#i don’t give a shit (benevolent)

[dogwise]

*stares the eldritch horror in the eye* …………. *takes a bite of the chicken*

#I am the eldritch horror #their terrifying and benevolent god #and they don’t give a shit about me as long as the freeze dried chicken is out

[wttcsms]

balancing act ; satoru gojo.

pairing satoru gojo x f!reader   word count 3.9k   synopsis gojo bets that he can get you to fall in love in three months, and you bet that he can't go three months with staying committed to one person and not bang them. neither of you plan on losing. content contains modern no curses!au, mentions of sex and vulgar language (but no smut yet), simp gojo <3 author’s notes i plan on wrapping things up quickly this time around, so i have five parts planned for this mini series!

Satoru Gojo is used to a wide array of reactions to any of his antics: awe (the summer analyst, Miwa, always stares at him like he himself is the one who created the stock market), irritation (Nanami is rarely ever in agreement with the comments Gojo leaves on his work), lust (Gojo gives just as much he receives because he’s benevolent like that — his words, of course). 

But he’s not quite used to being laughed at. 

He’s handsome, and he knows it, a deadly combination for any man because Shoko claims that all men are born with an astonishing amount of audacity and it only ever grows as they get older. Satoru brings up the fact that Shoko technically cheated her way through med school, and that any doctor worth her degree wouldn’t get onto patients while lighting up a cigarette of all things, but Shoko is equally stubborn and audacious as any man, and it just makes her a worthy opponent to get into arguments with. 

Being attractive and arrogant isn’t enough to keep him from suffering mild humiliation from time to time, though. The reason why Satoru doesn’t get embarrassed is because the world is unfair, so he happens to be born rich and smart enough and talented enough to just keep on getting richer. Even he is entirely aware of his privilege, but he’s got the type of personality that would be endearing even if he wasn’t hot, so everyone loves him. 

And you don’t hate him, he knows that. He also knows that you don’t love him, which is fine, because it’s not your love, or awe, or irritation, or lust (okay, maybe some lust would be nice) that Satoru wants from you. He just wants you for you, your honesty and whatever scraps of yourself that you toss to him. 

Today’s scraps are your laughter, which rings through the whole entire office, singing above the noisy clacks of keys being smashed by the analysts and the whirring of the printer shooting out hundreds of pages a minute. He feels a warmth spread from his stomach to his chest and maybe it even rises up to his neck, he’s not so sure. He should feel slightly embarrassed, he thinks, to have said something seriously only for you to find comedy in it, but he doesn’t. He just feels pleased with himself for making you laugh, like he’s done something great.

“You are so full of shit, Gojo.” You’re still smiling, even though you’re not bothering to look at him anymore. Your attention is now focused on the report one of the analysts has turned into you, and from the lack of comments you’re leaving, he assumes it’s Megumi’s work. 

“I was being serious, y’know.” Satoru’s more than tall enough to see over the cubicles, especially when he’s standing up, and he leans over it, his head and upper body leaning into your personal desk space. The cubicles don’t do jack shit for privacy, anyway, so he doesn’t feel bad when you complain that he’s invading your privacy. If it was privacy that you craved, you wouldn’t have three monitors raised, each of them displaying a jumble of numbers and words that Satoru doesn’t care about. 

“So was I.” You tell him.

Just thirty minutes ago, you walked into the office with a quad shot espresso, unceremoniously plopped your Longchamp tote onto the floor, and dramatically sighed to get your desk neighbor’s attention. Utahime is always a good sport when it comes to your antics but doesn’t bother extending the same courtesy to Satoru, which he considers to be very unfair considering that he’s technically everyone’s boss. It is his name that’s displayed on the side of the building, and his private equity firm that he’s built up alongside Suguru. 

“What happened this time?” Utahime asks you, like the good sport she is. Satoru, at that time, was pretending not to eavesdrop even though he is, because he’s a nosy bastard. 

“I hate men.” You say, leaning back in your chair. “He left me for someone nice.”

The way you say it lets him — and Utahime, who is actually the person you’re talking to — know that that nice was a direct quote from your ex.

Utahime furrows her brows, looking confused. “But you are nice.” 

Debatable, is what Satoru wants to say, but he’s remaining silent so he can get the full story out of you first.

“No. I’m a workaholic with no personality outside of my fancy finance job.” 

Ouch. 

Satoru doesn’t see an issue with you, though. So what, you’re hardworking and focused? He thinks it’s kinda hot to see someone with so much ambition and discipline. He wouldn’t have hired you if you were anything less. 

“He’s just insecure.” Utahime says, soft voice trying to soothe you, even though Satoru hears the familiar sound of your manicure typing in your login details to your computer. He knows it’s silly to think he can tell the difference between your typing and anyone else’s, and he doesn’t want to think too hard about what that could possibly mean when it comes to defining his feelings for you.

“You said the same thing about my last three exes, and they all said similar things about me.” Satoru can’t see either of you from this angle, but he’s certain that you’re opening up your emails right about now. The conversation is coming to a close, and he needs to start focusing on his own tasks, but then you say something interesting, practically baiting him to come out of his office.

“I’ve decided that from this point forward, I am swearing off men.” 

Utahime laughs. “You can’t just swear off all men because of a few bad ones.”

“Not forever.” You clarify. “Just for the time being. All the men I’ve dealt with  in Tokyo suck.”

On paper, all your exes are fantastic catches. There’s the surgeon (who found you to be too independent), the professor (who thought you were too busy to give him the attention he needed), the hedge fund associate (who thought that he liked smart girls, but apparently, not ones smarter than him), and your newest ex, the investment banker. The irony isn’t lost on anyone — an investment banker criticizing someone for being a workaholic obsessed with the prestige of their finance career? If he was going to scramble for an excuse to want to see other people, he should have chosen some other cliche line instead of using the same one someone else must have said to him. 

“What’s this about men in Tokyo?” Satoru strolls up to the divider between you and Utahime, hands in his pockets, pretending that he hasn’t been listening to the entirety of your conversation from the very beginning.

“That all of them suck.” You say, with that unwavering confidence he likes. 

“I’m a man in Tokyo.” He’s grinning.

“Yeah. I stand by what I said.” You’re not even being courteous enough to look at him, still focused on whatever email is on your screen.

His grin only grows wider.

“Maybe all the men you’ve been with are subpar, but I bet I could change your mind.” 

“Is this even appropriate for work?” Utahime interjects. 

“If it’ll make my dear employee Utahime happy, I can grab someone from HR to supervise this conversation.” Satoru says.

“It’s a trap.” You tell her, lips curling up in a smile that lets him know you’re going to say something very mean and probably true about him. “He’s already broken protocol with everyone who works there.” 

“You’re very disrespectful to your boss. Anyone else would have fired you on the spot.” Satoru only pretends to be wounded by your comments, but everyone knows that he’s as good at taking it as he is at dishing it out. Sometimes, it’s easy to forget that Satoru owns this firm because he’s not very good at professionalism himself. 

Utahime mutters something under her breath, deciding not to engage further in whatever it is the two of you are doing.

“So, whaddya say? Wanna test out your ‘all men in Tokyo suck’ theory with me?” He knows this teasing won’t go anywhere, even if he wants it to. You’re good at your job, and you’re good at being a professional. Somehow, he doesn’t think you would consider fucking your boss as something very professional. 

“I would, but I have standards.” 

Satoru wants to make a snide comment about all the guys who have dumped you, but he can’t, because it’s already been established that they’re not just decent by regular standards, but stellar. Rich, successful, well educated men who could probably make you cum. 

Well, Satoru is richer, more successful, and more educated than all of them combined, he thinks. And he would gladly make you cum like crazy, if you let him. 

“C’mon, what’s wrong with me?” 

“Promise I won’t get fired if I’m being honest?” You turn your desk chair, looking up at him with mock doe eyes, and the sight shouldn’t be both endearing and hot to him, but it is. 

“Give me your worst.” He tells you, both of you smiling at the challenge. 

“I don’t give anything of myself to a man who can’t even bother to commit to anyone.” 

Of course, you have a point. Satoru’s not known for dating anyone. He takes women out on extravagant dates, yes, but he doesn’t actually practice the act of dating. 

He doesn’t see a point to it. Most people, save for his friends (a bit weird to consider some of his closest companions are actually his employees), see beyond his shiny veneer, and dating would just complicate things. Dating means someone seeing the duller, not-so-great parts of himself.  

“I could commit if it’s you.” 

The way he says it, without that familiar teasing lilt of his, makes you burst out laughing. He really is trying to commit… to the bit, that is. For a moment, Satoru almost tricks you into thinking he’s serious. 

“You are so full of shit, Gojo.”

You’re focused on your work, not the momentary hurt look that disappears from his face as quickly as it came. 

“Don’t be such a pessimist.” He tells you. “I bet I could make you believe in love again.” 

“Who said I didn’t believe in love?” You frown at that. “I just don’t believe that the men in this city are capable of it.” 

“Bonus season is upon us.” Satoru says, suddenly having a bright idea. He’s so rich that his wealth seems to be an extension of himself, and like all other parts of his body and mind, he uses it to his advantage. 

“Ugh, don’t tell me this conversation is going to affect my bonus check. I really will go to HR, then.” 

“I’ll double your bonus pay if you let me court you for three months.”

“Court me?” You’re laughing at him again. He eats it up, savors it, lets it settle on his tongue and warm his insides. 

“If you’re so convinced I’d be horrible and only prove you right, wouldn’t you jump at the chance to make some easy money?” 

He’s trying to bait you into accepting; you know it. You also know that nothing from Gojo comes easy. He makes it entirely too convenient to forget that he’s razor sharp and cutthroat, the things he needs to be in order to remain on top of the finance scene, but he’s always joking, always teasing, that it feels like he almost doesn’t like being taken seriously. 

“Like I said, I don’t deal with men with commitment issues.”

There was a brief moment in time where you considered going out with Gojo. The two of you have always been rotating in the same social circles, way back to your high school and university days. You don’t shame him for having casual sex because Gojo is genuinely sweet when he wants to be, and you know that everyone he’s ever fucked has done so more than willingly, probably too eagerly. They all get broken up over the fact that Gojo never wants to actually enter into a relationship with them, and it’s probably because they chose not to take him seriously. He has a bad habit of spitting out the truth but presenting it like some sort of joke. A guy shouldn’t take you out to a nice dinner and make you cum twice before even thinking about himself if he doesn’t want a girl to fall in love with him. 

For as long as you’ve known Gojo, he’s never dated once. Never a high school sweetheart or a tumultuous college relationship bound for disappointment and a messy breakup. Even now, he doesn’t follow the example of the other men in positions of power like him, who pursue doe-eyed college girls to shower with affection and trap into manipulative relationships. 

He’s cute and funny and would treat you right, but you can’t deal with the embarrassment of having someone only for one night or two, only to have them do the same thing they did with you, just with someone else. It would feel like a mockery. Your pride doesn’t give you room to give in to Gojo’s charm.

“Is that really your only stipulation?” He shrugs, like this is something insignificant, and you’re being so silly. “I’ll stay committed to you for the entire duration of the bet.” 

You narrow your eyes. “You need to keep your dick wet at all times. I’m pretty sure you die if you don’t get off at least once a day.” 

Utahime coughs, but it sounds too much like a laugh. 

“True, but I bet you’d be great at keeping me alive.” 

Oh, he is definitely getting sent to HR.

“So you want me to believe in love, and you’re convinced you can do this by the time bonus season rolls around, which is only three months.” You’re entering business mode, rearranging the facts and coming up with strategies in your head. Satoru never thought that someone thinking could be so attractive, but here he is, and here you are. 

“I’ll agree to participate, but only if you can handle what I consider to be proper courting.”

“What does that consist of?” He’s got you, hook, line, and sinker. There’s nothing Satoru Gojo cannot accomplish. He’s built up his own wildly successful private equity firm, doubling his family’s fortune. He graduated top of his class. He gives every girl he’s ever been with consecutive, mind blowing orgasms using just his tongue and two fingers. There’s nothing you could possibly say that his natural talents and money can’t handle. 

“No sex. No kissing. No touching.” You lean back in your chair, looking far too smug. 

“Done.” 

He doesn’t even have to think about agreeing, but you falter, just for a second. 

“Really?”

“Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“It’s not just you saying no to sex with me, but sex in general.” You pause, trying to spot when the realization of the severity of his situation is. When he doesn’t give you a reaction, just still continuing to tilt his head in mild amusement, you continue. “You can’t flirt or take anyone else on a date, and you definitely can’t fuck them, either.” 

“Yes, I’m aware.” 

“You’re going to regret this.” You huff, certain that Gojo is dumber than you thought. He might think this is all fun and games now, but when he’s pent up and unable to get off, you’re certain you’re going to receive a text from him forfeiting the bet altogether. It shouldn’t bother you that he acts like your addition to the bet is easy, because his failure means your pockets get fatter, but it’s no fun playing games when someone isn’t ready to fully play to win.

“Hmm. We’ll see.” He says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Make sure to finish going over all the analysts’ slide decks because I’m taking you out tomorrow night.” 

The timer for the bet starts tomorrow, then.

Satoru thinks it’s cute that you thought you had him there, dangling sex like he’s some barbarian who can’t survive without it. Sure, fucking is fun, and sure, you’re definitely denying yourself of some of the greatest experiences you could have had, but he uses his brain more than his dick. 

If any girl is worth going celibate for, it’d be you.

Sitting in his office, he can’t concentrate on his work. He doesn’t know why it bothers him so much that you think not having access to your body would be enough to turn him away. Either you really do think he’s a sex addict, or the men you’ve been with aren’t as great as they appear to be. It’s probably a mixture of both, but this conclusion doesn’t make him any happier. 

Neither does having Suguru saunter into his office, without knocking. Just walks in, like he owns the place. And with his fifty-percent ownership of the firm, and his last name right next to Gojo’s on the building, he kind of does.

“HR is going to have a field day with you,” his best friend says in exchange for a greeting. Satoru would have preferred a hello.

“HR is in charge of the payroll that I fund,” is Satoru’s retort. 

“Only you would force an employee into a childish bet instead of asking her out like a normal person.”

“Didn’t force her.” Satoru conveniently doesn’t acknowledge the latter half of his statement.

“Didn’t really give her much choice, either.” Suguru smiles. “Shit, even I’d deal with your ass for two hundred grand more.” 

“Well, unfortunately for you, I’m committed to one woman only.” 

“God help her.” And then, after taking a second to think, Suguru continues. “Actually, if He really cared, He wouldn’t have kept leading her to the same places as you.” 

“Maybe I’m her blessing.” 

No one in the office knows why Suguru is laughing so hard behind Gojo’s closed door.

“There’s no way this is legal,” Utahime tells you, taking a sip out of her iced matcha latte before continuing on her half-lecture/half-rant. “Gojo needs to be behind bars.”

A bit dramatic, all things considered. It’s not like Gojo’s comments even make the list for sleazy things male coworkers have said to you before, and you’re not entirely innocent, either. You like to poke and prod at him because it’s fun, and you know that Gojo can take it. 

