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#REBLOG THIS POST. CASTS A SPELL ON YOU. REBLOG THIS POST.
jonahmagnus · 1 year
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Art v the artist or whateva…..
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itsbenedict · 8 months
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jazzzzzzhands · 10 months
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Just trying to visually capture the feeling in my heart QwQ It's still not enough! UWAAAAA!!
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just-creation · 5 months
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WIZARDRY SIDE-BLOG ANNOUNCEMENT!!!
I'm going to be a wizard over there Go look at it if you want :3 @just-suoiruc
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theramblingvoid · 2 years
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Void! Void of the Rambling variety!! How are you! I am excited to say hello and thus must use copious numbers of exclamation points!
Eexer! Eexer of the Main variety! Tumblr is mean to me and did not show me your notification, this is a crime I have decided.
How I am. Not gonna lie, my last little while got pretty much slowly reduced to 1. work at Job and 2. lie down on couch/bed/whatever and get back energy for the next time I have to do Person Things, so stuff like keeping in touch, posting, thinking...pretty much went dead for a while there. Turns out my immune system does NOT appreciate the fact that I have organs and decided to make that opinion known to me, loudly, over the course of the last few months. Still waiting on doctors to tell me exactly what The Nonsense is called, but I do have meds now, and I've been feeling one hell of a lot better the last couple weeks than I was before.
So the answer to how I'm doing is, weird. Still not 100%, but I'm sitting at a much more workable 70% most days now. I'm hoping I can ease back into courses in the fall without getting completely Obliterated by stress and making everything worse, but y'know, whatever happens happens. I'm just happy to be able to summon this many complete sentences with this little effort to actually catch up with a cool person. :)
I hope you are doing well! I did not use enough exclamation points in my answer so I am making up for it here!! I am also excited to hear from you! 💙
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sunsburns · 30 days
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kiss of life (ii.)
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pairing: luke castellan x aphrodite!daughter reader
part one
summary: i actually suck at writing summaries but basically this is part two of part one of that soulmate au fic i posted a week ago lol
—or: luke castellan is being haunted by kronos and... well, you.
word count: 6.42k
warnings: sorry for any spelling errors, i haven’t checked yet, suppperrr angsty, luke castellan pov as he's slowly being corrupted by kronos, long reading time, descriptive injuries, blood, pre-tlt, luke is stubborn and a dick, loser!luke, annabeth smacking some sense to luke, grover being an icon, reader is lowkey unreliable tbh... cliff hanger (again... lmfao sorry)
a/n: part two!!! thank you guys for all the love on the first part! i am so grateful for everything and i love reading all the comments and reblogs. i hope this one doesn't end up flopping lmfaooo. i honestly wanted this to be a short angsty fic but i got carried away and now i'm planning a whole multi-part fic for this, phew. anyways enjoyyy <;33
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At eighteen, Luke was cursed with nightmares. 
They clawed at the edges of his mind, threatening to unravel the fragile front of peace that he had fought so hard to maintain. Each night, he would awaken drenched in a cold sweat, the echoes of his tortured dreams lingering in the corners of his mind like a haunting melody.
The Hermes cabin, once a sanctuary from the outside world, now felt like a prison, its walls closing in around him with each passing moment. The moon, a silent witness to his torment, cast its ethereal glow through the window, illuminating the slumbering forms of campers. Some were children of Hermes, like himself, bound by the tenuous ties of blood and kinship. Others, however, were unclaimed, their parentage shrouded in mystery and uncertainty.
And as Luke lay awake in the stillness of the night, a sense of loneliness washed over him like a tidal wave, drowning him in a sea of doubt. In the depths of his troubled sleep, he could feel the tendrils of darkness closing in around him, threatening to consume him whole. And try as he might to deny it, he knew that his nightmares held a deeper significance, a harbinger of events yet to unfold in the shadowy pits of fate.
His nightmares were callings. A taunting voice would echo through the corridors of his mind, its insidious whispers weaving a thought of deceit and manipulation. It masqueraded as a voice of reason, a beacon beckoning him towards a destiny that promised demigods everything.
At first, Luke dismissed it as nothing more than the ramblings of a tortured soul, the byproduct of his own restlessness. But as the whispers grew louder and more insistent, he could no longer ignore the chilling realization that they were something far more sinister—a call to arms, a summons to embrace his role as a harbinger of the new world.
The nights he wasn't shaking from night terrors, he was tossing and turning at the thought of you. And he didn’t know what was worse. He couldn't escape you. The haunting image of you lingered in his mind even during sleep — your lips, your eyes, your skin, your voice, and that shared scar and your demise.
But at least, you'd given up on him by then. Your persistent efforts to reach out to Luke gradually dwindled into nothingness. Though you were still everywhere, a shadow that seemed to torment his every move, you no longer gave him even a fraction of your attention.
Gone were the days of you seeking him out, your footsteps no longer echoing in the halls of Camp Half-Blood in search of him. You refrained from asking for Chris's help, no longer burdening him with questions on Luke's whereabouts. The notes you once left behind were now relics of a time long past, their words fading with each passing day.
And as the full moon rose once more over the waters of the lake, you no longer waited by its shores.
Luke turned in bed, his mind restless as he tried to shake the image of you. He pulled the covers tighter around himself, seeking comfort in the warmth they provided, but the chill of unease still lingered in the air.
His gaze drifted across the row of beds, each a testament to the diverse personalities that inhabited the Hermes cabin. The floor was strewn with a chaotic array of sleeping bags, toys, and discarded clothing, while a collection of rocks adorned one corner near the closets, and drawings adorned the walls.
Despite the usual chaos that reigned during the day, the cabin now lay quiet and still. The children of Hermes, along with the unclaimed children and the ones of minor gods, had finally settled into the embrace of sleep. 
But amidst the calm, a sense of unease gnawed at Luke's consciousness. He couldn't shake the feeling that had settled over him after he noticed the empty bed and the slightly ajar door. 
Luke pushed back the covers and rose from his bed. His footsteps echoed softly as he made his way toward the empty bottom bunk, hoping not to wake anyone. The sight of an old penguin stuffed animal discarded at the foot of the bed made him edgy. His eyes trailed to the traces of blood splattered on the hardwood floor, stark against the dim light filtering through the cabin windows.
With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Luke picked up the toy, its soft white and black material now stained with crimson. Clutching it tightly in his hand, he made his way out of the cabin, the urgency of his steps echoing in the stillness of the night.
He knew all too well who the missing camper was – five-year-old Penelope, one of the newest arrivals to Camp Half-Blood and possibly one of the youngest campers. Found wandering alone in the woods near the camp hill just a week ago, she had been brought to safety by a group of fellow demigods on a quest. Luke couldn't shake the resemblance she bore to a younger Annabeth, with her wide eyes and insatiable thirst for knowledge. He wouldn't be surprised if Athena claimed her as her own one day–that is if he ever found her.
Luke's worry for Penelope weighed heavily on his mind, a knot of anxiety tightening in his chest as he combed through every inch of camp. The traces of blood he discovered fueled his unease, each droplet a stark reminder of the dangers lurking just beyond the safety of the camp's borders.
In his search, Luke traversed familiar paths and hidden corners, his footsteps echoing in the quiet stillness of the night. He scoured the armour, the climbing wall, and the camp store.
Luke had known all about campers disappearing, whether it be on a quest or to escape and try to live a normal life with humans that never really lasted long enough as monsters would dwell within the shadows outside of camp. 
It was in the dim glow of the kitchen lights that Luke finally caught a glimpse of Penelope, perched on the counter in her pyjamas, her hair adorned with two loose pigtails. A sense of relief washed over him at the sight of her safe and sound, yet it was short-lived as he noticed she wasn't alone.
His hand hovered over the door, hesitating as he listened to the soft murmur of conversation from within. With a steady breath, Luke pushed the door open ever so slightly, peering through the crack to catch a glimpse of Penelope. And you.
You, who looked older than when you first met in the infirmary. There was an air of maturity about you, a gracefulness that hadn't been there before. Your features seemed more refined, your presence commanding attention in a way that spoke of inner strength and resilience. Luke couldn't help but notice how your beauty had blossomed, surpassing the standards of mere mortal allure. It was a beauty that seemed to defy classification, uniquely yours yet undeniably captivating.
