him.

But when Meleanor learned to fly, learned to run, and shifted into her two-legged form for the first time, the hatred began to fade. Because although he had vanished into the mists on a voyage destined to fail, he had left her with the greatest treasure she could ever have—and for that alone she could hold no ill will.

Perhaps this sentimentality is why when Meleanor dragged a thin, sickly-looking bat into the halls of Black Scale, Maleficia heard her out.

“Please let him stay!” The princess had asked, green eyes wide as she grasped her mother’s skirts. “Please, mother!”

The other child had shrunk behind Meleanor, but shadows could not hide the burning defiance in the boy's eyes—a gaze of confrontation, and one that nothing truly innocent should hold. This is why she lacked the heart to say no. She quietly hoped that Lilia, as she would name him, would be the one to slay whatever reaper was following them—that the burning anger she had seen would ignite a fire that would cleanse the family of its suffocating misery.

With the presence of Meleanor, Lilia, and eventually Levan, the silent table Maleficia had sat at for so long soon became a place of raucous conversation again. Although she found herself scolding the three children more than once (especially Levan for his non-subtle attempts at discarding food), the lingering warmth she would feel as she gazed at the trio made her confident that this family curse was on the bend.

Naturally, it didn’t last.

The first time she heard of the Silver Owls, Meleanor was 200 years old and more focused on warding off suitors than an unmarked ship. Maleficia had allowed her daughter to indulge by instead consulting with an advisor alone in the dark of her office. The concern lingering in the advisor's words would grow to haunt her.

“Perhaps it is temporary?” She posited, trying her best to remain optimistic on the matter. Plenty of people came and went from Cape Sunrise. A single unmarked ship with a few scraggly sailor’s was not something she felt the need to stress over. The advisor seemed doubtful on the matter.

“But they have tools. Items designed to dig up our soil,” they had insisted, but Maleficia dismissed the concerns with a wave and a blase response.

“Let them try. They will not be able to break the first layer of our land.”

___________________________________

The first one to leave the table had been Levan. There were many soldiers and nobles who vanished before he did but, selfishly, he was the first one that Maleficia really felt the absence of. Levan had grown up from a non-confrontational child to her son-in-law, a general of the princess and a father to the future heir. His compassion had not faded despite the years of war that now tore the Nation apart. Maleficia knew this by the way she came across him one night, cradling his egg so gently while murmuring against its shell.

When he had noticed her, he had not corrected himself; if anything, he held the egg even closer. They had not exchanged too many words that night, but she sat next to him on the bench in the gardens, the silence speaking volume of her support to his decisions.

“You will return.” It was not a question—it was a demand. Her voice held the authority of a queen who had seen many, many losses in her long life. Levan had remained silent for a moment longer as his lips brushed against the shell of her grandson's egg.

“Always,” was the promise he made, and the last words Maleficia heard from him. When they didn’t receive notice for several days after he left, the conclusion was drawn that he was either dead, or the closest one could be to it. Meleanor held herself well in lieu of this information, as had Maleficia.

But the empty seat felt an ill omen.

___________________________________

The next one to leave the table had been Meleanor. When she was younger, she used to rest her head on Maleficia’s lap as her mother had fixed her hair. She would ramble on about her day and what she got up to with the two boys in the nonsensical fashion that many children do. Maleficia had listened with amusement, although her mind had always been half-focused on what she needed to do for her meetings the next day.

The regret of not giving Meleanor her full, undivided attention sunk in deep when she felt her daughter’s magic cut off. The bond in their family was intrinsically woven to allow them to get a sense of whether the other members were still alive. If asked, Maleficia might say it’s something of a dragon trait. Most of the time it served to be a blessing to allow her to know her family is alive and well.

When it cut off mid-emergency meeting, the abruptness had been so profound that she nearly collapsed then and there. Her breath had hitched, her words stuttering to a stop as she stared wide-eyed at the Senate members surrounding her. At first, she hoped it was simply a fluke—a disruption in the magic—until she didn’t feel it return and the horrible, tar-like panic of a mother when her child goes missing welled up in her heart. She was tearing out of the room before any of the Senate members even had a chance to speak, screaming for her guards and her soldiers to tell her what was going on at Wild Rose.

Her daughter, who spent her childhood running through the forests and laughing in the face of suitors. Her daughter, whose hair she would braid and then re-braid again when the girl somehow got burs in it. Her daughter, who was set to become a mother herself and experience all the precious moments Maleficia had.

Her daughter, whose body wasn’t even recovered at the end of it all.

___________________________________

The final one to leave the table was Lilia. In wake of the princesses passing, Malleus’ egg was put in the cradle tower, and Maleficia was designated to spirit him into hatching. She felt the faint connection of their magic from within the thick shell that guarded his body. His warmth, the subtle movements he made; they were all indicators that he was still alive and well despite his tumultuous arrival.

But Maleficia didn’t know if he would oblige. Hatchlings often needed the love of both parents to be shepherded forward—and Maleficia, now over eight hundred years old, already felt the strain of her magic from the conflicts going on in her Nation. There was no doubt that she held love for her grandson—but a lingering fear that her love wouldn’t be enough burned in her mind. This is what made her turn to Lilia, to send him on his quest around the world to try and find an additional means to bring the young prince forward.

For the first few decades, it worked well. Maleficia held the egg on a nightly basis and poured as much of her love and magic into it as she could. The egg consumed it all in a greedy fashion, demanding more every time she returned to the tower. One would think that Malleus was starving within by the way he pulled, and tore, and ripped at her powers to fuel his own development.

Then he ceased feeding. She recalls the first night it happened; everything had been going well, until the connection was suddenly severed, and the green glow within the egg dulled back into a faint tint of color. Maleficia had initially dismissed it as a one-off event. Until it happened again, and again, and again.

There’s a curious sense of panic that fills someone when they do everything they can to no avail. The panic she felt came in the form of a privatized breakdown in the tower. For many decades now Maleficia had toyed with the possibility of a curse in her mind. Now, she was beginning to consider that it was not her family who was cursed, but rather just herself.

First it came for her father, and her mother shortly after. Then, when it grew hungry again, it ate through her husband and that of her daughters. Then it came for Meleanor herself, and now whatever reaper followed them was looming over her shoulder as she held Malleus’ egg and begged him to take something.

Pleas fell from the lips of a monarch as she rocked the egg, stroked its shell so softly, whispering to just eat a little more, just take a little more. But the egg had remained as cold and aloof as it had for several nights now. Her desperation mounted in an order to Baul to summon Lilia back—to slay whatever reaper was following them before it pried the last of her bloodline from her hands.

Her hopes of his role as the vanquisher of death came in an explosive hatching that she was informed of after it occurred. When she requested for Lilia to be brought to Black Scale to be reinstated in his role in his efforts, the Senate had then informed her that Lilia Vanrouge would never step foot in the capital again.

And so, in a span of mere moments, the final seat was emptied—and Maleficia found herself alone once more.

___________________________________

Grandchildren are the best reminders of the beauty and innocence of childhood.

When Malleus was first brought to her after he hatched, she didn’t want to touch him. The purple hue of his stomach and the way his green gaze darted around, drinking in the new world he emerged to, reminded her so much of Meleanor that she wanted to laugh at the cruel irony. The hurt that smouldered in her heart ignited back into a flame that found her turning a cold shoulder to the hatchling.

“Go clean him. He has amniotic fluid all over.” She remembers ordering, voice deceptively calm for the turmoil happening within. The wet nurse that was hired obliged as the hatchling shrieked and protested the frequently changing environment around him. His cries made Maleficia clench her jaw tighter as she stared resolutely at the battle plans drawn before her, her hands gripping the table enough to turn her knuckles white.

A few times she went to him in the beginning. The encounters lasted only as long as Maleficia could tolerate seeing how similar he looked to Meleanor before she would depart and leave him in the care of his wet nurse once more. Guilt fought with anger in her heart about the circumstances that she found herself in and her inability to overcome them. She could feel the ghost of her daughter chastising her in the corner for being so cowardly in her approach.

The breakthrough arrived when Malleus became ill. Grieves—a fever-like condition that affected fae children in particular—resulted in Maleficia sitting with her grandson one night as the exhausted wet nurse was excused for a long overdue break. She held him on her lap in the dark as his small form fought his fever, whispering how the stars that looked down from above were the eyes of the people who loved him, keeping him safe in this world. Her voice had cracked as she spoke, and it was only when a small whine left him did she realize she was hugging him tight to her body.

“I am so sorry,” she had choked out, unsure if the apology was for the hold she had or the neglect she had given so far. “Please forgive me.”

Malleus had twisted in her arms, small wings fluttering before he settled himself down and began to doze. He had already forgotten what upset him to begin with. She wished it would always be that way—but she knew that was nothing but a vague hope.

She loathed Meleanor for leaving. Whenever she cradled Malleus as the hatchling threw his tantrums, blowing flame, and biting for flesh as all children seem to do, she loathed her. Whenever she dealt with another part of the war or signed another treaty alone, she loathed her.

But when Malleus scrambled onto her lap mid-Senate meeting, chased after courtiers, and flew for the first time (admittedly, into a flock of pigeons), Maleficia loved her. Because although like her father she had vanished in an ill-fated decision, she had left a small reminder that she was never truly gone. Maleficia could comfort Malleus, could see the ghost of his mother in his clever little eyes, and for that alone she could hold no ill will.

Meleanor’s death had proved to be far worse than anything else—but her gift of the small dragon in her lap felt like the first steps towards recovery again. So, she had kissed between his horns that night and promised to herself that she would do all that she could to give him a future free of the misery that plagued their family thus far.

___________________________________

In the aftermath, she spent time with him whenever she could. Via dinners, via having him sit in on meetings, via walks in the gardens—whenever she could, she would be there. However, despite her newfound presence changing some things for the better, she remained unable to quell the curiosity that burned in her grandson's mind.