Utahime does not respect Gojo, but she does like him enough to tolerate him. They’re like brother and sister, so much so that one time, someone made an offhand comment about how they should just fuck to get rid of their antagonism towards each other, and they both threw up because they were so disgusted. 

“It is a bit inappropriate,” Nanami comments, and you know he’s right because when has Nanami ever been wrong?

Granted, Nanami must have been wrong sometime in his life. He started out with a similar background as everyone else working in the firm. He landed an internship and then a return offer in investment banking, despised it, pursued academia, and was halfway done with a PhD program in economics before he decided to come back and work for Gojo and Geto. He doesn’t tell anyone why he came back, and no one is close enough with him to ask and expect an honest answer.

Nanami having lunch with you is a treat because he prefers avoiding everyone in the office, so it almost feels like you’ve won a coveted prize, one to show off whenever you get back to the office. He likes to keep to himself, but even he’s only human. The interest in your little bet with Gojo is harbored by him, too, same as everyone else who’s heard about it. 

You should feel embarrassed about having your life so publicly known, but finance is a small, incestual pool. Everyone working within it knows each other, has fucked each other, and will continue to exclusively hate and love only each other. It’s a bit cultish, if you think about it, so you try not to focus on the social aspects of the job. 

“It’s not like I’m on his team or anything. I technically only handle deals managed by Geto.” You say this in defense of yourself, as if it changes the morality and ethics of the whole bet. It doesn’t, but the attempt doesn’t go unnoticed. 

“Geto and Gojo are essentially two halves of the same whole.” Utahime replies. “Geto just has more public decency training.” 

“You’re telling me that you can see Geto betting someone that he can make her fall in love with him in three months?” 

“No. He’s not as audacious. I like Geto, he’s very cautious.” Nanami looks thoughtful for a second. “He would bet six months, just to be safe.” 

Satoru knows that he’s screwed the moment you’re being introduced as the newest student in his class. School started two weeks ago, so everything’s already been settled. Everything important, that is, so the hottest girl in class has been established, along with who’s going to be relentlessly bullied, and who everyone is going to cheat off of. He has different routes mapped out for getting to class, depending on his mood and who he’s trying to avoid, along with a new secret hiding spot that he’s not going to share with anyone, except for Suguru, and maybe Shoko. 

He likes that he’s already gotten all this shit dealt with so he can spend the rest of the year relaxing, but he’s watching you as you’re standing in front of the class, talking to the teacher and then introducing yourself.

The first thing he notices is that the ugly school uniforms are decidedly not ugly. He comes to this startling conclusion when the boxy, starchy white button-up shirt doesn’t look like cardboard on you, and that the gray wool of your skirt doesn’t wash you out. 

The next thing he notices is that you speak differently than any of the other teenage girls he’s dealt with, save for Utahime and Shoko. Shoko has no issue with speaking her mind, and if Satoru presses enough buttons with enough pressure, he can get Utahime to curse like a sailor. He spaces his aggressions out accordingly, so that way when she does blow up in his face, she does it in the presence of an adult. You introduce yourself confidently; there is nothing shy or meek about you, even though standing in front of a bunch of disinterested teens — your strange new peers for the rest of your high school years — should be anxiety inducing. 

Then, you take the empty seat next to him like it belongs to you, and Satoru is starting to think that maybe it does, that maybe it always has. 

(Well, Suguru is sick today, that’s why the seat was available.)

Anyway, all of his carefully laid out plans are now tossed out the window. He needs to figure out what route you take to get around, and what the rest of your class schedule looks like, and maybe it’s just him, but the former hottest girl in school has now been demoted to second-best. 

He feels a shift in the air, like the universe is trying to signal major change in his life, and rather than run away from it, Satoru settles into his seat, noticing how you’re not even giving him the time of day. 

There’s an unfamiliar feeling rising inside of him; something that says you’re going to constantly knock him off-balance and—

—he kinda likes it.

#satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #fluff #one shot #jjk x reader #smut #fic series: balancing act

[islandofsages]

Hello, can i ask for Octavinelle dorm with Octavinelle! M! reader?

He's a really chill and silly guy but somehow crazy good with money and business. Like, if you give him 10 bucks and tell him to do whatever he wants with it and come back with 100 bucks, he'll somehow come back with 10000 bucks and become the CEO of some company. And, yeah, he's got these goofy ideas that somehow just work.

characters: the octavinelle boys x male octavinelle reader

tags: relationship not specified, crack (?), imagines format

warnings: a bit of swearing (just one word really)

author's notes: i love yall yall's readers are so goofy they're so fun to write

Azul Ashengrotto

He appreciates how you’re one of the more level-headed guys around, though if only you could lay off the joking and teasing

But as long as you don’t cause him trouble he doesn’t mind you as much - and you end up proving to him that you are the very opposite

One day, he asks you to run him a errand (with fair compensation, of course; he is the soul of benevolence after all)

It’s quite simple - fetch him a sum of money Sam owes the Mostro Lounge (you don’t question how and why a fully-grown adult owes a seventeen year old money)

And so you go over to Sam’s. You won’t lie, you’re a little curious of what this debt entails. You’ll see if you can squeeze some details out of Sam

You meet up with Sam, all smiles as per usual. Though when you mention that you’re there because of the debt, he takes you into the shop’s backroom instead

He gives you an envelope, stuffed with the goods no doubt. He seems insistent on not letting on anything - but then you hit him with a classic move

“Now, now, we’re not in a rush, are we? I don’t even work for the Mostro Lounge. Least you can do is entertain a guy. I’ll keep my lips sealed.”

Sweet-talk and half-truths are a way to a salesman's heart after all. It’s true that you don’t work for Azul but that’s only because you have other businesses going on right now

Sam gives in with a sigh. It seems as if he’s been carrying such a secret for a while and needs an outlet. And you are definitely here for it

You come back to Octavinelle, skipping merrily (if not physically, at least you were on cloud nine mentally) and carrying more than just an envelope. Azul, on the other hand, is borderline seething for whatever reason. Little does he know

The moment you reach his office, you toss him the envelope and is about to leave - until he sees not one but the two enormous bags you carried in your hands that are definitely filled with money

Distraught, he questions you on how the hell you manage to score that much money. You shrug while walking towards the exit. It's just a matter of persuasion and creative thinking.

Business is so easy, you thought.

Jade Leech

Similar to Azul, it’s nice to have someone who has their shit together - plus, he finds it amusing when you mess with Azul. It reminds him of Floyd’s antics

Once in a while, you’re a pleasant guy to just sit down and have small talk with, though at times he wishes you would let on about yourself more

For his information, you only let slip when you want to; and he finds that out himself one fateful day

He jokes that if there’s anyone who could overpower Azul and steal his authority over the Mostro Lounge, it’d be you. You chuckle knowingly at this

Feeling a little playful, you propose to him a bet - if you manage to do so by next week, he owes you ten thaumarks. But if you don’t, you owe him ten thaumarks

He lets out a carefree laugh, amused. He reserves his assumptions and agrees to play along with you for the next few days

He doesn’t see you in a while. Not intentionally - he genuinely can’t find you anywhere, though he only attributes it to the fact that there’s only so much time he can use to look for you

After a whole week has passed, he seats himself where the bet initially took place and waits patiently for you to show up. True to your promise, you come waltzing up to him casually, your hands in your pockets and a friendly smile on your face

You slide next to him as he asks you how’ve you been and the two of you update each other on your wellbeing. Then he starts chuckling, a hand over his mouth in true Jade fashion. You smirk in response, knowing too well what that chuckle is for

And in true you fashion, you pull out ten thaumarks and extend them to him

…wait a minute. That’s ten thousand thaumarks.

You savor the sight of a Jade with his mouth agape. You snicker at his bewilderment as he tries to process what’s happening in front of him

“It’s true that I didn’t usurp Azul’s power or anything - but that’s only because I’m not interested in the Mostro Lounge. I’d rather have it as a rival than my property.”

After he gets over his initial shock, he offers you a sinister, toothy grin. You respond with a finger to your lips. He nods understandingly and takes the money from you with no protest.

Floyd Leech

You’re more low-key compared to him but he still appreciates having a fellow pain-in-Azul’s-ass

Of course, it depends on his mood still, but his tolerance of you is pretty consistent despite everything. You take it as a compliment

On one of his good-mood days, he’s chatting it up with you and laying out potential ways to mess with Azul more. You bring your own idea to the table

“How about this? I get a common word used by literally everyone trademarked and anyone who dares utter it has to pay me. And that includes Azul himself.”

He guffaws at your ridiculous idea and voices his opinion. You laugh yourself and don’t deny it. It is pretty far-fetched… but you have your ways

Plus, he has to admit that would piss off Azul super bad it’d be worth the trouble

The two of you hang out from time to time as usual when behind it all, you’re setting up Azul’s eventual downfall

Or not. You don’t actually care about taking Azul down but it would be pretty funny. Also you’ll get to impress Floyd in some shape or form which you care more about frankly

Once the deed is done, it’s announced everywhere you could think of - you did it under a fake name of course. But the money you’ll be getting can’t be any more real

What did you trademark? The word “so”.

When you relay this story to Floyd, he lets out a howl of a laugh you could’ve mistaken him for a wolf - he has no idea what strings you had to pull to actually manage that but color him entertained

…until he realizes that he’d also have to pay you every time he uses that word. Then his mood goes down instantly

You shrug that realization off by giving him a pass since he let you entertain the idea in the first place.

Floyd happy again :)

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #platonic twst x reader #platonic twisted wonderland x reader #twst x male reader #twisted wonderland x male reader #azul ashengrotto #azul ashengrotto x reader #jade leech #jade leech x reader #floyd leech #floyd leech x reader #azul ashengrotto x male reader #jade leech x male reader #floyd leech x male reader #octavinelle

[rustygem]

hi do you take requests?

if you dont, feel free to ignore, but if you do..

imagine dr ratio having a wife/husband(reader), or lover whatever. they've been married for a long whike now on a really healthy relationship. reader is a opposite to ratio, a calm collected individual who doesn't lash out

but what happens when ratio became so stubborn the reader snaps and calls dr ratio by his full name? especially in front of people?

kinda want to know your perspective and jow you write this

(i love ut writing :3 its still okay to ignore though)

彡prompt: you love dr. ratio, you do. but sometimes he can irritate the shit out of you.

彡warning(s): swearing. sorta angsty, but it’s somehow fluff. probably ooc! ratio?

彡notes: dividers by cafekitsune.

Y’know, usually date nights with a loving partner are supposed to go well. And yours with Veritas did, but only until you two started having a back and forth on paying the tip.

“Veritas, please. It’s only 100 credits.” You pinched your temple. Seriously, the waitress was nice! She wasn’t too pushy, there wasn’t any attitude. One small tip wouldn’t hurt.

“What is there to tip the woman for? For doing her job right?” He crossed his legs. “Darling, you must understand that a waitress who isn’t unbearably contemptible isn’t one deserving of a tip.”

“For fucks sake…she’s gonna come over here in less than five minutes. If you don’t want to pay her, I will.” As soon as you took out your wallet, Veritas just shook his head.

You were endearing and your emotional intelligence was admirable. But for goodness sakes, you seemed just a little too insistent on spending extra credits for somebody just doing their job.

As if it was right on cue, you gave the waitress the bill, along with a 100 credit tip with a smile.

It wasn’t until you stopped the waitress from leaving to give her another 50 credits that Veritas just huffed and snatched the money out of your hands.

“Okay, that’s enough. She doesn’t need anymore money than you gave her.” He put your credits in his wallet, glaring at you. “Don’t be so careless with your credits.”

The nervous waitress looked at him, then at you. Her nerves only increased as she saw your eye twitch.

You raised your voice. “Veritas Ratio, quit being prudish and give her the credits!”

It wasn’t the yelling that made him recoil, it was the anger in your tone and voice. Frustration wasn’t new, but you were actually mad at him.

Noticing the eyes on you, your boyfriend, and the poor…poor waitress, your anger subsided.

“Uh…Please. Please give her the credits.” You spoke softly now, mumbling a softer ‘thanks’ as he handed her the money.

However, the waitress took a deep breath, and spoke up. “I can assure you 100 credits is more than enough for me. But thank you.” The waitress smiled at you and walked off with the check.

You picked at your nails, lip quivering as you thought about what you should say to your boyfriend—who was several steps ahead of you.

Noticing this, he looked at you as he continued walking. “If you feel guilt–ridden because you think you’ve hurt my feelings, then banish the thought immediately.”

You rushed next to him, looking at him with lingering feelings of doubt and regret. “Yeah well, I’m sorry for yelling at you and making a scene.”

God, what’s wrong with me? You thought to yourself.

He frowned, watching tears brim your eyelashes. “It’s not like you weren’t provoked.” He sighed before continuing.

“But, in all honesty sweetheart, I thought you were being too benevolent like always.”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you stared at your shoes.

“Though, your attempt at trying to put me in my place made me reconsider something.” He stopped, eyeing you.

“I considered you to be someone who’s too kind for their own good. That was one of the things I wanted you to work on.”

And you swear you saw him smile for a second. “But, you’re still capable of standing your ground, so perhaps I misjudged. Apologies.”

Embarrassed, you scratched your cheek. “That’s sweet of you, Ver–ow!”

He pinched your cheek with his fingertips. “Though, the next time you want to raise your voice at me, I’d prefer you do it in a more private setting.”

#dr ratio x reader #dr ratio x gn!reader #༊*·˚🎀rustygem 2024 #no why was this so ass

[vshushmshu]

moonkissed

the sun set on a peaceful day, and the moon made itself known. for some reason though, it decided to do so while you were in the bathroom, “friend.”

you pursed your lips at the tapping on the closed door, “moon, i’m literally taking a shit. give me a minute.”

“language.”

“whatever, then i’m taking a little booty-pooty, okay?”

“actually, might be worse. nevermind.”

“that’s what i thought. away with thee.”

“mean.”

you hadn’t really taken longer than two minutes after that, but you opened the door to find your robot keeling over dramatically in the hallway, as if dying from the agonizing wait he had to endure. you kicked at his leg lightly, snickering when he exaggeratedly jolted and writhed in pain, “oh, come on, dude. really?”

he didn’t move after that, dead still, with not even a claw at the air surrounding you, “how could you. too long. killed me. dead.”

a sigh, and you promptly turned around, headed for the kitchen, “tragic.”

not even five steps away, and the moon was by your side once more, “it’s late.”

you raised a brow at him, gently punching his arm from where he shuffled beside you, which earned you one back, “the sun just set, big guy. i’m pretty sure there’s still some light left, actually.”

a peek out the blinds confirmed it to be true, the sky still a mix of light pinks and purples that slowly were dissolving to the dark blues of night, and maybe you stood observing for too long. moon tugged at your shirt collar, lightly so as not to choke you, and you took the cue to step away, “never too early for sleep.”

you squinted at him, batting away his hand, to which he complied, and then made your way towards the kitchen again, “you’re just saying that cause you have an agenda. what if i wanted to hang out with you?”

he stayed silent for a moment, watching you look for some candy in the lower cabinets to snack on, “you hang out with us every day, star. not going anywhere. sleep.”

everything was in the upper cabinets, and you didn’t feel like getting a stool to give you the couple inches of height you needed to be able to reach. you turned to him, making a face while raising your arms in request, while he almost seemed to laugh in amusement, “i will sleep, just later. i wanna get some gummies now, though.”

his faceplate clicked as he rotated it to the side, hands reaching out to hover at your sides, “hm, magic word?”

you deadpanned at him, “seriously?”

