#its actually a dance battle

[sanstropfremir]

This is going to be such a weird and long ask, but what do you think of Michael Jackson as a dancer? I knew he was a great performer, but I was really surprised that he was crowned as one of the best dancers by Fred Astaire, despite the fact that Jackson was not a professionally trained dancer. For context, before stumbling on your blog (which I'm very grateful for between) I always thought that, usually, main dancers in a kpop group were on the same level as professional dancers, so when you explained the real gap, it made me think of how we view performers like Beyonce and Michael Jackson as some of the best dancers, but I don't know whether these comparisons are made with only other singers in mind, or if they really are considered among the best dancer, including professional dancers. Your thoughts?

oh no michael jackson was the real fucking deal. his body control was insane he is legit one of the greatest dancers of all time. it's also important to remember that michael jackson was a street dancer, which was a form that was quite literally growing with him. of course he wasn't professionally trained as a dancer; at what school?? nowadays we have dancers who are professionally trained in hiphop, popping, locking, and other types of street dance, but as a form, these genres are probably only about 50-60ish years old; tony gogo (who worked WITH mj) is still alive and occasionally working. michael jackson was a HUGE part of the reason why schools for street dance even exist at all, bc he was the one who made the form popular. he's the blueprint for the pop star, the reason why we even HAVE kpop in the first place. the thing about the performing arts is that because there are so many aspects of it, you're almost always going to find someone who has better technique in some way; yes there are better dancers than michael jackson now, just as there are better singers, better musicians, etc etc etc. but art isn't about technique, it's about what you DO with that technique, what you make with it, and how influential you become. when someone is recognized as being the 'best', it's always a combination of skill, artistic ability, and influence, and that's something that other artists will always acknowledge.

#especially when you get into the field of pop performance influence is a HUGE part of legacy #i feel like ppl are only familiar with mj's music videos and like.....his dance breaks during live performances are soooo #like go watch the dangerous live at wetten dass 1995 perf that shit is wild (and i think you will find looks very familiar *cough taemin*) #non kpop questions #like mj was for sure an actually talented dancer but there's always going to be a difference between him and like. idk. #someone who only dances a specific genre and does nothing else. #like probably most popping dancers that compete/battle are ''better'' than mj. but that's a flawed metric to judge on #bc theyre not doing the same thing #its like boa. is she a very talented dancer? absolutely. is she the best? no of course not. but professionals will still cite her influence #text #answers #and rain. and taemin. all talented all considered the best in their fields all cited influences #but you will ALWAYS find someone who is better #there's def like a preoccupation with technique that happens in arts fields bc ppl try to make the comparison with other non arts fields #like in a science-based field having perfect technique IS how you are the best #like the best surgeon is the one who does things textbook perfect right? you wouldnt want a surgeon who plays fast and loose with rules #but you can't carry that same logic into art. it doesnt work like that #and its not really something that i blame people for assuming bc not everyone is an artist #but it is an important thing that more ppl should be aware of

[perenlop]

there's something so... off. about the battles in journeys that i can't quite put my finger on. it's not all of them obviously but something just doesn't feel right about them?

#the first battle centric episode in jn (episode 7 with the flute tournament) starts off just. so strange #ive gone off abt how acting like ash caught mimey and its part of his roster is stupid and a bad idea and ofc this episode rubs that in #bc ha ha we gotta cash in on those le epic detective pikachu references that totally dont feel dated today #plus its just such a cop out for ash's fairy type #but its like. just such a weird choice overall... even if mimey is ash's pokemon its not a battler #and what always stuck out to me was like.... why choose mimey and not yknow. his 20+ roster at oak's lab? #this is THE throwback series so dont cry that kids might not know who corphish is or whatever #well. i guess getting a few viral tweets on twitter abt how the pokemon anime EPICALLY referenced the detective pikachu memes #was worth more than actually showcasing ash's pokemon or making sense. its such a weird note to start on for the first battle episode?? #but aside from that. idk something feels missing. i used to say it might be the animations #and ''theyre trying to stick too close to the games animations like for swords dance when they could get creative'' #but thats not an issue unique to this series at all. kalos was also pretty faithful to the games and thats got some of the best battles #echoed voice #jn lb

[alsoyooraiyah]

somehow i feel like ive been bamboozled into playing muse dash...

#never played it bc its not my type of rhythm game... and ngl om!n isnt making me like it more dfshjkdhfg #couldnt we have something like osu lmao >.< #but whatever its way more active than the stupid dance battles so ill take it #this whole this is wild btw holy fuck the brainrot is back in full force #some parts im already kinda hmmmm but this is definitely fun to think about for dola >.< <-predictable #thinking Thoughts about her having to see Satan like that + fucking hearing that they actually did just.... chain him up........... #im having satan thoughts again sdhjgkdfg my god

[feyascorner]

at the end of the day

summary. you and astarion have your first genuine fight and the other companions try to patch things between the two of you.

warnings. comfort/fluff

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

a/n. have not written an actual one-shot in a while omg,...

Breakfast is eaten in silence. One that's been extending far past its welcome date now.

Shadowheart grips her fork, feeling the flitting glances exchanged amongst the others around the table while she maintains focus on the two individuals sitting on opposite sides of the table. Your eyes remain trained on the bread sitting on your plate and Astarion swirls his chalice aimlessly in his hand, neither of you even acknowledging the presence of the other. The cleric grimaces as you stand suddenly, your chair scraping against the floor as you do so.

"Thanks for the food, Gale," is all you mutter before leaving the room with your plate in hand. Astarion rises from his own chair in an instant, huffing.

"I must take my leave as well."

When both parties have left the room, all five other companions stare at one another in a knowing silence. Lae'zel is the only one who doesn't seem the slightest bothered. Wyll is the one to break the uncomfortable tension in the air, clearing his throat after Lae'zel nearly bites her fork off. "I see they're still amidst their lovers' quarrel."

"What are they even fighting about?" Karlach groans, slumping into her chair with an exasperated groan.

"It was nice the first few days to have a good night's sleep without their incessant noises," Shadowheart grumbles, shoving an egg into her mouth. "But now, this is arguable worse."

"Should we...aid them somehow?" Gale blinks.

Lae'zel snorts. "They're adults, we don't need to coddle them, wizard."

Despite her words, they do find themselves a few hours later in unanimous agreement to do something to ease the unfamiliar dryness of the camp dynamic. It comes in multiple attempts. And to say few---if not all--were unsuccessful, is an understatement.

First, when out in the woods, Gale makes an effort to spark a conversation that would prompt both you and Astarion to join in. You nod occasionally, though lost in thought, while Astarion promptly ignores whatever he's talking about. It's a pathetic attempt that has nobody but himself babbling away, which earns a grunt from Shadowheart. It's enough to shut him up, thankfully.

Second, Karlach uses her uncanny ability to lift someone's spirits. Jokes, dancing, all that jazz. Even booze. She urges you to let loose, but all you do in response is smile at her apologetically while Astarion just glares off into space. Another failed attempt. Lae'zel pats Karlach on the shoulder.

Wyll tells stories of his monster hunting days which you usually take an interest in. Astarion naturally listens to what a monster hunter does when he's not hunting monsters, but that's all it is. You and Astarion only listen. There are quips and lingering questions, but neither of you ever direct it at one another, or bother to add into the conversation either. The sheer amount of teasing questions has Wyll's head spinning by the end of it. Lae'zel rolls her eyes.

Just when things couldn't possibly get any worse, you're ambushed. It's a small horde of goblins---nothing beyond your capabilities, but your companions do take some small scratches here and there. Somehow, though he rarely does, as he prefers staying behind you or Karlach, Astarion does too. And despite his efforts to hide it behind his back, you also didn't miss the cut lining Astarion's arm to his elbow. It's not deep by any means, and if it were your own injury, you'd likely just brush it off.

But it's on his skin, and he'd gotten it when taking a hit from an arrow that should've cut your arm.

Blasted hells, you think, as he shrugs it off. Even when you can clearly see him clenching his jaw to bite away the pain.

If battle won't be the end of you, you're sure your idiot of a boyfriend might be instead.

"Come here, you fool," you mutter, holding out your hand. He doesn't even consider the fact that you're mad at one another and immediately extends his arm to you. Habits, you suppose.

You mumble out a weak scolding as he watches you wrap the wound through his lashes. He shivers as you lather a cool ointment on the cut, hoping it's enough to soothe the pain before Shadowheart's recovered enough to properly heal him. He lifts a pale hand to your face, and for a moment, you think he might pinch you. Instead, he runs a thumb across your cheek, spreading the ointment on a scratch you hadn't even realized was there in the first place.

You meet his eyes, your own softening as he cups his fingertips around your cheek. The way he looks at you is overwhelming sometimes---like you're the only thing he gives a damn about in this world---but it's a welcome feeling when he hasn't even looked you in the eye this way in days now. For a moment, you realize you don't even remember why the two of you were mad at one another in the first place.

A laugh threatens to escape your throat. How childish, truly.

And then he flicks your forehead, unable to help the grin etching onto his lips when you blink in surprise.

"That was for making me sleep by myself for three nights."

You swat at his arm while he dodges each of your lazy attempts to get back at him. And though the two of you continue bickering, unbeknownst to you, you have an audience a good bit away, watching you return to your old ways after making them worry for so long.

"What a sight it is--to see young people in love again," Wyll smiles.

Shadowheart deadpans. "Isn't Astarion nearing 240?"

"Who cares?" Karlach shrugs, slinging her arms on either side of her companions with a toothy beam. "What matters is that they made up...and we didn't even have to help them."

#is this kinda ooc idek atp #astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate astarion #astarion x tav #bg3 astarion #astarion x reader #astarion #feyascorner #bg3 x reader #astarion x oc #baldurs gate 3

[ayaboba]

I GUESS IT WAS UNAVOIDABLE

summary: turns out you got a cold - not to worry, your boyfriend is here!

characters: alhaitham, diluc, kazuha, wanderer.

notes: new year, new theme. wc: 1.2k total, gn! reader, petnames, angsty in diluc but it fades into fluff, thought i was real funny in wanderer’s, you’re sick.

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ dreamy december event masterlist

alhaitham

“Don’t look at me like that.”

You shoot him a stern look alongside your words, taking a generous sip of the warm honey water swirling in your favourite mug. Its comforting warmth immediately eases the sharp pain in your throat down to a low throb, as its aftertaste proves sweeter than the concoction yesterday night.

Alhaitham assesses you from the foot of your shared bed, his face a mixture of contemplative, exasperated, and amused. How rare, your predicament must be concerning enough to expand Alhaitham's devastatingly frugal palette of emotions. What an honour.

“I’m not looking at you like anything,” he mutters, letting out an exasperated sigh. “It’s up to your interpretation of how I look at you, actually.”

Despite his sharp tongue and the knowledge that he’s pickpocketed this debate, leaving you nothing but suffocating gloom, the anxious face staring upon yours shows nothing but genuine worry.

“Your fever is easing,” Alhaitham notes, his voice trailing off as he watches your body shake from a particularly violent cough. “Although, I strongly suggest that you go back to sleep.”

If the cold hadn’t snatched your usual, more energised self, leaving this crippling state equivalent to lying on your deathbed (it really wasn't), then you wouldn’t have second’s hesitation in replying with a sharp response contrasting whatever Alhaitham just said.

But right now, with the decorative array of warm lights illuminating the room, it casts a spell on your tired senses as the slow song of sleep cradles you away.

diluc

No amount of your most persuasive chants is able to coax that stupid idea away from him.

Dawn Winery was one of the many sponsors for Monstadt’s annual winter markets, an exquisite yearly event composing of streets after streets lined with cosy stalls lit with soft fairy lights, late nights sprinkled with the frosty taste of freshly fallen snow as everyone stayed up as late as the moon’s guidance, laughter and cheer dancing through the night.

Wasn’t it only obvious that the stall’s demand was going to skyrocket?

Wasn’t it obvious that you would think of assisting, even if it led to seeing the cracks of dawn?

That’s what you argued earlier, about twenty minutes ago, as if you were more concerned with his rationality than your spiralling fatigue. Which, to be frank, you were.

His hand was intertwined with yours, desperately tight, strong like the gaze falling from those eyes, rimmed with the reasoning for empty tissue boxes. Those hands were squeezing an ailment into the emptiness of your veins, leaving his desolate. And that’s when you snapped. How could he give it his all if he gave it all away?

Even when you cried, even when you yelled, even when you were on the verge of giving up, Diluc never once faltered; he adapted each time to defy what gnawed you, and perhaps he will go with these silent battles to win the golden hope restorative for you both.

Midnight. That same hand clambers up, searching for yours, finally finding it and squeezing it once, for you. Only this time you squeeze it back, twice.

kazuha

Those lacy curtains awaken a myriad of joyous senses, the strengthening sunshine warmly caressing the surface of your skin, leaving a glistening glow, while the tickling breeze drifts away the last of your drowsiness through the window.

What a beautiful day, you notice as you stretch the aching muscles in your neck and shoulders. The simple sight of sunshine releases a blossoming feeling of positivity that is likely going to be engraved into the roots of your day.

As you finish up with the basic stretches and shuffle on to tackle your shared bed, taking the covers in hand and connecting them to their respective corners, something on your bedside table catches your eye.

You were mere thoughts away from the impending decision to investigate, and this part you’d like to blame Kazuha for his chosen timing to start prepping breakfast.

Not just any typical breakfast, you might add. Your favourite.

It’s instantly recognisable from the first delicate wafts seeping into the bedroom. And it’s not exactly an exaggeration when you admit that your body and mind halted. Completely ceased, flabbergasted personified.

That peculiar guest on your nightstand was all forgotten the moment you stepped foot into the kitchen.

“Good morning, sunshine,” a particular poet smiles over as you take a seat opposite the counter.

“Feeling better? I left the last of your cough medication on your bedside table so you’d remember to take it.”