Despite this, Luke sensed a shift in your demeanour—a resignation, perhaps, to the reality of his ignorance. You had lost any hope you once harboured for him. His guarded nature would forever keep you at arm's length. And while part of him knew that this was for the best, a small, almost imperceptible part of him couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret.
For in the crossroads of his heart, amidst the shadows that threatened to consume him, there lingered a faint glimmer of longing. The thought of being intertwined with someone who could offer solace in his darkest moments, who could bring light to the depths of his despair, held an undeniable appeal. And as much as he tried to deny it, the chance of you approaching him once more tugged at the fringes of his resolve, tempting him to let down his guard and allow you closer than he ever dared to imagine.
"So, you wanna tell me what you're doing up this late?" You approached Penelope with a gentle smile, a cookie in your hand as a peace offering. 
Your words hung in the air, gentle and coaxing, as you tried to draw Penelope out of her shell. Luke watched from the shadows, his gaze flickering between you and the young camper, a sense of admiration stirring at how you spoke to Penelope.
Penelope hesitated, her gaze shifting between the cookie in her hand and you. 
"You don't know?" You persisted, your voice a soft murmur that carried a hint of playfulness. You settled beside Penelope on the counter, your posture was relaxed as you leaned in closer to her. "Is it... a secret?" you whispered.
Luke noted the subtle change in your demeanour, the way you seemed to adapt effortlessly to Penelope's shy nature. It was a side of you he hadn't seen before, one that resonated deeply with him.
As Penelope nodded in response to your question, you continued, your tone gentle and reassuring. "Let me tell you a secret," you offered, holding up your pinky finger as a symbol of trust. "I am the best secret keeper in this camp. I pinky promise."
After a moment's hesitation, Penelope tentatively reached out, her tiny finger linking with yours in a hesitant pinky promise. A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips.
Penelope murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "I got hurt."
"What?" You gasped in genuine concern, your eyes widening as you shifted your attention to the young camper. "Can I see?"
Penelope nodded silently, her arm outstretched towards you. Luke observed from his vantage point, his heart twisting with worry as he noted the faint hint of red near Penelope's elbow.
You took Penelope's arm into your hands gently, your touch tender and reassuring as you rolled up the sleeves of her pale pink pyjamas. Luke couldn't help but notice the familiarity of those pyjamas, a subtle reminder of Annabeth's kindness and resourcefulness in making Penelope feel at home.
"Oh, wow, that looks like it hurts," You remarked softly, your brows furrowing in sympathy as you retrieved a first aid kit from the nearby cabinets. "You're handling it very well," you praised Penelope, your tone gentle and encouraging. "So brave of you."
Penelope watched you attentively as you began to clean her wound, her small frame tense with discomfort. "I don't feel brave," she admitted quietly.
"No?" You glanced up at her, "why not?"
"I miss my mommy."
Her words were tinged with a sense of longing that struck a chord with both you and Luke.
Luke chewed on the inside of his cheek, his thoughts drifting to his own longing for his mother. Penelope's admission resonated with him deeply, reminding him of the ache that never truly faded, no matter how many years passed, no matter how deep he tried to bury it. 
It was a sentiment shared by every demigod at camp, a silent ache that echoed through the cabins and training grounds. Yet, it was a pain rarely spoken aloud as if verbalizing it would make it all too real, too unbearable.
The yearning for a parent, for someone to fill the void left by their absence, weighed heavily on each camper's shoulders. It was a burden they carried silently, masking their vulnerability with bravado and determination. But for Penelope, the longing was raw in its innocence.
At just five years old, she was too young to fully comprehend the extent of her emotions. She couldn't grasp the complexities of her situation, the world of gods and monsters that surrounded her. All she knew was the absence of a mother's embrace, the absence of a comforting presence to soothe her fears and wipe away her tears.
It was a pain she didn't deserve, a burden too heavy for such a young soul to bear. The gods, in their arrogance and indifference, seemed oblivious to the lives they had shattered, and the pain they had inflicted upon their own children.
"Yeah?" You responded gently, "How much do you miss her?"
"This much," Penelope replied, her small hands spreading wide.
"Wow! That's a lot," you remarked, a sombre note underlying your tone as you processed Penelope's words. After a beat of silence, you shook off the heaviness of the moment and mustered a smile for her. "There we go. All cleaned up," you announced cheerfully, pressing a bandaid onto her elbow.
Penelope's smile widened in response, a glimmer of gratitude shining in her eyes as she kicked her feet. In a quiet voice barely above a whisper, she murmured her thanks to you.
"So, you wanna tell me how you got hurt?"
"I don't know." This had been the most Luke had ever seen Penelope talk, and while her voice was still timid, the words slipping out hesitantly, she seemed to confide in you. "I woke up because my arm hurt."
"The cut was just there?" You asked, and when she nodded, you hummed sympathetically. "...I get those too, you know."
Penelope's eyes widened, "You do?"
"Yes," you affirmed with a soft chuckle. "A lot of people do. You get them from your soulmate. Did your mom ever tell you about soulmates?"
"Sometimes."
"Well, a long time ago, humans used to have four arms, four legs, and two faces," You explained.
"What?"
"I know, right? Super freaky. So freaky that Zeus decided to split them in half. So, now we have two arms, two legs, and one face."
"What happened to the other half?"
"That's our soulmate. Our other half. And Aphrodite gave us a gift to help us find our soulmate." The smile that had adorned your face slowly waned, "Every time you get hurt, your soulmate gets hurt too."
"Is that why you have a cut on your face?"
The question lingered, hanging in the air like a whispered secret. Luke held his breath, his gaze fixed on you, waiting for your response. But instead of answering, you reached out to Penelope, a bittersweet smile gracing your lips as you guided her off the counter.
"Let's get you back to your cabin."
Your words were gentle, a soft reassurance for Penelope's sake, but Luke could sense the undercurrent of sadness that ran beneath them. As you led Penelope away, Luke's heart ached in a way that felt so familiar yet foreign at the same time. It burned the same way it did when he returned from the quest when he hated the world and everyone in it, but this time, the only person he could find himself hating was himself.
He retreated from the door, clutching the stuffed animal in his hands. He felt a fleeting reminder of the times he would hide from the monsters with Thalia.
Luke's mind swirled with discordant emotions, each thought a whirlwind of uncertainty. He knew he didn't deserve your answer, didn't deserve the solace of your words. He had made it clear too many times to count that he never wanted a soulmate, never wanted you.
But despite his protests, despite the walls he had built around his heart, Luke couldn't deny the tug that pulled him to you, the hunger in his soul that refused to be ignored. It was a longing he couldn't shake, a yearning that whispered of a connection he dared not embrace. Knowing that keeping you away was the only way to protect you from the darkness that lurked within him was what kept him sane.
"Luke?"
The sound of his name tore Luke out of his thoughts like a violent gust of wind. He spun around, finding you standing on the porch to the kitchens, Penelope at your side. She held your hand, a small beacon of warmth and light in the dimness of the night. 
It seemed too perfect, too surreal, and Luke couldn't help but feel a pang of disbelief. Were you trying to kill him? It had been too long since the last time he spoke to you, let alone stood so close to you, and here you were, the epitome of what a demigod should be, even if you were still in the dreaded bright orange camp shirt.
"Hey," he managed to say.
You continued to descend the stairs, each step cautious and deliberate. "What- uh, what are you doing up?"
"I was actually looking for Penelope." Luke motioned to the girl hiding behind your legs. When he caught her eye, Penelope grinned and let go of your hand, darting over to Luke and jumping into his arms. He lifted her easily, a small smile tugging at his lips as he handed her the stuffed toy she had left behind. 
"Oh." You hummed, "I didn't know you're a Hermes kid?"
"I'm unclaimed," Penelope chimed.
"For now," Luke's voice was gentle as he held Penelope in his arms. "And what were you doing up?"
"I was looking for a bandaid. I got lost." Penelope's words were punctuated by a soft yawn, and she nestled her head against Luke's shoulder, her exhaustion evident in every movement.
You hesitated, your gaze shifting to meet Luke's. "I found her by the canoes... near the dock."