“seriously.”

you pressed your hands together as if praying to some benevolent god, when really the animatronic bordered on the chaotic evil spectrum, “pretty pleaaseee? with a cherry on top??”

there was a low laugh from him, and he rested his palms on your hips, “and extra whipped cream? with the promise you will sleep at decent time, for once?”

rubbing at your forehead, you nodded along, “yeah, yeah, extra whipped cream, and i promise. can i get the gummies now?”

“of course.”

and with that, the moon lifted you into the air with no effort at all, holding you in place at his mid-torso while you wrapped your legs around him to stay secure, and rummaged through the cabinet until you found the gummies you wanted. you cracked the suckers open, and moon didn’t bother to put you down for a minute, supporting you with one arm and flicking your forehead playfully with a free hand, his faceplate slowly ticking back into place, “happy?”

you gave him a scowl as you popped a gummy into your mouth, rubbing at your forehead before flicking his in return, to which he gave you a less than impressed look that you pretended not to acknowledge with a laugh, “happy.”

“don’t understand why you love sugar so much.”

“put me down, you heathen.”

the next couple hours were spent playing video games, catching up on any work and the like, with the moon peering over your shoulder to mock you when you died or quietly redirect to the correct answer. you were torn on punching him in his flat face or giving him a fat hug, though you considered the former hurt way more, so a hug was chosen; he was confused, but let it happen, soothingly rubbing circles into your back. the pair of you were laying on the couch now, you being on your phone, almost doomscrolling, if not for the fact that moon pointed out something he found funny in the show he was watching every once in a while. the celestial animatronics were always very interested in any form of media, be it reality tv shows to puppet plays.

they must be glad to have the entertainment, a thought. you had looked up once more to catch a glimpse of moon staring at the television with rapt interest, only to find him looking right back at you silently. you raised a brow, “moon?”

he tapped his finger on one of your legs idly, that you had spread out onto him with little to no grumbling from the robot, and hummed to himself, “you promised.”

you checked the time on your phone again, groaning a little, “wh- really? it’s not even that late!”

moon narrowed his eyes, “promised.”

huffing, you shoved your cellular device into a pocket haphazardly, hauling yourself off the couch, “whatever, i regret it.”

with that, you started walking towards the bathroom, but not before yet again witnessing a contortionist trick that the robot did to flip off the couch and onto the floor beside you to follow along. you cringed at the fact that several bones would be broken if a human ever tried to even attempt that, while the moon held up it’s index and thumb in the shape of an L in your face, grin cheeky, “offended gasp.”

“apathetic scoff,” you didn’t laugh, not even a huff of air, but his smile still seemed to stretch at the edges as if placid while you opened the door, moon flicking on the dimmest of nightlights you could find at the store.

you thus began the tedious task of brushing your teeth, the animatronic placing floss and mouthwash on the sink from behind the mirror, while you squeezed out a bead of toothpaste on your brush. you gave him a grateful look, and moon simply ruffled your hair a little, smoothing it back into place when your expression fell into a scowl, chuckling. after the whole shebang was done, you presented an exaggerated smile to your animatronic roommate to show off the now cleaned teeth, which prompted a congratulatory thumbs up from said animatronic accompanied with a gentle push out the door. the door clicked behind you as you complained, trying to give him your best stink eye, “do i have to sleep? now?? it’s barely 11 o’clock!”

he didn’t have to push you anymore though, you trudged your way down the hall by your own accord, moon in tow, “yes.”

a high pitched, mocking “yEs” left you at his response, moon snickering at the stupid face you made to accompany it. you laughed at it yourself a bit, even if not at all thrilled to be laying in bed so soon.

you stared at the ceiling, not even able to count the popcorns due to the darkness. the only light source was the moon’s eyes, led’s sometimes flicking to you to check if you were still conscious, before going back to whatever they did in their computer head. it was maybe the eighth time when he decided to speak up, “can’t?”

a sigh, “what time is it?”

there was a pause, and you traced out the outline of stars you could barely see on their dumb jester pants, the bot patting your head in an attempt to soothe, “1:37.”

you groaned in annoyance, gripping the blanket tighter around you as you curled into him a bit more, arms meeting you half-way, “man.. at least i tried? ‘m sorry.”

he leaned down a little, the bottom of their faceplate bonking the top of your head, and it made you smile a little despite how your eyes burned when you closed them, “no apologizing, it’s okay.”

“okay,” you wrapped your arms around him, the latter reciprocating a light squeeze with arms that were already holding you prior, and you hummed, “need to get more melatonin.”

the animatronic traced the same star shapes into your back, “we will remind you to call. gummies do not work.”

you made a face at him, but didn’t move in the slightest, “i don’t like calling the doctor’s.. and the gummies taste good!! leave me alone!”

eyes looked at you for a minute, before hands began to push you off and untangle the animatronic out from under you, but you held on, “PFFT- wait, not literally!”

there were lilting chuckles, patting your back as hands pulled you back to rest against him, an amused moon relaxing back into his position to now rub at the skin under your eyes, “in the morning.”

you deadpanned, “evil.”

there were a couple more bonks pressed to your hair, which elicited a couple smiley grumbles from you, “the most.”

[ sunkissed ]

#i’m #moondrop x reader #fnaf dca x reader #i’m writhing on the floor #thought i’d share #moon x reader #moon x y/n

[asumofwords]

Aemond POV: Your return to the Red Keep

A/N: I saw that a few of you wanted an Aemond POV, and as I am a benevolent ruler, I thought I would give the people what they wanted. I wanted to do the the first couple of times he saw you after the years you were separated. This is all from Aemond’s point of view and from the time where you and your family all returned to the Red Keep.

This is a Dark!Aemond POV from the fic Smoke, Fire and Ash.

Enjoy !

TW: Aemond POV. Dark!Aemond. Murder, Incest, thoughts of violence, thoughts of sexual activities. 18+

Words: 4k

Character pairing: Dark!Aemond X Reader, HOTD characters. Dark!Aemond POV.

He swung his sword roughly at Ser Criston, who leant back to dodge the edge of the sharp blade, as he and Aemond moved in tandem in the training yard. Aemond was fast on his feet but knew Ser Cole to be just as quick. 

Each swing was met by a duck, or deflection by the chain of the flail Ser Cole swung at him, the loud clanging of the chain and whistle in the air as it moved towards him, guided him back. And soon Aemond found himself dancing in a circle as he waited to make the next move, to swing the blade back down onto the knight and make him yield. 

Ser Cole swung the striking head once more towards Aemond, and he dodged, before spinning to hold the tip of his blade against Ser Cole's neck, hitting the flail away. They both breathed deeply as they watched each other, and Ser Cole finally conceded. 

Applause rang out from those who had gathered to watch the two men train, and Aemond felt the prickling sensation of three sets of eyes upon his form.

Ser Cole dropped the flail to the ground heavily, “Well done, My Prince,” Ser Cole breathed, “You’ll win tourneys in no time.”

Aemond did not lower the blade, “I don’t give a shit about tourneys.” He spoke, before allowing his gaze to roam the space to where he felt eyes watching him. Lowering his sword, Aemond let his eye land on a pair of brown headed boys, and the silver hair of a girl.

Who is she?

“Nephews,” He called out, enjoying watching the two Strong boys stiffen as they were addressed, faces suddenly uncomfortable, “Have you come to train?” 

Jacaerys mouth opened and closed like a fish, as Lucerys looked up to the girl, no, woman, beside him. How she had grown. No longer the gangly limbed child, who’s hair could rarely be tamed, but now stood a woman of the court. 

Her hair was braided neatly behind her head, as she wore a tight all black gown that hugged her curves. Grown, indeed. Her cheeks were dusted a light pink. He felt his lip twitch as he watched her, small excitement bubbling inside as he remembered fond memories of their youth together.

Was she nervous?

As he caught her gaze, she blinked, looking down and then back up at him, stoney faced and chin held higher. She looked down to Lucerys, whispering to him before moving the two Strong boys away with her, back into the Keep. 

All those fond memories came crashing down, and the bitter rage in which Aemond had tried in vain to keep in order, bubbled up inside of him. There she was, the Princess who he had been so close to, his niece who he had shared so many memories with, so many secrets, once again choosing her brothers over him. 

He could remember vividly, sitting in that room, as the Maester stitched his eye shut, feeling the sharp pain of the needle as it threaded through. No milk of the poppy was given to him. He was too young, it was too dangerous. And so instead he tried to seek comfort in someone he always had.

You.

And what had you done? 

Stuck by Lucerys, checking his face for injury, and standing firmly alongside your mother, watching him as he was berated in front of all, by his father. That was when the love shared between the both of you died.

He would do well to remind himself of that.

Aemond could not believe how much she had changed. His heart beat rapidly in his chest as he watched them walk away, the Princess throwing a curious look over her shoulder to glance at him one more time. 

He supposed that he had grown too. His cheeks no longer held the plumpness of young adolescence, and his face had grown sharp and angled. Even the way he held himself was different.

He had changed, and so had she.

You were all in the Iron Throne room, listening to Vaemond Velaryon put forward a motion to be heir of Driftmark, questioning the four of you and your legitimacy, voice loudly ringing into the court.

Aemond would remember it for the rest of his days. 

You stood, back straight, head tall, hair braided tightly up, with none flowing down. A black and red gown hugging your figure with an off the shoulder look, similar to your mother as you stood beside her, mouth turned down in the corners. 

Such rage, Aemond noted.

He watched with glee as Vaemond argued with your mother, watching Jacaerys shake his head and mutter under his breath whilst his assaulter, Lucerys looked nervous. You had pushed Lucerys beside you, using your body as a shield to keep him out of Vaemond’s line of sight.

Still protecting him.

Aemond felt that bitterness curl through him as he watched. 

“Her children... are bastards!”  Vaemond yelled into the court, and yet despite it all, Aemond could not keep his eye off of you. As soon as the words left the Velaryon’s lips, he watched as your face calmed. 

It was eerie, Aemond thought. 

Your hand had moved the slightest of bits towards your side, and Aemond watched as you swayed forward, as though ready to pounce. There was no blush on your cheeks, no sneer on your lips, just a fire burning in your eyes as you watched your Velaryon uncle. 

“And she…is…a whore.” The man sneered.

“I, shall have your tongue for that.” Aemond’s father called out to the court, standing roughly as he unsheathed the blade from his side. 

Aemond would not give the old man a second glance, he knew that his father would do nothing, as he had done nothing for years. And would do nothing as he was too weak from sickness, and too faint of heart.

Movement caught Aemond’s eye, as he watched Vaemond Velaryon’s corpse fall loudly to the ground, the sound of a blade and the loud thud echoing through the chambers. 

If Aemond could laugh, he would. But it would not be proper of him. 

“He can keep his tongue.” Daemon purred, looking down at his handiwork.

Aemond flicked his sight away from the corpse and up at you. You had not jumped, nor looked away from the body on the floor. No. Instead you glared at it with rage, before suddenly your lips pulled into a small smile. 

No-one else in the court would have witnessed it, too busy looking at the body of the man slain in front of them. Your lips looked as though they were fighting to hide the sheer joy and pleasure you got from watching him be killed. A small line of blood was flecked across your cheek, but you did not notice, or if you had, you did not wipe it away.

Such a beautiful smile. 

And then suddenly your eyes were on him. And Aemond felt the air be sucked out of the room. You watched him in delight, no longer hiding your smile as you watched him. Such a smug and proud look upon your face. A threat some would say. 

The sight made his cock twitch. 

There she is.

Aemond felt awe as he watched Daemon move back, wiping his sword on his robes before he came to stand beside you. You took your gaze from your uncle, and looked up at your mothers husband, smiling proudly. 

He watched as Daemon ran a finger along your cheek to wipe the Velaryon blood away lovingly, and Aemond felt a pang of jealousy. 

Aemond noted that Vaemond was wrong when he said that they wouldn’t know what Velaryon blood looked like, because now the whole court did.

Aemond had been running late for his family feast, something that he had never done before. He prided himself in upholding his duty and being the son that Aegon should have been.

In truth, Aemond had gone straight to his chambers after the events at court, and had pulled roughly at his cock at the thought of you. He wished to touch you, to hold you, to claim you. He wanted to mark you so that everyone knew that you were his. He wanted to watch you swell with his babe.

He had never thought of you this way before and it maddened him. He found his release in his hand three times that day, picturing you on your knees before him, pleasuring him with your soft lips, or him thrusting deep into your cunt. 

You had bewitched him.

He had brushed his hair more roughly than he should have, the frustration rolling through him as he prepared to walk down to the feast. And although he had brought himself to climax three times already, he still was not satisfied. He told himself as he walked to the Dining Hall to ignore you, to breathe, to not get caught in the trap of a bastard. 

But he was already trapped.

When he entered the room, he noticed all were praying before the meal, his mother Alicent giving him a stern yet disappointing look. It made his heart sting to disappoint her. And this sting, he blamed immediately upon you.

As he walked to the table he let himself gaze at you. 

You wore quite the scandalous dress, as though you were purposefully teasing him. No. He was sure you were doing it on purpose. To get a rise out of him. To tempt him into your space.

The neckline was plunging and he could not help but let his eyes linger upon the breasts you had developed. They looked so soft, and Aemond wanted nothing more than to run his tongue over them softly, or bite them roughly.

He could not decide which one he liked the thought of better.

Aemond asked his mother for forgiveness as he sat at his seat, at the opposite end of the table facing you. He held your gaze firm, and when he saw the light blush crawl over your cheeks, he let himself smirk in victory. 

Perhaps he affected you the same way you did him.

He watched you carefully that evening, eye roaming your figure wondering if you had been spoiled yet by some man, or woman. He wondered why you had not been betrothed yet, surely a woman of your age should have been promised to some Lord by now.

And then he could not help but think perhaps the Gods were on his side for once, and the reason that you were not engaged yet, meant that you would be his. 

Aemond found that he had no hunger that evening, except for a hunger for you. He could not bring himself to eat, nor could he bring himself to take his eye away from you. He still could not believe how much you had grown. 

Your lips were fuller now, and had the softest curve to them, than you did when you were young, and the longer he looked, the more he found it difficult to look away. He wondered if you hated him. The way you caught his gaze and sneered, made him assume so. 

How could she hate me? He thought. 