He passes the plate, the masterpiece of the morning by far, almost too perfect to eat.. but then it all comes flooding in. Starting off with a few waves in the form of muffled words, and then the tsunami hits, the biggest wave, the recollection of memories.

"Ah..." is all you reply with.

Kazuha lets out a good-natured chuckle, subtly surveying you as he does. “Well, it doesn’t look like you need it, anyway.”

wanderer

One of the most eminent traits about your boyfriend was his determination—no, stubbornness—when it came to things that really shouldn’t concern him, especially if they sincerely nettled him so much. So simple that it confounded you why it never occurred to him to try and mind his own business for once. You frequently muttered under your breath how his behaviour reminded you of some toxic grandma living down the street.

Additionally, he should consider that you’re a human. A human who experienced things every other human did, for example, colds. Inevitable and terrible, but everyone had them.

Therefore, he shouldn’t treat it too seriously.

Yet here he is, sleeping in the same bed, under the same covers, just a ghost of a touch away. Promptly declining your polite request that he should spend the night in the spare bedroom as you felt particularly sniffly and probably needed a tissue permanently attached to your nose for the night.

Sleep was playing an eternal game of tag, teasing you. You don’t know what time it is, but it must be late. You’ve finished many seasons of your delusional scenarios and are now left bare of anything to entertain until dreams pulled you into its whirlpools.

The rims of your eyes water as you attempt to hold in that itching cough, blinking the tears back, but it felt like a million deluxe feathers each performing acrobatics in your throat.

“You should probably let out that cough. You’re starting to look like you’re having a breakdown.”

With more strength than anticipated, you snap to face him, but not after letting out that wheezing cough that more or less rearranges your skeletal structure. His pretty face nodding sombrely into yours.

“I’m fine,” you burst.

“And I’m the Dendro Archon,” he acknowledged, passing you a tissue. “Have you not slept at all?”

“It’s playing a game of tag,” you sniff, with a tone that conveyed, you’re not going to get it.

“Just run faster,” he recommended, pulling you into his chest before you even have the chance to process what he just said.

#genshin fanfic #genshin x reader #genshin fluff #alhaitham x reader #diluc x reader #kazuha x reader #wanderer x reader #scaramouche x reader #anya writes ✧.*

[viiiiiiiiiin]

How they confess their love for you !! PT. 2

Includes: Shanks , Buggy , Roger , Rayleigh , Shakky , Smoker , Tashigi , Mihawk.

Pt. 1 , Pt. 2 (Here) , Pt. 3

Masterlist

Red Haired: Shanks

He's been with many women , men , and people in between. Hookups , bar dates , etc. He never thought he'd actually catch feelings for one of his flings until he met you.

You were surprised to join his crew (since it was all men) , but you proved to be a great comrade.

He loves how headstrong you are , how captivating you look , how you battle , and so much more.

He became increasingly more obvious that he was head over heels for you , as pointed out by one of his conversations with Mihawk himself.

One night , during a celebrating , the crew was mostly drunk , eating , or dancing. Shanks was one of the drunken pirates laying around.

He was hanging out near you. You watched him since you weren't drunk and wanted to make sure he was okay.

While he rested his head in your lap , he told you how beautiful / handsome you are to him. While you processed his words , he continued about how he much he loves you.

But he vaguely remembered saying those things in the morning. Mostly because you were there , laying beside him.

Buggy the Clown

He was oblivious to his feelings for you.

When you joined up with him , he felt as if he was on top of the world because of having someone strong like you on his side.

Eventually , he fell head over heels for you. It was extremely obvious. He had a huge soft spot for you , would only listen to you , would turn red around you , would yell at you less , etc.

He couldn't even tell until Alvida brought it up to him. She told him that what he felt was love and he FREAKED out.

He's never been in love before. He doesn't know how to handle his emotions and such , so he tries to distance himself from you to make the feelings fade.

But they only grew.

One day , you brought some food to his room. You wanted to see if he was okay. You didn't bother knocking since he knew it was you.

You placed it on his desk and sat near him to check in on him.

That was a mistake.

As soon as you did , he blurted out a bunch of nonsense. The only thing you caught was that he was in love with you.

You told him you felt the same and surprised the fuck out of him.

Pirate King: Gol D. Roger

He was also oblivious to the fact he was in love with you , but his entire crew knew.

Even Buggy and Shanks knew.

Rayleigh talked to him about it and Roger admitted that you did make him feel weird. Though , he never thought anything of it. He though you were just his closest companion.

Rayleigh told him that he was in love with you and he should just tell you.

And he did.

As bluntly as possible.

He didn't even sugar coat it.

He just straight up told you on a random day while you two were hanging our.

It shocked the fuck out of you , but you told him you felt the same.

That same , handsome smile that's always on his face grew.

His entire crew was in SHOCK.

They knew how he felt , but they didn't expect him to confess like this.

Dark King: Silvers Rayleigh

He's a very wise man. He's the righthand of the pirate king , so he has to be (also because Roger is a bubble head who runs right into danger with a smile on his face).

He knew. He knew the second that his heart skipped a beat around you. He accepted it and observed you silently.

Like Robin , he finds out your hobbies and stuff you like.

When he finally decides its the right time to confess , he gets you some flowers and confesses to you on a beach island you his landed on.

You were shocked. You never expected the DARK KING himself to be in love with you. Especially because you felt the same.

You told him you felt the same , and he embraced you. He held onto you for God knows how long , but you both enjoyed it.

Former Empress of Amazon Lily: Shakuyaku (Shakky)

Like Rayleigh , she is very wise. That's why she runs a rip - off bar . . .

She realized she was in love with you almost immediately. It was obvious because she fell into the same illness that those before her did.

The Love Sickness.

She was obsessed with you and would flirt with you at any chance she got. She would do anything she could to turn your face beat red.

She knew what embarrassed you and what flustered you.

She used this and asked you to be her significant other , seemingly joking. This happened at her bar.

You asked if she was joking and she shook her head while smiling.

You agreed and she resigned as the empress of Amazon Lily.

You moved to Sabaody to be with her and run her bar with her.

White Chase: Smoker

Though he seems gruff , he has a massive soft side for G5 and his comrades. That includes you.

In fact , he had a bigger soft spot for you. You got away with more shenanigans , you got to hang out with him more , etc. G5 and Tashigi noticed.

He didn't , but they sure as hell did. They would tease poor Smoker about his little crush all. day.

Any chance they got , they would hook you guys up. On an island ? You twos re going together. Gotta run some errands ? Smoker and Reader can handle it !

Eventually , his feelings grew unbearable.

One evening , when you two were dining together after a battle , he blurted out his feelings.

After realizing what he did , he looked away in shame.

But you held his hand and told him you felt the same.

Though you two are together now , G5 still teases him about you.

"Captain" Tashigi

It was obvious to literally everyone , even Smoker.

She's always so nervous around you. She stumbles more often , her face is always pink around you , etc. She even works harder when you're around ! (She wants to show you that she's strong)

Even you noticed.

G5 teased her about it and did the same thing they did to Smoker. They would hook you guys up as much as possible.

Eventually , you just confessed your love to her because you knew she wouldn't do it. She told you she felt the same and you two got together.

Hawkeye: Dracule Mihawk

He could tell as soon as it came up. He's a smart man.

Since you started living with him , he knew it would most likely happen. However , he wasn't exactly sure how to tell you.

He decided to ask Perona about her opinion. Upon hearing his feelings for you , she freaked out and cheered for him.

She gave him a BUNCH of tips , pointers , and stuff like that. She told him to surprise you with flowers , dinner , and stuff you liked.

Which he did.

He brought you to the Baratie , the place famous for its food. He knew you liked that place because you grew up around the owner.

He took you there and let you go crazy with whatever you wanted to order.

At the end of yalls little dinner date , he handed you a black rose and informed you of his feelings.

With dead eyes. Like , he wasn't even nervous.

You were though.

You turned red but told him you felt the same.

He was very happy , even if he didn't look it.

He brought you back to the castle and ended the night with wine and reading (with you , of course).

#shanks x reader #shanks #buggy the clown #buggy x reader #gold roger #gol d roger #roger x reader #silvers rayleigh #rayleigh x reader #shakky #shakuyaku #shakky x reader #smoker #smoker x reader #tashigi #tashigi x reader #dracule mihawk #mihawk x reader #one piece #op #reader insert #x reader #gender neutral y/n #gender neutral reader #headcanon #akagami no shanks #buggy one piece #pirate king #dark king rayleigh #one piece smoker

[evilminji]

You know what's my JAM?

Extremes being treated as the Serious Dangers they ARE, even when they aren't "oooh its a spooky Grey morality and BADness!" Extreme.

Like? No, people. ALL of them are bad. They are ALL face melting dangerous. The void may crush your soul, but look upon the Face Of GOD? Not gonna be having a fun time! Doesn't MATTER if he's a cool dude! Face melting!

We are creatures of BALANCE. Tiny, fragile, little motes of dust. That can only exsist in the careful, blended, dances of territories and powers that be. We squishy.

Ghosts? Less squishy.

Poor impulse control, too. Especially ones with Fenton genetics. ABSOLUTELY ones with Fenton genetics and a trauma based aversion to therapy. That one? Pretty hardy. Made pretty tough, what with being Fates third favorite chew toy. But? Still gets the Sads, you know? The slightly longer then just seasonal depression.

Would medicine and some therapy help? Oh like a dream!

If medicine WORKED on his Ectoplasmicly contaminated ass. And he TRUSTED therapists.

But... surely, Danny thinks, as he sits grossly in his Depression sweatpants and eats suspect pizza on the floor of his moldering shoebox of an apartment, there must be SOME way to address his Depression? He should... he should DO something about it. Take a break maybe. Look up some ghost doctors or something.

.....

Oooooooooor..... >.>

He could break out that OMENIOUS af, bound in suspect leather, Big Book Of Forbidden Knowledge(TM) that he got from Pariah's.... what, fourth? Fifth? Library? Fuck that Lair is huge. He's STILL cleaning it out and it's been over half a decade. He swears it spawns more floors just to mock him. Bastard. Don't know HOW a building can be a Bastard, but it sure found A WAY.

Anyway!

Book it is! *horrifying Eldritch light as he opens it* huh. Neat. Comes with its own visual effects. *another bite of suspect pizza* Funky.

And so! Danny, the depressed King Of The Zone... fucks of to go cheer himself up in the Fields Of Bliss(TM), an area of Absolute Bliss. Which! Sounds GREAT in theory, now don't it? Lovely even.

Remember that little comment about extremes?

You can ENTER those fields. But no one leaves. No one CAN. The deeper you go? The more doomed you become. Less will to do anything at all. Eat, talk, move. So much as think. Like ALL extreme "Goods", it sounds lovely, but the reality is no gentle little thing.

It's a glue trap.

But how could Danny have known? Honestly, who would have TAUGHT him? Textbooks can only go so far, after all. And placing blame will not rescue the young monarch.

I imagine it's one of his helpers that pieces together what's happened. Come for further clarification on WHERE exactly he wants certain statues moved. Only? Your Majesty? Your Majesty...? Where ever could he BE? Oh? He's left out some of his books. Well, I'll just assist by putting them away for-.....

Oh.

OH ANCIENTS, NO.

But! What can the poor man DO? Ghosts are Beings of Will, Emotion, and Obsession. Were it some sort of Holy Blade or Sentient Tree, you know, something INDIVIDUAL with a will they could FIGHT? Oh no problem. But an area of effect? Especially an EMOTIONAL area of effect!? Ooooooh, this is bad. The Zone can't AFFORD to lose ANOTHER King!

We JUST GOT THIS ONE!!!

Wait. He's heard that there's an organization for this! That loudly cursing fellow who got violently thrown back into the Zone. "Ruined his fun" and all that! Perfect! He'll just hire THEM!

Smashcut? To a nice, peaceful, everybody's screaming Justice League Meeting. John's cursing life, extremely hungover. Zatana still has three cracked ribs. Wonder Woman is enjoying the new sword she... liberated... mid battle. Truely stunning craftsmanship. When?

Knock Knock!

Heads swivel. There... is a glowing green... accountant? Dandy? Dandy accountant. With an equally radioactive day glow green Actual Pirate's Chest Of Treasures, floating next to him. In the void of space; Just beyond the glass. What, the, fuuuuuu-

He seems to be under the impression they are some sort of Heroic mercenaries. And has come to request the retrieve-

"NNNNNOPE! Pariah can SHOVE it!" Snarls a suddenly very awake John Constantine, sitting up straight for the first time in hours. The rest of Dark grimly nod in agreement. Let the fucker rot. It's a kinder fate then he deserves.

No, no, NO! King PHANTOM! Pariah's SUCCESSOR by right of combat! They are not, and were never, allied in any way!

Well, all right then. Road trip to save a young idiot then.

@the-witchhunter @hdgnj @hypewinter @lolottes @mutable-manifestation @nerdpoe

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dc x dp #dcxdp #dc x dp prompt #minji's writing

[rileyslibrary]

Hello! I just wanted to say that your fics have such a distinct feel that it makes it feel like a cinematic masterpiece so moving as each sentence is full of detail and care it’s INSANE

Could you do one where the 141 as a whole are able to go on leave for a few months but reader doesn’t really have a place to go? Like due to thier participation in the military their family has essentially cut contact with them and the military has been a placeholder for their home-life—how would Ghost react?

Once again I love your works and hope you have an amazing day ‼️

The Log Cabin: Pack Light

A/N: Hi, anon! Thank you for your kind words. Here’s the story; enjoy! :)

———————————————————————

You’re at the base’s garage, squatting on the roof of a battle-worn 1994 Land Rover Wolf, welding a rack that had been blown apart during your last mission. It’s quite admirable how these vehicles can withstand anything coming their way and still stand strong after so many years.

How long are you going to stay strong? The sparks dance around you as you manipulate the welding torch, wishing there was a similar way to mend your scars and those you’ve hurt in the past with your decisions.