The silence that settled between you felt heavy, suffocating almost as if it threatened to engulf you both. Luke found himself wandering back to the memories of you waiting for him at the dock during the summer nights and the regret that weighed heavily on his heart for never approaching you. He remembered the countless times he stood among the trees, watching you from afar, paralyzed by his own insecurities and fears.
Were you waiting for him there tonight? 
No, you couldn't have.
Guilt gnawed at him, threatening to consume him whole. "Listen, I-"
"I'm gonna go." You cut him off abruptly, your voice carrying a hint of tension. "Counsellor duties and all. I've got cabin checks in the morning so... you know, I gotta print papers... and stuff..."
Luke frowned at your lame excuse. "It's midnight."
"It's never too early to start now." You huffed defensively. "Bye, Penelope."
"Bye," Penelope mumbled sleepily, her hand lazily waving in your direction as you walked away, disappearing into the darkness of the night and the trail leading to the Aphrodite cabin.
As they made their way back to the Hermes cabin, Luke held onto Penelope tightly, feeling the weight of her small body in his arms. The night air was cool against his skin, and he couldn't help but feel a pang of shame for the unease he noticed in you earlier. He wanted to say something, to bridge the gap that seemed to have formed between you, but the words remained trapped in his throat.
Once they returned to the warmth of their cabin, Luke moved with a careful grace, mindful not to disturb the sleeping campers around them. He gently placed Penelope back on her bed and tucked her in. But as he began to step away, her small hand shot out, wrapping around two of his fingers. Luke froze, eyes wide with surprise.
"Luke?" Penelope's voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the silence of the cabin like a knife.
"Yeah?" Luke's voice was equally quiet.
"I think your soulmate is really cool." 
Penelope's words hung in the air, a simple statement that carried more weight than he could have ever anticipated.
Seven hours later, the memory of your face lingered in Luke's mind like an unshakeable ghost. Tossing back and forth in his bed, he tried to rid himself of the image, but it clung to him like a shadow. Each time he closed his eyes, your face flashed before him, haunting his thoughts. Even when he turned away, the spectre of Kronos lurked in the depths of his subconscious, a reminder of the choice that still loomed over him.
As morning broke over Camp Half-Blood, Luke found himself seated at the breakfast table, surrounded by the hustle and bustle of his fellow campers. Annabeth's presence brought a brief distraction.
She slid into the seat in front of him during breakfast and gave him a strange look, slightly out of breath from the morning rush, a half-eaten apple in hand.
"Hey," she greeted him, her voice carrying a note of concern. Pausing to tie back her braids, she studied him intently. "Who you looking for?"
Luke's response came too quickly, "No one," he replied, his voice strained. Thankfully, Chris had left earlier because he was in charge of the climbing wall in the morning, he wasn't there to tell Annabeth that Luke had been looking for you. His eyes scanned the sea of faces in the dining hall, a futile attempt to catch sight of you amidst the crowd. He felt pathetic. "What's up with you?"
Annabeth raised her brows. "Archery? Together? Remember? Or did you forget?"
"No. I didn't forget."
She only stared at him, skeptical.
"What?" he asked, "why do you keep looking at me like that?"
"Oh, I get it," Annabeth's smirk hinted at a newfound understanding, her eyes sparkling with amusement. She let out a laugh, the sound echoing through the dining hall, as she shook her head and rested her chin on her hand. "How long are you planning to keep this up for?"
Luke frowned, confused.
"This entire act you have with... you know," She didn't need to say your name for him to catch on. "It's getting out of hand, no?"
"I..." Caught off guard by her directness, Luke hesitated, unsure of how to respond. Choosing to play dumb, he feigned innocence. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Right." Annabeth's knowing look pierced through his facade. She was always too perceptive for her own good. Fixing him with a narrowed gaze, she gave him a playful kick under the table, the impact enough to draw a startled reaction from Luke. With a mischievous glint in her eyes, she took another bite of her apple before teasing him further. "Well, Grover said you're killing yourself."
"What?" He blinked at her, taken aback, "I'm not killing myself. Grover's just being dramatic."
"I don't think so." She said, slowly, carefully forming her words. "I mean, if I had a soulmate..."
Luke's defences bristled at the mention of soulmates, a topic he preferred to avoid. "Is this all you wanted to talk about?" 
"I'm allowed to worry, "Annabeth reminded him, her words tinged with a gentle insistence. "Family, remember?"
The word 'family' carried weight, a reminder of their shared history and the bond they had forged over the years. It was a phrase Annabeth often employed to coax Luke out of his shell, to encourage him to confide in her. When they were younger, 'family' meant everything to Luke, thanks in no small part to Annabeth's influence.
"You don't need to worry," Luke assured her, though uncertainty gnawed at the edges of his resolve. "I know what I'm doing." But did he? Luke longed for the simplicity of a time before he met you when the idea of having a soulmate seemed like a distant fantasy. Now, every decision he made, every scar he bore, carried weight, knowing it could impact you in ways he couldn't comprehend.
"The least you can do is get to know her before she leaves."
Her words struck a chord within him, prompting Luke to cast a discreet glance around the dining hall, searching for you amidst the bustling crowd again.
"She's leaving?"
"Not forever, "Annabeth clarified with a chuckle, "Just on a quest. Search and rescue. Nothing fancy."
"...How do you know this?" he said after a moment.
"Chiron told me," Annabeth shrugged nonchalantly. "He also told me to tell you that the ceremony is tonight. I hope that doesn't kill you."
It did kill him a bit. At least, it felt like it did. Luke Castellan moved through camp with a sense of urgency, his strides purposeful yet tinged with a hint of apprehension. His fingers, calloused from years of wielding weapons, throbbed with a dull ache with the burn from the bow and arrow. 
Shoulders tense, skin prickling under the relentless glare of the sun, he scanned the bustling campgrounds.
The weight of his bow rested heavily on his shoulder, the familiar weight offering a semblance of comfort amidst the chaos. With practiced precision, he counted the arrows in his quiver, his movements fluid and sure. 
Then, he heard it—the sound that drew him like a siren's call. Your voice, lilting and laughter-filled, cut through the clamour of the camp, pulling him toward you like a magnet. There you stood, leaning against the doorway of the Hephaestus cabin, a clipboard clutched to your chest as you exchanged banter with Atticus, the skilled swordsmith whose craftsmanship had forged Luke's sword.
There was something different about you today, something delicate, more approachable than he had ever seen before. Last night, with Penelope, you had worn a similar expression—gentle, caring—but it was a side of you that Luke had never been privileged to witness. With him, you had always been guarded, reserved, as though afraid that he would cut or maim you.
As you scribbled something onto your clipboard, Luke found himself intrigued by the way your smile softened. It was a stark contrast to the confident facade you often wore, and for a moment, Luke felt a pang of guilt for pushing you away so soon.
Unbeknownst to you, you were drawing closer to Luke with each step, your path inexorably leading you toward him. Part of him craved to reach out, while another part hesitated, unsure of how to talk to you after all this time.
"Hey," Luke finally managed to utter as you drew near, his voice tinged with uncertainty.
You paused, a hint of surprise flickering across your features as you registered his presence. "Hi?" Your response was tentative, laced with a hint of confusion. After a moment's hesitation, you glanced down at your clipboard, "I'm not changing my rank on your cabin. I know three is low, but I was being generous."
A ghost of a smile tugged at Luke's lips. He was all too familiar with the chaotic nature of Cabin Eleven, where overcrowding was the norm and taking turns on the sleeping bags was treated as a game. "No, no. I just..." He trailed off, suddenly realizing he hadn't thought through the purpose of seeking you out. "I think we need to talk."
The confusion in your expression mirrored his own, and for a moment, there was a palpable sense of uncertainty hanging between you. "Talk?" you echoed.
Luke nodded, his gaze meeting yours earnestly. "Yes."
"You want to talk...? To me?" 
"I hope it's not that bizzare."
He tried to smile for you, but it felt wrong. Luke couldn't shake the weight of unease that settled in the pit of his stomach. He knew all too well that he hadn't been the embodiment of an ideal soulmate. In his mind, there lingered a pervasive belief that you harboured nothing but hatred towards him, something that you made obvious with every interaction between you two.
He wondered if this was the way you felt during the days he avoided you. 