What had he done to deserve this? She was the one who abandoned him. She was the one who chose her bastard brother over him. She was the one who let him take his eye, and did not care for his pain after. 

He felt that anger prickle in the back of his head as he watched her. 

He watched his niece dance, and laugh with his sister. He watched them break each other's cold masks and for one second, he thought he was looking back in time, from when they had all been children. Back to when Helaena and Y/n had been inseparable. 

Or so he had thought.

He found that as he watched them dance and enjoy each other's company, he could no longer sneer. He could no longer hold such disdain and anger. It gave him a lick of hope. A disgusting, fickle piece of hope that perhaps one day, he could have her, and she would want it.

But then Jacaerys took Helaena to dance, and suddenly he felt that anger redirected.

How dare the dirty bastard touch her like that. How dare he make her smile. How dare his disgusting Strong hands touch Helaena so gently, hold her as though he knew her intimately.

He didn’t.

His nephew could never know just how beautiful Helaena was, just how beautiful she could be. 

No one deserved her. 

Not even Aemond himself.

And as he found himself scowling at his nephew he heard the soft, yet sharp call of your voice, turning his attention back to you, hackles on his back up and ready to fight from your tone. 

You were mocking him.

“Prince Aemond, were you riding Vhagar this evening? I thought I saw her soaring up into the sky. When you didn’t arrive on time, I worried that a storm had come and taken you.” She inquired, fake concern lacing her venomous tongue.

You little bitch.

Aemond had to school himself, and so he reached out to hold his goblet, taking a sip of the spiced wine to give him time to think before reacting. He had been reacting to her all day, and found that if he did it again, he would have to take her, right there and then, before their family to show them who she truly belonged to.

“I was merely enjoying the night sky, dear niece.” 

Lie. He was thinking of your soft thighs, and sweet lips and warm-

“It's not everyday you have the world's largest dragon, and I make a habit of reminding myself of that.”

And Gods, he could not lie that when your next words spilled from your lips, and the cruel smile you gave him, he had not really listened to your words. He had not even given thought to your attempt to goad him into a fight. Because he was ready, and he had been all too ready since the day you came back. 

Since the day he saw you in the training yard. 

Aemond had been ready to lash out at you for what you had done to him. For abandoning him. For choosing your bastard brothers and whore mother over him. For ruining what could have been. For what you had made him feel. For how weak he had become.

He was almost as bad as Aegon, and that was what made it so much worse. 

He had planned to leave it, he had planned to not give in. To show who was superior, to show the grace of a true Targaryen, not a bastard of a disgraced whore Princess, who would never sit upon the throne. He clenched his teeth so hard in his mouth, that all he could do was hum in response.

But then the Gods were cruel, and fate was even crueler, and he watched in horror as a roasted pig was placed before him. He knew it was coming, he knew the cards that were about to be dealt, and he felt the slightest itch of his scar as his lone eye looked upon a stark reminder of his youth.

He listened as Lucerys snorted, just like the pig at his expense, and it all came flooding back.

The taunting, the mocking, the cruelty, his eye.

All of it. 

But losing his eye did not hurt nearly as much as watching you abandon him for them.

“Is that not your first dragon, uncle Aemond? What had you named it again? The Pink Dread?” You teased, smirking at him and Aemond heard as the others giggled from the table, even Aegon. 

Aegon was the worst of them all. 

And despite everything he had done for his brother, the years of protecting him, the years of coddling him and allowing him to be the disgusting man that he was, it still wasn’t good enough. Aegon still called Aemond a twat, and mocked him. Made a mockery of their position as Targaryen Princes. Forcing him to a Pleasure house at ten-and-three, telling him it was ‘time to get it wet’.

But he hadn’t wanted to.

And there it was. 

That anger that he tried so desperately to push deep within him. That anger his mother had tried to school out of him, the anger that only Helaena seemed to soothe with her kind words and comfort. She was the only one in the Keep who did not treat him like a monster. She was the only one he had left.

Fuck it.

Aemond slammed his hand on the table, feeling the wood sting his palm as he stood to his full height, holding out his goblet to her, watching her shit eating grin slowly fall from her face.

“Final tribute.” He began, directing that anger carefully into his next words. 

He watched as she stiffened, eyes flicking about the table, gauging the other's reactions.

“To the health of my nephew's, Jace, Luke and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise,” He paused, watching her as she began to anticipate the next words, “Hm… Strong."

Watching her face turn to frown at him, to scowl at him, to burst with such hatred, made his blood rush through his body and into his cock.

And so he continued. 

What a rush.

How good it felt to hurt her the way she had hurt him. To make her feel just as lowly as she had made him feel. How her brothers had made him feel for years. 

He heard his mother say his name but he ignored it. He would deal with the repercussions later, though he doubted he would. She had never stopped him before, and in fact was brazen with discussing the illegitimacy of the Strong boys, so why start now. 

“And to my darling niece, some cast doubts about her strength, but I can see that she is just as Strong as her brothers.”

She was simmering with rage by then and all he could think of was how glorious it would be to put her in her place. To bend her to his will, to snuff out that fire inside of her.

"Let us raise our cups, to these three Strong boys, and their Strong sister." Aemond purred, watching her clench her entire body, hands in fists so tight, her knuckles turned white.

Aemond heard the irritating growl of his nephew Jace, “I dare you to say that again.”

Aemond could not help but smile. This would be little challenge. Though Jace had grown, Aemond was still older and bigger, and doubted the younger boy trained as hard as he did with the sword.

"Why? 'Twas only a compliment. Do you not think yourself Strong?”

Aemond felt the dull ache on his cheek, his head whipping to the side as Jacaerys laid his fist into his face. His hand still held his goblet, and he noted to himself with great pride, that he had not spilt a drop of wine on the floor.

Turning back, Aemond used little effort to shove his nephew to the floor, watching in his periphery as Lucerys tried in vain to help, as Aegon slammed him into the table by the scruff of his neck.

Down boy.

And then you did something that had not shocked him in the slightest. You grasped the fork from the table, calling out to him with a voice that was laced with venom.

“Say that again. Say that again I dare you!” 

Seeing that tiny fork in your hand made him smile even more. He doubted you even trained yourself, and his size and strength could certainly overpower you.

And how he could not wait to bend you over the table and f-

“No. I want to hear what my uncle has to say.” She heaved a breath, “Speak Aemond, so that we may hear your treasonous lies again.”

My little dragon. Such fire.

He felt an overwhelming sense of pride as he watched you heave angry breaths, eyes wide as you clutched the pathetic fork. So proud in fact, that he found himself grinning. 

He had only seen this side of you a handful of times as a child.

Defending Helaena when Aegon would question her intelligence or sanity.

Defending Lucerys and Jacaerys when he and Aegon would call them bastards together, or taunt them once their mother Alicent had told them of the threat of Rhaenyra ascending the throne and her bastard children.

Even defending him.

It made his lips pull wider.

It was not often that Aemond grinned. Sure he smirked, and occasionally smiled, but rarely did he show his teeth. Those sharp incisors that he would have no issue using to bite down on the soft flesh of your thighs, or the stiffened bud of your nipple.

As soon as he bared his teeth to the room, you were moving and he watched in awe as you charged straight for him, much like his mother had done to Rhaenyra all those years ago. 

It was uncanny, the wildness in your eyes. Such devotion.

Such love.

And then you were before him, breasts pushing against the confines of your dress as you heaved angrily, eyes dancing across his face, demanding he answer you.

Commanding him to answer.

He felt the prongs of the fork underneath his neck and could not help but feel himself begin to harden under the tight confines of his pants.

You were so close to him, the closest you had been since you were children. He could see the purple of your eyes, and the blush on your cheeks from the wine and your anger. He could see the small freckles you had on your face, and smell the oils on your skin.

You smelt sweet, earthy, musky. It was addictive, it was arousing. It was everything he had hoped and dreamed of that day, cock in hand. It took all of his strength to not dip his head down and capture your lips with his. To taste the spiced wine that would surely be on your tongue. To drink down your essence and be full of it.

He wanted to be full of you, to taste you. To lick at your weeping cunt as you cried beneath him, begging him. More, more, please Aemond, please uncle, more. He wanted to drink your release as it leaked from you, as he brought you to climax, time and time again.

“Say. That. Again.” The little dragon spat.

If he did not preoccupy his lips with something, he would kiss you. He could not help it. You were magnetic. And enigma. A force to be reckoned with. The Gods had taken their time with you.

And so he lifted the goblet to his lips to sip, but your small hand swiped it away, causing the wine and goblet to spill onto the ground. 

As soon as your hand brushed against his, he felt an electric jolt. It had been so long since you had touched him.

Touch me again.

And then Daemon was behind you, whispering in your ear and Aemond watched as your strength wavered, as contemplation flickered across your face. As all the emotions flashed quickly and disappeared as he continued to urge you to stand down. 

How had his uncle tamed you so well?

How had this man made you so pliable? Aemond found himself more and more jealous of the relationship the two of you had. And the more he looked at you both, so close together, as you had grown into your face, the more he recognised certain features. 

Certain mannerisms. 

And then his uncle was staring him down, as he crowded his niece in front of him, whispering so lowly, that no-one else but the three of you would hear.

“Issa ñuha tala.” (She is my daughter.)

And then it all made sense.

That fire, that rogue air about you.

The way you held no fear around the Prince, the way you did not flinch, and leant into his touch. The way Daemon doted on you more than any of his other children.

You were his. 

You were not a Strong bastard.

You were fire. 

And that made Aemond more determined than ever to have you.

And he would have you.

No matter the cost.

Argh so here it is, a lil blurb of Aemond's POV from 'Smoke, Fire and Ash'. I thought it would be best to show you the beginning of his descent into pure obsession with the reader. Sure there had been a possessiveness from the start as children, but it had been innocent, until the reader came back to the Keep fully grown. The pair truly force each others hand, neither one knowing when to stop and only making things worse. It's beautiful :')

Tag List:

@izzicle @ej-shitchats @may-machin @alegria1580 @witchy-jadda @videovampire @inkdelicious @queteimporta39 @virtualsweetsqueen @fo-cus @auratiqs @feyres-fireheart @queenofshinigamis @asoiafwh8re @teasandcrumpets @shesjustanothergeek @grungegrrrl@queenofsarcazm @marihoneywk @curlszx88 @virgogaia @loser-keiji @asoiafwh8re @whore-of-many-hot-men @vipervixxen @theonewiththeimaginaryboyfriends @watercolorskyy @lavendervisions @mazmack666 @chokefrog @orangejump-suit @nik2blog @serrhaewinin @ohemgeewhat @winxschester @cryptidsrcool @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @celestedonut @bloodyvelvet777 @iamapersonthatsalive @av-sos @yentroucnagol @marihoneywk @snh96 @sanzu-s

#aemond pov #pov aemond #dark!aemond pov #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond x reader #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond smut #hotd smut #dark!aemond targaryen x reader #dark!aemond x reader #dark!aemond targaryen #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #dark!aemond #dark!fic #fic #series #aemond one eye #aemond the kinslayer #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond #smoke fire and ash

[themadlu]

Do Not Open That Door

Astarion is sure his leader's unflinching morals will lead him to another unwanted grave. He is also sure she is putting on an act because people like her do not exist, clearly. He decides to test his assumptions.

TW: None I think

WC: ~3000 words

Tagging: @spacebarbarianweird for the encouragement!

Astarion is livid. Well, maybe livid was an overstatement—he is annoyed. Annoyed and confused. Such feelings are still a vast improvement over the fear and shame he's been accustomed to, but they make him restless nonetheless. 

Especially because their cause is walking steadily next to him without a care in the world for his inner turmoil. 

Zélie, their oh so great leader, has managed to spoil what could have been a perfectly enjoyable afternoon on multiple fronts. First, she decides to talk to the goblins ambushing them instead of treating them like the savages they are.

(“We don’t know how many of them are in this village Astarion. What if there’s a little army and we’re outnumbered?”)

After confirmation that there were, in fact, quite a few goblins (and a couple orcs to boot), she managed to get free passage through the village by leveraging their wriggly alien parasite. He isn’t happy about it. Not at all. 

He has to begrudgingly admit hers was a wise call after witnessing just how large and hungry those orcs were. And of course they even agree to help a fellow true soul in need. Just what he needs to undermine what little influence he has on her.

(Her blood is in his body after all.)

In the last tendays she had made it her mission to remind him how despicable murder is, under most circumstances, aside from self-defence. This beautifully idiotic mindset of hers almost got her killed twice in front of his very eyes.

(She doesn’t know he has taken to finish off the enemies she leaves unconscious while she isn’t watching.)

When he had pointed out the suicidal flaw in her morals, she had given him her signature scolding look, crossed her arms, and started breathing in that funny way of hers. 

In, hold, out. 

(She says she is not trained as a monk, but he’ll be even more damned than he already is if that is true. The way she fights and holds herself—and those sickening ideals she has—tell a different story.) 

“Honestly, darling,” he hisses at her as they walk through the village, squinty eyes trained on their every move. “I thought we agreed that benevolence and honour,” he spits the words out like a curse, “get you nowhere but to an early grave.”

“Astarion,” she always says his name when she speaks to him—even in annoyance— and he hates his constant surprise at hearing it. His elven name had been replaced with other titles over time, more befitting of his status—boy, spawn, whore, slut, beautiful, toy, love…

Truly, it’s a small miracle he managed to hold on to his name. It’s one of the few things left that are truly his, yet hearing it spoken from that solemn woman's lips makes something in his chest preen. 

“I thought we agreed to disagree on that front. No, don’t give me that look. Killing someone is never justifiable. No matter what we tell ourselves, we are taking away something that wasn’t ours to begin with. Something irreplaceable. Even—” she held up her hand as he started to complain, “in self-defence, even then, I will make sure to exhaust all alternatives, and even then, it will be a failure on my part.”

You moron. 

“Too bad the rest of the world doesn’t think like you, darling,” he snapped. Hers was an act. There was no way in the hells anyone could survive to their…whatever age she was, he was never good with human lifespans, with that mindset. It was ridiculous, because if she actually was like that—if two–hundred years of shit didn’t teach him better—she should either be dead in a ditch or have ascended to godhood on her saintly behaviour alone. The only explanation he has for her standing close to him is that the mask she wears is as fake as his own. That, or she is a child of Ilmater. He bets on the former, given her complete ignorance of any deity on Toril.

“But you lied,” he counters, snapping his fingers. “You said we are here on Absolute business. Doesn’t that go against your precious code of honour?” he singsongs in her ear. 

“I didn’t lie. My tadpole reacted to theirs, and they drew their own conclusions. Technically, we are going to their camp on Absolute business too, if you count removing these,” she tapped her index to her temple. 

He smirks, victorious. “Circumstantial. One day, the tadpole won’t do the work for us and you’ll break your own code or doom us to death. For one, I’d rather not repeat the experience,” he says in a quiet voice, pointing at his chest. 