But these things are far more complex than welding metal; you can’t mend fractured relationships with mere tools. It takes understanding and empathy—qualities that seem foreign to those once close to you.

Or maybe they’re right, and you’re unworthy of their forgiveness…

You close the oxygen and fuel torch valves, lift your welding mask, and wait for the molten metal to cool. You assess the seams and sigh; it needs more work. You put the welding mask back on, reignite the torch, and continue.

As the heat emanates from the torch, glowing around your gloved hands, it suddenly flickers and sputters before its flame eventually dies out. Baffled, you lift the torch in your hands and shake it. You turn towards the valve, only to see Ghost standing beside it, holding the handle. He’s dressed in civilian clothes, though he still wears his mask and carries a rucksack over his shoulder.

“I was calling out for you, but you couldn’t hear me over the...” he trails off, pointing at the torch.

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant,” you say through the mask, “this thing is a pain to fix.”

Ghost looks at the rack, then back at you. “Does it need to be fixed now?” He asks.

“It does.” You insist, not wanting to disclose the actual reason.

“Liar.”

Your eyebrows shoot up from behind the welding mask. “Excuse me?”

“You expect me to believe that while the rest of the team is on leave and doesn’t require that vehicle, you absolutely need to fix it.” He says.

You look at the torch and then back at him. “I must do it so it’s ready when you guys return.”

“When you guys return.” He repeats. “So, you’re not leaving.”

You forcefully turn to face him. “I am leaving.” You assert.

“Oh yeah?” He provokes you. “Where are you going?”

“None of your business, Lt.”

“See?” He says and lifts both hands, “You’re lying.”

You lower your head and throw the torch onto the roof. “What do you want me to say, huh?” You murmur, “What?”

“The truth,” he replies, “and take that bloody mask off while you’re at it.”

“Why should I take it off?” You sneer and point at his mask. “You wear yours all the time.”

“You can see my eyes, though, can’t you?” He explains and points to his face. He gestures with his head towards you. “Let me see yours,” he commands.

You roll your eyes and lift the mask. He removes his balaclava in return.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” He asks. “What exactly are you trying to fix?”

‘My relationship with my family,’ you think to yourself and feel your face getting warmer than before when the wielding flames were burning around you.

He stands there with one thumb tucked under the rucksack’s strip. He’s waiting for an answer—a proper, truthful answer.

“This is my home.” You whisper, shrugging and lowering your head.

“What about your family?” He asks, and you shake your head, tears start filling your eyes.

“Any friends?” He asks again, this time softer.

You give him another negative shake of the head, which causes the tears to run down your face. You quickly wipe your cheeks with your gloves.

He removes his rucksack from his shoulder, drops it to the ground and puts his hands on his waist.

“Have you tried talking to them?” He asks.

“I did,” you reply, “but they don’t want anything to do with me. I disgust them, and I’m not proud either...”

“Nobody’s proud.” He admits and puts one hand on the roof’s rack, “But somebody has to do what we do.”

You sniff and rub your nose. “See? That’s why I’m here, fixing that damn rack; somebody has to do it.” You explain. “I don’t have a choice.”

“Not necessarily.” He shrugs. “Not all of us will go see family or friends; Price is travelling to the Caribbean alone as we speak, and I’m off to Scotland.”

“With Soap?”

“Fuck no!” He yells, and a chuckle escapes his lips. “He has no idea I’m going there.”

Your lips curl up, and he returns your smile. He knocks on the vehicle’s roof twice and opens his mouth to say something, but he hesitates and stops. You decide to break the silence.

“Thank you for listening to me.” You whisper.

He bites his bottom lip and pats the roof once more.

“Wanna come with me?” He asks.

Your face warms up again but for a whole different reason.

“T-to Scotland?!” You ask, surprised.

Ghost scratches his cheek and nods. “Yeah,” he replies, “it’s a small cabin in the woods—it has a single bed, an outdoor toilet, and we’ll have to hunt for food. But it has a beautiful pond for swimming and plenty of hiking trails.”

“Wow, wow, wow, one bed?!” You shout, throwing your hands up, “That’s a bit too forward, don’t you think, Lt.?”

“Come on!” He smirks, “As if we haven’t experienced that before. We’ll make it work.”

You look at him, and he returns your gaze. You’re grateful for his offer, but doubt still lingers.

“Thank you, Lt.,” you reply, “but I need to finish that rack.”

“Bollocks!” He shouts and smiles. “How long will it take you?”

“That’s not what I mean-”

“How long?” He repeats.

“Simon..”

He drops the smile and looks you straight in the eyes.

“I’m serious,” he whispers.

“You’re just offering out of pity.” You speculate, and he throws his head up, letting out a sharp chuckle.

“Very bold of you to think I’d invite you out of mere pity.” He says. “I thought you also had plans; that’s why I didn’t offer before. I’m doing it because I found the opportunity.”

You look at him, contemplating his words, then shake your head.

“Thanks,” you say, “maybe next time.”

He picks up his rucksack and begins walking towards the garage’s exit.

“We’re leaving in an hour!” he shouts as he walks towards the door.

“Ghost! “

“Pack light!”

———————————————————————

Part 2 this way ->

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x y/n #simon ghost riley x gn!reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x y/n #call of duty #modern warfare 2 #cod mwii #ghost cod #ghost cod mw2 #cod ghost #ghost cod mwii #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon ghost riley fic

[liliacamethyst]

just curious if there's an extra angsty alternative drabbles because i love ur work ! like in a scenario where sun-spider isn't able to care for herself because the pregnancy is taking a toll on her or she got extremely ill OR EVEN GETTING EXTREMELY injured during a mission and lets say the gang is too caught up with spider society business to check on her, how would miguel react then?

ill leave the actual state of sun-spider in your hands 🤭

A LETTER FROM THE SUN

Thank you so much for your request, I really liked your idea- So here's an extra , extra ANGSTY (trigger warning) alternative universe Drabble. I got a little bit carried away I really hope you still enjoy it 💚:

You can barely see through the spots dancing before your eyes as you stagger back to your apartment on Earth 586. You don't remember the walk home from the doctor's office but somehow, you made it back. The weight of the doctor's words still echo in your ears, "The childbirth... It's too dangerous. You won't survive."

It's not that you're not scared; you are, very much so. But more than that, you're filled with a fierce determination - for your child and for the world you've sworn to protect. And so, you put your mask, pull on your suit, and step into the battle once more, fighting harder than you ever have before.

But behind the brave facade, you're struggling. You're tired, your energy gone by the demands of your pregnancy and your duty as Spider-Sun. You're having to deal with the pains and discomforts that come with carrying a child, exacerbated by the unrelenting strain of your battles.

You retreat to Earth 586, hoping to find some solace and respite in your own universe. But instead, your responsibilities there seem to compound your exhaustion. There are still threats to confront, villains to vanquish, innocents to save. You're fighting two wars at the same time - one for your world, and one for your life.

The spider society is oblivious to your struggles. They are wrapped up in their own missions and agendas, too absorbed in saving the multiverse to notice your quiet battle for survival. The absence of concern from the team feels like a sting, a bitter pill to swallow, yet you say nothing, because you understand. So you hide your pain behind your bright smile and valiant spirit, because that's what you do best.

Still, as the days pass, your condition worsens. Your constant fatigue, the severe sickness and the frequent fainting spells- all signs that are hard to ignore. You're well aware that your body is pushing its limits but the love you have for your child growing inside of you keeps you from giving up. You've always fought against the odds, and you're not about to stop now - not when the stakes are that. Higher than they've ever been before.

You're fighting for two now, and that's all the motivation you need to keep going. You're ready to make the ultimate sacrifice for your child. And you'll face it with all the courage and determination that make you Spider-Sun.

-

Miguel, Gwen, Peter B, and Jess are on a mission in your Earth - Earth 586. It's been months since they've seen you, and Gwen and Peter are buzzing with excitement. Even Miguel, who maintains his stoic façade as always, has a glint in his eyes that hints at anticipation and excitement of the prospect of seeing his love again.

As they land, Gwen looks around, taking in the familiar surroundings of your world. "I can't believe it's been so long," she remarks, a hint of guilt in her voice. "We got so caught up in everything..."

Peter B chimes in, "Yeah, Sunny is gonna give us an earful for sure. I'm surprised she hasn't come to give us a welcome smack yet." His playful remark hangs in the air and everybody silently agrees.

They're here to deal with an anomaly, a Lizard-like opponent. Yet, as the fight breaks out, Peter can't help but wonder why you aren't here. This is your world, your neighborhood, your people. You're always there, ready to protect and serve. So where are you?

"Miguel!" Peter B shouts over the sounds of the fight. "Why isn't Sunny here? This is her world! Where is she?"

The fight ends sucessfully, with Jess instructed by Miguel to take the captive Lizard back to HQ. There's a tension in Miguel's voice, a sharpness that wasn't there before. He announces that he's going to look for you, his eyes flicking briefly towards the city, towards your home. “You guys go back and secure the ugly lizard. I will look where the hell Sunny is hiding.”

"We're coming with you," Gwen says firmly, Peter B nodding in agreement beside her. There's no room for argument in her voice. Miguel gives them a curt nod and so they swinf through Nea Yorkey searcing for their sun.

Gwen’s search for you leads her to knock on the doors of the neighbors in your building. Most people either shake their heads, claiming they haven't seen you, or slam the door in her face without a word. Gwen's worry deepens with each door she knocks on.

Finally, she finds a woman with a bunch of children screaming in the background. The woman looks frazzled, but she stops and listens to Gwen's questions. "Haven't seen her in days," the woman says, wiping her hands on her apron. "There was an ambulance here the other day, took her away. Ain't seen no light in her place since then."

Gwen feels as if the air has been sucked out of her lungs. She thanks the woman and rushes off to find Miguel and Peter B. Her words spill out in a rush, detailing what she found out. "Miguel," she gasps out. "Peter. Ambulance. Sunny's place."

Miguel's face goes deathly pale, and before Gwen or Peter B can react, he swings into the air, shooting webs and flying through the city with a speed and urgency that leaves them behind.

Gwen and Peter B look at each other and immediately follow, but Miguel is like a man possessed, a force of nature.

He reaches the hospital, and without a second thought, he barges through the doors. His heart is pounding in his chest, his breaths are short and ragged.

The reception desk nurses look up in surprise as Miguel, still in his Spider-Man 2099 suit, demands to know if you are in the hospital. There is a desperation as he speaks your name.

After a tense conversation with the hospital staff and almost being escorted out, Miguel is finally given the room number.

The world seems to stand still  around Miguel as he enters the room, only to find it empty. The nurse, busy tidying the space and remaking the bed, looks up in surprise at the sudden intrusion.

He's staring at the closed door when a nurse brushes past him, mumbling an apology. A sudden rush of fear and confusion go through him as he turns to see the empty hospital bed. His heart feels as if it's been ripped out from his chest. The room spins around him. Where are you?

"Excuse me, are you Miguel O'Hara?" A voice snaps him out of his thoughts, and he turns to see another nurse, her face kind but weary. He can only nod, words failing him at the moment.

"Mr. O'Hara, she's not here anymore. She... she's not with us," the nurse says gently, her eyes filled with sympathy. She hands him an envelope. "She asked me to give this to you if you ever came looking for her."

"I am sorry," she adds quietly, before turning to leave. "I'll be right back with little Gabe."

Miguel doesnt register her words. His entire world feels as though it's come crashing down around him. He sinks onto the nearby chair, clutching the envelope tightly, his eyes staring blankly at it. He's too numb to even attempt to open it or even move.

Gwen and Peter B burst into the room then, worry clearly visible on their faces. "Miguel, what's going on?" Gwen asks urgently, rushing to his side. Peter B follows her but Miguel barely hears them, his blood rushing in his ears.

The world is blurry around him, sounds are muffled and distant. The room is empty, and you are not there. ‘No es real’ and ‘por favor vuelve a mi mi sol’ are the only things he can mumble over and over again tirelessly. The reality of it feels like a crushing weight on his chest and all he can do is sit there, holding onto the last piece of you he has left. 

Dear Miguel,

If you're reading this, then I am no longer in this world. 

I just wanted to let you know that it’s not your fault and no you couldn’t have saved me. I know how you are, Miguel. You always have been the man who would try to save the world single-handedly, even if it meant sacrificing yourself in the process. But this wasn't on you. This was my choice, my decision and I stand by it. I knew the risks and I am sorry I hurt you.

But here's the thing, I have no regrets. Our child...our Gabriel, he's my most cherished gift to you, Miguel. And I know you, with your awkward, nerdy charm and those terrible dad jokes you think are hilarious, will be an amazing father. You were born to be a dad - it's like your destiny. And guess what? This is your second chance to be the best dad you were always supposed to be.

I know you will protect our baby with every fiber of your being. That's just who you are. My last wish is that you give Gabriel the life he deserves. Raise him, love him, be there for him. That's all I want, Miguel.

And if you ever miss me, just look up to the sky, and I'll be there. Even if you can't see me, know that I'm probably hiding behind a cloud, always watching over and protecting you and our Gabriel.

P.S. Please let Gwen, Peter, Jess, Hobie, Miles, Pav and the rest of the squad know how thankful I am for them. They’ve been family, and I know they will rock as godparents.

Forever shining for you, 

Tu sol

The door opens again, and the nurse walks in, cradling a tiny bundle in her arms. A baby. A newborn.

As soon as Miguel held the newborn,his son, securely in his arms, he makes a silent promise to you, wherever you are, that he will honor your last wish. He will be the father Gabriel deserves and he will make sure that your sacrifice and love will never be forgotten.

After all, how could anyone possibly forget about the sun?

#miguel ohara #miguel x you #miguel x reader #miguel o hara #spiderman 2099 #atsv miguel #across the spiderverse #miguel o hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel ohara imagine #oscar isaac fanfiction #oscar issac x reader #oscar isaac imagine #oscar isaac #spider man x reader #spider man

[charlotteharlatan]

Do you ever think about what would have happened if Mary Hodges (formerly Mary Loquacious) hadn’t interrupted Crowley and Aziraphale’s “intimate moment”?