Luke had noticed the shift. There was a calculated recklessness to your actions, a deliberate disregard for your own well-being that bordered on self-destructive. You stubbed your toe on roots and table legs, tugged too hard at your hair, and scraped your knees. You started to pull your punches while sparring with Clarisse, just enough to ensure that he felt the sting of every blow. You never blocked a hit in the face, a twisted satisfaction in the knowledge that your pain mirrored his own. Together, you would limp into the infirmary, bloodied and bruised where you'd be grinning far too wide, barely offering an ounce of guilt when Luke held ice to his face.
You lowered the clipboard from your chest, letting it rest against your side as you faced Luke. The warm rays of the sun filtered through the dense foliage above, casting dappled shadows that danced across your features and forced you to squint against the brightness. The noise of children's laughter and the sound of feet pounding against the earth filled the air.
Your voice cut through the noise, "You've made it pretty clear that you want nothing to do with me, Luke," you began, your words carrying the weight of unspoken hurt. "You can't blame me for being surprised."
As you began to walk toward the next cabin, Luke fell into step beside you, "Can you just give me a chance—" 
"I think you're too late for that."
"I know, I just—" Luke's words faltered, his thoughts tumbling over one another in a desperate attempt to articulate his feelings.
"I have nothing to say to you," you declared abruptly, stopping in your tracks and turning to face him. Luke skidded to a stop just in time, his gaze meeting yours as you regarded him with a mixture of sadness and frustration. "Seriously. I understand, okay? Did I come on too strong? Maybe. Yeah, I'll admit that" you acknowledged, your expression softening slightly. "Maybe coming to you hours after your shit quest was stupid, but I gave you space when you asked—"
"I just wanted to wish you luck on your quest," Luke interrupted, his voice gentle yet tinged with a hint of remorse.
With a quiet "Oh," you stepped back, your eyes momentarily averting his gaze. Were you embarrassed? Were you disappointed? Did you want to fight? 
"Sorry," you mumbled, your voice tinged with uncertainty. "Thanks. I'm, uh, I'm seeing the Oracle after this. So... not technically a quest yet."
"It's your first one, right?" Luke's voice softened, an unspoken understanding passing between them.
"If you're worried about getting another scar, don't worry, I doubt it's anything dangerous," you reassured him, though your words held a hint of hesitation. There was a fleeting moment where your gaze lingered on him as if expecting a sudden change in his demeanour, but Luke remained still, his expression unreadable. "I just need to find Eros and go from there."
"Eros?" Luke's pace slowed, curiosity dancing in his eyes as he raised his brows in interest. Yet beneath the surface, a seed of annoyance sprouted, tendrils of jealousy winding their way through his thoughts. Your quest sounded far more intriguing than his own, and a bitter brew of envy churned in the depths of his stomach. Despite his inner turmoil, he attempted to play it off with a forced chuckle. "Has Cupid gone missing?"
"Apparently," you muttered bitterly under your breath, the resentment palpable in your tone. Luke sensed the edge to your words, though he pretended not to notice.
You sighed, "Is this conversation going anywhere? I really need to finish these cabin checks. I'm busy enough as it is."
Your words held an unspoken plea for him to leave, and though Luke understood, a pang of disappointment nagged at him. He couldn't entirely blame you; after all, he'd been an ass for months.
Both of you hesitated just outside the door to cabin eight, and Luke could feel your eyes on him. When you began to step away, his hand shot out, wrapping around your wrist. You froze, eyes wide with surprise.
“I also wanted to thank you,” He said, words rushing off his tongue.
“For what?” you asked.
“For last night.” He wasn't sure why he brought it up, why he felt like he needed you to know. "With Penelope."
"It was nothing," you said, voice barely audible. "We gotta look out for each other, right?"
Then, you left, you hurried up the short staircase to the cabin door, barely sparing him a glance before knocking. From his place, Luke could hear someone welcoming you into Artemis's cabin. He watched you until the door was shut behind you, vanishing you from his sight.
As the ceremony approached, the hues of twilight painted Camp Half-Blood in a golden glow, a serene yet foreboding atmosphere enveloping the surroundings. Luke's unease mounted with the setting sun, casting stretched-out shadows that seemed to carry something unnoticed. He couldn't shake the image of the figure from his nightmares, its monstrous visage haunting his thoughts with each passing moment. Yet, amidst the creeping darkness, there was an allure to the unknown, a temptation that beckoned him; its words, its promise of seeing the truth.
His gaze remained fixed on the white marble archway, half-expecting the nightmare to materialize at any moment, its twisted form emerging from the shadows with outstretched fingers. However, it was you who appeared, ascending the steps with graceful determination. Your presence seemed to dispel the shadows, bathing the surroundings in a radiant glow that eclipsed the fears that had once gripped Luke's heart. You were a blinding vice.
"Didn't think I'd see you here."
A sudden jab to his side sent him recoiling, a sharp pain shooting through his ribs. Luke winced, his gaze flickering to you as you flinched, subtly reaching for your own side. Quickly diverting his attention, he focused on the girl who had spoken.
Clarisse arched a brow at Luke, a smirk dancing on her lips. "Jumpy."
"Give him a break," Chris interjected, joining Luke's side and draping an arm over his shoulder. "Luke had a rough night, he lost a kid."
"Is that so?" Clarisse's grin widened. "And Chiron doesn't know? I'm assuming he doesn't otherwise, he wouldn't have picked you for this."
Luke scoffed and crossed his arms, "I'm the best swordsman at camp."
Luke's arms crossed defensively. "I'm the best swordsman at camp."
Clarisse's sarcasm was palpable. "Oh, I don't doubt it. The most humble, too," she retorted, unfazed by his glare. "But let's face it, a search and rescue isn't exaclty your thing anymore. You're more of an action kind of guy. You live off the glory of victory. Chiron knows that."
She was right, Chiron did know that. Which was why he rarely requested Luke to stand in unless there was a catch. Then, the flames in the torches flickered to life, and silence enveloped the candidates. Each demigod chosen by Chiron swiftly took their place, standing tall and resolute by a marble pillar, eager to showcase themselves as the prime choice for the quest. Anything for Kleos. Anything for glory.
Chiron nodded, his gesture sharp and decisive, as he placed a firm hand on your shoulder before addressing the assembly. 
"The Oracle has confirmed that this quest is a search and rescue," he stated, casting a brief, confident glance in your direction. "One where you will use all your best efforts to bring Eros back to the safety of Mount Olympus and restore the lost balance. I'm sure you know where to find him." His gaze then shifted to the rest of the candidates. "Here, I have selected some of our most compelling candidates from which you will choose one to join you on your quest, ensuring your success. Annabeth Chase, Atticus Brang, Chris Rodrigues, Clarisse La-"
As Chiron listed the candidates, you carefully evaluated your options, your eyes calculating. In the dim torchlight, Luke could just discern the thin line etched across your face, stretching from the end of your brow to your-
"I choose Luke."
The ensuing silence felt like something they could all drown in, leaving everyone stunned. Even Annabeth raised her eyebrows in surprise, though there was a glint of amusement in her eyes as she spotted Luke's bewilderment. Surely, he must have misheard. There couldn't possibly be any way you had chosen him, could there?
Chiron turned to you, his tone measured. "Are you sure?"
You never shifted your gaze from Luke, who refused to meet your eyes as he stared fixedly at the pillar across from him. Yet, the clenching of his jaw, whether from anger or annoyance or something else, was enough to elicit a satisfied smile from you.
"I'm sure," you affirmed.
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yourwitchmama · 4 months
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Emoji spell to manifest positivity, self love, and anything you desire in your life✨
🌹🌞🌙🌈✨🫧🏔️💵🔮❤️‍🔥☯️🔛🔝
~Like to charge, reblog to cast~
Put energy into this post to give yourself and others maximum benefits! Spells are all about intention~
Feminine positive affirmation manifestation
Masculine positive affirmation manifestation
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hisui-dreamer · 1 month
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YOOOOO CONGRATS ON 2K FOLLOWERS!!!
For the flower event, may I request a Leona x gn!reader with flowers that mean something like 'i love you' or 'you mean the world to me' but with flowers that is from a Chinese culture?
if its not possible, then regular ol' flowers are fine too
lotus bonds
Pairing: Leona Kingscholar x gn!reader
Synopsis: gifting leona a cool flower you found, but he seems to appreciate it more than you thought he would
Tags: fluff, reader is a bit oblivious?, domestic fluff
Word count: 420
Notes: i couldn't find a flower with the exact same meaning so i hope you're okay with this one!!