She found him in the mausoleum once. He was standing on the toes of his mother with his small hand touching her stone-carved face. Maleficia had not been to the mausoleum since the boy hatched so many years ago. The raw memories still stirred in her heart and seeing him look up at his mother with such a gaze of innocent adoration did nothing but unsettle her more.

When he noticed her, his face had lit up into a smile as he hopped back down and pointed up to one of the other statues. “This is grandfather?”

Maleficia’s gaze slid to where he was pointing. A strong jaw, a dangerous glint in stone-etched eyes, and a faint smirk painted the picture of the man she had once loved and held so dearly many years ago. Maleficia nodded. Malleus, taking this as encouragement, then ran back to the other statue he had been touching with his small hands.

“And this is mother?”

Again, Maleficia nodded. The painful similarities between Malleus and his mother were more apparent when they were side to side. If Maleficia were to squint, she could mistake Malleus as a younger Meleanor: the same horns, same hair length, even the same streak of mischief that got both into so much trouble.

Malleus had hummed thoughtfully before stepping down again. “Do you miss them?”

A deceptively innocent question. Of course she missed them. All she had left of her family was one grandson and three empty coffins: a husband at sea, a daughter in the hands of humans, and a son-in-law somewhere in the moors. “I do,” she offered back. “I miss them greatly.”

Malleus had asked her why, then. Children like him were filled with innocence and wonder about the world. He had no knowledge of the bodies that were lost, or the tragedies that had predicated his birth. Her reply did nothing but fuel an unease in the boy, for moments after she offered it, he ran back to her and threw his small arms around her waist.

When he hugged her, he clung with a ferocity that was baffling for his size. Her hands rested on his head and stroked his hair soothingly as she had done with Meleanor many times before she guided him away from the tombs and the memory of family he never met.

She should visit them more often now.

___________________________________

She rediscovers that there’s a privilege in watching someone grow. Lilia’s gradual return into their lives helps ease the stress of raising a child again in her older age, which is partially why she turns a blind eye every time Malleus slips out of the palace to visit the man. She’s honoured to observe in a more passive manner the way her grandson changes and grows as a person. She watches him go from spiteful towards humans to more amiable with the arrival of Lilia’s adopted son. As he grows before her eyes, she begins to see less of Meleanor and Levan in his features and more of just Malleus—the quiet, albeit arrogant, boy that was hers.

Time goes by faster as she ages alongside him. One moment he’s clinging to her skirts, and the next he’s off to NRC, and then finally, 178 years have passed like the blink of an eye. She used to bemoan how slow time was—and now she wishes it to ease off a bit.

She’s sitting in the gazebo in the gardens for reprieve, a novel in hand as the screaming of insects choruses a song for her amusement. The aroma of flowers surrounds her and for a moment she feels utter peace in the world. The summer is ending and there are no celebrations or events to concern herself with. For the first time in what feels like eons, Maleficia Draconia can breathe.

The sound of someone approaching puts a pause in this.

She lowers her book to peer over at whoever is coming, hoping silently it isn’t an advisor or a courtier seeking out an audience on the sly. Fortunately, the sight of two horns and a scowling face turning the corner nullifies this as she turns back to her book.

“Finally decided to see the sun?” She muses as she hears him stepping onto the gazebo platform. She waits for his response, but only comes to feel surprised when Malleus kneels by where she sits and does something that he hasn’t done in a long time now—he places his head in her lap. At his age, his body is too tall now to really kneel efficiently at her side, but by the gods does the boy try as he hits his head right down. Her hand comes up on instinct to brush strands of his dark hair behind his ear as he looks over the gardens, his shoulders tense with stress.

They’re silent for a moment, listening to the sounds of screaming insects from beyond before Malleus speaks.

“The gardens look atrocious.”

Maleficia raises an eyebrow as she lowers her book to look at where he’s staring. Her hand continues to stroke his head soothingly as she huffs a soft laugh. “Our groundskeepers are going for a more ‘untamed’ look this season.”

“I have counted twenty-six thistles in the minute I have been here.” Malleus shoots back as his hand comes to rest by his face. “It’s late in the season. They might be growing lazy.”

“Nonsense. You know how hard working they are. You spent ample amounts of time with them when you were younger.” She fails to hide the smile teasing on her lips with this comment. Malleus’ temper tantrums had landed him in more than enough problems in his youth. Problems which were often rectified by a gentle lesson of how hard it is to fix up his messes—garden destruction included.

Malleus deigns her with a unprincely snort in response. They fall back into a warm silence as she keeps her hand on his head and returns her attention to her book. She knows that something is on his mind, but she retains her silence both to give him an opportunity to speak, and to enjoy the moment that they’re having. In the privacy of the garden, they can get away with this rare display of familial affection.

She feels him sigh as his eyes flutter close before he speaks up. “Do you ever feel… unease?”

“Unease?” She hums quietly as she turns a page. “On many occasions I have, yes. Unease tends to go hand in hand with some of the things I have dealt with.”

She knows he doesn’t mean in the sense of his royal duties. Malleus is an unusually quiet and introverted boy—but she had noticed him being more so the past week as summer began to inch towards its end. He opens his eyes and sighs again before withdrawing to sit back on his knees.

Maleficia wisely closes her book and sets it down before affixing him with as stern of a look as she can muster without chuckling. “Sighing and moping in the corners does little to aid me in providing advice.”

Malleus’ gaze goes upwards to stare at the ceiling of the gazebo before his expression drops to a pout. “I am feeling reluctant to return to NRC.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

Maleficia quietly reaches her hand out to brush his bangs back from his forehead, revealing the scale pattern beneath. Malleus’ eyes flutter shut at the gesture as his pout remains present.

“Three years have passed now, and I have yet to feel included in the school environment. Spending my days with those I already know from here hardly feels like an efficient use of time.” His jaw clenches. “Every effort I make to form any sort of connection to others feels like it’s a pointless endeavour at this rate.”

“Malleus, you must be patient with these things. It takes time for people to warm up to the likes of us. You must simply continue being yourself, and the right people will make the effort to get to know you. I understand it may seem upsetting right now, but you must simply keep trying your best.” A faint smile touches her lips despite the worry gnawing at her heart. She wishes she could do more, but she also understands that these are things he must figure out himself. “You’re going to this school to gain new experiences and see the world beyond our little Valley without the Senate looming over you. Things will work out in the end.”

Malleus’ body seems to relax at her words as he opens his eyes again. His expression eases to his usual neutral look as he nods slightly. “... yes, I suppose you are correct.”

“I often am.” She pinches his cheek lightly, causing the scowl to immediately return to his face as he jerks to avoid her grasp, making her laugh in turn. “Besides, are you not excited to see Lilia, Silver, and Sebek more often again? Well. More often than you do already.”

A pointed look has him averting her gaze as she picks her book up again. His demeanour reminds her of Meleanor, but the similarities no longer ache when she considers them. This was Malleus—her grandson, not his mother, nor his father—and she was eager to see the person he was still destined to become. “Now, you should be packing, should you not? We don’t need the crisis we had last year where we were all hunting down books for you last minute.”

Malleus groans softly before rising to his feet and brushing his pants off. He presses a brief kiss to her forehead, coaxing another smile from her lips before he pulls away.

“Yes, grandmother,” he grumbles with all the moodiness of an embarrassed teenage boy, and Maleficia can’t help but feel happiness at seeing it. Cursed or not, she will continue to enjoy these moments of joy as long as she may have them.

#twst #twst fanfiction #maleficia draconia #malleus draconia #lilia vanrouge #meleanor draconia #levan draconia #40 min spent on deciding a header alone #'hey amy she hasnt even been in the game yet' and?#listen maleficia may be 0% in-game but she is 100% in my brain thank u #obviously some flexibility with the facts here idk who malleus' grandpa is or what maleficias thoughts were during malleus' upbringing #but AAAAAAA listen... her.#lian i hope i did u proud i even made it a happy ending LMAO

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strong-with-the-sarcasm · 10 months

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Part 3 - If you could’ve seen

Dp x DC: Regent!Jazz, Vigilante!Jazz

Masterlist Part 2

“If you could’ve seen how I looked yesterday, a hopeless disaster, but I’m getting better at being faster.” -Never Look Back by The Nearly Deads

Jazz wasn't so proud to admit that she had many regrets about her life choices.

Taking the Crown was a fine line between terrifying and glorifying, with the many scars and callouses Jazz now bore from the hours of training (at Pandora's behest) a misgiving that was required for the sake of survival.

Hurting her little brother was the heaviest weight on her chest.

It hadn't been that Jazz meant to cause Danny pain from escaping Amity Park, but he'd already died there once from the portal and almost a second time when her parents the older Fentons captured Phantom in a thermos and strapped him down.

They had crossed a line, the point of no return, and Jazz was done trying to fix her broken family. The moment they cut into Danny while he screamed "I'm alive, I'm alive!" was the renouncement of their right to their own lives.

Jazz had enacted Vengeance for her little brother, the hero in death he shouldn't have had to become. For all the Unquiet Dead and Neverborn ended by the Fentons.

For her lost childhood. For her lost humanity.

Slash, slash, slash went the Regent's sword. Blood spattered the walls of the lab, mixed with the ecto already there from a fight for one's existence.

One slash, two, three Blood is on your hands already.

Frostbite would later, admist the ice and snow of the Far Frozen, that as a Liminal Jazz had triggered a rage state due to both her emotions and her unintentional ecto-starvation.

It wasn't enough to absorb it from the environment anymore, not with the Crown and summoning her ecto-sword. She would have to consume raw ecto to replenish her levels and diminish the chances of another blackout rage.

(Frostbite and Danny would never know that Jazz was fully aware of her actions.)

(She just didn't care anymore, Danny was more important.)