Because I do. I think about it a lot.

First off, the way that this shot is set up is perfect. Mary - Mary who had a key role in the whole “Antichrist shuffle” fiasco, and who is a walking reminder of the approaching apocalypse that will separate Aziraphale and Crowley - is literally coming between them. The show is full of these beautifully simple, yet easy-to-miss moments that only last a few frames.

Now, on its surface, this part of the scene mostly plays as humorous because Crowley and Aziraphale are sexless-by-default, non-human entities who just happen to come across to most humans as a very aesthetic queer couple. So naturally, Mary makes the same assumption as every other human that so much as glances in their direction, and isn’t that a laugh?

Except that…she’s not actually wrong about it being an intimate moment. Not just in the physical sense, although I think this is the closest we see them physically get in the whole first season (not counting being literally inside each other’s corporations, I suppose).

But it’s intimate in the emotional sense too, because Crowley is worried and stressed about having lost the Antichrist, and now on top of everything else he’s got Aziraphale calling him “nice” and poking at some very old wounds (if he’s so “nice” then why did he Fall?). And Crowley is also probably *frightened* - they’re inside a former Satanic convent that kept regular contact with not just Crowley himself, but also Hastur, and probably other demons too. For all Crowley knows, someone from his side could still be lurking about; they could overhear and get them both in big trouble.

And as if all that weren’t enough, I don’t think I’m imagining a healthy dose of frustration with Aziraphale in the mix either. Just a few minutes prior, the angel essentially tempted Crowley into miracling the paint stain out of his coat, and then broke their rules by saying “thank you” for it. Aziraphale has spent at least the last few centuries sending him some very mixed signals and we can see that Crowley is done with them dancing around each other. That game was more or less fine before, they had time, all the time in the world. But now, in just a few days, all the time in the world will be ENDING. And yet here’s Aziraphale, playing the same game as always, acting like nothing between them has changed, even though they both know better.

So yeah, it all comes to a head in that moment, and Crowley (sort of understandably) loses it a bit. He won’t actually hurt Aziraphale and they both know that, but he has to get across to the angel SOMEHOW that he’s experiencing some Big Feelings. And he doesn’t have a whole lot of options as to how to do that. He’s too worked up to communicate effectively. So he goes with the wall slam. This causes an emotionally charged situation which we’re primed to think will have an emotional payoff - the camera pulls in close, a dramatic transition, drawing us in to the tension of the moment right along with Crowley and Aziraphale.

And then there’s Aziraphale, who…doesn’t defend himself at all. Aziraphale, who is kind but far from defenseless, who used to guard the gate of Eden with a flaming sword, who was supposed to fight in a platoon of angels in the final battle. He’s no pushover, and yet he lets himself get literally pushed over. It doesn’t even seem to occur to him to stop Crowley, not even as he’s wrinkling his precious coat.

And maybe this is just my read of this scene, but Aziraphale’s reaction to Crowley coming into his personal space is interesting in and of itself. He doesn’t act as if this is the first instance of Crowley being that close to him - and it is CLOSE. Their lips are centimeters apart. Their noses are touching.

And one might well say that all of it happens so fast that Aziraphale is caught off guard and freezes up, but as so many have already pointed out about this scene, just after Mary interrupts he looks…blatantly longing, and then more than a bit put out.

And after Crowley lets him go, he casually fixes his clothes and goes straight back to bickering. Which may be partially a defense mechanism, because they don’t have time to talk about what just happened, there clearly won’t be any emotional resolution right now. But really, wouldn’t “you go too fast for me” Aziraphale be more rattled if that were truly the first time they had crossed that physical boundary and shared space like this? He looks affected, certainly, but quickly shakes it off.

And, to take it one step further: Aziraphale knows Crowley. He knows what words are likely to set him off. He has an established pattern of having Crowley do things for him, based on Aziraphale’s own prompting (see also: wordlessly asking Crowley to help Hamlet become a hit). Aziraphale does as much tempting to get Crowley to do “nice” things as Crowley does to get him to do “naughty” things. All of which is to say, Aziraphale may have actually been baiting Crowley here, but the bait is just a little too effective, and Aziraphale isn’t fully prepared for the intensity of the response he gets. But there’s a strong case to be made that by calling the demon “nice,” he’s looking to get a specific reaction out of Crowley. Again, not the healthiest form of communication, but it’s what they have in this context, because honesty would be too dangerous.

Which brings me back to my point: it IS an intimate moment, in more ways than Mary could have possibly realized, and what if she hadn’t walked in on them? How would Crowley have finished his sentence that got cut off, and how would Aziraphale have responded to it, to Crowley’s outburst of emotion, or to their proximity?

Maybe he would have gently and politely pushed Crowley away - but to me, something about his expression and body language says he wouldn’t have. Because Aziraphale is tired of dancing around this too, actually, and in the heat of the moment, he may just have closed the distance. Especially if they’ve had “intimate moments” before this one.

And between you and me, I think they did, and I think it was after Crowley saved Aziraphale and his books during the Blitz. It’s a solid explanation for the increased tension between them in the holy water scene.

Anyway. This meta has been sitting in my drafts since before the first trailer came out, S2 is only nine days away, and I’m clearly very normal about all of this.

#good omens #good omens 2 #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #go meta #meta #analysis #scene analysis

[doormatty3]

Ocean Eyes: Chapter 1 (Orm Marius x Reader)

Masterlist Ao3

Ocean Eyes Masterlink

Summary:

[Orm Marius x Female Reader] [Orm Marius x You]

The ocean has always fascinated you - the ebb and flow of its water, the marine life in the sea and the wild and untamed beauty it exudes. Your attempts to explain this fascination have always fallen short. But when you meet Orm at the seaside one rainy day you find, that he just understands.  You offer to show him around since he is not from the city. And you are intrigued by his rather strange quirks and his regal demeanour.  After all, how could you not? When his eyes mirror the ocean itself, deep and incredibly blue. OR: You impress Orm with the surface world and he impresses you with his Atlantean cock

Wordcount: 4134

A/N: This is the first chapter for a (probably) 4-5 chapter fic

Also: Our boy Orm deserves some love so this happened.

Normally, you actually like water; after all, it’s an integral part of your life as a marine biologist. 

You’ve spent countless hours immersed in the briny depths, studying the mysteries that lie beneath the surface. In the embrace of the watery depths, you’ve unravelled the secrets of hidden ecosystems, marvelled at the kaleidoscope of marine life, and witnessed the symbiotic dance between predator and prey. The ebb and flow of tides, the rhythmic movement of ocean waves – these are the elements that typically elicit admiration and wonder from you. 

However, this affection for water does not extend to rain, especially when it chooses to make an unannounced entrance when you’re out for a walk along the seaside.

As the heavens open up unexpectedly, you find yourself caught off guard, the rhythmic pitter-patter of raindrops on the sand disrupts the usual symphony of your thoughts. A muttered curse slips through your lips, a reflexive response to the inconvenience of precipitation, and you hastily reach for your umbrella.

The once-clear sky, a former blue sphere, now cloaks itself in shades of grey, as you struggle with the umbrella, desperately attempting to shield yourself from the sudden downpour threatening to soak you through.

“Thank god,” you mutter under your breath when you finally manage to open the umbrella before being drenched. 

As you trudge along the wet sands, your now open umbrella in hand, the lack of shelter becomes painfully apparent. The vast openness of the seaside, which had promised freedom and expansiveness, now offers no refuge from the relentless rain. 

The sea, once a source of inspiration, now seems indifferent to your plight, its waves crashing rhythmically as if mocking the irony of a marine biologist seeking escape from the rain. 

Amidst the relentless downpour, your attention is drawn to a solitary figure at the edge of the beach. Despite the bad weather and the onslaught of rain, the man remains unwavering.

His gaze is steadfastly directed towards the open expanse of the ocean. 

Even from afar you can tell that he’s completely soaked, his blonde hair clings stubbornly to his head, and his clothes adhere to his form like a second skin.

Intrigued by the enigmatic scene, you find yourself pausing in your own battle against the weather, momentarily captivated by the man’s unwavering focus. The rhythmic cadence of the rain seems to fade into the background as you observe the drenched stranger.

Curiosity propels you towards him, each step accompanied by the squelching sound of wet sand beneath your shoes.

Instinctively, you move closer to the man on the edge of the beach, extending the canopy of your umbrella to encompass both of you.

He turns around, surprise evident in his expression, as if awakening from a deep reverie. It becomes clear that your approach went unnoticed, his focus entirely absorbed by the vastness of the open ocean. The sudden shelter you provide seems to bring him back to the present moment.

As your gaze flickers over him, you find yourself inadvertently appreciating the details of his appearance. His smooth skin contrasts with a well-groomed stubble, and his piercing blue eyes hold a hint of depth, perhaps mirroring the expanse of the sea he was lost in moments ago. Expressive eyebrows, a straight nose, and pink lips contribute to an overall attractiveness that stands out even amidst the dampness and the downpour - perhaps the rain even intensified this as your eyes follow the path of a raindrop as it traverses his forehead and nose, eventually dripping from the tip.

Despite the adverse weather, it’s evident that he takes care of himself. The rain reveals the contours of a muscular physique beneath his soaked clothes. A defined chest, broad shoulders, and sculpted arms speak of a physicality that has weathered more than just the current storm.

A quiet “thank you” escapes his lips, accompanied by the subtle curve of a smile that plays on them. As he holds your gaze, his blue eyes reveal more than words convey. There’s an intensity in his look, a depth that suggests the weight of unspoken thoughts resting behind those expressive eyes.

As he breaks the gaze and turns back to the open sea, his presence lingers, all-consuming, and you find yourself unable to simply walk away. Instead, you remain rooted in your spot, holding the umbrella over both of you.

The rhythmic rise and fall of the waves draws your attention, each wave pooling onto the smooth surface of the sand before dispersing like foam. The ocean, in its relentless dance, momentarily recalls its waters, leaving behind a glistening trail of wet sand in its wake.

As you stand there, sheltered under the umbrella, the tableau before you becomes a canvas of contrasts – the vast expanse of the open sea, the ephemeral beauty of the waves, and the tangible presence of the stranger beside you. The sound of raindrops on the umbrella becomes a quiet rhythm, harmonizing with the natural symphony of the seaside.

It really has been ages since you allowed yourself to simply take in the beauty of the ocean and breathe. The thoughts of work, responsibilities, and the hustle of daily life seem to dissolve, rendered insignificant in the face of the vast, timeless expanse of the open sea.

Under the shared umbrella, the ceaseless rhythm of the waves becomes a soothing lullaby, and the salty tang of the sea air fills your lungs with a refreshing breath. The worries and stresses that usually occupy your mind are momentarily eclipsed by the sheer tranquillity of the moment.

With each inhale, you absorb the invigorating sea breeze, and with each exhale, you release any lingering tension. The rain, which was once an inconvenience, now feels like a gentle cleansing, washing away the mental clutter that often accompanies the demands of everyday life.

Normally, your beach walks are just a way to clear your head with familiar surroundings but nothing more than that. So you sift through your thoughts and you ponder the possibility of having seen the man before but his regal demeanour and striking looks leave no trace in your recollections.

Breaking the comfortable silence, you voice your curiosity, “I haven’t seen you here before…” He turns to you, fixing his intense gaze on your face, awaiting your words. “Are you from here?” you inquire.

A subtle smile graces his lips, a fleeting acknowledgement of your question. His hand glides over his chin, tracing the stubble that accentuates his features. Your gaze follows the motion, noting the details - the thickness of his hands, the length of his fingers, and the neatly trimmed nails.

“No,” he begins, and as if sensing your curiosity, he offers a bit more insight, “I’m from far away. I’m… just passing through.”

Despite the cryptic nature of his words, you find yourself captivated by the mysterious charm he exudes. His subtlety and intensity draw you in, leaving you with a desire to unravel the layers behind those enigmatic blue eyes.

“Well then, it’s nice to meet you!” you express with a genuine smile. Taking the initiative, you extend a hand in introduction.

In response to your greeting, he graces you with a full-blown, toothy smile that illuminates his face. His eyes sparkle, reminiscent of sunlight dancing on water, and the skin around his eyes crinkles with the warmth of the expression.

You… want to see that more often, you think. You’d like to be the reason for that infectious smile, to be the reason behind the sparkle in his eyes, and to cast away the haunted look that seems to linger within their depths.

“Happy to make your acquaintance,” he responds, his hand enveloping yours with a firm grasp. As his long fingers curl around yours, a subtle current of electricity prickles at the point of contact, and you find yourself missing his touch when he drops your hand.

“I’m Orm,” he introduces himself.

“Orm,” you test the pronunciation of his name, and you catch the flicker of his eyes as they briefly lower to your lips.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard that name,” you remark, your curiosity piqued. 

In response, he shrugs, a somewhat sheepish expression crossing his features. “As I said, I am not from here,” he adds.

“If you ever need a tour guide, let me know,” you offer, extending a friendly invitation. His eyebrows raise in response, and you catch a glint of curiosity in his eyes. “I know a few nice places… some even provide a better view of the ocean.”

As a gust of wind swirls around you, the dampness of your clothes coupled with the cold air sends a shiver down your spine, and goosebumps emerge on your skin. The sudden chill causes you to freeze, the contrast between the warmth of the moment shared under the umbrella and the elements outside becoming palpable.

In contrast, you observe Orm, still drenched but seemingly unaffected by the cold.

The offer to be his tour guide hangs in the air, and for a brief moment, a subtle fear creeps in. Was it too forward? Does he wish to cut the conversation short, politely concealing any desire to decline?

A sense of relief washes over you as Orm’s response breaks the brief tension. 

“That would be nice,” he says, his eyes straying back to the expanse of the ocean as if lost in thought.