Masterlist
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flower of choice: conjoined lotus
its unique characteristic of having conjoined flowers on one stem symbolizes unity and interconnectedness in love, mirroring the connection between lovers. if a lotus root is cut, there are "threads" that still connect them, meaning it is not easy to force them apart. if one flower is damaged, the other is affected as well, signifying the concept of growing old together and sharing life's joys and sorrows.
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"Leona, Leona, look what I found!"
The slumbering beastman stirred from his nap at the sound of your voice, his heavy eyelids fluttering open. With a low grumble, he rubbed his eyes, attempting to adjust his eyes to the sunlit room. "What's all the noise about?" he muttered, his voice thick with drowsiness.
"I found these flowers at the lake today," you said softly, a hint of colour dusting your cheeks. "These two are conjoined together, isn't that amazing?"
With his curiosity aroused, he reached out, his fingers gently grasping the delicate petals of the flower, his touch careful and deliberate. As he examined each bloom, the concept of conjoined lotuses stirred a distant memory. He recalled reading about them some time ago, their significance in the Far East, a message they symbolized…
Conjoined flowers, a metaphor for the intertwining bonds of mutual love and affection found within marriages… with lotuses being the purest loves of all…
A flush of warmth crept up his cheeks as the realization washed over him. Glancing at you to study your expression, you seemed to be oblivious to the hidden meaning behind the flowers.
He chuckled softly, a hint of amusement in his voice. You were far too daring for your own good. He brushed his hand through his hair in an attempt to cool the heat rising within him. You really have no idea of the effect you have on him, huh?
Setting the flowers delicately on his bedside table, he made a mental note to cast a preserving spell on them later.
"C'mere," he murmured, tugging gently at your hand, drawing you into his embrace. Resting his head against your shoulder, he savours the comforting press of your warmth against his chest. He delights in the way you nestled into his embrace, a contented sigh escaping your lips as you leaned your weight against him.
...Maybe marriage with you wouldn't be so bad.
"Thank you for the flowers," he whispered against your ear, his arms enveloping you in a gentle squeeze.
"So, what other stuff did ya do today?"
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if you liked this post, don't forget to reblog!
fun fact: lotuses are most famous in ancient china for being a metaphor as a good king, with a poet saying "though lotuses grow from mud, they remain untainted". so you can interpret reader giving the coolest looking lotuses to leona as "you're the coolest bestest king in my eyes" :)
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aboxofcereales · 7 months
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Currently trying to collect all the information about our companies’ life before the events of Baldur’s Gate 3. Mainly, about their family and age. Any suggestions/editing will be very much welcome.
Huge thanks to everyone who aiding the cause in comments and reblogs.
Last update - 29 October 2023.
Wyll Ravengard: is about 24, has left the city when he was 17, in origin introduction states that he’s been exiled for 7 years. Apparently his dad, Grand Duke Ulder Ravengard, raised him by himself, Wyll’s mother, Francesca, passed away in childbirth, when Wyll was born, as stated by Ulder’s longsword description, Wyll mentions her during a romance scene in Act 3, also calls himself “a single son to a single father”. According to Murder in Baldur's Gate: Ravenguard has never married and has no interest in domestic matters, moreover the said sword description calls Wyll's mother Ulder's love, not wife, which makes me think that Wyll was born out of wedlock. Supposed to have 3 uncles. I’ve seen a note about Wyll diving to see a mermaid as kid, written by his dad, in the high security vault. Florrick seen him grow up, had a crush on Stelmane as a kid, also during his childhood enjoined fishing with his dad, but sucked at it. Also, Ravengard's Scourger states that "Duke Ravengard's father was the sort of man who works with his hands, and communicates in grunts. In his heart his son vowed to do better. But when Wyll was born, Ravengard felt a strange gravity that drew him away from his son.", that strange gravity might be Francesca's death in childbirth(?). Generally, I strongly advise to take him around the city in act 3, as he tells plenty stories of his boyhood.
Gale Dekarios: still not sure if there any information about how old he might be, but I estimated around mid-to-late 30s, though it doesn’t really sit well with him meeting Mystra as a kid (btw there’s an absolutely wonderful post on this topic by @lairofsentinel, check it out), still I’d like Gale to be on the older side, alternatively, he may be around 28-30 due Mystra's return year. Personal headcanon - he's 37. He casted his first spell as a babe - a score of rabbits in the panty. Apparently lives separately from his parents in his tower, at least as kid had them both (mentioned when he first tells about his friend-tressym, Tara), thou in his origin (at least as much as heard and played myself but @vitanithepure confirmed it) only his mother gets mentions, the state of the other parent is unknown. Has a very tender relationship with her, but didn’t inform her about the orbe for her own safety, her name may be Morena (godsblessdataminers), Mrs Dekarios really wants him to find someone to settle down with. Also, Tara hates his beard.
Shadowheart (Jenevelle Hallowleaf): is about 50, comments that Viconia documented about 40 years worth of her life at the hands of Shar, in the same note she writes that Shadowheart was able to keep her heart true to her child self, and was hard learning Shar lessons. As I understood when she was kidnapped, she was about 10-13, kidnapping was directly by the Shar command. Personal headcanon - she's 51. After her abduction made friends with tiefling named Nocturne (they might have be more than friends?), had a pet mouse for sometime called Nibbles. There’s a grafiti somewhere behind Jaheira house which she has drawn. Shares a questionable taste of romance literature with Wyll and his father. Her parents’ fate, Emmeline and Arnell Hallowleaf: is up to you decisions. Her mother mentions that they wanted Jen to have siblings.
Karlach Cliffgate: early 30s I think, the way she speaks about Gortash makes me thinks she was practically a teenager when she started working for him and spend 10 year serving Zariel. Personal headcanon - she's 29. Her parents, Pluck and Caerlack, she moved them from Outer City to a nicer place. Her mom died due to fewer when she was a teen, dad a couple years later due to road accident. Both died before she met Gortash. Her mom seems to be behind her love for Minsc, Jaheira etc. You can meet her friend near Baldur’s statue.
Lae’zel of K’liir: seems to be barely 20. Githianky reach adulthood in their late teen, and as Lae’zel was yet to present a mindlflaer’s head, I think she’s the youngest in the party. According to Idle Champions of the Forgotten Realms, she's exactly 22 (but they do mess up astarion age). Personal headcanon - she's in fact 20. She hates owls due to their necks, Karlach agrees.
Astarion Ancunin: according to translation of his grave he only lived for 40 years before becoming spawn, spend 200 year as such. Safe guess - there's definitely smt wrong with his grave stone or/and translation as it messes the current year - from 220 to 250. According the artbook he was a corrupted magistrate, which seem to be true atleast to pre-release version.
Halsin is 350, his family is from the High Forest, thou they are all gone. Spend 3 years captured by drow, loves honey and curving ducks. Jahiera is about 150-160, as she was a child in 1347. Has atleat five foster children: half-elf Rion, half-orc druid Jord, three humans - Jhessem, Fig, and Tate. Minsc was a statue from 1409 to 1480s.
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muddyfae · 1 year
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Tips for Witchcraft in the Dorm
If you're in a situation where you have a roommate that may not be open to your craft, you're in the broom closet and being in college makes it even harder to practice, you're starting your witch journey while in college, you couldn't take a full sized altar to school, or you're like me and attend a private Christian college (ugh) that makes you feel the need to be discreet, this post is for you!
If you have an altar: Find a way to downsize your altar. For some this isn't a huge thing, but I'm the kind of gal that liked to go all out with my space. The best way to do it is to find a box or container that can be moved easily and has all your essentials, and only take what can fit. If you can't fit certain tools, it's best to find substitutions. A small bowl that can hold water will work just as well as a crystal ball. Putting herbs in bags will allow more room than jars.
Alternative to candle magic: I know the urge to put tape over that fire alarm is real but I'm unfortunately a goody two shoes. Luckily wax burners exist and you can get all the fun of candle magic minus the flame. I like to draw sigils into my wax before melting it for spellwork; and you can get all sorts of different colored wax. If you need unscented wax, you can buy white wax and dye it.