Danny had healed over the few months they were in Gotham, his incision wound now a grotesque Y-shaped scar over his scrawny chest that would never fade. His ecto-levels were improving with constant exposure to a natural portal, corrupted as it was, and slowly he was gaining back his sense of self.

Jazz didn't talk much anymore, but Danny was all too happy to argue with her- about her ripping him away from his haunt, killing his parents, his friends, and going out as a vigilante almost every night.

(As she had guessed, Danny was relieved that the Joker was dead and not a ghost.)

(He'd never know that Joker had returned as a ghost, but the Regent crushed his core before he could even form words.)

(Both Sam and Danny approved of her trophy though.)

At the other end of Crime Alley, tucked away in a safe house, Jason Todd was dying.

Well, so he thought, as his heart ached in his chest and beat so fast it could almost rip itself from his rib cage.

(If he was a lesser man, he might’ve gone crying to Bruce for help, but not in this life.)

Jason had collapsed on his bed in full gear, sans helmet, as the pain began to wrack his body. Was he truly dying again?

(He wasn’t ready to. Not again.)

And to think his night started so well.

He’d woken up a few minutes before his alarm went off, the hazy dregs of sleep trying to lure him back in, back to the rather nice dream he’d been having.

(Feminine build in bloody armor, a teasing grin, soft lips against his own.)

He didn’t even have patrol that night, his one day off a week he could just relax as Jason, not Jay Peters or Red Hood- only for it to be ruined by the emergency alert on his phone announcing that his murderer had broken free again.

Fucking Joker.

Old familiar rage simmered low in Jason’s gut, but much to his surprise, his vision didn’t tint neon green. No haze of being on the verge of a blackout rage at the mere thought of his murderer.

Nothing.

(What was going on?)

It wasn’t as if the Pit Madness could just be gone, right?

Right?

(Jason Todd was no a fool, the Madness was still there.)

(Just… sedated. Like it didn’t need to boil to the surface anymore where it concerned his murderer.)

And for the first time in a very long while, Jason felt like himself again.

Until the agony began.

A/N:

{I swear I try writing something that’s not angst for once and this is what I get. Great. Well as long as someone likes it, right?}

{Oh and sliding in an AU for Jason too! Not Halfa!Jason, because I’m not a particular fan of how I would write it. But something more akin to what he was when he dug himself out of his grave pre-dip in corrupted Ectoplasm ala League of Assassins.}

#dp x dc au #dc x dp crossover #dpxdc #dp x dc #jazz fenton #I tried writing something more positive and this is the result #more angst for the pile #yay #at least we have the mounted clown head right?#and Jason POV!#Jason is a… trope.

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dendrochilums · 2 months

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HELLO MURDERBOT FANS!!!!

after finishing the books, have you found yourself wishing that you could immerse yourself in three hundred thousand words of fanfic so deliciously written and so masterfully constructed that you will NOT be able to stop thinking about it, ever? then i have GREAT NEWS FOR YOU:

NULLverse: The Bot-Construct Disaster Squad by @blessphemy

this series is a canon-divergence AU from the moment in Exit Strategy when Murderbot narrowly escapes the clutches of the Combat SecUnit it's fighting. In this AU, it is captured by Palisade (the security company running that whole showdown), experimented on, and forced into death matches with that very same CSU. That's the premise of the first installment! I'll tell you for free that they escape.

What follows is a few hundred thousand of the most riveting words I have ever read, an incredibly carefully woven story following murderbot and the machine intelligences and humans that it meets on its journey. note that this series does NOT closely follow canon--all the same characters will come back one way or another (with the addition of the CSU as the most delightful and deranged technically-canon OC you will ever see) (plus you will get LOTS more ART screentime), but it does not retread the path of the canon series. i truly cannot overstate how FRESH, CREATIVE, and UNIQUE this AU is.

To quote the series description on AO3: Consider this series if you like: feral shit, disaster, continuity of identity+memory, societies of people with divergent needs/wants, chaos, robot creation ethics, violence vs security, suffering, healing, bad puns.

there is no murderbot shipping here. there are a few short installments with some robo brain sex involving other characters, but those are also designed to be skippable if that's not your jam

I'm making this post because this series is STILL updating and the latest chapter was possibly the greatest thing I have ever read. It has filled my mind with electricity in the most fireworks way possible. The payoff you will get for reading this series is exquisite, and you will have so much fun along the way. Come join us!! Weekly updates await you if you catch up before the latest installment is complete.

SO WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?? GO GO GO READ THE FIRST INSTALLMENT

#murderbot #tmbd #the murderbot diaries #ao3 #fic rec

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ezekielbhandarivalleros · 3 months

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A Surprise at the Café

Paring: Benoftheweek (Youtuber) x Reader (Mainly Female)

Summary: One special day at your favourite coffee shop fate brings you closer to someone you couldn't imagine meeting

This story is a response to the post made 3 years ago - Here's the link to that post

After a grueling day of college classes, I sought solace in the familiar routine of grabbing a warm drink from the nearby coffee shop. As I waited for my latte, I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my subscriptions, eager to unwind with a Benoftheweek video.

The latest upload caught my eye, and I eagerly tapped on it. Ben's videos always brought me a sense of comfort, like catching up with an old friend. Lost in his latest adventure, I barely noticed the bustling crowd around me until I collided with someone while reaching for my drink.

Startled, I looked up to apologize, only to find myself face to face with none other than Ben himself. My heart raced with disbelief as I realized who he was. I'd been a fan of his videos for years, and now here he was, standing right in front of me.

Ben's kind eyes softened as he noticed the coffee stains on my jeans and sweater. Without hesitation, he offered me his hockey hoodie to cover up the mess. As I slipped into the oversized hoodie, a wave of joy and warmth washed over me. It was like wearing a piece of his world.

Feeling giddy with excitement, I asked Ben for a selfie to capture the unexpected moment. He chuckled warmly and obliged, his arm wrapping around me in a friendly embrace.

Ben insisted on buying me another coffee and a muffin to make up for the mishap, even though I knew it was my fault. We found a cozy spot to sit and chat, the conversation flowing effortlessly between us.

Curious about the hoodie, I asked Ben about his interest in hockey. Surprisingly, he admitted that he wasn't much into the sport but collected jerseys because he liked the way they looked.

Ben's eyes fell on my bag, noticing the array of books and a laptop peeking out from within. "So, what major are you taking?" he asked, genuine curiosity shining in his eyes.

"I'm studying Journalism," I replied with a smile, feeling a spark of pride at sharing my chosen field of study. "It's actually my first year here."

"Ah, journalism! That's awesome," Ben exclaimed, nodding appreciatively. "Gotta love the power of words. You'll do great, I'm sure."

I thanked him, feeling a rush of encouragement from his words.

Then, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, Ben leaned in closer and quipped, "Well, at least the coffee didn't decide to make your books and laptop its next victims. That would've been a real headline: 'Coffee Spill Disaster Strikes New Journalism Student!'"

We both chuckled at his joke, the tension from the accidental collision melting away into shared laughter. It was moments like these that made unexpected encounters truly memorable.

As we continued talking, I glanced out the coffee shop window that had the reflection the clock and realized how quickly time had flown. I needed to get back to my apartment soon.

Sensing my dilemma, Ben offered to drive me home. Grateful for the gesture, I accepted, and we chatted animatedly during the short drive.

During the drive, I couldn't help but notice the pom-poms dangling from the car's ceiling. I remembered the video where Ben decorated them, feeling like I was right there with him during that moment.

"Those pom-poms are adorable," I remarked, unable to contain my smile as I touched one lightly.

Ben laughed, a warm sound that filled the car. "Thanks! I thought they added a fun touch to the car."

"They definitely do," I replied, feeling a rush of gratitude for the shared connection, however small.

As we pulled up to my building I gathered my belongings, preparing to step out of the car, Ben turned to me with a hesitant expression. "Hey, before you go, I was wondering if… would you be interested in going out for dinner sometime? I had a really great time talking to you, and I'd love to get to know you better."

My heart skipped a beat at his unexpected invitation. "I would love to," I replied, feeling a surge of excitement coursing through me. "Here, let me give you my number."

We exchanged phones, inputting our contact information, before reluctantly parting ways. Before I closed the door, Ben reached into the backseat and handed me one of his favorite caps as a parting gift.

"Consider it a token of our unexpected meeting," he said with a charming grin.

I thanked him profusely, feeling incredibly grateful for the unexpected gesture.

As I watched him drive off into the night, I couldn't wipe the smile off my face. One of my biggest dreams had just come true, all thanks to a chance encounter at a coffee shop. As I settled in for the night, I couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement for the future date with Ben and the endless possibilities it held.

#benoftheweek #ben de almeida #benoftheweek fic #it's finally here #get excited

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fatgumsurpremacy-remastered · 1 year

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omg that demon!reader prompt.. big brain moment. which mercs would comfort their s/o when captured? like they cant help but sweep them up in their arms n stuff

This is so soft I love this.(yandere mercs)

Tw: Yandere, kidnapping, possessiveness, unhealthy relationships, unwanted affection (not nsfw), gaslighting (brief), attachment issues.