Their companions are still unaware of his condition—another occasion his holy leader conveniently withheld information. 

(“It’s your secret, it’s your decision.” Hypocrite.)

“Astarion, I know you take me for a fool, and I would normally pay more respect to a man—elf—my senior by centuries, but really. I can be practical and have a moral compass, and that means that when the choice is between lying and killing, I will pick lying any day, even if I don’t like it.” 

Enough. 

Her words incense him, annoyance suddenly turns into rage and something else—what’s that, envy?—he pivots on his left heel and closes the distance between them so fast she has no time to react. Zélie is left pinned to the wall, their bodies a breath away from touching, and he internally celebrates the surprised look on her face. 

He stares at her down his nose, ducking his head and planting a slender hand on the wall beside her head. 

Astarion has to make her stop before he tears her self-righteousness out of her throat. Before she realises how useless it all is—how useless and tainted he is—and either stakes him or banishes him. Because even her sickly, do-gooding self, fake or real it be, must have limits. If he pushes hard enough, they’ll crumble, and then he’ll be proven right. She is not what she says she is because creatures like that aren’t real.  

“Let’s make one thing clear, darling,” he growls, nostrils flaring, “you may be our great leader, but you should get off your high horse before someone shoots you off it. I don’t know what perfect little corner of the universe you grew up in, but you know nothing of this world and its dangers.” 

He flashes his fangs at her to drive his point across. The others are out of sight, looking for supplies in some ruin or cellar. Gods, he misses the city. 

Zélie is staring back at him, bristling, but lets him continue. She never interrupts any of them, not even him.

“I thought humans were all about developing and living fast, but you, my dear, are as ignorant as a babe. I am trying to make sure we keep our collective hides safe and do not get sidetracked by other pitiful creatures on our path.” 

He realises just how close he is to her when she straightens up again and their noses almost touch. 

Pale eyes go darker with a flash of anger. 

There. Come at me. Prove me right. 

“Spoken like a true man of the law, lord magistrate.” 

Why the hells is her tone so collected when she has a literal vampire at her throat?!

“You seem forgetful, so I’ll remind you that it was my ignorance that stopped Shadowheart from connecting her mace with your head. And it was my stupidity that convinced her you could join us, and that we should give you a chance at trust.” 

She makes no move to get closer, but he recoils as if scorched by fire. 

“And it is the same trust I placed in you yesterday when I let you bite me, even though it’s not how I envisioned a night of rest to go. I trusted you to stop, I trusted you to keep your word and not leave me a corpse.”

There it is. Reminding him of what he owes her. Of his debts. They say the quiet ones are the most depraved, and she is the strong and silent type. But he is nothing if not an expert in the art of subservience at this point, and if it gets her to keep giving him blood and protection—

“I trust you.” 

Then you’re doomed.

She says it as if it were a challenge. Her gaze is unwavering and he is left speechless yet again. Cazador would admire this quality of hers.

“I hope you can trust me in return.”

Impossible woman. 

“Well, I suppose you’re not wholly incompetent,” he manages to croak out. His nonchalant mask is harder to slip on this time. 

She huffs a breath of a laugh, a tiny thing, but it’s enough to transform her whole face. The weight she carries on her deceivingly flimsy shoulders seems to lift, leaving behind a young woman smiling softly at a…well, a monster. Talk about inexperience. 

Happiness suits you, little leader. 

The fact it’s his prattling that caused this marvel of a transformation stokes something in chest and in the pit of his stomach that he promptly pushes down. 

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Zélie says. She moves away and he is left staring at the crusty wall. Her body never touched his own during their exchange. 

Wait. That’s wrong. He was meant to make her see the reason in his ways, not the other way around. So why is he at her heels like a lost puppy the minute she walks away? 

(“You are nothing by yourself boy. You owe everything to me.”)

He is weak. So weak he has leashed himself to a human who can barely read common, fuck's sake. 

His temper rises again once he catches up with Zélie. He doesn’t need her condescension, nor her chiding (she doesn’t even know his full story yet, nor she ever will unless absolutely necessary, so pity isn’t there yet). He’ll show the wretched woman how wrong she is. 

Karlach and Lae’zel jog behind them as they reach a barn with a door locked shut. Zélie thinks nothing of it at first, but Astarion can smell what’s inside.

(His senses born anew from her blood.)

He smells the ogre and bugbear and their horrid affair before the rest of his companions hear the grunts and noises.

“Oh God, someone’s fighting!” exclaims Zélie.

Fighting, you say?

An idea strikes him. 

See what your misplaced goodness gets you when you try to help an ogre.

“I don’t know soldier, they don’t sound like fight noises to me,” says Karlach leaning towards the barn, but even she seems unsure. Astarion’s talents may be limited to a specific area, but in this case it works in his favour. He is very familiar with what those sounds mean. The half-ogres that fucked him into the bed so hard he bled were not so different.

(He still remembers how much it hurt, how he was left in a puddle of mixed releases, sweat, and what little blood he had).

“Well, even if they are fighting, it is clearly not our problem. I say we leave them to it and focus on what’s really important,” he says, using his annoyance as a hook. Zélie may be the most restrained person he’s come across, but he knows how to read people, and he knows she will do the opposite of whatever he says when it concerns morals. 

She falls for it. His smile is harder to suppress.

“Astarion! We’ve just talked about this!” 

Her voice raises a bit, but it’s almost eclipsed by another loud grunt from inside the barn. 

“So long as my blade can be sharpened on my enemies’ bones, I am ready.” Lae’zel is almost as ignorant as Zélie when it comes to their world, which is usually a hindrance, but now it’s the push their little leader needs to run to the rescue. 

Zélie tries to open the barn door (after cutting another withering look at the vampire lazily strolling at her back), finding it jammed.

The crescendo of grunts and bangs coming from inside is extremely loud now. 

Gods, they must be disgusting. 

“Hello?! Help is on the way, hang on!” the little human shouts as she frantically tries to get the door unstuck. 

“Oh hells, let me do it, darling, before we turn into tentacled freaks,” Astarion says in mock-annoyance. She eyes him suspiciously and he shoots her a winning smile. His nimble hands make quick work of the lock, and he pushes the door open. 

He needs just a peek to know his assumption about what was happening in the barn is correct, and turns to face his now horror-stricken companion. 

“Gods, they are disgusting,” he comments with his lips crooked in a satisfied smile. 

Zélie scrambles to compose herself and turns her back from the scene (the prudish) as she fails to find words to explain herself. “I—I am, I apologise, we thought—”

Oh, she’s in a state. Her cheeks flush redder than rubies (he can practically hear her delicious blood pooling there), whilst the rest of her is paler than after Astarion’s feeding. She opens and shuts her eyes as if trying to physically erase what she just witnessed.

The bugbear slides his now soft cock out of the ogre, and looks at them in rage.

“W–what the hells are you doing?!”

Oh, Astarion is thrilled. He doesn’t remember when last had such fun. He hears Lae’zel’s tsk’ and Karlach’s gags behind him, and he closely watches Zélie fumbling as he didn’t think was possible. 

“Apologies! I, you—you were making a lot of noise and I, we, thought you needed help,” she holds her hands in front of her in a peace offering. “I apologise for the intrusion! We’ll leave now—”

“Ruined! SMASH. I’ll smash you!” 

Oh. Astarion didn’t expect that. He just wanted to show Zélie how ungrateful the world is to idiots like her, not have her turn into orc food. 

Before he can think, he is tackling the woman to the ground, the orc’s club crashing a few spaces to his left. Karlach and Lae’zel’s throw themselves at the aggressor, and the fight starts in earnest. Astarion is more a stalker than a fighter, but he had his first fill of human blood only hours before, and his senses have never been that sharp, so he doesn’t miss the bugbear rushing towards their prone form. 

Daggers at hand, he braces to parry the onslaught (this may hurt) when his worldview shifts, his back in on the ground, and chilly afternoon air replaces the heat of his leader on his chest. 

What just happened?

He turns his head to see the bugbear crashing to the ground, Zélie crouched on one leg and tripping him with her other. “Go help the others! I’ve got this!” she shouts, as she wraps her limbs around the assailant in a tight bind. “Wait! It was an honest mistake—”

He doesn’t want to hear her voice now. Doesn’t want to think how the little moron literally threw him away from danger. Even worse, he will refute the idea he protected her from an angry orc till his last breath. He only got his body back recently. That’s it. He still is unsure of how to use it. 

And she's dinner.

He doesn’t want to dwell on what happened, so he nods and throws himself at the female orc while she is distracted by his companions. 

The fight doesn’t last too long after that, and something takes a hold of his insides when he looks at Zélie. She is silent, staring at the large corpse on the ground, bugbear knocked out at her feet. 

“Darling?” He moves towards her and the sadness in her eyes almost makes him apologise. Gods, what has he done? He didn’t think this was going to happen. And why does he care?! This was his intent, this and seeing the real her behind the strong, polite facade. 

“I just wanted to help.”

“I know, darling. I—”

See now, how impossible it is to keep your ideals in this world?

“You knew,” she says, and while he words his excuses (the only real one being he didn’t think they were going to be attacked) her shoulders drop and a defeated huff leaves her mouth. A far cry from her happy smile earlier. 

Astarion can’t wrap his head around how he caused both reactions in such a short span of time. But this look on her, this, he knows. He has seen far worse in the eyes and screams of those fools he lured back to his master, once they had his way with him and realised a bit too late they were as trapped as he was. 

He expects her to shout, to berate him, kick him, punch him, stab him, banish him—but none of that comes. Zélie studies him intently, and something in her demeanour lights up, an internal judgement made.

“I still trust you.” 

No. No no no, he’s not going to let her fool him into believing this—no!

Her face is suddenly level with Astarion’s knees, the now-awake bugbear readying a strike. 

Astarion doesn’t need to think—he falls forward and sinks his dagger into the wretch’s neck. Blood spurts out, but after tasting Zélie’s Astarion has no interest in it; mud compared to a clear sky.

“Soldier!” shouts Karlach, ever the helpful friend. Zélie pants as the dead attacker slides off of her, eye to eye with Astarion again. He can feel her light breath on his face. Karlach pulls her up; he is cleaning his dagger on the bugbear’s clothes when an outstretched hand enters his vision. Hers.

“Come on,” she says, tired but steady again. “Let’s get back to camp.”

Astarion flinches from the hand as if it were a trap (it is always a trap), but Zélie is new territory for him, that much he begrudgingly accepts. She is apparently above the rules of their miserable world because she chooses to trust him, a vampire, a lying one, again. 

He takes her hand, bracing for what may come his way, but she just helps him up. 

“Thank you, by the way. For saving my life before.”

It’s a trick. It’s a trick. Don’t fall for—

She wraps her hand around his so delicately he thinks he may break, and shakes it. His thoughts and words are silenced yet again. 

“Thank you.” 

Fuck. 

#bg3 #astarion x oc #astarion x tav #oc: zélie #tav oc #astarion #astarion fanfiction #bg3 astarion #bg3 fanfiction #human tav #I still feel bad for the orc and bugbear

[batsarebetterthanpeople]

Hi! I’m sorry if this is dumb but I’m not understanding why the Ed hate is racist? From what I’ve seen it has nothing to do with his race, just his actions? What is racist about it? I’m asking this very genuinely because I want to understand and learn more from this so please don’t take this as being annoying or patronizing or something!

ok so not all Ed hate falls under the racism catagory some people just have genuinely bad taste. The thing that is racist is insisting that he's an abuser. I've explained several times why he's not abusive, as have many many others. But, here's the quick recap: Izzy was abusing him, Ed has a history of lashing out towards his abusers with physical violence and Izzy established that he had been doing this sort of thing to Ed for years so you know, he's going the way of Ed's father and nobody would argue that Ed was abusing his father. Ed wasn't abusive towards the crew. Like he did some shitty things while suicidal. He hurt his friends I'm not saying he didn't. However: 1. This show is full of very very over the top violence and no one is getting up Button's ass about Lucius's finger. 2. It would be an incredibly strange move for a rom com to make one of it's leads a domestic abuser, It's not such a weird move to give a character in a rom com a suicidal arc where they push all their friends away. The first choice would yeild a completely unwatchable show the second is what happened in ofmd. 3. David Jenkins himself has talked about this and he said "What Blackbeard did was by the standards of the pirate world a bit much" I don't know if I even agree with this considering everything we've heard about Hornigold but I certainly agree with the sentiment that Ed did some shitty things but nothing that was significantly more horrific than other characters in the show who nobody treats the way they treat Ed.

So with all of that in mind: Why is it racist to call him an abuser. Like sure, all of this adds up to the abuse truthers being wrong and stupid but what does it have to do with Ed's skin color? This ties into the history that the Maori people share with a lot of indigenous groups who were colonized by europeans. I would encourage you to do more research on your own but I'll point you in the generally right direction. Indigenous men are portrayed as hyper violent in order to justify their subjugation (see head hunters stereotypes or how often people assume indigenous cultures were doing human sacrifice). A lot of the Ed hate exaggerates how violent he is in comparison to other characters. Indigenous men are portrayed as dirty and barbaric and in need of being civilized by a benevolent white savior. A lot of fic and meta positions either Stede or Izzy as needing to save Ed from himself, or as needing to babysit him or teach him to read or bathe, ect. That's why people are so up in arms about the soap eating joke.

And finally the abuse thing. Positioning indigenous men as abusers has been used historically as a shoddy justification for family separation. This stereotype pairs incredibly well with the violent stereotype. So IF Ed was abusing poor defenseless little white Izzy it would actually be a racist decision for the writers to make. Like there's a way to portray characters of color doing abuse, because being nonwhite doesn't make you incapable of doing shitty things, but that would not be it. Thankfully that is catagorically not what's happening, we've been told that the Kraken is an abuse responce, Izzy provokes the Kraken, we've seen Izzy be paralelled with Ed's two other abusers (Hornigold and Ed's dad), we've been shown Izzy controlling the flow of information between Ed and his crew, we've been showing Izzy manipulating Ed, we've been shown him lying to turn the crew against Ed, we've been shown Izzy attempting to murder someone Ed cares about specifically because Ed cares about them, we've seen Izzy threaten Ed's life for acting wrong, we've heard Izzy confess to doing all of that shit FOR YEARS on his death bed (a time which it would completely undercut the emotional impact of the scene if he was lying). So like... people ignoring all of that shit in order to portray Ed as shooting off his leg for no fucking reason and say he's the abuser is very... "You forgot the racism don't worry we'll add it back in for you" and continuing to insist on that and be shitty to people who won't cop to your dumbass shit is actively making the fandom a more racist space.