Some discreet types of magic to look into:
Tea. Tea. Tea. I cannot stress how useful tea magic is. There's loads of information about it right here on Tumblr! Most dorms allow ectric teapots and tea is easy to store.
Knot magic. Here's a great post about it. Absolutely any kind of spell can be done with a knot and it's super easy to implement into everyday activities.
Moon magic. Guys, the moon is awesome. Work with it. Moon water is a great manifestation tool and corresponding anything with the moon phases is an instant boost. It's also free and super easy.
Sigils. Really fun to learn and really easy to draw in a couple journals, on a foggy window, in your tea as you stir it, or on your skin. I recommend Pinterest if you're trying to find tutorials.
Runes. I like to cast physical runes but there's lots of ways to use these in everyday magic. Each symbol has their own meaning and there's an abundance of information on them. Similar to sigils, I like to draw them on things.
Extra tips:
Learn the correspondences for each day of the week. Doing little things for each day will keep you connected to your craft as you get through college.
Anything can be a chalice. Cleanse that cup and you're good to go.
Astrology is your friend.
I'm here for you. College is hard. Dorming can be a pain too.
I hope this helps someone. Reblog if you can. Love you all!
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hello gorgeous! if you don't mind modern au, i have an idea. if you don't feel like writing anything it'd be great to hear your thoughts abt it. daemon x wife!reader (who's somehow connected with magic but not targaryen) who are devoted to each other like madly in love. before daemon has to go to war they're saying goodbyes kissing, crying and not being able to let the other go. feeling like something's off he says smth like "i'll find you in another life. i'll find you in any time we'll be existing. i will love you any time i am alive" (in high valyrian or calling her some name in it) kissing her knuckles and going away. unfortunately, he was right. reader died some way while he was away and he remains faithful to her for the rest of his life (oc but whatever) and in the modern world he does find her. maybe targaryens are some sort of royal family, maybe they keep a family business or an ordinary family with lots of relatives. but he fins the reader and they somehow just feel. sorry if it's too much. i'd really like to read something about it but it absolutely ok if you don't feel like it. thank u in advance! take care!
Waiting For A Lifetime
Part 1 2 3 ?
Daemon Targaryen x Reader + Aegon Targaryen x Reader cos it just sorta happened
Summary: Overcome by grief, Daemon turned to black magic to revive you. Moved by pity, the witch who casted the spell promised you would live until you met your love again in his next life.
Word Count: 3k+
Warnings: Modern AU, fem!reader, mentions/depictions of death/still birth/war, my pretty boy aegon whom i would die for, angst, fluff, typos, etc.
A/N: i saw this last night when i woke up in the middle of my sleep and couldn't stop thinking about it. I changed a lot about your req nonnie. I do hope you still like it though. I absolutely could not help myself with this one and I got so carried away T_T also a lot of facts about the Targaryens have distorted so just just just roll with it ok ok ok thank you And yes i know this is a gif from the crown but i love it so much the hat falling off the kiss ITS EVERYTHING I WANT TO BE HERRRRRRRRRRRRR also i do acknowledge the fact that this anon came to me with this idea after i reblogged this amazing moodboard sooooo yeah i think this post sparked this fic idea lol ALSO ALSO ALSO 2022 MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!!! LOVE YA ALL imagine seeing this post in like 2032 or smth shit thats like 35 years from now Tagging: @pinksirensong @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony pssst i made p2 "Never Before"
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Daemon's face was streaked with tears and sorrow. His eyes were bloodshot and his voice was as sure as it was grave as he repeated the word he uttered to the shaman, "anything."
She looked at him, able to taste the desperation in the air, "even if it costs your life, prince?"
Daemon looks at his love before him, his love that was carrying his child. He places his bloody palm on the gaping wound on her stomach.
"Your child will not live even if she does."
Daemon screws his eyes shut tightly. He begins to quiver in anger, in grief, in pure sorrow. He mutters, "anything," he slowly opens his eyes to gaze upon her lifeless face, "better it me than her. There is no world worth living without her."
The woman narrows her eyes at the prince. She knew he was the Targaryen, once heir, known to be rugged and harsh. The Rouge Prince. Yet, there was no trace of malice within his being, only what she would describe as true devotion, true love.
"So, may it be done by the gods old and new," she says, drawing the prince's attention to her, "I will plead for her soul that she may live."
Daemon watches the witch, as she stands to her feet from the ground they were both sprawled on, in front of the body of the dead woman.
"I will plead that she may live long enough to meet you again in another life, so that you may have the love you have now once more."
"Another life?"
"Yes," she says, "the gods recreate humans they are pleased with to grace the earth again. I am certain they will let you be reborn to be with her again. I will make it certain."
Daemon grabs the cold hand that was beginning to stiffen.
"Although, I am unsure if they will allow you to remember her."
"I will remember her," Daemon retorts, kissing the hand of his love, "I will remember her no matter form I take... I will, I must."
"So it remains to be seen," she says before speaking out her incantation.
And it would not be seen until nearly 2000 years later.
The times have changed drastically. Women wore pants and voted. Men where made to take more responsibility for their actions, though still got away with things.
And yet...
... my love for him never faded.
Every prince that was born and named Daemon, I hoped would finally be him. It went about like this century after century, war after war, plague after plague, rise after fall. I had feared the Targaryens would die out, but they proved to be as strong as the very foundations of the earth.
And it took the televised of the marriage of Viserys XXIX to Duchess Aemma of Eyrie for me to see the face of my love: Daemon, the Wild Child, the Knight of Knickers, as penned by the press. Ultimately, the prince of my heart.
I burst into tears when I saw his cheeky face as he nudged his brother at the isle. I pressed my hands on the screen, thinking to myself, the wait was finally over, he was finally here.
All that was left was for me to meet the Prince of Valyria.
Yes. That would be no problem at all.
Except it was, because Daemon was just as mad as he was in this life as he was in the last.
After all, he did not get those nicknames from the press for nothing.
I used up so many of my resources to even just get a glimpse of him. It was hard to catch him in one place. I mostly caught him with a scandalous headline in the cover of magazines and newspapers.
Tonight, it was a newspaper.
"You know," the bartender taps his finger on my newspaper that was sprawled out on his bar, "he's a frequent here."
I turn to the blonde, in his white dress shirt, black waist apron, and black slacks. I raise a brow as he purses his lips as though the information was ground breaking. He wipes on a glass with his blue towel.
"Gee, Aegon," I lean on the surface before me, "I would have never guessed that from the picture on the wall."
I nod at the said picture. It's one of Daemon and the current owner of the bar, Tywin Lannister, who also happened to own Lannister Land Corp, shaking hands. Oh, Lannisters.
"Hey," Aegon shrugs, pulling his lips down in a nuff-said manner, "it had to be said, since you're literally the only patron here that has not interrogated me with questions about the Knight of Knickers."
I snort, "then allow me to change that," I rest my head on my hand, "is he truly so dashing that his looks practically steal the knickers of the ladies around him?"
Aegon finishes buffing his glass and puts it down, looking up in thought, "mmm, I think it's mostly cause he's a prince that he's got the effect he's got. I've got no idea what possessed the first girl to throw her panties at him."
I giggle, "are you saying the prince is ugly?"
"Bit harsh, innit," Aegon pulls back, getting another glass, rubbing it down with his towel, "your words, not mine."
I roll my eyes, shaking my head, as I laugh at the light haired boy's muses, "you know, if we had been living at the height of the Targaryen rule, Daemon would have had your head for that, pretty boy."
"Gods, to be beheaded," he sighed, "a dream, rather than working here, taking about some monarch who lives off the money of the people."
I snort once more. Aegon's face softens as he breaks into a laugh himself.
"No, but honestly," he says putting down the glass and the towel, "you, my dear, are my saving grace. The highlight of my begrudgingly stretched out day," he stretches out a hand to me.
I chuckle at him as I take his hand. He presses a kiss on the back of it, making me grin at him in amusement.
"You're the only sane person here," he releases my hand, "everyone else is so desperate to brush shoulders with the prince, or simply even catch a of whiff of his flatulence."
I break out into a fit of chuckles, slamming firmly at the wood between us.