Demoman: Most likely, if you’ve driven Tavish to the point he needs to grab nab you you’re pretty reckless. Otherwise he wouldn't have tried to grab you. Anyway, Tav would make a whole deal out of hit, just happy to have you out of harms way and into his arms. He’d be suffocating for a week at the least, it’s enough to tell you how long Tavs been bleeping tabs on you. And enough to clue you in to just how much care he’s taken in makin y’all’s new house perfect for the two of you. He’s very much one to want to rush you into comfort, though sometimes at the expense of sanity. 10/10

Engineer: Oh boy, dell can tell you’re anxious and that it’s already not looking good for him. He loves you. And he knows he loves you, he knows it’s unhealthy. But the slightest bit of his delusional side is that you’re overreacting to the whole, ‘being captured thing.’ He can even get close to you no more without you trying to push him away so how’s he going to comfort you. If you’d let him he’d come and sit down with you quietly. Like a husband trying to coax his spouse out of a breakdown. Except that’s not what this is is it? He realizes that, and he’d comfort you if you let him but you’re not so what’s he gonna do exactly? 2/10

Heavy: Very calming from the start, like Tavish in a way. The way he captures you is less like capture and more like- “Wow this is a horrible natural disaster, might as well make it count.” Just- stretch it out. He claims that things are getting worse outside, and keeps you in. To quell his own anxiety he holds you close. He tries to tell you stories to keep you sane, and insists on staying at your side the entire time. He’s very lovable, and even more protective. Very silly, and always tries to comfort you. Although he downplays some of your fear because he truly believes he can protect you from anything. His attempts are good but there’s too much gaslighting for things to settle to a reasonable degree. 7/10

Medic: He doesn’t try, it just kind of happens. No matter what it WILL happen, he WILL capture you and that will be that. He cares about you a great deal, he should have you with him! And that translates to how he cares for you as well, he makes sure you’re not hurt throughout the whole thing. His banter also makes it seem more like moving in with a good friend rather than being abducted. His house is jarring and surprisingly cold, but his demeanor makes up for anything he lacks. Not to mention the swarm of kisses you’ll get if you don’t try and escape post capture. 8/10 surprisingly good!

Pyro: You wouldn’t realize until he told you straight up in which case it would get VERY eerie. A lot of what Pyro did prior was similar and one could assume based off that, that it was just how he acted but no. He’s pleasantly surprised you aren’t put off. When he tells you that and you realize you are HE panics. He’s no better at calming you down. Or comforting you. Rocking you back and forth before getting up to check the locks again. He’s a mess and he tries to hide it. 1/10, surprisingly BAD.

Scout: His moms the one that’s gotta do it. Her constant presence is a saving grace. Scout is supporting his Ma, so his capture isn’t traditional like the others. It’s more like a relationship entrapment, and he doesn't realize he’s doing wrong. So his Ma gives you advice, and food. Like- a lot of food, since she can see you’re shakin up over something. Her jokes are light hearted, and she helps you see where Scout's heart comes from. She doesn’t justify her son's actions, but she’s been in this predicament before and all she can suggest is to wait it out. Scout: 0 Ma: 10/10

Sniper: I am conflicted on this, where else would he focus but also- why would he try. Snipers an unhealthy mix of hyper aware and delusional at all times. Really he debated on nabbing you until he just pulled you off the road with a well placed dart. So justifyibly you’re shaky and awkward… but he’s always anxious, shaky, and awkward. (High off shrooms too maybe but that’s besides the point.) He thinks it’s cute to a degree and and offers to walk with you if that’ll clear your mind. But he then gets worried and dismisses the idea. He makes a couple of attempts that lead to him not finishing the job. In the end he just settles on popcorn and a film in silence. The attempt is there. 5/10

Soldier: I’m going off premarriage here. He will fuck you up more, between the shouting and the likely bombastic way he captures you, you’d be damned if you didn’t leave the scenario with no new phobias. When you finally settle down a bit, (as in stop hiding from him) you would be surprised with how patient he is. It’s unexpected but he’ll wait for what he wants if he truly cares. He’ll wait until you let him hug you then just curl up around you and say the cheesiest things just above a whisper. He also is a human pillow with a heater setting so that could help too! 7/10.

Spy: Like sniper he makes an honest attempt. Past relationships didn’t like his possessiveness but then again there wasn’t really a way to keep his Fling safe. Spy falls hard and fast, which is concerning given his position, but it’s always with people unconcerned with his expertise. You- you are the one that he can keep an eye on. He already has all the things you could need. A little area to calm yourself, but that’s not to say he wouldn’t struggle and try to get you to give him affection without him earning it. Seems like a charmer but ultimately can’t deal with himself or admit that you might just- not like him. 5.5/10

Hope you enjoyed!

#yandere tf2 #yandere tf2 mercs #yandere demoman #yandere engineer #yandere Heavy #yandere medic #yandere Pyro #yandere scout #yandere soldier #yandere sniper #yandere spy

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hero-israel · 8 months

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The attack 100% will push Israeli society further right, further toward mistrust, trauma, and retribution. The attack will also 100% fail and have devastating repercussions for the people of Gaza. Maybe the Hamas losers know this, maybe they intended it to happen. A violent chaotic cathartic release with no real plan or attempt at achieving any kind of goals... were they that delusional? Did they think they would start the next Arab Israeli war and bring Israel down?

Or were they fully intending to fuel their own martyr complexes and to martyr hundreds of unwilling Palestinian civilians in a desperate attempt to make Israel lose the optics war? It's probably this one, and it only proves that they are LOSERS, they are sad pathetic losers and their greatest triumph is shooting grandmas and trying to capture Jewish sex slaves to prove what big manly men they are, while the women and children in their towns are being bombed to pieces. Disgusting pieces of shit.

But about that optics war... Mass executions and rapes and kidnappings by Hamas militants have done more to repair Israel's image in normal (I repeat and emphasize: NORMAL) people's eyes than any amount of sharing graphs and documents and educating people, or state sponsored tweets could ever have. This is the true Mask Off moment for Hamas and Gaza. Even antizionists are taking to social media to say "stop the violence innocent people are dying this is so bad we stand with the people of Israel." Like this is such an utter disaster for Gaza it boggles the mind how they greenlit this attack.

Like I truly think if Bibi orders a ground invasion most people aside from internet leftists and Arab nationalists would be alright with it. I hope he doesn't, I think a measured and careful response is crucial right now, but that's how badly Hamas fucked up whatever goodwill they had today.

It will push Israeli society further toward the right in terms of military / security crackdown and generally bleak attitudes towards coexistence with Palestinians (moreso). I would like very much to believe that Israelis will notice that the current government of right-wing channer trolls is totally talentless and lazy and that their incompetence and unnecessary cultural divisionism directly made possible this tragedy, and will then replace the right-wing channer trolls with right-wing skilled leaders. Note that by "right-wing skilled leaders" I no longer include Netanyahu, who should be as permanently discredited as the rest of them. The structure of Israeli electoral politics has let me down before, and I don't think Netanyahu has enough human decency to resign when he so blatantly ought to.

We are going to see something in Gaza that we haven't seen before; there is really no choice. I'm just not sure what that "something" will be.

I've seen several posters on Jewish Reddit argue for a full land invasion and lasting re-occupation of Gaza. This would be a Carter-Iranian-hostage-rescue level catastrophe. Gaza has been prepping for an Israeli land invasion for 15+ years, it is the basis of multiple Hamas and PIJ battle plans, we can assume every street and alley is boobytrapped and every window can hold an RPG launcher and every room can become a hostage site. Lasting military incursion with boots on the ground seems doomed to fail - and then if it succeeded it might be even worse, Israel would have to bleed its military and economic resources into managing the day-to-day lives of 2 million Palestinians. Of the options for eliminating Hamas, that would be the one that was worst for Israel in the immediate term, so it is the one I don't expect. Other options are terrible too, but less so for Israel itself.

To be very frank, I'd almost rather they skip Hamas and launch a decapitating strike on Iran directly. Terrible repercussions of course, but it avoids the usual script, the obvious boobytrap aspects, and puts a final "bookmark" on the threats that both Hamas and Hezbollah could represent.

#israel #palestine #gaza #jumblr

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pixiecaps · 6 months

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hi pix i know nothing about qsmp or purgatory but my streamers are in it now so please could you give me a quick summary of lore and stuff i need to know? :3

okay so this is a purgatory event so you really dont need to know any lore as i dont think it will affect any of the competitors at all or at least very little of them.

purgatory is a competitive event. its focused on winning. whether this be by strategy or pure luck. its truly anyones game even if you arent the most skilled player.

last time there were three teams and a lot at stake. which were the eggs lives. only one team could win.

this time the video stated ONLY ONE PERSON COULD WIN the “grand prize” so. like you. the audience nor the participants know anything about purgatory two besides that. and it seems to have a radioactive theme surrounding the event which may be linked to the fact the previous purgatory island where the first event took place got “blown up” by an atomic bomb. so theres that.

last purgatory there was i think three events if im not wrong i could be. all very strategy and pvp type of events. events inspired by capture the flag, bed wars, and such.

every day teams would compete and a single team had the chance of winning daily. by the end whoever had the most wins won the entire event overall. to win you had to gain points. percentages for points were different every day. so the twitter account would tweet something like “Kills 20% Contracts 50% Tasks 30%” which gave the players an idea of what they had to prioritize to win that day. some days were more kill focused and others more tasks and contracts focused.

tasks are your personal missions for the day. things like collecting a certain amount of blocks and killing a number of mobs. these were relatively easy to get done and an easy way to gain points for the day.

contracts were more complicated versions of tasks. whichever team completed and claimed the contract by the end of the day would gain the most points from it. so you’d have instances where One Contract was regarding collecting sand. if green team collected 30k sand and claimed that contract there would be a cooldown until someone else could add a higher number like 31k sand and claim that contract back for their team. taking all the points that the previous team had gained from that contract. this is where we’d get a lot of. interesting moments. overall contracts matter depending on the percentage they get you that day.

I don’t quite recall the schedule but the purgatory server would open at a specific time and close at a specific time. i remember watching by like 1pm est and it closing near like 10pm/12am est. each player had a play time limit so you had to be smart and manage and coordinate your time well with your team. YOU DID NOT WANT TO RUN OUT OF TIME BEFORE THE SERVER CLOSED. YOU ALWAYS WANTED AT LEAST SOMEONE IN YOUR TEAM WITH PLAY TIME LEFT BEFORE THE SERVER CLOSED. arguably the most important times were right as the server opens and right as it closes. the last minutes before the server closes will be the most stressful part of your day by far. anything can change. anyone can win even if its just a minute on the clock.

general game stuff. you lose hunger quicker and food rots so you need to be careful of that. you have hydration so you need to drink water or something like tea to make sure you dont die of dehydration. all the mobs are buffed like insanely buffed. you can have prot 4 diamond armor and still get your ass whooped by an enderman. it is difficult.