#ofmd meta #fandom racism

[daydream-believin]

a real stand up guy ba dum tss

summary: you get stood up by an internet man. douxie, your waiter and secret admirer, remedies that jackass’s mistake.

warnings: uh. swearing, alcohol, i’m too lazy to proof, the yooj. oh and doux doesn’t know how to handle this crush without getting slightly into stalker territory sorry. its a red flag but i think its cute. you may not think its cute.

a/n: tumblr was glitching while i tried to post this so idk how many paragraphs i accidentally erased. i mean i tried my best to make that number 0. but anyways if something is off let me know. the challenge for this one is that im not allowed to use italics. which you should know was very hard for me agshjfkgjdjh

taglist: @moppetwithamanbun @alovesongshewrote @blixeon @prismarts @fantasyiswaybetterthanreality @ukuleles-and-roses

okay quick psa i know it’s been years so if you want off the taglist just hmu. also if you were on the taglist and got taken off thats bc tumblr says you don’t exist anymore

uh this was a request. i’m not doing requests tho dont think that. looking back yeah that ask if from march 2022 and this doesn’t even match up to what you asked 😂 im so sorry @rose-writes-shit

you took a peek at your watch. 7:34 o’ clock. letting your head fall into the open palm of your propped up hand, you sighed.

coffee meets bagel boy was supposed to have met you at 7:00.

of fucking course. you let your plucky pink-haired coworker convince you to download a fucking dating app and make a profile, just for the only guy who had actually been interested enough in you to ask you on a real date to stand you up. makes sense.

it’s not like you’ve ever had luck with these kind of things. it’s not like you’ve ever had luck period. your kind might be the black cat of humans.

you’ve spent way too long eating the free bread at a mr. benoit’s of all places. it was the “classiest” establishment in the certain suburban hellscape of california you inhabited, albeit. you took in the scenery for the millionth time that night with a renewed sense of disgust. at least now you had a legitimate reason to hate this place.

your waiter slinked over, and you could tell he felt bad for you with the awkward shuffling gait to the pity grimace on his face.

“so, uh, perhaps more bread?”

you rolled your face towards him, arbitrarily throwing animosity his way with your dead eyes, just because he was there. but soon your compulsive desire to be the funniest pathetic wretch in the room won out.

“i’m considering burning this whole place down right now, actually,” you joked.

he grit his teeth, sucking in a breath, “could i perhaps convince you to do that on a night i’m not closing, instead? tomorrow is my least favorite coworker’s turn, for your consideration,”

“hmm,” you pretended to think, “i’ll take your suggestion then, it’s only kind,”

“thank you for your generosity,” he grinned, “now, are you still waiting for someone or?”

-

douxie had been watching you for over half an hour now. not creepily. he swears. he just got a little excited when he saw you come into the restaurant is all.

anddd maybe he might have badgered the host into giving you one of his tables. but again, he was just excited. he’s been looking for an excuse to talk to you for the past three months, after all. forgive him for jumping on the opportunity.

he maybe fancied you. just a wee bit. perhaps a rather large bit. or at least, the version of you he’s cooked up in his head from the way he sees you interact with people at house parties and the things he’s heard from zoe.

but he’s sure he’ll love you. as soon as he gets to know who you actually are. which, hopefully, is about to be sooner rather than later.

he did not anticipate this situation, however. whatever benevolent deity blessed him on this night decided to throw a jar of pickled herring in with the otherwise yummy pastry filled gift basket they left for him.

not long after you arrived at 6:56 pm, not that he marked the time you came in or anything he just happened to glance at the clock around that time, he watched you, how they say, deflate. your demeanor shifted from antsy to sad to downright annoyed.

you were dressed nicely. not fancy, not pretending like this wasn’t a benoit’s. but nice. orderly. like you wanted to make a good impression on whoever it was you were expecting to meet. so either a date, or mayhaps a job interview.

not that you didn’t look nice or orderly on other days. you just weren’t in your hex tech uniform shirt. or in the incredibly casual clothes you wore when he saw you around. you were just. clearly cleaned-up, is all.

whoever it was, it was obvious that they were not coming. doux applauded you for being patient enough to wait this long, but again, they obviously weren’t coming. which, if it was a date, was good for him, but bad for you. very bad for you.

and honestly who does this person think they are? letting you down like this? horrible. disgraceful. this person was a grade A jerk-off. they have to be dead from the neck up to leave you waiting here like this, publicly embarrassing you as you sat at a table set for two all alone at one of the busiest restaurants in town. shame on them.

he was glad you seemed to be in the joking mood, however. and about arson, too. oh, he’s always had a soft spot for arsonists.

he hoped you’ll forgive him for having to do his job. if it was up to him, he’d give you all the bread in the pantry just so you wouldn’t leave. but alas, he had to deal the killing blow.

“now, are you still waiting for someone, or?”

your eyes drifted downward to the empty wineglass in your hand as you swirled it sarcastically as if it were still full.

you sighed, “yeah, no, it’s clear he doesn’t plan on showing,” you looked back up at him ruefully, “i’ll order now. i shouldn’t have waited this long for an internet man, anyway, huh? could’ve made it less pathetic.”

“i don’t think there’s a way to make these things any ‘more’ or ‘less’ pathetic,” he began taking out his notepad, ready to write, “because i wouldn’t call it pathetic at all. getting stood up is a thing that’s done to you, not because of who you are, but because of who someone else chooses to be… unless you stole this guy’s car or something. then it’s your fault.”

you laughed. genuinely.

“no, no, it’s a first date. i haven’t known this guy long enough to steal his car yet. but thanks… that’s. a better outlook than mine. kinder,” you apologized, “… uh, can i have like, the cheapest bottle of white wine you’ve got back there? the whole thing this time.”

“i take it back. that definitely made it pathetic.”

while you shared a laugh, douxie mentally congratulated himself. you had just given him the information that a) you were single and b) you were into men. a good day to be a charming single man, then. he had a chance.

“so are you ordering any real food as well? or did you plan on just having wine and bread for dinner? have to say, i don’t think that’s wise, love.”

“well i suppose i gotta, since, i’ve, uh, eaten three baskets of complimentary bread,” you stumbled over your words for a second there, “and i’m sure it’d make the manager mad if it didn’t, right?”

“right you are. he’s uh,” douxie lowered his voice, “he’salreadybeenonmydickaboutyou so yeah, you gotta. plus i’m just— you should eat something, yeah.”

you awkwardly turned your attention to the menu as you did that thing where you hold it and pretend to look over the menu as you order like you forgot or something, “the duck confit sounds good for tonight, i think,”

douxie snorted.

“no, no, that wasn’t a joke,” you shook your head, smiling fondly, “i actually just like duck, i promise. no sarcasm. i do understand the irony though. i get it.”

he didn’t completely believe you, “well then, one order of duck confit, coming right up. be back shortly, love.”

doux grabbed the breadbasket on his way out.

when he glanced back to throw you a short and unnoticeable but longing stare, as he paused in the kitchen doorway, you were fidgeting with the flowers on the table. he should get that order in now.

-

when your waiter came back with food, he placed two plates down on the table. you looked at him like he had suddenly grown a second head as he took the other seat as well.

“what are you—“

“i called in a favor with the owner. i’m still working but, i’ve got a bit of free time now. if you don’t mind me joining you,”

you shook your head in astonishment.

“not at all,” you smiled, still absolutely flabbergasted that this man would do something like this for you, “you’re douxie, right? zoe’s mentioned you a lot.”

“oH—,” he coughed, “oh, uh, she has?“

“yeah,”

he awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, “only good things, i pray?”

“oh, sure. sure. good things,” you took a demure little sip of your glass to torture him with the pause implying the contrary.

he swallowed audibly. nervous, then. what dirt did zoe have on him. you watched as he awkwardly shoved up the sleeves of his shirt, perhaps feeling a bit warm now. it was cute.

you’d be sure to ask zoe all about him later. how could you not. this was the most interesting thing to happen all year. and it’s december.

you racked your brain for what you knew of this guy for conversation topics.

“you’re in zoe’s band, right? the lead guitarist.”

his face lit up at the mention of it, “oh, yes. you’ve seen us?”

“once or twice, i believe.”

it wasn’t really your thing, live music. you mostly hung around the back of the bar when you got dragged to shows. you liked loud, sometimes. just not often. it really depended on how your brain was feeling that day.

“well, you’ve gotta come to the next gig, then, at least. i’m sure zoe’s already invited you?” you nodded. “the venue’s holding a wee little music festival, it’s going to be nuclear,”

“ah, that’s fun,” you smiled. that sounded like hell but now that two very enthusiastic wizards have invited you, you don’t have the heart to weasel your way out of it. you’ll bring the “XTREME” ear plugs.

“but yeah, the bands great. i love that i get to play with my mates now. a team that works as well together as we do is rare, so i really appreciate them.”

“speaking of,”

doux hummed inquisitively.

“what’s going on with zoe and that new girly y’all’ve got on the drums?”

“oh,” he paused to take a sip, narrowing his eyes mischievously, “they’re boning.”

you clasped your hands together excitedly, “thank you! you’ve just won me a betting pool.”

he almost had to spit the wine back into his glass,“hhhh. how many?”

“oh, just the entirety of the hex tech arcadia staff.”

“i’m not sure she’ll be happy to hear that.”

“which is why you won’t tell her, mr. casperan,” you placed your hand over his with a cheshire cat grin.

well, he couldn’t argue with that.

dinner progressed. alas, you can’t say you lingered as long as you wanted to on conversation. you were kinda rushing things because you felt a little guilty doux was getting someone to cover for him while you had your little date. was this a date. it had to be. as mentioned, he’s going out of his way for this, and you can’t imagine he’d go through all this trouble because he wasn’t interested in you. but then again, you couldn’t believe he was interested in you either.

“do you like cryptozoology?” douxie tried his best to ask nonchalantly while he scratched the bridge of his nose to look a little less interested. he was feeling a bit energized since talking about the band. you had been paying attention to him like he’d been paying attention to you, if only in passing.

“a tad more than the average californian wizard, why?”

“well, later this weekend, i’ve got a job exterminating a goblin infestation in the next town over,”

“snelling?”

“yeah, snelling. the guy i was partnering with told me he was backing out this morning, so now i’ll be going it alone. and im sure you know how fighting goblins alone usually goes.”

“makes it easier for them to gang up on you, yes.”

“see, that’s why i’m asking if you’d be interesting in taking his place?”

“well, i’ve got the weekend off and nothing to do,” he knew that, he got the hex tech schedule from zoe every week(to know how to schedule band practice. and, if he also took a peak at your schedule, it was purely accidental. yeah.), “so, i don’t see why not.”

doux grinned, both relieved he wouldn’t be fighting goblins alone, and feeling clever that he found an excuse to spend more time with you, “perfect, i’ll text you the details? but, oh, i don’t have your number do i?”

you were about to ask why he couldn’t just tell you in person right now, but he said that soo hammy. it took .01 seconds to understand what he was doing. you snorted.

“okay, okay, here,” you held out your hand and he gladly placed his unlocked phone in your hand. you made the contact and sent yourself a text of the first emoji he had in his recents, which happened to be🫀. ah, a goth romantic. you gave him back his phone.

“perfect. thank you, love.” he tucked the phone into his chest dramatically before placing in back into his pocket.

you rolled your eyes fondly, “you know, goblin smashing isn’t exactly my idea of the perfect second date, you might have to turn up the charm.”

“oh, i’m sure i’ll make it worth your while,” he let his head fall into his palm propped up on the table, gaze going soft, “so was this a perfect first date, then?”

you laughed, “hardly. all things considered. but—“

“but?”

“but i’m glad it happened this way. i’ve had a good time, mr. casperan.”

he grinned in agreement, “me too.”

you put your hand on top of the one he left resting on the table, and he took the opportunity to take that hand and gently lay a kiss to the top of your knuckles. he lingered for a moment, eyes shut tight to take in the tenderness of the moment.

alas, he has to go back to work now.

doux pulled out your chair and helped you to your feet. you thanked him as he started stacking the dishes.

“should i—?”

“no, god no,” he chuffed, “i’m the waiter, remember? i work here.”

“oh yeah.”

that reminded you. you shuffled for your wallet, but he stopped you.

“i’m paying for dinner, love. go enjoy the rest of your evening, i’ll text you after i close.”

“you sure?” it didn’t really sit right with you, considering he probably took a pay cut by not working the whole time you were on this little “date.”

“well,” he paused, and placed the dishes back onto the table for time being, “you could leave me a tip, if you know what i mean. just a teeny thing—“

“c’mere,” you snickered as you pulled him down by the lapels to kiss him.

chaste, just a peck. but perfect and sweet all the same.

when you pulled back, you watched as douxie held his eyes closed for just a moment longer than he need to before letting that blinding all encompassing smile bloom across his face.

“well then, a very goodnight to you, y/n l/n.”

#douxie x reader #hisirdoux casperan x reader #douxie casperan x reader #my writing

[laundrybiscuits]

(young man what do you wanna be tag)

“I’m pretty sure Steve is trying to kill me,” says Eddie.

“I’m pretty sure he’s not,” says Jonathan. 

“He’s always, like…lurking.” Eddie gestures, fingers fluttering to indicate the shadowy depths of villainy to which Steve Harrington has now sunk. 

Jonathan shrugs. “I think he might just be trying to date you, man.”

“Ehh.” Eddie gives this an appropriate amount of consideration, which is to say none whatsoever. “I’m just saying, last time we had a movie night, he followed me into the kitchen. Just to hang out. You can’t tell me that’s not suspicious.”

“I mean…do you want him to stop? Because I think he’d stop if you said something.” 

Obviously Eddie does not want Steve to stop. Obviously Eddie would very much like Steve to continue being close enough to touch forever, please and thank you. It’s just—Steve keeps saying stuff, completely random shit, like you look really, uh, metal today and tell me about that song you’re working on. It always leaves Eddie off-balance, which he loves and hates with every ounce of his shriveled soul. 

“I can talk to Steve,” Jonathan offers. “Get him to back off.”

“That’s, um. You don’t have to do that,” says Eddie weakly.

“No, man, come on. I told you we’re in your corner, right? For everything, not just the big stuff.” 

Eddie groans. “Okay, Byers, I get it. Jesus, I’m gonna get hives from all this sincerity. Thanks, I love you too or whatever, shut up. And please don’t—um. Please don’t talk to Steve.”

“What, like, ever?” says Argyle, which makes Eddie jump a little; he’d been pretty sure Argyle had been dozing quietly with his head on Jonathan’s lap for the last twenty minutes. 

“Actually, yes,” says Eddie, prodding at Jonathan’s foot. “Please never talk to Steve again for the rest of your natural life. Do this for me, to demonstrate your sincere commitment to supporting the gays.”

“Sorry.” Jonathan kicks back at Eddie, somehow managing not to dislodge Argyle. “If those are my options, I guess I’m homophobic now. You have to be the one to tell Will, though.”

———

“Hey, can I talk to you?” 

“Jonathan’s not actually homophobic,” Eddie blurts out.

Will blinks. “Okay. I mean…good? Wait, did he not know about you?”

“What, no, he knew before any of you little shits did.”

“That definitely isn’t true,” says Will dryly. He sounds a lot like Jonathan right now. “But this isn’t—I just had a question about gay stuff. Sort of.”