"No, I'm serious! I heard the fittest gal, a total bombshell, boasting with pride about how she managed a sniff of the bloke's fart."
I'm wheezing with laughter, unable to believe what I'm hearing.
Aegon releases a deep and dramatic sigh, "what has the world come to?"
I wipe a tear as Aegon watches me empty myself of laughter. His face crinkles in a pleased expression, Adam's apple bobbing as he chuckles airily.
I sigh, catching my breath, "well, if I ever become that desperate, I ask that you pray for my soul."
Aegon presses his palms together, "praying for that girl as we speak."
I chuckle, folding the newspaper before me, "I must say, I am actually desperate to meet the wild child myself."
Aegon drops his hands along with his humored expression.
I cannot help but laugh at him as I continue to fold the paper, "though, I would say I am the desperate kind that is so desperate..." I eye him as I press the grey material together, "that I, somehow, dread to meet him at all."
Aegon snorts, screwing his eyes shut as he wipes his face, "the Stranger. Don't say things like that! I nearly had a heart attack believing you."
"No, but it's true, Aegon!" I say with a faux wounded pout, "prince Daemon is my great love, we have been destined to meet for millennia!"
Aegon leans on the table, humming as he nodds his head, "yes, and I suppose I am Aegon the Conqueror."
I lean towards him and grab his jaw, "no, you look more like Aegon II. The spitting image, I dare say."
He scoffs, swatting me off, "I'm hotter than him."
I pull away, "yes. That I can agree with, pretty boy. Personal hygiene does wonders."
Aegon snorts and plays off the blush on his cheeks by wiping his nose with his thumb, "you speak as though you met him."
I straighten up, "that's because I have. He was once my nephew."
He narrows his eyes and crosses his arms. His face contorts at the thought.
I raise my brows at him, "have I not told you I am not only a Targaryen historian, an expert at that, but I am also a patron of the Museum of Ice and Fire? I'm married into their family."
"Okay," he raises a finger, "ew."
I snort.
Aegon lifts his jaw and hums, "well, now that you mentioned it, I always knew you were one of those insanely rich blokes who frequent here. I was thinking you were a mafia boss or something though."
I scoff in amusement, raising my brows at him.
He pushes his white sleeves up then raises his hand in defense, "you have a very intense aura about you."
"That's because you trigger my fight mode," I retort.
He huffs, "do I? I'm scared to know what you'll do to me when I've seen what you do to men who hit on you."
"Aww, don't worry," I coo, "I wouldn't hurt my pretty, baby boy."
Aegon doesn't get to reply when a customer calls his attention. With this, he pulls away and leaves me to my own devices.
We don't get to continue our conversation at all, for it was clear that the rush hour had begun.
I eventually pulled back and decided to entertain myself while my favorite bartender was busy. I swiveled on my stool, looking out to the room, spotting the jukebox collecting dust in the corner. I smile at the sight of it, thinking about how it was still here after all these years, in spite of being older than Aegon.
I stand from my seat and walk over to it.
Aegon, finding one patron missing, frantically looks around then calms, raising a brow.
I place my hands on the jukebox, bending over to check if it was plugged in.
Aegon snorts as he hands a man a beer, eyes not at all fixed on him, "that doesn't work, love."
"Mmm, ye of little faith."
Aegon is annoyed by the man that sits on the vacated stool, blocking his vision. In retaliation, he blocks out the sound of his voice. Aegon calls out, "if you can make that hunkajunk work, I'll clear your tab for you."
I chuckle as I pull the machine forward, checking its wiring, "I wouldn't want to make a kid working on minimum wage to pay for me at all."
"I only said I would clear your tab, doll face," is all he replies before he goes back to tending to drinks again.
I break into chuckles as I fiddle with the wires on the back. I admit, it took me quite a while to go through everything, which was why Aegon warned that he would not call an ambulance for me if I got electrocuted.
The sight of the jukebox coming to life was enough to shut him up.
I get to my feet with a huff, brushing my hands off with each other. I turn to Aegon, who was already looking at me in astonishment, along with a few other people in the room.
I smirk, "my tab then?"
"Good as gone," Aegon shakes his head in disbelief, cutting his hand across his neck.
I release a satisfied sigh as I punch at the hardened buttons and play whatever it was that was available to be played.
When the music starts, I close my eyes and allow myself to drift off with the music. The sound brings back some memories I had in the 1940's. If I recall correctly, it was around this time Daemon's father, King Baelon, was crowned.
I slowly moved to the rhythm of the song, swaying my hips, waving my extended arms out as I made my way to the center of the room.
Aegon stilled in his spot upon seeing this. His breath caught in his throat and he was only brought back to reality when someone demanded a gin. He looked around the room as he poured that idjit his drink and clenched his jaw tightly when he saw the onlooking crowd.
He snorts loudly, grabbing his towel, throwing it over his shoulder roughly, clearing his throat with more noise than necessary.
I smile to myself when I hear Aegon's familiar coughing. He had a tendency to do this whenever men around me started to be a bother. And I loved him dearly for it. He was a sweet boy.
With my eyes still closed, I continue dancing to the soothing song. My smile grows bigger when a section comes that tickles my musical senses. I chuckle as I twirl in my spot.
When I felt a hand come to my waist, I didn't have to open my eyes to know it was Aegon. He wouldn't have let anyone come near me at all without barking up a storm.
I hummed at the scent of him, familiar yet foreign to me at once. He must have changed his cologne. I prefer this one better. He pulls me close when I reach out to him, grabbing one of his hands and placing a palm on his shoulder. His dress shirt is softer than what I imagined it to be.
I am surprised when he leads us into a ballroom dance. In fact, I am so shocked, I open my eyes and see a blur of his white shirt and blonde hair as he spins me around.
I break into a fit of chuckles, screwing my eyes shut in pure bliss when he dips me, "I had no idea you were a dancer, pretty boy."
"Yes, well, journalists don't find it interesting enough to write about."
My eyes burst open at the sound of the deep voice.
My heart is pounding at the sight of the smirking man with silver hair. I nearly faint at the violet irises so close to mine.
"I do say," his hot breath fans on my face, "if we were spotted by one now, they'd have a field day."
I jolt upright and shove the man away. He doesn't seem to be offended by my harsh actions, and, in fact, chuckles as he reels back from my action, "not what I had expected and not the reaction I usually get, but there's a first for everything."
My breath hitches when he smiles at me. I turn from him, to Aegon, who was staring coldly from his place behind the bar. It seems the rest of the people here were doing the same as well, gobsmacked by the presence of the man in the middle of the room
I roll my shoulders back, turning to my dance partner, "Prince Daemon," I mutter, bowing my head slowly, "pardon my rudeness."
He chuckles, waving me off as he stuffs a hand in his pocket, "oh, no need to be so formal, my dear. I can understand the shock," he tilts his head at me, lips still curved, "you surely weren't expecting to be dancing with the prince and thought me to be someone else, no?"
I look at him and stare in silence. For the first time in my life, I was at a loss for words.
Everything was suddenly so real, and it was making my mind and my heart race.
Aegon watches this and clears his throat loudly.
It does not help anyone.
Daemon raises his brows at me in expectation, placing his other hand in his pocket as he leans on one leg.
I open my mouth. A second passes before I mutter, "I thought you were my pretty boy."
His lips spread into a toothy grin. Airy chuckles leave him, "I can be your pretty boy."
When he extends his hand out to me, it was like the heavens opened and I could hear the angels sing.
This was the moment I have been waiting for since that day that I came back to life and kissed him goodbye with a promise of finding him in his next one.
My breath was heavily taxed when I lifted my hand.
My soul nearly leaves me when I jolt in shock over the sound of a record scratching and jumping, repeating over and over again.
In that moment, I am hit by an epiphany. I am so overwhelmed with emotions that I could barely breathe. The sight of Daemon before me brought tears to my eyes. This was all I ever wanted, and yet-- and yet-- I was drowning. I could not breathe properly.
"I..." I shudder, making Daemon's face fall, "I have to go," I mutter through a strained breath.
Daemon knits his brows, shifting in his spot with his hand still out, "what?"
Aegon watched with tightly knit brows as I ran out of the room.