NOW. there were also disaster events. like toxic fog, blizzards, meteors, increased hunger (passive mobs also attack you), quicksand (you sink into the floor if you stop moving), earthquakes (if you are in a cave RUN AND GET OUT. THE ROOF WILL CRUSH YOU also nausea effect), mini you (you shrink into a like one block height and are slow), reversed controls, acid rain, radiation (if you have radiation and are nearby crops, animals, or players they will begin to take damage), etc. these would happen in random intervals and you NEED to be prepared for them because if you arent. you will die. and dying lowers your percentage. hence negativity impacting your chances of a win that day. you prepare for these disasters by having certain items for instance the toxic fog has the gas mask counter. all events have a counter. you just have to be fast.

heres the thing though. that was purgatory one. i am 100% sure this time will be different so everything i am telling you could be completely changed and adapted after all the feedback from purgatory one. i dont know if the point system will work the same, i dont know if the disasters will be the same, i dont know if there will be pre determined teams or if it’s purely you make your own alliances, i dont know if the schedule for the server or play time will be different, i dont know WHAT THE STAKES ARE, i dont know. anything could change. but what probably wont change is the anguish of purgatory. because the entire point is to make it feel torturous and draining and hardcore enough to condemn the “sinners”. that is what The Watcher calls the players. The Watcher is the entity that runs the Purgatory event.

it is meant to be a free for all. it is meant to be raw and merciless. so heads up. its okay if you get frustrated. it happens to all of us. now this isn’t specifically at you but to the community overall never never never release your frustrations OVER A MINECRAFT EVENT on the streamers. purgatory caused a lot of discourse and stress for the streamers because the community, specifically on twitter, got toxic. but also as a qsmp blogger tumblr was also not flawless. so again if another player kills your favorite streamer or the team youre supporting is not doing well and getting targeted… it is not the end of the world. the whole point is to be aggressive and WIN by any means. if someone wants to kill someone in game without a second of thought and not allow them to even beg.. so be it. if someone wants to raid someones base and burn all the shit they worked hours for.. so be it. if someone gets into an unfair unbalanced pvp fight and they lose everything.. so be it. it is purgatory. my advice to FULLY ENJOY IT is don’t take it too seriously and filter any neg or discourse tags lol.

heres the thing. purgatory one had certain rules established after a few days and after feedback. when it initially started spawn killing was allowed and as you can imagine after a few days a rule was set to no longer allow spawn killing. im assuming for purgatory two certain rules will be set before the event and creators will be informed of them. i imagine purgatory two will be a more polished version of the original purgatory though im sure it too will have some flaws and criticisms to be had.

besides that purgatory is a very fun event with a lot of funny moments and cool interactions between streamers and i think purgatory two will be 10x better than the first. any new viewers have a lot of awesome stuff to look forward to. you guys are going to love the admins and i just know a lot of cool things are planned and prepared as they always are for qsmp events.

ALSO IF YOU SEE ELQ (ElQuackity) JUST KNOW THAT SEXY BASTARD IS A BITCH ASS MOTHERFUCKER. anyways hope you enjoy it

#pix asks aaaa #this was meant to be short i promise #purgatory 2 #qpurgatory 2

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chaosnoirjpg · 4 months

Text

Feeling Guilty about not being Grateful

In this entry I am typing about feeling guilty¹ about not being grateful “enough”. This topic is inspired by a lifelong friend of mine’s series of texts messages. This entry has been adapted from our conversations.

The last I remember feeling guilty about not being grateful enough was in a Black Woman spiritual circle I discovered on Facebook. I didn’t feel so much as guilty as I was more triggered by the whole thing. I remember growing up and being told to ‘count your blessings’ when an unfavorable situation occurred as if I was messing up and missing out on how truly worse the matter could have been. As if I had any control or responsibility over the random ill fated life-events that choose me.

As I explored my trigger, I concluded that I was disappointed and shocked that I found myself in yet another assumed safe space. I thought I had found a home within this online sisterhood. I let my guard down and misjudged. I understood that I could no longer trust to discuss other emotions outside of feeling grateful for everything in my life, including undesired situations.

Recently, my little family and I experienced a theft. One of my family member’s car was stolen out of a parking lot. The culprit was later apprehended, the car received severe damages from the pursuit and capture. While we awaited word from the police, the family was going back and forth between choosing to be grateful and feeling other emotions.

My mother, being the God-fearing Southern Baptist she is, chose to be grateful and made sure to spread her good will to us. She was grateful that none of her children were outside to greet the thief and got harmed. She was grateful that it wasn’t an even worse event, like a home burglary. She experienced that at her first apartment as a married young woman. To this day she remembers how violating it was to return home and see it’s been decimated by unwanted criminals. She gave her perspective to help us see our circumstance in a more positive light, to ease our pain and suffering, to make us more resilient somehow. Yes, I will agree that we were lucky that we were safely elsewhere while the car was being absconded. As well-meaning as mom is, there was still an air of blindness, denial and minimalization there, albeit unaware.

My sibling, the one with the missing car, felt differently. She felt many, many things. Being grateful was far from her repertoire of emotions. She was going through the seven stages of grief on a loop. One moment she was angry she was targeted and desired vengeance, the next she tried to cheer herself up by looking forwarding to shopping for a new car.

I caught myself feeling envy² and annoyance about how she felt so naturally open to express her anger and disaster-mindset whenever a surprise event happened because she felt safe. I usually chill in my car and take time to cry or scream away from everyone for fear that they’d give me advice on how to see the silver lining³. I don’t want to see the silver lining I desire to mourn and mourn deeply before I even think about the next move. I’d like some time to process how shitty this is right now.

If my grandma was still alive and well, I highly doubt she would worry about any of this. She understood something about life. Her mystery of her knowingness was something I always admired. She had a level of unwavering emotional security. Nothing and no one could get my grandma down.

I can hear her now, “They ain’t stopping nothin’”.

I often thought that it was because she experienced great loss with burying her two sons, a grandson and many more of her loved ones that allowed her the capacity to endure the hardships of life’s randomness. She was never bothered by people gossiping about her or plotting against her. She had an understanding that those people aren’t satisfied with life and she was busy being happy with her own. As a child, when she told me these things they didn’t make much sense. She’d tell me ‘to keep on livin’, you’ll get it one day.’

Why do we run to being grateful when life hurls lemons at us…or…let’s be real, at any minor inconvenience? I have some answers. Please keep in mind that there are many truths, contradictory truths can exist and have existed all at once. We live in a multidimensional reality, my good people. What a time to be alive.

As far as being thankful in all things, I understand the need to be grateful and feeling guilty about being ungrateful because it could always be worse. I was told to be grateful often. Hearing that didn’t break the curse of feeling cheated, like I am missing out on better and greater things. Instead, it felt like my feelings about the present situation and circumstance didn’t meaning anything. As though my feelings held no weight in making things easier, more productive and moving things along. That might be true. But would you rather be right or experience the fullness of your capacity to feel?

I remember seeing on tv family sitcoms where the family sit at dinner, the child isn’t inspired enough to clean their plate, the parent says the offensive idiom, “There are starving children in Africa Alkebulan⁴.” Well, I didn’t get that speech. I got the, “Remember who you are and Who’s you are. Remember where you come from” talk. This mindset of gratitude wasn’t reserved for the home, but this type of be-grateful reactionary thinking was based on the mental and spiritual survival of repressed peoples. I often had the talk about how my family were forced into slavery.

They want you to be sad. Don’t fall into the trap and give them your energy.

There wasn’t a lot to be grateful for if you were a slave or sharecropper or just Black and existing in the USA or anywhere. Understanding yields compassion. However, I cannot ignore other emotions for fear of being haunted by them in the foreseeable future.

With my rudimentary way of thinking as a youngin’, I conceptualized that I was fighting against this vague thing, for lack of a better term, the mindset that desired me to be sad. As an individual, experiencing my own life, I also think about how my ancestors found joy where they could. I imagine them finding community in spite of their terrible surroundings. I think about women holding hope for a better future and if they could ever imagine a distant relative like myself reading and writing freely, being able to drive my own car or having my own bank account and being educated. Then I think, I have time to slow down and honor myself by acknolwgding my emotions. I’m not in survival mode like my foremothers. I have time. I am allowed to feel ungrateful, sad, mad, abandoned, happy, and content all at once, be present with the ebbing and flowing waves of emotions. I’m allowed to feel the full spectrum of emotions. I’m allowed to process my guilt and shame⁵ about feeling guilty and shameful. Feeling is the most human thing I can do because so many may not get the chance to or even know how. I am allowed to be grateful and feel other feelings too. No emotion is better or worse than the other. I am worthy of feeling it all.

I still struggle as life is not without its difficulties. I’m allowed to be sad and grateful about being sad. I’m allowed to say there is no bright side to this and still be like,

I’mma survive this as I’ve done all my worst moments in my life.

I may not feel grateful now or ever. However, I know I will survive this and it will not last. I don’t have to be grateful just have faith that it’ll work out and I will be ready or as ready as I can be.

In conclusion, when others try to reframe your perspective by advising you to be grateful, as well-meaning as that advise is I don’t think they’ve ponder what they are actually saying. The end goal, if there must be one, is to be able to allow yourself the space and time to process the present moment at hand. When we react by searching for ways to be grateful, we rob ourselves of being present with ourselves. We silence, censor an lie to ourselves which keeps us from our own emotional journey for fear of being perceived as ungrateful and therefore worthy of even worse happenings. Forced happiness creates humans who aren’t in-touch with what they are feelings, what they truly desire, and eventually leads to feeling lost because they cannot distinguish what they like, love and dislike. When we shed the “Us v Them” mentality, the dualist way of thinking of emotions being good and/or bad then we are able to perceive the vastness of our human experience. We begin to understand ourselves, we form a deep intimacy within ourselves. Eventually, we will be able to see ourselves clearer and clearer and know that we can handle whatever life brings. It all starts with giving ourselves permission to exist just as we are, moment to moment. Release yourself from the limiting thinking of being grateful is the only solution to being enough, feeling fulfilled and contented.