“Ask away,” says Eddie graciously, trying to sound wise and benevolent like an ancient gay wizard with all the gay secrets of the gay universe at his disposal.

“It’s just…” Will sighs, looking down. “You’re really, uh, loud. About everything, I mean. And I don’t get why you’re not trying to be…quieter. It just seems like asking for trouble.”

“Here’s the thing about trouble and safety, my young friend,” says Eddie. “There’s nothing we can do to make ourselves easier to swallow. They’ll lie about it and say they’ll put up with us if we just cut off the parts they hate the most, but they hate all of us, so you’re just gonna keep cutting until there’s nothing left. There’s no magical border between the friendly forest full of fluffy bunnies and the deep dark woods full of monsters, because it’s all the same thing.”

Eddie pauses. As gently as he can, he says, “You already know this, Zombie Boy.” He doesn’t miss the way Will flinches. 

“But,” says Will. “Isn’t it, like, a little bit safer?”

“Maybe. Sometimes.” Eddie mulls over his next words, feeling the weight and sharp edges of them in a way he might not have, a year or two ago. Finally, he says, “I think—you gotta decide for yourself what that’s worth. And you also have to know there’s no such thing as completely one hundred percent safe. You can end up making a bunch of little choices that feel like you’re not giving up that much, and end up trapped in a life you hate, just waiting to die. There’s not gonna be one right way to do this, there’s just gonna be ways you can live with yourself and ways you can’t.”

The part he’s not saying to Will is that he’s also loud so other people don’t have to be. 

When he was a freshman, so many years ago now, there’d been this girl—a real bull dyke, you know? Buzzed hair and men’s shirts and work boots. Her locker had had filth shoved in it and written on it pretty much every day, and one time—well, one time, some bad stuff had happened. Almost happened. A teacher had come along just in time, from what Eddie had heard. She’d walked into school the very next day wearing a leather jacket draped over her stocky frame, gorgeously defiant. 

To Eddie, she’d been a beacon of survival. A walking, talking proof that if you’re willing to pay the price, you can be yourself without compromise. 

She’d seemed so mature and worldly to him back in 1980, but now Will’s almost as old as she’d been at the time. Eddie would burn the fucking world down before he let anyone try that shit with Will, and he knows Jonathan and Argyle would too, but they can’t follow him around like guard dogs for the rest of his life. 

So instead, he can just be the thing he’s shaped himself to be, and draw fire. Better to be a lightning rod, standing tall, than to let some other poor sucker get dragged into the spotlight before they’re ready. Nobody’s gonna fuck with Eddie too bad, probably. He’s already got a reputation. He’s Eddie fucking Munson, he’s a cockroach, he survived the worst the underworld could muster and he’s got the scars to prove it. He can take whatever shit they want to throw at him. Wants it, even, because it means something to be the guy they hate. There’s power in that: in walking back into the lion’s den wearing a leather jacket, head held high. 

He doesn’t think Will’s going to learn to relish it the way Eddie does. They’re too different, at their cores. But they’re similar enough that Will’s nodding slowly like it makes sense to him; like he gets what Eddie’s trying so clumsily to say. 

“You don’t have to be the way I am,” Eddie says. “But whatever you decide to be, do it on purpose, and do the hell out of it. Don’t fucking settle for some halfway kind of life. Think you can manage that, Byers?”

“Probably not,” says Will. “But—I’ll try. Thanks, I guess.”

This mentor shit is easy, Eddie thinks victoriously. No big thing at all.

#fic: young man what do you wanna be #hey hi it's been a minute! I've been busy & I know I'm super behind on asks/messages/tags and whatnot! #I swear I'm trying to catch up #...in all honesty I might not though. soz.

[nemaliwrites]

i read your ml pirate fic and i like it a lot! i was wondering, do you have any recs for others?

oh hey, sure thing! i'm gonna preface this by saying I don't read many fics, but here are some that I've read and really love:

Bakery Enemies AU by @buggachat

honestly i don’t know if there’s anyone out there who hasn’t read this at this point, but in case you haven’t, go give it a read, you won’t regret it

the thing you love the most is the detriment (let that sink in) by @runnfromtheak

introspection + character study is always my jam, and this one certainly does not disappoint. a look at marinette post chat blanc and how she copes (or fails to)

anything by Reiaji

probably one of my favorite writers ever (i rec the last day on earth in particular, i love it, 10/10)

Flowers on the Window Sill by @lnc2

for all my fellow Ladrien enjoyers out there

1 step forward, 3 steps back. by @agnes-is-wright

if you want something that will rip your heart out but in the best way possible, read this

1000 Days by @engineerdz

angst with a happy ending + non linear narrative is a match made in heaven

how hawkmoth got his groove back by @agrestenoir

some fun crack if you wanna laugh

Hey, Ribbons by @annaethchase

an au where felix is the first chat noir and his brother adrien takes over - this might will definitely make you cry

Ping by meeble

social media au, instant serotonin

Those Benevolent Stars by @peachcitt

another one for my ladrien enjoyers out there (also recommend anything by this author, their stuff slaps)

All My Life by Faithxoxo

some real cute shit

when you're near by @buggachat

this one is super cute but also might make you cry

the jig is up, the news is out by @engineerdz

identity reveal but for the rest of the world, cool concept + awesome excecution

what's written in the stars by @agrestenoir

can i get a whoop whoop for time travel fics

first sight (we love without reason) by @agrestenoir

probably one of my favorite fics in the fandom; a soulmate fic that will rip your heart out, step all over it, and eat it for breakfast

and of course, it would be amiss of me not to say anything by this author

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug fic recs #ml fic recs #ml fanfiction #miraculous fic recs #fic recs #ml fanfic #adrinette #ladynoir #marichat #ladrien #also this goes without saying but everything these authors write is amazing #i actually have some more ml fics on my to read list #which i will hopefully get to soon #ask nem 🦚

[nastylittleghouls]

Nepenthe(s)

Relationship(s): Aether/Dewdrop, Mountain/Dewdrop

Rating: Teen

Words: about 2.1k  

Summary: Lucifer is more benevolent to his children than God. Dewdrop has always been a firm believer in that. That doesn‘t make existing without his mate any easier.

Warnings: Major Character Death, grief, mentioned Drug use, religious lore, unhealthy coping mechanisms, weed-induced weirdness about pre, implied disordered eating, unintentionally funny metaphors

Notes: Special thanks to @askingforthesun for allowing me to borrow elements of their fic (also MCD, be warned, but so good. Go read! ) and general lore so I could release this little thing into the wild. Hopefully, you won’t regret letting me into your sandbox. 😉 I recommend listening to the song I used as an intro during the second half of this fic (It'll be linked there) Unbeta‘ed as usual.

AO3 link for the so-inclined

You taught me the courage of stars before you left How light carries on endlessly, even after death With shortness of breath You explained the infinite And how rare and beautiful it is to even exist I couldn't help but ask for you to say it all again I tried to write it down, but I could never find a pen I'd give anything to hear you say it one more time That the universe was made just to be seen by my eyes - Saturn- Sleeping at last (or, Dewdrop reminiscing about Aether)

Plants behaving badly: murder and mayhem is playing on the TV. The still ongoing consequence of a shared joint, Mountain lamenting the lack of variety in his collection of carnivorous plants, and a turned too serious debate about which ghoul is the most alike to any of the aforementioned plants. Mountain can‘t let shit like this go. He has to be right and he’ll present proof. 

Therefore, sometimes things that happen in the greenhouse don’t stay in the greenhouse. They occupy the common room in the ghoul wing. 

Mountain has their enormous pack blanket wrapped around them both, Dew‘s head resting partly in his armpit and halfway on a pec, his legs across Mountain‘s thighs. Mountain’s hand is absentmindedly rubbing over a weirdly raised stitch on Dew‘s knee. Courtesy of Dew taking care of rubbed-through fabric himself.  It’s actually kind of nice to feel the thread pressing into his skin. 

Dew’s only half listening to Mountain explaining why this is his favorite documentary about carnivorous plants and how it‘ll show Dew why he‘s right.  His attention is a mess on a good day. If he's not holding his guitar or praying, his memory is even worse. Now the weed does the rest to scatter his mind all over the place. 

Mountain squeezes Dew a little too hard when the sundew finally makes an appearance. It’s uncomfortable. Even so, it helps Dew to fully focus on the right now. „See? That’s you!“

Dew narrows his eyes at the screen. He still doesn’t see his point. „And I repeat, the fuck? How?“

„With your pre. It‘s like, extra thick. Little pearls all over the red tip of your dick when you get all needy. Smells and tastes delicious. It’s a ghoul mouth trap“, Mountain emphasizes with a gesture at the screen, a dopey weed-induced grin on his face, barely managing to duck his head away when Dew half-heartedly swats at him. 

„You‘re a fly then, the way you always buzz around me despite the threat of certain death, begging for a taste.“ 

A faint blush appears on Mountain‘s cheeks and his eyes drop down between Dew‘s thighs, licking his lips. Intention clear. His nostrils flare to see if he can catch that sweet scent. If Dew‘s in the mood to indulge him. 

There is- nothing.  Not a hint of arousal.   Not even Dew’s natural smokey aroma. Yet, he’s not disappointed. The fact that Dew is here with him, willingly allows himself some mundane enjoyment, already feels like so much. 

Even more so when Mountain thinks about how often Rain had gone to the cathedral to check on him throughout the last months, how Mountain had found him earlier, sleeping surprisingly peacefully in the pew after missing yet another meal. His prayer beads wrapped so tightly around his hand that the indents were still faintly shimmering on his skin now. And Mountain had had enough. He had scooped him up and carried him into the greenhouse where this whole thing had started and now; it almost feels like a usual night before their world had been tipped upside down again. Almost. 

It’s a silver lining. 

„If anything, I‘m a bee. I only go for the tasty shit and sleep with the prettiest of flowers“, he counters, so confidently with his flat chest puffing out and everything, it‘s making Dew snort. That‘s truly his earth ghoul right here.  

“I can’t tell if you’re calling me pretty or just want to fuck your plants”, Dew teases with feigned thoughtfulness, flicking his fingers against the space between Mountain‘s eyebrows. It earns him a light pinch in the thigh and a mumbled: “fuck you”.

When the earth ghoul looks up again, he expects another snarky come back but Dew sends him a look that is not quite regretful but close to it. Dew’s hand moves up to pet Mountain’s hair, using it to pull him down to peck his lips. 

„Not tonight.'' 

Those words should sound like a raincheck. What Mountain hears is an apology when there shouldn’t be one. His love for Dew is not tied to conditions like Dew sharing his body with him. Now less than ever.  He wishes he had the means to let Dew know somehow without making a big deal out of it, for the fire ghouls sake, when he feels a small red rose bloom at the bottom of his horn, coming to his aid. He nods and leans in for another peck. Turns it into a proper kiss because he can and Dew lets him.  

„Another time,“ he agrees and plucks the rose with a small wince, tucking it safely behind Dew‘s ear, “my pretty flower”. 

The gesture makes Dew frown up at Mountain, and for a split second, it seems like the next swatting is imminent. Mountain would endure that and more. What matters is that Dew knows he is loved. But doesn’t happen. Dew just settles into his side again with a huff. 

Then the narrator moves on to another plant and the moment is over. „That Butterwort is Cumulus,“ Mountain states, in a tone that indicates he expects Dew to disagree again. Instead, Dew nods, agreeably, and even adds, „Aurora too.“

As soon as the credits roll, Dew untangles himself from Mountain’s arm and the blanket and slips to his feet, brushing his lips affectionately over the earth ghoul’s hairline and the base of his horns. His smile is weary when their eyes meet again.  

„Gonna hit the hay. Night, Evergreen“.

Mountain gives him a bewildered look but eagerly meets him halfway just the same when Dew moves in for a hug. It has Mountain holding him tighter than he probably should, his face tucked into Dew’s neck. He just missed this more than he had let himself think about and it feels too soon to lose it again. 

“Night, Lilypad. Don‘t let the bed bugs bite.”

He watches Dew walk out of the common room until he‘s out of the door and almost swallowed by the shadows in the hallway, his mind still mulling Dew’s words over. No one has called him Evergreen since….

Clarity hits him like a well-aimed sobering punch in the gut. The almost overwhelming feeling of nausea follows suit. It‘s here. The moment he dreaded, they all dreaded, may happen. In hindsight, the signs were blatant.  Dew not even trying to bargain with him about leaving the cathedral, the overly sudden surge in willingness to be social for such a long period of time when Dew had been shying away from it. All that combined with the missing natural scent, the most obvious one of them all, is unmistakable. A sure sign that fire ghouls are on the verge of leaving the physical plane of existence. 

All right in front of him. The very last one left from his old pack. Eventually, he will accept it as the honor that it is. Right now, he‘s reeling. 

He gives himself a mental shove and manages to call an „I love you. Sleep well“ after Dew just before he’s out of his sight.

Then his eyes turn back to the screen. Stares at it until his vision blurs. Stricken. Chest so tight he can barely breathe. His claws pierce through the thick fabric of his self-assigned greenhouse overall he hasn’t bothered to change out of yet. It takes all of his willpower to keep himself sitting on the couch right there, to not let his selfishness win to try to stop the inevitable. It’s not his right to interfere, if he even could, as painful as it is. As it will be, for a long time.

So he just sits there, helpless in his decision. 

A weeping willow. 

Dew ghosts through the corridors of the ministry, on a whim taking the long route to pass through the Ghouls' living quarters. The urge to hear their voices before he retreats to his hideaway is stronger than usual tonight. To lock another piece of each and every one of them once more into the respective places in his heart. 

There’s a thud behind one of the closed doors, followed by Swiss’ cackling. Aeon and Aurora complain about being bullied. That exasperated yet fond sigh? Cirrus. 

Rain‘s room is quiet except for the sound of running water. It draws Dew in so he pauses, lays both palms on the wooden door, and listens for a breath, maybe two. Sends a wave of affection Rain’s way before continuing his path. 

He can still hear Sunshine’s laughter, after their caused chaos went either according to plan or wonderfully wrong, when he passes her abandoned room, as faded in his memories as it is. He gives her door a little salute, not trusting himself to linger there. Knows that Cumulus finds solace in sitting in there for a while during this hour, singing to her lost ray of light. 

Treasures, all of them. 

He takes all of them up the stone stairs into the attic with him, the soles of his shoes scruffing over the sandy surface as he recites another prayer under his breath. As if to absolve himself for his absence in the pews. The beads around his neck feel heavier with each word, making him briefly consider turning around and visiting the cathedral for a second time today but he has to admit to himself that he wouldn’t be able to get far tonight. It’s late and the call of the stars promises a little more comfort.

Rain would be thrilled at that amount of self-reflection. 

The old oil lamp he grabbed on the way flickers as he lights up an incense stick with a press of his fingerpads, setting both up on the floor in front of him. 