The soft pitter-patter of the rain envelops you both in a cocoon, creating a serene backdrop to the moment. Despite the logical inclination to seek shelter and escape the rain, something within you resists the notion of leaving. A peculiar reluctance binds you to the spot as if an invisible force tethers you to Orm’s calming presence.

Standing beside him, you feel a sense of grounding and tranquillity it’s a sensation that you haven’t experienced before - well, if you’re honest with yourself, you have felt it before. It’s the same feeling you get near or in the ocean.

Maybe it’s his eyes. His deep, blue eyes seem to hold all the mysteries of the sea, mirroring the tranquil rhythm of the rain and the timeless expanse of the ocean.

____

A few days later you see him again and you find yourself back at the same spot.

Today, the weather is vastly different - there’s no rain, and the sun graces the scene with its warm glow.

As you approach the familiar location, the memories of the previous meeting flicker in your mind. You wonder how Orm will look in the bright sunlight - he had already been a vision when completely drenched.

When he comes into view, you find that he’s even more striking than before, 

He is clad in a basic black shirt and matching slacks, the fabric sits snugly on his broad frame, accentuating the contours of his muscular body. The sunlight enhances the contrast, casting a play of shadows that dance along the lines of his thick body.

The blonde hair, now dry and therefore lighter in the sun, is neatly combed back, reflecting the sunlight like strands of golden thread, creating an almost ethereal aura around him.

His gaze is fixed on the sea again. With his head held high and arms folded behind his back, there’s a regal air about him.

“Orm! Hey,” you greet him, genuine warmth in your voice as you approach, happy to see him again. As he turns around to face you, there’s a radiant smile on his lips.

The sunlight adds a gleam to his features as he returns your greeting.

“So, what do you want to see?” you ask Orm, eager to tailor the experience to his preferences. “Have anything in mind?”

He responds with a gracious simplicity, “No, I leave that in your capable hands.”

You can’t help but feel a subtle warmth creeping across your cheeks because he really is rather sweet and charming.

So you clear your throat before speaking, “I promised you some nice places to see the ocean, so let’s do that.”

With a subtle gesture, you signal it’s time to leave, and you start walking with Orm following closely behind. As you set the pace, you observe him adjusting his strides to match yours, a small yet thoughtful gesture that makes your heart beat faster. It’s rare that a guy just does that without having to be asked.

He slips his hands into his pockets, seemingly unsure of what to do with them.

“We’re gonna have to drive a bit,” you mention, looking up at Orm, and tugging your lip between your teeth, “Is that fine for you?”

You gesture towards your small blue car and watch Orm’s gaze as his eyes shift from you to the car before nodding slowly, “Sure.”

As you lead the way, Orm walks behind you, and you notice a hesitation in his movements when you reach the car. He doesn’t do anything until you open your door, watching your movements. To you, he looks a bit lost, as if he’s unsure about how to open the door. But you disregard that thought, it is probably just your mind playing tricks.

As you both get into the car, the doors closing with a reassuring thud, you settle into your respective seats.

“If you need more leg space, feel free to adjust the seat,” you offer, considering he is taller than you.

 He meets your gaze with those striking blue eyes before nodding, “Sure, but I’ll be fine.”

Orm’s gaze wanders around your car, and you notice his eyes catching on the seashell chain dangling from the rearview mirror. His hand raises, and his fingers delicately trace over the hard exteriors of the shells. The gesture carries a certain intimacy as if he’s unravelling the stories embedded in each shell.

The image in your mind briefly diverges, envisioning those deliberate touches on your skin with the same care and intensity. You swallow dryly as you try to remember why you’re here - to show him some spots, to be his friend, not to fuck him.

As you start the car, the engine humming to life, you catch what seems like a subtle jump in the corner of your eyes from Orm. However, you dismiss it, attributing it to a trick of the mind or perhaps a momentary startle that often accompanies the sudden sounds of a car coming to life.

“Do you mind fastening your seatbelt?” you ask, your concern for safety evident in the request. Sure, he’s muscular and fit but in case of an accident that won’t help him much sadly.

Orm nods in acknowledgement, and his eyes meet yours as you secure your seatbelt before mirroring the motion.

He is rather strange.

_____

The drive unfolds in a quiet contentment, accompanied by the soft murmur of the radio playing music at a low volume. Orm, for the most part, gazes out of the window, seemingly lost in thought or captivated by the passing scenery. As the sunlight plays on his face, casting gentle shadows, you find yourself fascinated by the play of light, accentuating his features.

At some point you start humming, caught in the melody of a song and even sing quietly along. After a few beats you notice that Orm’s gaze is fixed on you now, an intensive look in his blue eyes as he studies you with a depth that makes you feel vulnerable.

As you become aware of it, a blush creeps across your cheeks. To your surprise, Orm responds with one of those sweet smiles before breaking eye contact and redirecting his attention to the scenery outside the window again.

“We’re here,” you announce to Orm, bringing the car to a stop. The engine’s hum fades as you turn it off, and you both step out.

You brought him to a medium-high cliff site.

The cliff, standing just a few feet above the ocean, is characterised by weathered stones, carved over time by the relentless touch of the water. It’s not a typical beach setting, but the raw beauty of the scene never fails to captivate you.

Below, the waves crash with a rhythmic symphony, their energy echoing against the stone walls in a natural percussion. Each surge sends sprays of seawater into the air, catching the sunlight like a cascade of liquid diamonds before dissipating into the sea breeze.

The sun, hanging high in the sky, bathes the entire scene in a warm, golden glow. It casts its warm embrace upon the waves, creating a dazzling display as the light interplays with the water that reflects the brilliance of the sun. The golden rays catch in the frothy crests of the wave.

A small path, worn by time and exploration, winds its way down the cliffside side presumably leading to a beach down below.

In the stillness of this remote haven, away from the clamour of the city and the watchful eyes of the world, the air carries a purity that is both invigorating and calming. As you close your eyes and inhale deeply, the crisp, clean air fills your lungs, creating a sense of tranquillity that is uniquely serene.

As you stand there a realization dawns upon you - you’ve never brought someone here before. Yet, as you stand there with Orm, the decision to share this sacred place with him feels instinctive, as if his presence harmonizes with the essence of the surroundings.

Deep within your consciousness, a recognition stirs, an understanding that his eyes mirror the tranquil beauty of this place. There’s an unspoken connection between him and the sea, a sentiment that resonates with the rugged cliffs, crashing waves, and untamed nature surrounding you both. It’s as if his very presence is an extension of the landscape - a kindred spirit to the ocean.

“Beautiful,” Orm’s quiet voice interrupts your reverie, prompting you to turn around and face him, finding that his gaze is fixed on you, not on the breathtaking scenery that surrounds you.

“Yeah, I come here to think - I just feel like I can breathe here,” you share, offering a glimpse into the personal significance this place holds for you. 

As you speak, you notice that Orm’s eyes remain glued to your form, not wandering to the sea. His intense gaze seems to linger on you as if captivated by something beyond the natural beauty of the landscape. You feel your heartbeat in your whole body and electricity coursing through your skin.

Orm steps closer his intense blue eyes never leaving yours. With a gentle touch, he lifts a wayward lock of hair that has fallen in front of your face and tucks it behind your ear.

The gesture is tender, a subtle connection that transcends words. The proximity and the soft touch create a moment suspended in time, the crashing waves and the untouched beauty of the surroundings fading into the background. 

Your breath catches in your throat, momentarily you forget to breathe as you feel his warm skin on your face.

You can’t help but notice the vibrant glow in Orm’s eyes. The sunlight catches in the deep blue hues, and they seem to come alive with a vivid intensity. His gaze, vibrant and open, mirrors the brilliance of the sun that bathes the surroundings.

At that moment, his eyes are a reflection of the untamed beauty of the sea, filled with depths and mysteries that seem to echo the vastness of the ocean. 

Orm’s proximity brings with it an enveloping scent that fills the air around you. It’s a fragrance that captures the essence of the sea, a symphony of the breeze, sea salt, and the unmistakable aroma of the beach. 

As you breathe in, the familiar notes of the sea transport you to the shoreline, the rhythmic sounds of the waves echoing in your mind. 

It is as if he’s water itself.

In the silence, with Orm’s hand gently cradling the side of your face, you notice the subtle movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallows. In a moment of courage, you decide to close the distance.

With a small, bold step on your toes, you reach for his lips, closing the gap between you and Orm. The kiss is a gentle meeting, a fusion of shared connection and unspoken emotions. The crashing waves and the sea breeze seem to hold their breath as if nature itself is pausing to witness this intimate exchange beneath the warm glow of the sun.

Orm’s response is immediate and enveloping. Instead of pulling back, he wraps his strong arms around you, pulling you even closer against his frame. The kiss deepens a mutual exchange that goes beyond words. The embrace is strong and intimate as if the crashing waves below have found their echo in the connection between you and Orm.

Time seems to slow, and the kiss becomes a shared moment suspended in the tapestry of the cliffside sanctuary. The scent of the sea, the warmth of the sunlight, and the touch of his lips create a harmonious symphony, blending with the timeless rhythm of the waves below. 

You feel Orm’s stubble against your skin. The subtle scratch of his facial hair becomes a grounding force, connecting you to the present moment, reminding you that this is happening.

It is as if your entire being comes alive.

Every touch, every nuance of the kiss, is a vibrant testament to the living, breathing connection between you and Orm. 

Breathless, you break the kiss, and as you look at Orm, he appears positively ravishing. The sea breeze plays with his tousled hair, and the sunlight casts a golden glow upon his features.

His eyes reflect a sense of wonder as if the shared moment was something extraordinary and beyond expectation. And then, with a captivating smile, he pulls back slightly, tracing his tongue over his bottom lip, savouring the taste of the kiss.

“That was unexpected,” Orm says, his intense gaze unwavering as he keeps his eyes firmly on you.

“Unwelcome?” you question,  searching for reassurance.

“No, I didn’t say that. It was most welcome,” he assures you with a warm smile, his eyes reflecting a genuine appreciation for the shared moment.

“It’s different from what I thought or expected,” Orm mumbles quietly, his expression turning thoughtful, the words almost lost in the hushed tone.

“What?” you ask, a hint of confusion in your voice, urging him to repeat himself since you didn’t quite catch what he was saying.

“Oh, nothing,” Orm dismisses with a subtle smile, as if choosing to keep certain thoughts close to himself and not to elaborate further. 

You lose your train of thought as soon as Orm reaches for your hand, giving it a subtle, reassuring squeeze, telling you without words that you shouldn’t worry about it.

Orm gently releases your hand, his attention drawn to the scenic surroundings. Taking a few steps forward, he moves closer to the edge of the cliff, where he peers down at the undulating water below. 

In the soft glow of the sunlight, his features come alive, it paints him with warmth, casting a radiant glow that enhances every detail. The light highlights the slight tousle of his hair as the wind delicately weaves through it.

Orm turns to you again, his eyes reflecting a deep appreciation for the surroundings. “I can understand why you come to this place,” he says, his voice carrying a sincere tone. “It really is something special.“

You nod in agreement and offer a warm smile. “Are you hungry?” you ask because the rumble in your own stomach suggests it’s time for a meal. Orm seems to ponder for a moment, considering the idea, and then he agrees with a subtle nod.

Curiosity piqued, you ask, “What do you feel like eating?”

His response is straightforward. “I’d like a burger with fries and a Guinness.”

A grin spreads across your face as you reply, “I know a spot that serves good burgers. I’m not too sure about the Guinness though - but I’m sure you’ll find something.”

Orm nods in satisfaction and you suggest getting back to the car.

“Lead the way, oh guide of tours,” Orm says, his choice of words eliciting a snort from you at the quirky phrasing.

As you both settle into the car, you take the driver’s seat and start the engine. 

Without many words, Orm carefully places a hand on your thigh. 

Initially, it’s just the featherlight touch of his fingertips, but when he senses your ease, he gently lays his hand down, spreading his fingers to cover as much space as possible.

The warmth of his touch seeps through the fabric of your jeans, a searing heat that radiates from your leg, enveloping your entire body. Turning your head towards him, you find his gaze fixed on you and in response, you offer a warm smile.

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[arcielee]

Hae iksā

Summary: Aemond has been tasked to find himself a wife. Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Plus Size Reader Word Count: 3.8k+ Warnings: AFAB Reader, kissing, oral (f receiving), fingering, grinding, p in v, overstimulation, loss of virginity implied, fat phobic comments are made and a Lannister acts like a cunt. Author's Note: Hey everyone! This story is based on this request:

And I took inspiration from the prompt from @writings-of-a-hufflepuff 💜 Thank you so much to my beloved beta reader @annikin-im-panicin for your insight, for your help, Ilysm 💜 Valyrian translations: Hae iksā is as you are, Sȳz riña is good girl 😈 Dividers by @saradika 💜

You never expected to catch the eye of Prince Aemond Targaryen, much less be wrapped in his arms as you both glided across the polished dance floor. It was a moment that came from the fairy tales with how he swept you away with his graceful lead. 

It felt surreal to think how this was the very same prince whose notoriety began with the first bloodshed that inevitably threw the realm into civil war, and how it solidified when he brought it all to an end with his victory in what was now known as the Battle Above Gods Eye. He continued his regency until his brother, King Aegon II, had healed enough to ascend the Iron Throne once again. 

The king decreed that the title Protector of the Realm remain seeded to Aemond, a new namesake that shadowed the last whispers of kinslayer. With his heroism now renowned, and ballads created to commemorate his bravery, it was the king who suggested that Aemond continue his bloodline. 

There was the announcement of a grandiose festivity which began to breathe life back into Westeros’ economy, with ravens sent to every noble house, extending an invitation to every eligible noble lady. 

This was how you came to King’s Landing. 

It was the possibility of any bloodline to knit within the Targaryen dynasty that your father could not deny, and you were soon boarded onto a ship to Lannisport, taking a carriage with your septa to follow the Goldroad to the capital, your House flag and its embroidered kraken whipping in the air. 