You are enough, just as you are, right here, right now. There are many truths out there. Believe the truths that empower you.

Guilt, Guilty: i.e. I did something wrong.

2. Envy: Someone has what you desire or do not have

3. Silver Lining: seeing the good in a bad situation

4. Alkebunal: Dr. Cheikh Anta Diop: History of Afrika, ALKEBULAN | THE ORIGINAL NAME FOR AFRICA. link: https://www.awaytoafrica.com/know-african-roots/

5. Shame, Shameful: i.e. I am wrong.

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atozfic · 1 year

Note

hiiii i hope you’ve been well!! i noticed you said you’ve been writing a bit of siren if it’s not too much to ask can we get a spoiler/snippet from it? i’ve been excited for it ever since i read the synopsis

the spoiler is that the fic is actually a huge prank i've pulled on you all, that i have no intention of actually writing. happy (early) april fools ! here, have a very cringey snippet that i intend to rewrite before officially posting the fic.

warning: this is unedited and likely includes typos/cringe writing from nearly a year ago!!

“do you think its a mermaid?”

the question is met with a slap to the back of the dark haired man’s head, who proceeds to yelp and stare back at his crewmate, confusion and offense swirling in his eyes when he meets the other’s stare.

“shh, you idiot!” the pirate speaks in a hushed tone, through gritted teeth and a serious expression, his eyes still busy looking at the lump of fabric and flesh and hair tangled in a net that lays just at the beach shore. “it could be a siren! we can’t risk waking it up! captain'll kill us if we die.”

the sun has already began to set, alerting them of just how much time has passed since they arrived on the impish island. deserted of any human lives, the spec of land provided them with nothing but natural resources and a perfect spot to dump their unwanted cargo. which, in this very moment, is a sailor they’d caught on board their ship, hiding among barrels in an attempt to attack the beautiful vessel come night fall. what a shame the poor man forgot to counter in just what crew lived aboard such a ship, the young yet already feared group made up of no more and no less than eight men, who have garnered a plethora of names: the ocean’s assassins, the hell bringers, the pirate kings.

many stories have been passed around about the ominous crew, among drunkards in sketchy taverns and the gossiping wives of sailors. some true, some false, yet all painting them in a less than friendly light. their beginning alone is a tale fearsome enough to send shivers down the spine of any well-respected navy commander.

other than the boy who’d betrayed his own father and taken capture of the navy ship, along side the rest of the seven men, little is truly known about the pirate crew. sure, their faces have been seen, their mouths have been kissed by drunken fools, rounds of ale have been brought to them in many a taverns, but never have their names been spoke, never have they shared laughter with a stranger nor spared an inch of mercy for anyone outside of their crew of eight disasters.

thus, no one knows of the true nature of the pirates. and, if there’s anything mankind hates most, it’s the inability to understand, to gain knowledge of something, which is why the group is such a point of contention, an enigma many challenge themselves to solve.

some even going as far to sneak on board their ship.

“wait, do you even get sirens this time of the year?” another slap lands on the back of the man’s head, a slap which he this time returns to his friend in the form of a flick to his ear. “stop hitting me or i’ll tell yeosang it was you who drank the last of the rum!”

“i wouldn’t have to hit you if you didn’t say stupid things.” unbeknownst to the two men, their bickering is attracting the attention of another set of eyes, who watches them from a distance where tree branches still scrape his skin and the sand is yet to fully appear beneath his feet. “do you get sirens this time of the year?! seriously, san? what kind of question is that!”

“the kind of question you’re too dumb to answer!”

“oh, real mature!”

“your mum sure thinks so!”

“what does that even mean?!”

“i don’t know!”

the volume of the two pirates bickering increases to a point where neither of the stealth sea-assassins pick up on the approaching footsteps nor the slow laughter which companies them, the eyes that were watching them now much closer and much more aware of what exactly had prompted the daily argument between the two.

it’s as the one who calls himself san curls his hand around the hilt of his sword that the onlooker decides to step in, knowing yeosang would not appreciate having to waste more thread on stitching up yet another unnecessary wound, just like the crew’s captain would not enjoy having to repeat the same old scoldings the pair received almost at a daily rate.

“you’re both idiots.” perhaps not the best way to make his presence known, but it works either way, prompting both san and wooyoung’s head to snap in his direction, eyes wide in accusation and mouths dropped open in audacity. “you know that, right?”

“fuck off and go back to doing tall people stuff, yunho.” of course it’s wooyoung who speaks first, always the most catty on board the ship and never one to bite back a comment or think before he speaks.

“how are we both idiots?” san, more level-headed even while being prone to arguing, asks with more curiosity than offense, hand lazily thumbing over the bumps and ridges of his intricate sword handle.

“because, you thought it was a mermaid,” yunho points in san’s direction, who proceeds to avoid eye contact, suddenly finding the look of his sand dusted boots to be the most intriguing thing in the world. the attention is quickly thrown to wooyoung as the tallest among the three point him out. “and you thought it was a siren. now, can you tell me what mermaids and sirens have in common?”

the pair keep quiet, san with red cheeks and wooyoung with a snarl, like he’s trying so hard to calculate his next snarky comment, all in the aim of shrugging off the shame of being called out on his own idiocy.

“a tail. they both have tails.” when it doesn’t click in either of the two’s heads, yunho sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. brushing past them both, he nudges wooyoung’s shoulder as he cautiously approaches the lump of flesh and fabric, tangled in a web of nets and seaweed. “and that,” he points at the figure, entranced by the subtle yet visible rise and fall of the creature’s breathing. “very clearly has a pair of legs, not a tail.”

#🎐: message board #🧚 pretty little wip;;#lmao imagine how funny it would be if i never post siren (i'm deepily sick in the head)

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koqabear · 3 months

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Happy 2024! I almost didn’t make it tho because of lamb to the slaughter :D What a way to end 2023. First of all I have such a weak spot for hybrid/predatorxprey dynamics so having my favorite writer drop this fic out of nowhere gave me a heart attack. Loved the set up with soobin and reader and how we’re tricked into believing he has good intentions with how sweet he is on reader (although you could still see how he reveled in making the reader shy which could have been an indicator of how he would be later on). And then beomgy’s immediate obsession with reader and the whole scene in the kitchen before soobin arrived just had me on my knees. Smth ab the idea of beomgyu being all over you is just🤤and then watching soobin’s resolve inevitably crumbling and deciding to take advantage of reader’s dumbed out state😮‍💨🤌🏼apologizing even though we all know he’s not sorry🙄 love love loved it absolutely incredible, as always thank you for your service🫡

this is so embarrassing of me but hiiii !! how have you been ? :3 happy 2024, i hope the new year has been treating you well!

i kinda wish my impatient ass held onto that fic a little more,, teased a bit instead of releasing literally on. fucking new years eve 😭😭 it was very much buried in all the chaos but! what a way to end the year indeed… (i will never get over the impulses to drop fics out of nowhere im afraid.)

your favorite writer ?? ☹️ me ??? i will cry… thank you thank you thank you… BUT I ALSO have discovered that i really realllyyy like that predator/prey type of dynamic… it’s genuinely so fun and i think the whole hybrid thing just helped elevate things even more

soobins character is just so !!! like. he’s so sweet and clingy and caring but he also just. can’t resist temptation… so easily swayed… i feel like he’s always had a bit of a bad possessiveness and pride,, it was bound to end in a disaster 😞

YOU GET IT. the whole scene with beomgyu being alllll of the mc had me running laps!! i really wish i could project the image i have in my head bc. he’s just so feral and insane and i don’t think words can truly capture the moment properly </3

making soobin finally give in was just so satisfying. i was so hyped up to write it so i’m very happy you liked it :3 as always thank you sooo much for the lovely feedback, i’m so sorry it took me this long to get to you 💔 just know that i always get excited when i see ur little reblogs or asks teehee

#rambles #koqabear asks #[♡]— feedback !#fic: lamb to the slaughter

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ravenmoodle · 1 year

Text

-Click-

“Sorry Pip! We where doing another Wool lab and-”

“No time for sorry, Hop!” Pip was quick to cut him off. A quiet laugh came from hop’s end before Pip continued. “You know how Paldea finally expanded their international ferry system?”

“Mhm” Hop gave a quick nod.

“They invited champions from every other region to come talk at their fancy school.” Pip chuckled, dusting his jacket off. “That includes yours truly!”

“Oh!” Hop perked up, shifting to sit in the chair in his study, “You’re going right? How long willy you be gone?”

Pip puffed his cheeks up, shifting an arm to rub his neck. “Oh, about that.. I was thiiiinking.. About staying after the seminars and stuff.. for a, uh, a while.”

Hop was quite a moment before furrowing his brow, “but-”

“Hear me out!!” Pip quickly lifted a hand defensively, “I’ve already asked Leon to take over again as reigning champion while I'm gone, AND- get this. The school has their own pokedex archive, and as a special guest I get access to the primary one, I can totally send you stuff that will help with your research.”

Hop sighed and leaned on his arm, pouting like a child who didn’t get their way. “Awe man.. But I’m gonna miss you…” he huffed, before looking back at the screen. “Did you tell your family?”

“My Mom knows.. But uhh….”

“You didn’t tell your Brother!” Hop practically yelled, before sighing again, furrowing his brow. “Pip!! You’ve gotta stop avoiding him, especially if you’re leaving for a long time!”