After, he settles comfortably into Aether‘s old armchair, right in front of the window. Hidden amongst Aether’s other belongings that he couldn’t squirrel away into his own room, the stars in the night sky welcoming him back through the glass. One brighter than the others, brighter than Sirius he likes to think, his very own guiding light. 

Watching over him. Waiting for him. 

As he recounts the constellations to himself in soothing murmurs, he traces the scar on his palm, swallowing heavily when he reaches the end before lacing his fingers together. A sad imitation of what used to be Aether’s hand engulfing his. His mind shifts to the moments he had been curled in Aether‘s lap in this very chair and played idly with his hands. Twisting his rings up and down his fingers. Tickling his palm. Relishing in their size difference, their thrumming bond, and Aether’s pleased chuffs. At times, simply lost in sharing their respective tribes’ folklore, awed at each other's way with words. At others, well…

He needs it more than ever now. That certain kind of warmth. That fullness, first and foremost in his heart. 

He yearns for it with every fiber of his infernal being. 

To be home.

Dew sinks further into the chair and a forgotten sense of calm washes over him. No longer is that sob stuck behind his sternum that burned as hot as the unshed tears in his eyes. No longer does he feel the urge to fight it when his eyes fall shut on their own accord. Slowly. Unhurried.

The strange coldness, coming from deep down inside him and radiating through his bones like an ache, starts to dissolve. Imperceptible, his charred skin lightens and his scarred gills heal from the fire damage.  A gift of appreciation by the Prince for his unwavering devotion. Not only to the seven but to his mate as well. 

Unbidden, he remembers the last time Aether prepared morning soup for him, is sure he can taste the perfection on the back of his tongue, and for once it doesn’t twist his insides into knots. 

He is too tired. So very tired and giving in feels so right like nothing has for too long. 

His star in the sky flares up fleetingly, and Dewdrop smiles softly to himself, the first real smile in what seems like an eternity, when he feels familiar, weightless hands rest lovingly on his shoulders. His head tilts instinctively towards the touch, dipping slightly into the sun-faded brocade of the chair cushion beside him. The merest hint of Aether‘s scent, and the salt of tears still lingering in the fabric, fill his nose. 

His prayers are granted at last.

Above the stars, below the flames; finally reunited. 

The affirmation of love Dew hasn‘t uttered out loud since, leaves him with a long, blissful sigh. 

„I belong to you, my starlight“

Akin to a kiss, barely there, floats a caress over Dew’s lips, making good on a promise. 

“Oh, my Firefly….I adore you”

With his mate’s awaited response, Dew’s chest falls peacefully for the last time. The last glowing ember turns gray. His soul follows Aether’s into the night.

Home. 

#Aether Ghoul #Dewdrop Ghoul #Mountain Ghoul #Dewther #Aether/Dewdrop #Ghost band fanfic #the band ghost fanfiction #Mountain/Dewdrop #MountainDew #nameless ghouls #Mountain/Dew #Mighty Feathers

[kagoutiss]

Actually I'm not done talking about your Ganondorf yet, he's so blorbo/pos, this man wants power but has to put up with so much shit that he makes everyone else put up with his shit too. 10/10 also I would like to kiss him please

FIRST OF ALL THANK YOU AGAIN AAA, SECOND OF ALL you’re so right about this that i ended up…writing many paragraphs of character analysis about him in this regard because this activated something in my brain. like about him inflicting shit on other people because of the shit that’s inflicted on him, and how much i’ve thought about that. i have so many feelings about his shitty personality, i think a fundamental part of why i love him is that he is…literally an asshole and he’s kind of impulsive and often terrible to people for no reason and he’s probably genuinely unbearable to be around even if you are close to him, but i think he is that way by virtue of the COMPLETELY UNREASONABLE REALITY that he lives in?? like.

ok so. i feel like OoT ganondorf is AS unpredictable & unreasonable & unpleasant as the circumstances that he lives with. we’re talking about someone who was not only born into the role of king of a nation that’s been generationally abused by Hyrule since the start of a centuries-long war predating OoT, but he’s also become accustomed to fighting against the Sheikah of that time period, who notably still had an immense technological advantage, and apparently inherit divine knowledge from the gods, and are capable of making evidence of their crimes against humanity just sort of…DISAPPEAR from the sight of most average people??? and also they. fucking invented time travel apparently

one of my favorite bits of really underrated OoT lore is how the Composer Brothers (who you can speak to as ghosts in the Kakariko Graveyard) were hired at some point by the royal family to study the powers of the royal bloodline, and they invented the Sun’s Song, which accelerates time, turns night to day, etc. a form of time travel, in essence. and. canonically. the Composer Brothers committed suicide when they found out ganondorf was going to try to steal their completed research. maybe to prevent him from torturing the the information out of them even if they destroyed it? which is a completely fucking batshit piece of lore that i still cannot believe exists

but imo it also gives a bit more context as to how desperate ganondorf probably was at the heel end of the civil war, or whenever this happened. he was literally having to contend with people who can fucking time travel, and to some extent, alter reality at will, superficially or otherwise. i’m not at all surprised that he has a tendency to 1) hold grudges forever and remember everything that’s ever been done to him, and 2) obsess over stealing the full Triforce, the one chance that any regular mortal has at changing their reality in a fundamental way. i think it’s probably difficult to make real personal connections when you’ve always been constantly at risk of losing anything & everything that you care about, in a way that may or may not affect whether those things had ever existed in the first place

i also feel like he PREFERS to be demonized/label himself really hyperbolic things like the King of All Evil and stuff because it’s…the opposite of what Hyrule does. Hyrule makes itself out to be this Supremely Benevolent Institution That Is Chosen By The Gods And Can Do No Wrong, while simultaneously disappearing its naysayers underground and torturing them and killing them and committing genocide against any territories that refuse to be absorbed under the Hyrulean banner. i don’t think Ganondorf cares whether his actions are necessarily good or evil, but i think that to him, the most abhorrent thing in existence is a thing that claims to be good when it isn’t.

so. he presumably spent his entire early life having to fend off the ever-looming bootheel of Hyrule’s royal family, while their army and their secret police were actively destroying the Gerudo and then gaslighting them all about it on an Existential Level. like. yeah no i think him having immense issues and…projecting the lack of control that he feels onto people around him, and being fully defined by his ambitions to take the triforce, and wanting people to despise him/see him as fundamentally evil, and him being sort of incapable of forming genuine connections with people, is…kinda par for the course with that agdkahkfjagajfhs

#ask #txt #ganondorf #SORRY FOR WRITING ALL THIS I DONT KNOW WHY I DID. IT JUST REMINDED ME OF ALL THESE FEELINGS I HAVE #OoT ganondorf is a great character i think he needs to be appreciated more. it’s his origin story and you can draw so much from it #thank you again anon. i would also kiss him #suicide mention #suicide cw #brief mention but just in case

[rosewaterandivy]

a fool without a cause | track 1: the plan (fuck jobs)

🎶 My body is a temple, how much d’ya think I could get for it? 🎶

summary: a meet ugly

word count: <700 words

warnings: 18 + for eventual smut, empire records AU | The gang are in their early twenties, college-aged, cursing, name calling, vague mentions of crime

a/n: ah yes, this brainrot sees the light of day. here we go!

Series masterlist | Playlist | Currently spinning: 

Eddie Munson was decidedly not a morning person.

So his presence at the old opera house of Recycled Books & Records before his usual shift was startling, to say the least. Even more so was the fact that he seemed to be awake.

Smoking a cigarette by the service entrance of the building as the sleepy town of Hawkins rose to greet a new day. Leaning against the wall like he could not be bothered to hold himself upright in his usual spot near the graffiti’d red devil. Just minding his own business, enjoying the last drag from his cigarette when a Prius careened around the corner like a bat out of hell.

He stubbed out his cigarette in an abandoned planter that had long ago been sacrificed for the cause. RIP Audrey II. Crossing his arms, he leaned back against the wall waiting to see who emerged from the car. It was well-maintained, from what he could tell, a ding or two on the bumper with a sticker that proclaimed ‘Ask me about my lobotomy!’

It also had an above-average stereo system, based on the volume and reverb of the baseline thumping from the car. Eddie could just make out the driver in the front seat singing to themselves as they flipped the visor down to mess with their hair. He can faintly hear the impassioned exclamation of “There will be feasting and dancing in Jerusalem next year!”

The driver bopped in their seat to the rest of the song and donned a pair of wayfarers that would give Harrington a run for his money. The engine was finally cut, and the door opened and you stepped out, still singing the final verse of the song you made your way to the sidewalk in front of the store.

Eddie straightened up a bit at that. Around his age, if he had to guess, give or take. Sporting denim cut-offs, Converse that had been beat to hell, and a flannel tied into some sort of cropped thing which he very much approved of. Now, it wasn’t that this mystery girl hadn’t intrigued him, just a rather unfortunate case of foot-in-mouth-syndrome.

Case in point:

“What the hell were you listening to?”

And yeah, that was on him. His tone could’ve been more genial and less frustration laced with exhaustion. He scrubs a hand down his face, mortified at his implication.

A slow turn accompanied by a withering stare. “Excuse me?”

“Sounded like some indie shit.” He leans against the wall again, “Weird choice of hype song s’all I’m saying.”

“Huh,” You scoff. “Well, I don’t recall asking for your opinion, dickbag.”

“Woah there, sweetheart! Wouldn’t wanna give a guy the wrong idea there.” He shoves his bands in his pockets, “I mean, at least it wasn’t Fall Out Boy or something.”

“Fall Out Boy is pop-punk, first of all.” Followed by a huff, an arched brow and crossed arms. “My apologies for not rolling through with Between the Buried and Me or some other prog-metal bullshit, I didn’t realize I’d be in the presence of the arbiter of taste this morning.”

Oh.

Eddie likes the scathing bite to your retort more than he should. He appreciates a good banter, thinks you can give as good as you can take.

He shrugs, benevolently. “S’not your fault you don’t have good taste. Can’t win ‘em all.”

“Isn’t it time you drop dead from emphysema or something?”

And before he can reply and dig himself in deeper, Hopper unlocks the front doors of the store. Without so much as a goodbye, you turn on your heel and leave.

Great job Munson, another successful human interaction!

Eddie yanks open the service door and stomps into the employee lounge. And makes himself comfortable on the couch, mentally replaying the interaction and highlighting everywhere he’d gone wrong.

On the bright side, at least he’d never have to see you again.

Famous last words.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #modern!eddie munson #nightmanager!eddie #fic: fwac #Spotify

[havenotwillnotreadthebooks]

Got another Celebrimbor headcanon/au idea. What if Celebrimbor had to pay the same price for the Three Rings that Sauron had to pay for the One Ring?

What if you can feel faint traces of Celebrimbor in the Rings, not enough to think his actual consciousness is in there but enough to feel like he is present.

So for (two-ish ages?) a Long Time, Galadriel, Elrond, Cirdan for a bit and then Gandalf just feel this sorta warm presence whenever Shits Hits The Fan

Celebrian sails, and Galadriel is shattered; There is a warm, reassuring feeling at the back of Galadriel’s mind. Persevere, Cousin.

Gil-Galad is about to give the ring to Elrond, he is about to take it off but before he does, he feels Peace. Rest, Cousin.

Círdan is having a stressful time managing the Falas; There is a steady pressure bearing down on him. You are strong, Parent of my Kin.

(He gives the ring to Gandalf. He doesn’t regret getting rid of the intrusion, no matter how benevolent).

Gandalf is the only one that could speak back to ItHimCelebrimborButNot.

Gandalf is weary and worn; He saysthinks I am so tired but I must go on.

There is a scoff, bitter and betrayed, an echo of Despair materialized and personified. You’ll be fine, Maia.

Gandalf puts his Ring to sleep.

Elrond is wilting, at his physical peak and emotional end, he is less kind than summer ought to be; Yet a warmth remains, always there with him, within his mind. Strong Cousin, Kind Cousin, You are doing so much good. My strong, kind cousin.

Later on; All the Rings will travel to Valinor within the grasps of their bearers, and Celebrimbor will be reborn anew from Mandos.

The Valar will not say that Celebrimbor wasn’t in Mandos. Because he must’ve been, it doesn’t matter that they didn’t know exactly where he was, only that he was dead (that he was hopefully dead, and not reforged into something un-elven and beyond Mandos’ grasp).

Celebrimbor was reembodied, does it matter if it was with or without Namo’s grace?

If the Valar think it so, it doesn’t matter because they cannot undo what Celebrimbor has done. The ring bearers don’t think so, and they will not undo what Celebrimbor has created.

#Celebrimbor #silm headcanon #elrond #elrond peredhel #galadriel #gil galad #cirdan #gandalf #The Three Rings of Power #tag.words

[ennas-aesthetic]

redeemer in death

rated M, ~2k words

Fandom: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett

Relationships: Crowley & Jesus (Good Omens); Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)

Tags: Biblical Scripture References (Abrahamic Religions); Character Study; Scene: Crucifixion of Jesus 33 AD (Good Omens); Crowley has Trauma from the Fall (Good Omens); She/Her Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens); Female-Presenting Crowley (Good Omens); Angry Crowley (Good Omens); Emotional Hurt; Crucifixion; mentions of flogging; Angst and Tragedy; Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens); Heaven is Terrible (Good Omens); 6000 Years of Love (Good Omens); Exploration of religious trauma; One Shot

Summary:

"The Big Plans those wank-wings up there are talkin' about? What they’ve fawned over for ages? It's this. She wants Her Son dead."

"You'll be there, of course," Ligur adds. "Front row seats. We'll need a report."

"'Course," Crawley says. She drains her cup in one go. Looks like Jehoshaphat’s shit wine would not last till Passover, after all. "Report, right. Wouldn't miss it for the world."

༻❁༺

Before his Crucifixion (and impending Death), the Serpent of Eden tempts the Carpenter from Galilee one last time.

___________________________

Crawley becomes very, very still. Vaguely she notices that there’s a ringing in her ears, though where it’s from she cannot tell. “You think… Do you think I was sent here by God to tempt you?”

He is quiet now – face contorted, eyes squeezed shut. His bloodied lips are trembling, whispering words that Crawley cannot understand. She has never understood Her, the ways with which She uses and maims, and now Her Son is shivering with pain and agony on the floor, born to die like a lamb for slaughter, and all She can do is watch from afar.

And Aziraphale says She is benevolent. Aziraphale says She is omniscient, not to be questioned. Unbidden in her mind Crawley sees the anxiety that disfigured the cherub-turned-principality’s lovely face: How much trouble could I get into just for asking a few questions?

“No, fuck that,” Crawley whispers. And then, more angrily, “Fuck that! I’m not here for Her, Nazarene. I’m here for you! I’m offering you the same thing I tried to give you in the Wilderness! You don’t have to stay here. You don’t have to be their tool, not when they don’t give two shits about you!”

Read On AO3

#good omens #good omens fic #good omens s2 #aziracrow #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #good omens 2 #golgotha crowley #good omens fanfic #jesus of nazareth #this was a very contemplative piece and i loved writing each and every word of it #biblical scripture