With your travels, your septa reiterated your purpose, an almost daily affirmation repeated, but your mind was also aware of all the ladies that would be in attendance and the probability of a moment alone with the prince was… well, not something that you would hold your breath for.  

In truth, you were actually excited to visit the capital, the opportunity to meet and befriend the other noble ladies, though this optimism soon soured after your arrival. Road wearied, you were ushered by your septa and handmaidens assigned, washed and dressed in one of the many gowns stitched for this occasion: a bodice tightened to flatten your soft stomach and your chest pressed up for display. Though your whines were ignored as the corset strings were pulled, you felt rejuvenated, albeit breathless, when you were finally escorted to meet with the bevy of nobility from every kingdom, dressed in their finery and their murmured pleasantries. 

At first you were aglow with the socializing prospect, though your excitement withered when you realized the quiet that washed over, the cruel curl of their lips as their eyes narrowed, their brows raised in mockery. Any attempt you made at conversing was met with an echo of patronizing response, but it was the hurtful comment of the Lady Lannister who boldly spoke, “I suppose even a swine wrapped in silk is allowed their chance,” that made you excuse yourself, slipping away to wander the corridors until you found an ornate oak doors propped open, leading into the athenaeum. 

Here you found your salvation amongst the rows of shelving, your unshed tears drying while your fingertips brushed over the leatherbound spines. 

“Have I been found?”

It was as if your soul ripped away from your body, flooded with the burning realization that you were not alone. 

Prince Aemond Targaryen was tucked away in a window seat, a book resting on his lap. Though his expression remained severe, his tone did not indicate if truly was annoyed with your presence. Instead, he watched you, his lavender eye flitting with curiosity, perhaps, while his sapphire stone reflected in the sunlight that poured through the bay window. 

“Forgive me, I had only wished for a moment alone before I was paraded as a prize to be won…” 

This made you laugh, your hand quick to clamp over your mouth to muffle the sound, and you would have sworn you saw the flicker of amusement wash over his sharp features. “My apologies, your grace, I had not meant to impose,” and you blushed from his steady gaze. “I also am hoping for some solace with a good book, though I find myself on which to choose with this selection at hand…” 

What you had not expected was Aemond pushing to stand up, towering over your steps as he took it upon himself to walk you up and down the shelving, taking the time to point out his personal favorites and listening when you spotted your own. When you finally settled on Iron and Rubies, you noticed his brow knit with his question. “Warrior women?” 

“I must learn if I am expected to survive this–” and you paused on the word choice, bevy of bitches, held back by your good propriety, caged behind your teeth, and instead you chose to say, “–these festivities being held in your honor.”

The prince was watching you carefully as if he did not believe your words, but he did not press and instead offered a smile. It was warm, it was genuine, and you tucked this moment away in the pages of the book in your hands. 

But moments like these would repeat itself through the sennight, with your days finding its repetition: it began with a parade of skirts that flounced to capture the attention of Prince Aemond, with their indifference towards you allowing you to slip away and return to the library. 

Every day you found him awaiting you, a question poised on his lips about your opinions on the book you were reading, or sharing his complaints of the tasteless tactics shown by the ladies in attendance. You saw the loneliness that haunted the severity of his expression held, like a mask worn to keep everyone at bay; there was a pain hinted with the little he would share when you two were alone, and his confidence in you made your heart soar. 

You could not help but cherish this time shared, your wit striving to hear his laughter which would weave into your heart, this intimacy writing itself in the marrow of your bones. You already knew you would revisit these memories when you grew old and gray, all too aware that the prince would still be expected to take a wife by the end of the week. 

It soon came to the final night and his grace, King Aegon, had called for two sets of minstrels to be rotated for a continuous play of jovial melodies that the guests could dance too. The night swelled with the clash of instruments resonating  through the arched ceiling, of laughter and the clinking of crockery as every mouth partook in the feast that took a month to prepare. 

When you arrived, you were nearly ambushed by the very same Lady Lannister, pulling at your arm, almost pinching at the flesh shown past your quarter sleeve as she pulled you aside. “I am aware of your dalliance with the prince, Lady Greyjoy,” she began with a tone that struck cold against the length of your spine. “I am aware of your…friendship with Prince Aemond and feel compelled to impart some advice.” 

Your back was to the celebration, the sounds of the lords invited trying to capture the attention of the ladies who were searching for the silver haired prince muffled in this moment. Your eyes narrowed onto her. “What advice would that be?” 

“My dear girl, I truly believe your stocky size would have you better suited for a broodmare,” her painted lips continued with a sneer. “A comely lord, of course, for your status sake…” 

“Shall I gift her your tongue?”

You had barely processed her insult when his distinct timbre cut through as sharp as the blade of Dark Sister which hung at his side. You saw how the Lannister girl pale before she turned towards the prince, falling into a curtsy so deep, that her knees nearly touched the marble floor. 

“Your grace,” her spiteful tongue now stammered her words, “I was unaware that you had arrived–” 

“Or perhaps I should have her fed to Vhagar so she can no longer offend my sight?” He interrupted, his gaze settled on you alone, watching for your response. 

There was a sense of exhilaration that trilled your spine with this momentary power he presented so flippantly in this moment. You could not stop your smile. “There is no need, your grace. I would much prefer a dance than to sour the belly of a dragon.” 

He then reached for your hand, his large palm enveloping yours to tuck into the crook of his arm and leading you out to the dance floor. Here, he showed that the grace he held with a blade translated seamlessly with the waltz, and your head swam with the close proximity to him, of the woodsy amber musk that held onto his doublet. 

You then burned with the realization that every set of eyes were trained to watch, to gawk at how tenderly he held you in his arms. 

I suppose even a swine wrapped in silk is allowed their chance.

When it ended, you curtsied, quick to escape out to an enclave, to be met by the night and fresh sea air that rolled from the Blackwater Bay, the crash of waves muting the party you left behind. Your hand pressed to your chest, your heart beating against your bones, and you focused on slow, deep breaths. 

“Are you all right?” 

Your blood began to rise to the surface as you spun on your heel to face the prince. He was dressed in black, sleek and tailored to his leane frame with his house sigil embroidered onto his chest and a cape draped across his broad shoulders with a forest green underlay that peeked with the breeze. He was poised, his arms knitted behind and rested on his lower back, his silver hair glowing in the silver moonlight. 

You looked back over the bannister, your grip tightening on the stone. “Please, your grace, you have done more than enough for me this night–” 

“Aemond,” his low tone halted your words and you looked back to see his large hand pressed to his chest. “Please, my lady, with how well we have gotten to know one another, I would wish that you would call me by my name.” 

You could not help your incredulous noise to his request. “Forgive me, Aemond,” and the emphasis added on his name caused his lips to curl upwards, “but I am confused as to what game you are playing. We are both aware of what is expected of you–” 

“That I am to find a wife,” he again interrupted. 

Your lips pressed into a line, barring the frustration that threatened to spill, exasperated by his amusement that seemed to replace his usual stoicism. “Aemond,” your voice was strained, “I have truly enjoyed our time together, but now I must implore that you find your formidable wife as is expected, as I am certain she must exist,” and your hand waved flippantly back towards the entryway that led into the hall, into the sea of skirts swarming, “somewhere within the Keep.” 

“I have already, Lady Greyjoy.” 

You did not dare meet with his gaze, your eyes dropping to watch his leather boots take slow steps to where you were rooted on the terrace. It was something inevitable, something that you knew would happen, but still his words began to burn into your chest. “Oh. Then may I be the first to offer my congratulations.” 

His amusement was still apparent in his tone. “For myself or for you?”

You blinked. “Aemond, you could not possibly pick…” and you faded away, still mulling over his words. 

“Would it have ever occurred to you that I find all of you attractive?” Aemond pressed closer, his arm reaching, and you allowed him to take your hand, watching his slender fingers curl to hold, his thumb running along your knuckles.  “I would not pick and choose parts of you that I love, and just ignore the rest. I find that you, as a whole, are exactly what I have been hoping for,” and a sly smile played on his lips, “in a formidable wife.” 

It tore the air from your lungs, but his warmth kept you grounded in this moment. “Love,” was all you could manage. It was not a question, but you were unbelieving still. 

He leaned forward, the silk spill of his hair, his gaze locked onto you. “Yes,” his finger touched the underside of your chin, holding your attention. “I believe it began from the moment we met in the library, but it has become a certainty as we continued to cross paths. If you would have me,” you now noticed the pink stain to his cheeks, “I wish to announce that you would become my wife.” 

“Me?” You felt numb from his confession, from the nip of the cold air. 

He hummed again, stepping ever closer. “Yes. I love you,” and you could feel the warmth of his breath fanning your cheeks, “just as you are.”

With the announcement of your betrothal, the Red Keep was emptied of the excess nobles to begin preparations. Your fingers felt numb when you wrote the letter to your father: Prince Aemond Targaryen has chosen me to be his wife. The freedom you once shared in the library was now monitored under a spyglass; Aemond remained respectful, of course, though you noticed how his touch lingered, his palm pressed to your lower back or his lips to your knuckles with his kiss. 

His subtle gestures were for you alone and it left you wanting more.

The ceremony was intimate with only his family and your septa present. You felt dazed from the attention shown that day, scrubbed raw and hair prepared, the corset tightened around your silk chemise before your heavy gown was placed over. Your ears burned as your septa tried to prepare what wifely duties would be expected, a trepidation curling at the base of your spine.

The vows were exchanged with a chaste kiss, and soon your fingers were tucking into the crook of his arm, his large palm covering your own as he escorted you towards the marital chambers, a party in tow. It was then you saw the dragon that thrummed beneath when his voice commanded the room to empty, finally leaving you alone with your husband. 

There was a moment and he stepped further into the now empty room, while a bashfulness crept into your bones, your hands trembling to remove the cloak as your eyes fell towards the bed made. You were now painfully aware of the intimacy that would be required and your eyes dared to look over to Aemond. 

He was already bare from the waist up, his doublet and tunic removed and draped over one of the chairs, his hands pausing at the laces of his trousers when his gaze met with yours. He pursed his lips a moment, his neck bobbing. “Would you…like me to help you undress?” 

You were choked on your breath with the sight of Aemond, as he seemed to be carved from marble, lean and lithe and marred by silver scars of the battles won, decorating across his chest. He was waiting, the gleam of the candlelight on the sapphire placed in his scarred socket, and when you gave a shy nod you saw the shimmer of his hair that spilled over his shoulders with his slow steps to close the space between you. 

Your eyes fell to the lines that cut into his hips, dipping below the waistband of his trousers that rested on his slender waist; your eyes widened at the laces already loosened, at his bulge that strained against the crotch.  

Aemond was now close enough to touch, his hands warm as always, returning your attention to his bicolored gaze. You were burning with his heady gaze, from the fire you knew to be knitted with the ichor of his veins. He leaned forward until his brow touched with your own, your breathing a sweet exchange with the scent of the Dornish wine served. 

“I would not wish to hurt you,” his hum punctuating his pause, his vow to you, “I will go with whatever pace that you set.”

And so you kissed him. 

Aemond hummed again, his lips soft and sweet and so very warm against yours. It was not chaste like in the chapel and you dared to deepen the kiss, feeling his grin against your mouth and his clever tongue curling to taste.

You gasped softly and his arms wrapped to pull you flushed to his chest, enveloping you in his warmth, in his woodsy musk of sandalwood and ash. A heat began to pool at your lower back, slowly permeating throughout, sending your heart aflutter. When he pulled away, you could not control the small noise you made and it was met with an almost roguish grin, his hand taking yours to lead you to the bed. 

Aemond turned to face you and you nearly choked on your nerves as his fingers began to gently unfasten the latches and laces confining you within your gown, pulling away the layers until all that remained was your chemise and the smallclothes worn under. Your arms folded across your chest to shield, to shy away, but he was quick to wrap his large hand around your wrist, pulling lightly until your arms dropped back to your sides.

It was then that you noticed the black that eclipsed the lavender of his eye. 

“Gevie,” he breathed, closing the space once more to capture your mouth. His kiss devoured you, his passion pouring into you and you were all too willing to drown. His hands roamed to peel away the remaining layers, a red stain to his sharp features and his lips kiss-swollen and parted as he looked over your nakedness. 

 “Gevie,” he repeated, pulling you to lay back onto the bed. 

You sunk into the pillows and he climbed on top, now bare himself, his tongue relentless to lave every curve, every roll of your skin showing until the heat prickling began to consume you, his love bites flushing their dark plumes against your skin. You writhed beneath him, breathless and flushed, before he finally settled between your thighs, his fingers dimpling with his hold. 

His exhale tickled the warmth that pooled between, and then Aemond pressed forward to place an intimate kiss to the bloom above your entrance. Your lips parted with a wordless cry as his tongue began to taste, his low groan reverberating your bones beneath. 

“Just as sweet as I imagined,” he murmured between your folds and you were burning with how his clever tongue now pulled you towards an unknown edge. 

You gasped, louder than before, with the gentle prod of his fingers that were slick with his spit, curling with purpose within your velvet walls. You nearly cried out as sparks of white danced in front of your eyes, the heat that had been pooling now coursing throughout and returning to tighten in your lower abdomen. 

Aemond continued his ministrations, his tone growing husky with his encouragement, “Yes, my sweet wife, just like that,” as your pleasure began to spill, pulsing around his fingers that continued to coax you through your completion. 

It was otherworldly and you only felt grounded with the welcomed heat that permeated from Aemond, feeling him shift to slot his slender waist between your thighs. You cant your hips to cradle him in your hips and Aemond lowered to press his length against your silken folds with a delicious pressure that had you shudder. 

He swallowed your soft whimper with a sweet kiss, his hands roaming to hold you close for the slow rut of his hips against you. You felt raw from your prior release, and the mixture of pleasure and pain was now amplified when his head dipped lower, his kisses tickling and tasting the sheen of sweet across your chest and neck. 