Pip puffed his cheeks out, looking to the side with a nervous squint- away from Hop’s disapproving expression over the holo caster. “I was gonna have Mom tell him when I was on the boat..?”

Hop looked rather unamused. “You’re so worried you’re a bad brother, you’re just making it worse.”

Pip whined and flopped back against his Gengar. The pokemon was startled before going back to sleep rather quickly. “But- augh you don’t get it..” he sighed.

“I mean.. I kinda do. You’re worried you put too much pressure on him being the champion?” Hop sighed softly, fidgeting with his braids. “Like Leon and me..?”

“He dropped out of the gym challenge..” Pip stared at some trees, shifting in the breeze, before quickly leaning up again. shaking his head he continued, “Then he said he was thinking about going to the Kalos region! Why the KALOS region?!” Pip shook his head before resting his hand over his mouth in thought.. “I never spend time with him anymore.. It’s probably easier if we just- go our separate ways?”

Hop shook his head again and sighed, “avoiding your problems arn’t going to fix them, trust me… you should tell him yourself.” Hop gave a reassuring smile and a thumbs up.

Pip was quite a moment before giving a thumbs up back then quickly pivoted the conversation to ask about Hop’s wool labs, and how they’ve been going. His study is about using pokemon made materials to create clothes and buildings with resistance to natural disasters. Pip was quick to repeat ‘wow you really know your type match ups!’ to him in a mocking tone, but was more than happy to capture any pokemon Hop would need for his research project.

When It came time to head to the Ferry for Paldea Leon, Hop, Marnie, and Bede all showed up to give their little farewells. Leon was fighting back tears, while Marnie promised she would steal Pip’s title of reigning champion while he was gone. Bede was quick to scoff, of course.. But he had shown up to say goodbyes and Pip was more than happy to force the reluctant gym leader into a hug with the rest of them.

Everything was going smoothly. Pip stepped onto the Ferry, and once he was comfortable on the main deck.. pulled up his Holo Caster. He flicked through his contact before clicking on Locke.. It rang.

-Click-

“Oh hey Locke! It’s Pip, I was wondering.. Mom hasn’t called you yet right?”

The line was quiet before Pip’s brother answered. “No..?”

“Oh, good.. I just wanted to tell you, uhh.. I'm going on vacation!”

“Oh… me too” Locke gave a quiet inquisitive hum.

Pip sighed, biting his lip. “Still going to Kalos then..?”

“No.”

Pip was quiet for a moment, slowly walking across the deck of the ferry. “Then where are you-” He froze and nearly screamed as someone touched his shoulder.

Pip turned quickly and found Locke standing right beside him, giving a small tired wave..

"Oh...."

#Pokemon #My Art #Trainer OC #Fanfiction #maybe idk if just OC stuff counts as fanficiton??#Hop #Writing #Pip #Locke #Pokemon SwSh #PokemonSV #ugh this is so lame. pokemon oc fanfiction on main..

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villainousshakespeare · 2 years

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Therapy Fit for a God Chapter 10

Loki/OFC Rated M (may go up to E in future chapters) Trigger Warnings: Angst, talk of suicide, therapy, unhealthy family dynamics, mention of torture and mind control, touch starved

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9

Loki’s plans to conquer and rule Midgard have come to a disastrous end. After being captured by the Avengers, he is being held on Earth. Odin has refused to interfere, and the outlook for the God of Mischief appear bleak. His only hope may lie in one mortal woman, a Psychiatric expert brought in to interrogate him.

Dr. Caroline Thorpe is intrigued by Loki and thinks that more lies beneath his actions than is commonly known. Can she find out the truth before he is shipped off to die for crimes against the Earth? And can Loki bring himself to care?

@yespolkadotkitty @just-the-hiddles @hopelessromanticspoonie @wine-and-whines @arch-venus25 @caffiend-queen @devilish–doll @enchantedbyhiddles @hiddlesholic @i-do-not-fangirl-i-fanwoman @kellatron55 @ladyoftheteaandblood @latent-thoughts @yespolkadotkitty@maryxglz @myoxisbroken @nuggsmum @nildespirandum @pedeka @redfoxwritesstuff @sinfully-lustful-darling @vodka-and-some-sass @wrathkitty @kingtwhiddleston @wolfsmom1 @poetic-fiasco @shiningloki @dangertoozmanykids101 @bookworm-christina @amwolowicz @delightfulheartdream @frostbitten-written @what-a-flammable-heart @tom-hlover @nonsensicalobsessions @myraiswack @loki-yoursaviourishere @ghostypau @ms-cellanies @colorfulfreakstudentpizza @mareebird @colorfulfreakstudentpizza @szycha22 @chokemedaddyloki @queenofallhobos @just-the-hiddles-reads @alwida10

It was early afternoon before Caroline was ready to leave the cabin. She doubted whether or not she would be able to convince Loki to take her on regular trips to the village, so she wanted to be sure that she found everything she needed today. Or, she modified with a sigh, as close as she could come to what she needed. She had to admit that what had started out as a truly ambitious project was quickly becoming a hail Mary play. The list of stores Loki had provided would hardly rival New York City for variety, and even in that metropolis she was sure to have to improvise some of what she sought.

She took some time making her game plan. Caroline liked plans. Her personal life might be a disaster, her apartment (when she had been allowed to live there) was utter chaos, but when she approached a project, she liked to have a well thought out strategy. That way, when something went wrong, she was prepared with alternate options.

So, it was list in hand that she strode into the living room in to find Loki. She had dressed practically in a chunky pink sweater and fleece lined black pants that she found in one of the bags he had brought back for her. He seemed to have decided that colors in the pink/purple/dark blue category suited her best, as most of the items purchased were in those colors. A long, deep blue parka had also been provided, and she carried it over one arm.

"Loki?" she called as looked around and found the room empty.

"One moment," came a reply from the kitchen, "just packing away some cocoa for the walk. I have found that the beverage helps to warm the insides."

"And is delicious as well!" she added, happy at the idea.

"I am rather fond of it," he agreed, walking out of the kitchen.

Caroline stared at him in disbelief. The voice coming out of him was the same low, sinful caress of tones that made her toes curl in the most awkward way, but it was not Loki who spoke with it. Gone was the straight, dark hair and pale skin that she was used to. In their place, his head was topped with a riot of springy curls colored a dark golden shade over sun bronzed skin lightly dusted with freckles. His eyes, a gray blue now just a few shades away from the green that she was used to, sparkled with mischief as he looked at her gaping.

"Something wrong, darling?" he asked innocently.

"You look different," she blurted out, then wanted to smack herself on the forehead for her stupidity.

"Well?" he prompted, turning about. "Do you like it?"

Caroline stared at him some more, mulling over the question. There was a definite boyish appeal to the look. The same mischief sparkled in his eyes, but the less severe coloring made it come off as playful more than devious. He would get away with more with this face, she decided. Ironically, it was more deceitful than the guarded look she had grown accustomed to.

"You look sweeter," she told him. "More approachable."

"I see," for some reason he sounded slightly disappointed.

"I much prefer the evil Christmas tree look" she continued with a grin.

"Evil Christmas tree?" Loki's voice rose noticeably as he repeated her phrase.

"Dark, mysterious, spikey, but very luxurious. And I just want to hang little things off of it. It suits you. This is too ordinary. Probably better for maintaining a low profile though than your real coloring?"

"Considering my real coloring is blue with red eyes, I would have to say yes."

His voice had reverted to that self-lacerating tone that it always took on when discussing his origins, and Caroline let out a sigh. She could only imagine what he looked like in his Jotun shape, but really by this point unless he was covered in venom and spikes it could not be as bad as he was making it.

"How often have you seen your real form?" she asked. "That you remember, I mean."

"Not often," he said carefully. The look on his face was warry and answered her slowly. "I saw my arm turn blue when the Frost Giant touched me on the Jutonhiem. Then, when I held the casket both in the vault and to use its powers I could feel the change in my body and see the color of my hands."

"Is that it?"

"During my... time with Thanos and The Other. They did things to me. Torture. Some of the time, there was a mirror there so that I could watch as they tortured me. I was in and out of consciousness for much of it, but I do remember that at one point I came to only to find my natural form had taken over. I was hideous. Blue skin covered in markings, horned like a beast, eyes a cruel, glowing red. Instead of teeth, I had fangs. Claws in place of fingernails."

The loathing in his voice tore at Carolines heart, and she reached out and placed her hand against his newly freckled cheek. His eyes darted to hers and away again, as if afraid to see fear or disgust in her glance matching his own.

"So in other words," she said softly, "you saw small sections of your perfectly formed body change color on a few brief occasions. Other than that, the only idea of what you look like comes from visions shown to you by enemies bent on torturing you to a breaking point so that they could turn you against others. Is that about right?"

He looked up quickly at her, a flash of hope shining in his eyes before fading again to dispair.

"I have seen other Jotuns, Caroline," he reminded her. "I killed my own father after lengthy discussions with him. I know what they look like."

"But you do not know what you look like as one," she pressed. "Tell me, how does the glamor that makes you look Asgardian work? Is it your doing, or Odins?"

"Why does it matter?"

"Well, someone decided to make you look this way. If it was Odin who changed your appearance, why would he make you as you are?"

"So unappealing you mean?" he laughed bitterly.

"I'm not say I find you unappealing," she rolled her eyes.

"You find me appealing then?"

"Stop that!" she snapped. "Every time things get uncomfortable for you, you attempt to distract me with flirtation. Based on this alone you know that I find you attractive. I know that you are only flirting to drive me away from a touchy subject, and it is not going to work. Now, we have discussed the fact that Odin prized size and strength such as Thor possessed. Following that, if his plan was to disguise you and claim you as his son, it stands to reason that he would form you into something more in that mold. Why make you dark haired and slender? Why not a big, blond mountain like your brother?"

"So, you think I somehow controlled the shift?" he sounded intrigued now.