“Aemond,” you gasped and he hummed again, his perpetual smirk playing across his lips that captured your own again. 

His mouth trailed your cheek, pressing to the soft divot below your jaw, and the rekindled heat began to lick at your spine, spreading in response. “Are you all right,” he murmured against your skin and you could only nod an eager yes, your words gone along with the trepidation from before, wiped away with his mouth and his tongue. 

This earnestness seemed to please him and his low timbre praised you. “Sȳz riña,” and you burned with embarrassment for being unfamiliar to the foreign tongue he spoke so sweetly to you. 

His arm then moved between and you felt a blunt pressure at your entrance. Your fingers dug into his shoulder blades, beckoning him forward, and he followed with his gentle thrusts, pushing slowly past the slight resistance and sinking into your wet warmth. 

You sighed when he fully sheathed, a pleasant stretch to accommodate his girth, and only when he saw your contentment did Aemond relax, melting against your softness. His head tucked into the curve of your neck, his low groan chorused your sweet sounds to this new sensation. 

Aemond then stilled, waiting until your hands moved to cup his jaw, your thumb careful to trace, and you whispered words, “I am fine.” You assured him, you begged him for more, and he responded with a slow rut against you. 

Your pleasure began to build with his pace, a passion that was rooted even deeper, and your thighs lifted to tighten around his waist, your soft cries encouraging him to quicken. Aemond snapped his hips against yours, and your pleasure began to expand, returning with the flutter of your walls as he continued, hitting a spot within that has your swearing that the stars now shone bright above the marital bed. 

It consumed you both, with your tears pearling in the corners of your eyes and Aemond following after, his thrusts sloppy as he spilled inside of you. 

You both stretched onto the mattress, flushed and spent, a comfortable silence punctuated with the crackle of candles that had been lit in the bedchamber. After he caught his breath did Aemond move to grab you, pulling you against his chest, his fingers trailing over to follow the length of your spine and back, his sweet murmured concern for your wellbeing. 

You felt flustered from his attention, promising him that you felt fine, that it was nothing more than a delicious, dull ache between your thighs.

His large hand then cupped the side of your face, his chin tilting forward to press a kiss to your hairline. “Gevie,” Aemond hummed, a low rumble in his chest. 

You could not help but ask him. “What is that word?”

His thumb stroked your cheek with his translation, “Beautiful.” It was stated as if it was the most obvious thing, your chest swelling with an emotion, bursting at the seams as he kissed your lips again. 

Taglist (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @black-dread @fan-goddess @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @amiraisgoingthruit @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @itbmojojoejo @girlwith-thepearlearring @lauraneedstochill @theobjectofyourire @troublesomesnitch @hb8301 @snowprincesa1 @namelesslosers @darylandbethfanforever9 @helaelaemond

arcie's hotd masterlist

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction #aemond targaryen x plus size reader #plus size reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x reader #aemond x you

[nyx-is-missing]

Could u write one for clarisse where she's impressed with femR bc of how good she is at fighting and all and clarisse finds her incredibly attractive bc no one has challenged her the way R does?

And like a bit of pining until the two confess

Thank you!!

Breathtaking or taken

Clarisse la rue x fem!reader

Summary: when Clarisse finds a opponent worth of her, she is breathtaken.

Warnings: none really, just fluff, not a descriptive fight scene on sight cause mama dont know how to write that, so just fluff fluff, and mutual pining fluff

(Do i need to say its not proofread? No? Thank you)

Here is one of the main benefits of being a daughter of Athena, you'll know.

DIfferent from other gods, Athena will let your parent know it is her who they are talking to.

And if letting them know beforehand isnt enough, she will let them know when the baby is brought to them, and if your parent is smart enough to live up to her choice, you'll have time to learn a thing or two before being thrown into this world.

If your parent cares enough about you, you'll have time.

And sure as hell my mom cared.

Always the intelectual woman, historian, researcher, writter, my mom knew many things about ancient greece, she knew all the stories by heart, and she, of all people, knew what she needed to do, to preserve her only daughter, her sacred gift.

She teached me all i needed to learn without compromising myself, stories, languages, art...and fight.

Little girls my age were doing dance classes, were trying to be good enough for drama club, were playing tea party with their dolls or making a mess with their mom's make up.

Well...i.. i was doing martial arts, i was fencing, i had my face in a book every free time i got.

I always asked her about it, why was she so strict about never missing a fight leasson, her answer always made sense, there and now.

"The world is cruel, especially for little girls, someday i might not be all the time with you, someday, you'll fight your own battles, you need to be ready"

Every word, every single word is true.

And that is how i ended up here, in a arena of camp half blood, sparring with Clarisse, and winnig, by two points, yes, but winning.

It is clear nobody expected that from me, neither did she actually, i can see in her eyes.

Understandable, they expect Athena kids to be calm, find a solution, not fight her way out.

Honestly their looks dont bother me, i dont even think much of it, but Clarisse's looks, they got something more to them, like a kid who finally got the dog she really wanted.

"Aaand break time Clarrise, we'll continue this tomorrow, id like to enjoy the rest of my afternoon thank you"

I dropped the sword down and started to undo my armor while walking close to the exit.

"Wait wait wait, now? Already? C'mon i didnt even had time to figure out how do you do that... all of that"

She stood next to me, still holding her sword and honestly.. she was beautiful, yes she was sweaty now and yes she was mean to everyone but.. now...right now, she was beautiful, shining, in her element really, flushed cheeks and a smile she only had when with a sword in hand.

"I practice, ever since i was a kid, everyday, well expect in weekends but yeah, almost everyday... how do you do all that? You are good...-want some water?"

I offered her my bottle also motioning for her to walk with me, both wich she gladly accepted.

"I practice too...and i never said this to anyone but, you are good, great even, and look breathtaking"

We stop walking, we stop all actually.

"I look what, Clarisse?"

"Breathtaken- you look out of breath, do you want the water back?"

Ah.

Weeks later i found myself in the same scenario, sparring with Clarisse again, actually that is all i do when it comes to training, be with Clarisse

"C'mon curls, thats the best you've got? No need to go easy on me"

"Im not going easy, i already told you, you caught me distracted thats all- GIRL WIll YOU SUSH?"

She tried to block you with her sword, thankfully for her, a succeded attempt.

"How could i? You're so fun to mess with, gets all red n all"

"Oh you want to talk about getting red?"

In a moment i was on the floor, Clarisse on top of me, and i couldnt speak, all i could do was stare into her big brown eyes, who looked right into my soul.

"Cant speak anymore huh? Oh if you could see the red im seeing-"

Now this my ladies and gentlemen, this is what i call a shot of faith.

I raised my head a little and just..i kissed her, it was quick but I did it, and her face went blank.

"Now you are breathtaken Curls, how about that?"

"And you are still breathtaking"

Still?

Oh

Oh.

"You...like me Clarisse?"

"You didnt knew?"

Oh.

"....no..?"

"Would you walk away if i kissed you this time?"

"....no."

#fanfic #lesbian #clarisse pjo #pjo tv show #pjo series #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse x reader #clarisse la rue

[radiosteve]

Call Me At Midnight

Summary: Your friend Steve invites you over for a late night movie. But you don't really like each other that much, right?

Note: Here's a shorter fic based on the song Apple Cider by beabadoobee. Hope you like it!

Warnings: No use of y/n, friends to lovers, a curse word or two?

Pairings: Steve Harrington x reader

Word count: 3.1k

The wind rattled brutally against your bedroom window, although you were none the wiser. Instead, you were lying face down in your bed, arms cradling your head as soft snores exuded from your lips. It's not like you meant to fall asleep when you got home from work, but the hours of standing on your feet and making coffees really did you in. So, when you toed off your shoes and laid back in your bed at 6 p.m., you couldn’t help but lose your ongoing battle with consciousness and let your eyes flutter shut. It was nice to get some shut-eye after a long day, even if it was short-lived. 

The telephone on your nightstand rang out, reverberating off the walls and waking you from your slumber. Your hand shot out on instinct, grabbing the receiver to quell the incessant ringing. It finally stopped as you peeled your eyes open and brought the phone up to your ear. 

“Hello?” you asked, voice strained and groggy with sleep. You were met with a chuckle on the other end of the line as you ran your hand over your face, attempting to rub the drowsiness from your eyes. It was a warm sound, like a blazing roar in the fireplace that encased the entire room in heat.

“Sorry grandma, didn’t realize you went to bed so early,” the smooth voice of Steve Harrington echoed through the phone. You and Steve had been friends for a while, meeting through Robin and the insanity that was working at Scoops Ahoy. Your eyes drifted to the alarm clock on your nightstand, its face reading 12:01 a.m. 

“Don’t grandma me. It's after midnight, which is a perfectly reasonable hour to be asleep,” you defended yourself, throat still hoarse as you slowly withdrew from your sleep-induced haze. “Why’d you call anyways?” you asked bluntly, wanting to cut to the chase and wondering why you were awoken.

“Wanted to know if you’d come over and watch The Princess Bride. I know you’ve been dying to see it and I finally snagged a copy from work,” Steve said, brushing his sweaty palms against his jeans. He wasn’t sure why he was so nervous about asking you to come over. It's not like this would be a date, and he didn’t even like you that much, right? You considered his offer, going back and forth between how late it was and how much you wanted to watch The Princess Bride. The latter won. 

“Alright, I’ll be there in ten. But just know, I’m coming over for the movie, not you,” you shrugged on a sweater, struggling to keep the phone to your ear as you did. It was your favorite sweater, a forest green cable knit that was soft to the touch. Steve had complimented it once, said that it looked good on you, and from then on you found yourself wearing it more and more, though you didn’t like to read into why.

“Noted. See you soon, grandma,” Steve spoke through the phone, a smirk that you couldn’t see dancing on his lips. He hung up just in time to hear your groan from the other end, which only encouraged his smile to stretch further. 

The drive to Steve’s house never took very long, usually the duration of a song and a half from whatever pop station your radio was tuned to at the time. Steve’s house was dark when you arrived, no light seeping through the cold, empty window panes. It almost made you question if he was actually home, though you knew he was. The driveway remained empty too, save for Steve’s car, indicating that his parents were off on another business trip without him. Your car pulled up behind Steve’s in the driveway, the sound of some Tears For Fears song cutting off as you came to a stop and turned off the engine. You took a moment before getting out, trying to control the butterflies that suddenly bubbled up in your stomach. It’s just Steve. A loud thump startled you from your thoughts. Turning towards the window you found Steve knocking on it with a blanket wrapped around his head and shoulders.

“The hell are you doing?” you asked, getting out of the car and closing the door behind you. He looked like a baby swaddled in a blanket, the soft material obscuring his voluminous hair.

“E.T. phone home,” he outstretched his hand with his index finger jutting out towards you. It was his typical goofy Steve antics and you couldn’t let him know how much you enjoyed it. It’d go straight to his fluffy-haired head.

“Fuck off,” you smacked his hand away with a smile, walking towards the steps that led to the front door. Steve trailed behind you snickering to himself while his eyes drifted down your figure. He’d moved the blanket down from his head, letting it hang over his broad shoulders instead. His hair was disheveled, brown locks wildly out of place. It made you want to run your hands through his hair, tug on its strands, and bring him closer, hovering your lips close to his. But you didn’t.

With the turn of the knob, you opened the door, snapping your thoughts back to their regularly scheduled programming. You migrated to the couch across from the TV, taking a seat on its soft cushions while Steve disappeared to the kitchen.

“Want some apple cider? I just got it from the farmers market this morning,” Steve called out to you, catching the nod of your head that just barely peeked over the couch. The two of you bonded over your shared love of apple cider, ignoring Robin’s protests of how it was too appley, whatever the hell that means. You stood up, inserting the tape into the VCR and prepping the movie while Steve grabbed the snacks. He returned as the previews began to play, setting two glasses of apple cider and a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table. 

You’d expected him to sit down then and join you on the couch. But he didn’t, wandering off back into the kitchen. You refocused your attention on the TV, watching a preview for a movie that you’d already seen so you seemed less interested in what Steve was doing. It was then that his head popped up next to you. Steve’s face was close to yours, only inches apart, as he leaned over the back of the couch to face you. You could smell his shampoo, its distinct scent reminding you of fruit punch.

“Left or right?” he asked and your eyebrows knit together in confusion.

“What are you talking about?” you questioned, unwilling to comply with whatever he was doing until you knew more.

“Just choose,” Steve insisted and you rolled your eyes. You studied him, searching for a sign of which one to choose. After a moment, you gave up and turned your head back towards the screen.

“Right,” you spoke confidently and a pack of Skittles dropped in your lap no more than a second later. Steve hopped over the back of the couch, landing in the spot next to you with a thump. He had a pack of Reese’s Pieces in his hand, tearing the wrapper open and shoving a handful in his mouth. You raised a brow and Steve chuckled, the sound made you want to laugh too.

“You chose the right side. That’s what was on the right,” Steve shrugged, looking away from you, unable to maintain eye contact while he lied. The Skittles were originally in his left hand, but Steve knew they were your favorite, so he switched them at the last second.

“Thanks, Stevie,” you nudged him with your shoulder, a small smile encasing your lips as you opened the candy. It was as if the world had stopped when you smiled, or at least it did for Steve. He’d do anything for you if it meant he got to see the wide stretch of your mouth pointed in his direction. Steve let his gaze linger on you for a moment, only redirecting his eyes away when the movie started.

The movie played, invoking giggles and gasps from both of you. As you swooned over Westley and Buttercup’s romance, Steve couldn’t help but swoon over you. His hazel eyes never strayed from you for too long as he pushed down the overwhelming urge to brush your hair from your face and kiss you. To live out a fantasy romance of his own where he could spend his days trying to save you. Steve could deny it all he wanted, but it was getting harder to hide that he did like you, that he always liked you.

The credits rolled and you immediately knew that The Princess Bride was your new favorite movie. It was perfect and everything you could have hoped for. The fact that Steve had been the one to watch it with you in no way affected that decision, right? Steve stood up, distracting you from the pull of your thoughts. He ejected the VHS tape and put it back into the case. It was then that you noticed how late it was, catching sight of the clock on the wall behind Steve and the television.

“Shit, it’s late. I should probably go,” you rose to your feet, shuffling to grab your empty glass of apple cider and discarded candy wrappers. 

“Wait,” Steve stopped you, his voice almost panicked. He didn’t want you to leave, didn’t want the night to end. “You could stay over. I don’t think you should be driving so late,” he suggested, hoping it would convince you to stay. Truthfully, you didn’t want to leave, so when Steve made his offer you easily accepted. Steve led you upstairs where you dug through his dresser drawer to find a shirt and a pair of sweatpants you had left the last time you stayed over.

You shut the door to Steve’s bathroom, ignoring the jitters that ran through you. It’s just Steve, why were you so flustered? Granted, Robin was usually there too when you stayed over at Steve’s house. So the idea of staying alone at Steve’s felt new and exciting. It was like finally being allowed to do whatever you wanted, no watchful eyes lurking over your shoulder. 

Steve was sitting on his bed when you emerged from the bathroom in your makeshift pajamas. Even in sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt, you still stole the air from Steve’s lungs, momentarily ceasing his breathing. Steve had changed too, his pajama pants hanging low on his hips and bare chest exposed to the cool night air.

“Where am I sleeping?” you asked, setting your clothes down on top of Steve’s dresser and hoping you wouldn’t forget them in the morning. You restrained yourself from letting your eyes drift to Steve’s shirtless figure, his chest hair taunting you with its curling tendrils from across the room.

“There’s a guest room down the hall,” Steve couldn’t help but notice the twinge of sadness that encompassed your expression when he spoke, one that he shared internally. “Or you could sleep in here. The house is kind of creepy at night,” Steve added, giving you a way in, an excuse to share a bed with the brown-haired boy. 

“I’ll uh, I’ll just sleep in here then if you’re okay with that,” you spoke approaching Steve’s bed to join him where he sat. He nodded, ensuring you that he was indeed okay with sharing his room with you for the night. Honestly, he’d be more than okay to share his room with you every night.

The two of you laid back in Steve’s bed, making no argument about one of you sleeping on the floor. It was no use, and you both knew you’d just end up sharing the bed anyway. Steve flicked off his lamp as you pulled the bed sheets up to cover your shoulders.

It was late and you were tired, but the warmth that radiated off of Steve kept your mind alive, incapable of drifting off. He was like a fire that burned just for you, flames flickering in the cool night to make your skin slick with sweat. It didn’t help that the fruit punch smell from Steve’s shampoo was laced into the fabric of the pillowcase underneath your head, filling each inhale with the overwhelming scent of the boy that you tried to deny liking.

You turned to Steve, unable to feign sleep any longer, eyes searching his side profile. It was unclear what you were looking for, even to yourself, but you still felt drawn to him. Steve, who couldn’t sleep either, felt your eyes on him, invoking a smirk to uplift the corners of his mouth as his eyes opened. 

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Steve teased, turning to meet your gaze, his hand laid under his cheek, flat against his pillow. You let out a sarcastic laugh at his joke, eyes narrowing in faux anger.

“It’s kind of weird being here without Robin,” you spoke softly, still letting your gaze drift over Steve. His brow furrowed at your words, worry washing over him. Did you not want to be here with just him?

“What do you mean?” Steve shifted in his spot, tucking an arm under his pillow, smoothing its edge to better see you.

“She fills in the gaps with her little rambles,” you answered, unable to hide the fond smile that stretched your lips at the thought of your talkative friend. Steve hummed in agreement, reminiscing over Robin’s inability to stop talking when she should.

A silence settled over the two of you, only accentuating your point. But it was comfortable and pleasant, leaving you to swallow the air that passed between the short distance from each of your lips. Steve glanced at your hair then, admiring the way it spread across the pillow, his pillow.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” you shot back, repeating Steve’s own words from earlier after noticing his prolonged stare. You expected Steve to shift his eyes then, settle his gaze on some object across the room. The last thing you expected was for him to reach out, to run his thick fingers through the tangled strands of your hair. You sunk into his touch, feeling the gentle scratch of his nails against your scalp. A sigh fell from your lips, soft and shallow as if you were barely breathing at all.

“Have I ever told you how much I like your hair?” he asked, voice calm and quiet, hardly audible despite the silence in the air. You shook your head, suddenly incapable of forming words. “Well, I do,” his hand rested there for another moment before dropping down, finding your hand that rested on the mattress. Steve laced his fingers with yours and you could’ve sworn that your skin tingled at the feeling. The brush of his hand against yours, ridged fingerprints pressed to the back of your palm.

“Steve,” his name escaped your lips in a whisper, the silence emphasizing the crack of your voice. You said his name like it was your favorite word, like you’d never speak any other name again. He simply kept his gaze on you, unwavering and surprisingly calm given how fast his heart was beating in his chest. “What are you…” you began, letting your question hang in the air. You didn’t want to break the moment, but you were desperately curious about Steve’s sudden shift in behavior.

“I just-” Steve breathed out, his voice shaking with nerves. “I just really like talking to you,” he finished, and your heart swelled within your chest as a feeling of anticipation filled you. You read between the lines, taking Steve’s words for what they truly meant, not just what he said. It was like seeing the sun peek through the clouds, making your first friend in kindergarten, hearing the final ring of the bell on the last day of school. It was the hope, the realization, that maybe Steve liked you too.

“I like talking to you too, Stevie,” you inched closer, Steve’s hand still wrapped around yours. You looked up at him, doe-eyed and hopeful. If there was ever a chance, then this was it. Steve observed you, admiring the flutter of your lashes as you blinked, the plush of your lips, the curve of your cheeks. 

He wanted to kiss you, and he was starting to get the feeling that you wanted to kiss him too. So he put on a brave face, leaning in ever so slowly, giving you a chance to pull away if this wasn’t what you wanted. God, Steve hoped you didn’t pull away. You didn’t, meeting Steve halfway as his breath fanned your face, his lips ghosting over yours.

A gasp expelled from within your chest as Steve finally closed the gap, brushing his lips fiercely against yours. He swallowed your gasp, relishing in the feeling he craved since he first met you. His lips were soft, the lingering taste of apple cider invading your taste buds as he slipped his tongue against yours. You melted into Steve, your body now flush with his. One of his hands cradled your face while the other untangled from yours, snaking around to pull your hips closer to his. It was a bruising kiss, one you never wanted to pull away from.

But then you started laughing, your teeth bared in between kisses with the uptick of your lips. Steve couldn’t help but reciprocate your giggles until the two of you broke apart, foreheads pressed together as your chuckles broke through heavy breaths.

“What’s so funny?” Steve finally managed to get out, his hands still caressing your skin. His soft gaze held you comfortably in place, keeping you right where you wanted to be. 

“Didn’t think I liked you that much,” you spoke with an air of levity in your tone. The repressed feelings you had for the boy beside you, your friend Steve, finally coming to light. Steve’s smile only grew, his fingers dancing across your cheeks in a gentle stroke of your skin.

“I didn’t think I liked you that much either,” he shrugged, and you wanted to laugh. You were two fools, hopelessly and desperately pushing aside your feelings for no good reason. Steve liked you and you liked him, it was as simple as that. It made you think about all the time you both wasted, all the kisses you could’ve shared. So you dove back in, sinking into the plush of Steve’s lips once more. And he welcomed you warmly, swallowing your shallow moans as he thought about how lucky he was that you accepted his midnight invitation.

#steve harrington #joe keery #stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfics #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fics #joe keery fanfic #joe keery fics #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fics #steve harrington imagine #joe keery imagine #stranger things imagine #steve harrington friends to lovers #steve harrington slowburn #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #joe keery x reader #joe keery x you #joe keery x y/n #steve harrington fluff #joe keery fluff #steve harrington fanfiction #joe keery fanfiction #steve harrington x femreader #steve harrington x fem reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #joe keery x fem reader

[runeswordproductions]

I think there’s a pretty good argument to be made that Gideon Nav’s weapon of choice isn’t a longsword, but something bigger, more comparable to a zweihander or a montante.

Like yes, of course Gideon uses a longsword because we as a fandom have a special place in our hearts for longsword and there’s probably Word of God from Tamsyn about it, but if we look at the text *archaeologically* how is this weapon actually described? Getting this out of the way: it’s called a two-hander (literally English for zweihander)  as often as a longsword but I don’t think that says much on its own. Neither are technical terms (“longsword,” historically, has been used to describe many weapons including, ironically, rapiers) and “two-hander” is pretty descriptive of what we think of as a longsword. Another potential fallacy that won’t help us is how everyone seems to regard Gideon’s “longsword” as a brute’s weapon with little finesse behind it. This isn’t true of longsword, but it *does* ring true for a take from snotty rapier people, and this series has an astonishing number of those in it.

Rather, I think the best argument is found in how we’re told these weapons are used. We never get to see Cohort swordsmen in action but they sound more like zweihander-wielding doppelsoldners than fighters practicing blossfechten or harnischfecten. Front line shock troops widely regarded as insane (at least by normal, non-House people), the Cohort's swordfighters seem to trained to take on large numbers of enemies at once and—critically—they don’t seem to fight *other people with swords.* Blood of Eden doesn’t use swords and there are no references to other anti-House resistance movements using them. So what makes the most sense here? Longsword, a surprisingly technical weapon most often used to fight other people with longswords? Or the whirling battle dance of the montante, designed to shock and terrify and cleave through whole units at once? I know which of these fighting styles I’d want to use against a giant bone construct.

#Gideon the Ninth #Gideon Nav #The Locked Tomb #HEMA #longsword #zweihander #montante #historical fencing

[avocado-writing]

hiii your bg3 writing is so *chefs kiss*

I was hoping you'd be able to write the companions' reactions to a bard!tav, giving them a private serenade one night. like they lead them to a clearing away from camp one night and there's a picnic set up and tav sings a song they wrote specifically for their love?

if all the companions is too many, could you please specifically do Halsin, Astarion, Minthara and Wyll?

oh, cute! going to give you a lute, as I think that’s easiest!

Astarion

he makes a comment about how he feels the picnic was a bit unnecessary as he can’t eat it, but you mention you’re his snack later ;)

you sit him down, pour him a glass of wine, and pull out your lute

you ask, suddenly uncharacteristically shy, if you can play him something.

he cocks his head to the side and nods.

your fingers dance across strings, and when you start to sing, he realises it’s a song about him.

you once offered to be his mirror, and tonight you repeat that. your song is about how lovely he is, in every way. how he’s handsome but kinder than he wants to admit. brave. fierce.

its the most sincere celebration of his character he’s ever heard, and by the end of it, he’s left shocked.

“oh…” “did you like it?” chewing your lip, nervous.

“it’s… you’re…” he really doesn’t have the words to convey how you’ve made him feel. so he gently takes your chin in his hand and kisses you.

the kiss gets deeper. the lute is abandoned. so, really, is the picnic. the music the two of you make then is of a different kind.

later, when he has time to come up with a suitable review, he will tell you how much it meant to him. you are his favourite musician, and he has a new favourite song.

Halsin

oh, he’s been around for a long time, but this is the first time someone’s done something like this for him.

he’s just sat in bowled-over silence as you play for him, and it is amazing. an epic ode to his life and kindness, how strong and handsome you think he is.

he comes closer as you sing, sitting right next to you. studying every inch of your face as you perform.

when you’re done, he tells you that it was the loveliest thing he’s ever heard.

“I’ve heard pods of whales singing as they meet up with their lost family… until now, it was the sweetest sound to have graced my ears.”

he gets you to repeat the song and turns into different animals to enjoy it, be it via vibrations or different ways of hearing. either way he wants to be surrounded by your music, and you.

Minthara

absolutely no idea how to respond.

she was brought up in a cutthroat world. this softness is new to her.

she remains quiet for a while as she tries to work out if you’re trying to get anything from her. is this a trick?

”oh, I’m sorry,” you say after a while when she’s just been staring. “did you not like it?”

”no. no, it was… play it again.”

you do, and she really listens to the lyrics. they’re about her beauty. how glad you are to have met her. her strength in battle and soul.

she’s exceptionally moved.

“this is… a priceless gift that you’ve given me. I have no way to repay you.” “I don’t need repayment. it was freely given.”

she kisses you, for she has no way else to thank you. you have moved her more than she thought possible.

Wyll

you play and he listens. his eyes and smile go wide.

absolutely enraptured. claps when you’re done, and cheers your performance. you laugh and bow for him.

he tells you how much you mean to him, what a sweet gift this is. how your love is his most treasured possession.

he reaches into his pocket… and takes out some paper.

“I… I know this is incredible timing but actually… I wrote you something, myself.”

and he starts to read out a poem.

oh, it is lovely. full of flowery verse, and sweet appreciations of you. all the little things which make him love you. you pick up your lute and play along eventually, and he gets into the rhythm too.

the two of you laugh at the fact that you both had the same idea! you’re so alike, so in sync.

he holds you tenderly, kisses you softly.

you end up writing many songs about your Blade. he is your perfect muse.

bonus:

Karlach bursts into tears when she hears it, and scoops you up into a big hug at the end. she’s so emotional. she can’t stop saying she loves you, she loves your song, all of it. lots of wet kisses for you.

Gale is rendered speechless for the first time he can remember. he just stares at you in adoration. he’s never had anyone love him enough to write a song about him before, and he full force of his affection for you hits him in that moment. he is smitten.

#astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x tav #gale x tav #gale of waterdeep x tav #gale x reader #gale of waterdeep x reader #wyll x tav #wyll x reader #wyll ravengard x tav #wyll ravenguard x reader #karlach x tav #karlach x reader #halsin x tav #halsin x reader #minthara x reader #minthara x tav