"Maybe. Creatures of all kinds adapt in order to survive. Maybe you sensed that Odin would not accept you as you were and morphed into something he could pass off as his own."

"If that is the case, I could have done a much better job of it, as you so kindly pointed out."

"Maybe you chose a shape and coloring to suit your personality," she grasped about, trying to follow a logic she could almost see. "Or perhaps your true form is closer to how you look normally than you even realize. Your father - that is Odin - claimed that Laufey left you because you small, correct?"

"He did."

"Why would that be?"

"I have no idea," he was closed off again, guarded, but Caroline could not let it go.

"The magic you possess, is it a Jotun trait?" she asked suddenly.

"No... there is some magic on Jotunhiem, but it is different. More about controlling the ice and snow, as one might expect."

"Where does it come from then? Yours, I mean. You learned it from Frigga, so it is Asgardian?"

"She is Valar, actually," he corrected her, eyes thoughtful now. "Close to Asgardian, but not quite the same."

"So, you are able to do magic performed by the Valar and Asgardians. Loki, is it possible your mother - your birth mother, I mean - was of one of those races?"

"I have never considered that," he replied cautiously. "Intermating between the species is rare, but not impossible."

"It would explain so much," Caroline said, excitedly. "Why you were small for a Giant, your affinity for magic, the transformation you made from your Jotun to your Asgardian form."

"There is something in what you say."

"If that is the case, then is this form - or at least the one you usually wear - any less you than the Jotun one? And come to that, need they be so different? Perhaps both the Loki you show to the world and the Loki your former captors showed to you are both exaggerations of the truth. Perhaps the real you lies somewhere in the middle."

She stopped suddenly nervous she had gone too far. The train of logic had excited her, but she worried that he would find it presumptuous on her part to hypothesize over something so personal to him. She cast a glance at his altered face to see if she could read it for a clue as to how he was taking her suggestion.

"You have given me much to think about," he said at last. "We should get going. If you insist on making this trip, we need to leave soon if we hope to have time to get your purchases."

"We will not be getting them," she reminded him. "I will be getting them while you mind your own business."

"As you say," his voice was dramatically weary, comical when paired with the face he currently wore. "Let us get this over with."

"Just one minute," she stopped him, pulling on her parka. "I saw a sled in the closet that I think will be just the thing!"

***

She was truly a baffling and infuriating woman. During the two hour walk to the village, Caroline had pestered Loki about his time spent in these parts before, dropped on more than one occasion to the ground in order to flail her arms and make some sort of shape on the ground, pointed out every random creature that passed their way, and for no reason he could fathom pelted him with snow. He was beginning to think that she was the one in need of therapy.

None of which explained why he was in such a lighthearted mood when they finally arrived, both damp and bedraggled looking, at the outskirts of the small town. He could only surmise that she was slowly dragging him into what was clearly delirium along with her.

"Alright," she demanded as they perused the quaint looking buildings, "give me some money, hand over the sled, and make yourself scarce."

"I really don't understand -"

"No, you don't, and you're not supposed to," she cut him off, a stubborn look settling onto her pretty face. "Money. Sled. Leave."

"Very well," Loki sighed, magicking off the wet snow from his clothing and hair as he produced a roll of bills from thin air.

"That's a neat trick!" Caroline remarked.

"Easily done," he played off the complement. "I can just as easily store your purchases there when you are finished. There was no need to make me drag along this old thing."

"I meant drying your clothes," she corrected him, taking the money and the sled. "I've seen you do the invisible pocket thing before. And I am not handing over my purchases for you to peak at as you squirrel them away. As for the sled, I told you I would pull it myself."

"You were too busy rolling about in the snow," he said dryly.

"You are no fun," laughed his irrepressible companion. "I don't suppose you could dry me off as well."

"I would far rather make you more wet," he purred, leaning towards her, only drop a large handful of wet snow down the back of her coat.

Caroline shrieked loudly, hopping about as she worked the snow out of her garments.

"Oh, I will get you for that," she promised him.

"Just trying to get into the spirit of things," he smirked. "And to show you that my flirting with you is not always to avoid a conversation."

"Point taken, now dry me? Please?" she batted her eyes fatuously at him.

With a laugh that felt remarkably genuine, Loki waved a hand and complied with her request. He was glad, he realized suddenly, that he had agreed to this outing with her. Glad in fact for the entire series of events that had forced him to take up refuge with this quirky, amusing mortal who teased him and challenged him but never looked on him with fear. He was tired of being feared. Oh, it could be useful at times, and it was far preferrable to being pitied or ignored, but the easy trust with which Caroline regarded him was like a balm to Loki's bruised soul.

"Excellent," she smiled up at him as he complied with his request. "Thank you, Mischief."

"It's a title, not a name," he smiled back.

"It's fitting, and I like it," she countered. "Alright, I'm off."

"And what do you expect me to do while you are on your secret mission?"

"Oh, skulk about brooding, get a drink, learn to make snow angels, seek out a good sacrifice, whatever Gods do in such situation," she replied airily. "I'll meet you in the tavern in three hours."

"Three hours!" he exclaimed.

But by that time, she was already traipsing away, small child's toy dragging behind her. He would never understand mortals, Loki sighed.

He had just been to the village the day before; he had no real need to be here now. At a loss, he wandered aimlessly for a bit, glancing in windows and nodding to the odd passerby.

He had shaded his hair a lighter color for the journey, startling Caroline when he had emerged from the cabin earlier. There was no need to go about announcing his presence. The copper curls would disguise him a bit from prying eyes. Her eyes had narrowed, taking in his appearance, and Loki had known the strangest sensation of fear that she might like this more human looking version of him better than his usual form. The relief he had felt when he discovered she did not was far greater than the realization should have merited. What did it matter what one mortal thought of him?

He did care what she thought. He cared a great deal, in fact.

She was perceptive, he told himself, and because of that of course her assessment would carry more weight. Why, it had not occurred to him until she suggested it that his birth mother might not be Jotun. Now that the idea was in his head, it made sense to him. Indeed, he wondered why he had not thought of it himself.

It was his love for Frigga, he suspected. It was far easier to imagine a different father, even if that father was Laufey. He loved Odin despite everything, but theirs was hardly a close relationship. In his youth, he had even imagined on occasion that Frigga might have deceived Odin and conceived her second son with someone other than her husband. Loki's true father, he tried to tell himself as a lonely boy, must have been a great magician and scholar who would love him desperately.

The fantasy had been nothing more than a young child's folly, but it showed that even back then Loki could picture someone else in the position of father to him. Frigga, on the other hand, was his mother and nothing and no one would ever take her place. She was his source of love and his anchor in a hard world. To consider even for a moment that someone else could take her place was betrayal of the worst sort. He had never thought of who his birth mother might be.

Caroline had. Caroline had walked through the questions in a logical, thought filled way. He didn't know if the answer she suggested would prove to be true, but it was a possibility that would explain much.

Loki had not been looking for explanations when he had brought up his true form. He had done it to distract her, much as she accused him of doing with the flirting. He had been feeling uncomfortable with her reaction to his change. He wanted her to find him more attractive as himself and was irritated that he cared so much. To punish himself for this and to throw her off balance, he had reminded her of his true, monstrous nature.

It should have pushed her away. With any other person he could think of, it would have.

And there was the crux of the issue. Loki was an expert at reading people. Asgardian, human, it made little difference. He excelled at observing others and working out exactly what their reactions would be to any given situation. It was what made him such a formidable tactician. He had needed such a strength growing up, the Norns knew. Being a smaller boy in a world of hulking warriors, it was advisable to be able to predict what was coming one's way.

Yet with Caroline, every time he thought he knew how she would react she somehow proved him wrong. She should have shrunk from him when he tried to intimidate her in the SHIELD facility. She should have slapped him and walked away when he had made his overly lascivious comments. She should definitely have been distraught when he had whisked her away magically to the other side of the Earth without a word of warning. Instead, she had shrugged her delicate shoulders and carried on with more courage than any of his father's generals.

It drove him to distraction how immune to his defense mechanisms she had proven to be. If he couldn't scare her away, what if she decided to stay? What if, in spite of all of his bad behavior towards her, Caroline remained in his orbit long enough for Loki to develop real, honest emotions towards her? If he came to rely on her and the way she made him feel?

Frantically, his mind reeled away from the thought. He was a God, a Prince, a onetime King. He needed no one, certainly not some little mortal woman whose entire life was a mere chapter in his at best. Trusting in others was a trap. They inevitably lied to you, let you down, or worse, actively sought to hurt you. Loki had learned at an early age that self-reliance was the only way to make sure that you were not betrayed. And even then, his own mind had betrayed him, giving in to the anger and vengeance Thanos had fed him through the Mind Stone.

Was he doomed then to suffer? Was that his lot in life, penance for some sin committed before he was even born? Was there something about him that demanded he be alone forever?

Caroline didn't think so. She had told him as much in their first meeting. She saw more in him than a monster, or a lacking second son. She thought he only flirted with her as a distraction. It had started that way, he could admit. She was pretty, and it was easier to proposition her for some meaningless physical contact then to actually let himself be open.

He still wanted that physical closeness, wanted it even more, but he did not want it to be meaningless. It terrified him, but when he thought of the embrace she had given him the night before, or even of the hand she had laid upon his cheek earlier that day, he craved that tenderness. She had reminded him that kindness could exist. He had almost forgotten. Loki wanted more of that kindness, that warmth from her. He wanted to show her warmth in return. He only hoped that it had not all been frozen out of him.

So this is more meandering than I anticipated, but I am really enjoying delving into what is at the root of Loki's angst. Hope you are finding it at all interesting! Love you all.

#Loki #Loki fanfic #Loki/OFC #Romance #Slow Burn #therapy #therapist ofc #mention of past torture #Loki needs a hug #on the run #eventual smut #I promise #Loki Meta #Therapist/patient relationship #jotun loki #past abuse #post avengers Loki

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