The prince drops his hand and spins on his heels, eyes locked on the runaway. His nostrils flare as his face contorts in confusion, "wait! Stop! Where are you going?!"
I heave heavily as I push past people on my way out. I am absolutely winded when I exit the establishment, hands shivering from both the cold and the nerves that were getting to me in this moment.
I walk aimlessly farther out, down to the lawn that was now dark, since it was gods-know-what hour.
"Wait!"
My heart drops.
I spin around when someone grabs my wrist. My heart is still quick in my chest when I see Daemon, heaving. His short, light hair was slightly tousled in its place. He knits his brows at me, tilting his head, "you dare leave your prince, Cinderella?"
My jaw hangs low.
He releases a sigh, shaking his head, "I forbid it."
Seeing him here and now made everything feel more Real with a capital R.
Daemon adjusts his grip on my wrist, pulling his hand back, so that he was now holding my hand.
I look at him, blinking the glassiness of my eyes away, still in shock of his presence. A million questions were running through my head, and I was glad to be able to even have the mind to ask one in this moment, "do you know me, Daemon?"
He tilts his head upon hearing this, brows knitting, lips curving. He releases a chuckle at the lack of formality and how haphazard the question was, but finds himself further drawn because of it, "no," he shakes his head, "but I would love to know you."
Hearing the words come out of his mouth shatters something in me.
He did not know me.
I turn away from him as I try to even my breath. I retreat my hand and step back as a shiver runs down my spine.
And yet here he was, chasing after me.
Daemon steps forward to make up for the space between us, "don't leave. Come back inside with me. I'll give you my coat, then you can boast that the prince of Valyria gave it to you."
I continue stepping back as I shake my head, "you don't understand," I mutter under my breath in High Valyrian.
"Then make me understand," he retorts in the same tongue with a chuckle as he shakes his head and takes a wide stride over to me, grabbing my hand again.
I gasp at the warmth of his touch. When I turn back to him, tears have finally fallen from my eyes.
Daemon's face hardens at the sight of it. His hand reaches out to my face, wiping the wetness away. The sight of his torn expression tears at me, bringing me more tears.
"Why are you crying?" he asks in High Valyrian.
I do not get to reply, as suddenly there is a loud burst from behind us, commanding both our attentions.
It's Aegon. He busted through the door with my things in his hand. Upon catching the sight of the two of us, he freezes, breathing heavily as the looks out.
Daemon's expression hardens; his grip on me tightens. He turns to me, jealousy coating his mouth when he catches I where I am looking, "is that your pretty boy?"
I do not reply to him as Aegon walks over.
Daemon pulls me close to him. I look up at him with teary eyes. Aegon looks between us, jaw tense as he hands me my bag, coat, and newspaper.
"Thank you, bartender," Daemon dismisses, patting Aegon on the shoulder, before turning from him to face me again.
When I catch Aegon's face, I finally have the wits to move.
I pull away from Daemon to put my coat on. I swallow a heavy lump in my throat at feel of the stares of the two men.
Once I have my coat on, I pull a card from my bag, handing it to Daemon. He wastes no time in taking it from me, immediately scrutinizing it.
"I'd..." I start, taking a deep breath, "like to see you again."
Daemon's eyes dart to me, breaking into a smile.
Butterflies explode in my stomach at the sight of him.
Aegon's face tenses.
I release a breath before asking, "when are you fr-"
"Whenever," Daemon blurts. He places the card in the breast pocket of his white shirt, "I'm free whenever."
I nod slowly at his words, "I have work tomorrow, but I do have a long lunch at 12-
"I'll call you a 11:55."
I purse my lips at his words, trying to hold back my chuckle, but failing, "11:55?"
Daemon grins, nodding once, "on the dot."
I chuckle, turning to my feet as I nod at his words, "11:55 then."
"On the dot," he nods, extending a hand out to rub his thumb on my cheek.
I turn to him just as Daemon pulls away and stuffs his hands back in his pockets, "I'll walk you."
I shake my head, turning to Aegon, who was still standing there, watching the whole interaction between us, "you don't have to. I have a car parked nearby."
"Then I'll walk you to your car."
I turn back to Daemon, who then offers his arm out to me. I smile, unable to deny him, or myself, of the offer. I take his arm, and the next moment, he leads us off.
I turn over my shoulder, raising a hand at Aegon while I offer him a smile, "see you, Aegon."
Aegon watches as I turn back.
There is a twisted feeling inside him that grows. He mutters softly. It is too soft for anyone but himself to hear, "see you."
1K notes · View notes
kingofbodyrolls · 3 months
Text
Friendcation (m) | myg | winter special
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| s.masterlist | m.masterlist |
Summary: You’re in labor and live outside of the city, and it just happens to be Christmas time, there’s a lot of snow. Will you and Yoongi be able to make it to the hospital before your baby arrives?
OR– The one where Yoongi fucks you into labor and crashes the car 🙃 (It’s set about 1,5 years after friendcation ended) 🙂
it's obviously part of a series, but it can totally be read as a standalone oneshot (though there's some jokes you might not get, but that's all).
Pairing: Yoongi x reader (female)
Other characters: Jimin 😇 + the rest of the gang makes an appearance at the end too 💜
AUs: roadtrip!au, non idol!au, pregnancy!au, established relationship, married!au, mechanic!Yoongi, holiday!au.
Genres: slice of life, humor/crack, smut and fluff
Rating: mature/explicit/R18  (This is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.)
Disclaimer: I do not own BTS or know them personally and this work of fiction is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only. The actions and personalities described in the story do not reflect those of BTS— it’s just fiction. Also, if you would kindly read the tags/warnings before reading, that would be lovely: and if you don’t like whatever is described in the tags, just hit return and find something else to read. Thank you 🌸
Word Count: 10.3K
Warnings (general) + triggers: sex while pregnant, minor car accident, a lot of crack and humor too, because otherwise it wouldn’t be friendcation. Slight angst. Possessive Yoongi. Jimin deserves a warning too 👀 (it’s always Jimin)! Giving birth in a car in a somewhat detailed description (without medical help). Breastfeeding a baby. A lot of kissing.
Warnings (explicit): smut in the form of unprotected sex, fingering, dirty talk, praise kink, breast play, nipple play (with a little bit of lactation), flashing/exposure of vagina and boobs, comfort sex (Yoongi making sure OC is comfortable the whole time 🥺), strong orgasms, blood (because of childbirth, but barely mentioned).
Author’s note: this couple just wouldn’t leave me alone 😂 So here we are, with a winter special. I really hope you like it. It was so fun to write, I just love their relationship and then also with their friends, especially Jimin 🤭 I might do more specials through time, I don’t know. Don’t know if people are interested (but I’d probably write it anyway, lol). Like, we still don’t know how Yoongi proposed, their wedding, their honeymoon 👀
This has different povs, mainly Yoongi's, then Jimin's and reader's (I hope it isn't too confusing).
Thank you so much – and thanks to all that likes, comments, reblogs, yeah, anything. Thank you from the bottom of my heart, it makes me so happy and a damn smiling fool 💜
Taglist: @idkjustlovingbts @constancelayon @wobblewobble822 @ktownshizzle @moonchild1 @ultimatefangirl0 @baechugff @jimintaemin @parapiop7 @fckkntired @iluvfndms @citypop-princess @tarahardcore @bergandysam @massivelyfullenthusiast @tatyhend @gimeow *strikethrough means tumblr isn’t letting me tag you :( **if you wish to be removed from the taglist, let me know 🌸
It’s been cross posted to AO3 if you prefer to read there.
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He is used to it.
But ever since you became pregnant, it’s been getting worse.
Your sleep moaning, that is.
And it’s always turning him on.
His frustration simmers beneath the surface, fueled by the magnetic allure you effortlessly wield. Yet, with a single glance from you, his resolve melts away like butter on a warm summer day. This magnetic power you wield over him isn't a recent revelation; it's been your enchanting spell, cast long before that memorable camping trip more than a year ago.
Memories surge like a tidal wave, setting his irises ablaze with vivid snapshots of you both, entwined amidst the intimate cocoon of his van, sheets tangled in the echoes of passion.
Countless adventures and camping escapades have unfolded since that fateful journey with your friends, yet it's the kaleidoscope of memories created with you that he holds as precious treasures, each moment a vibrant gem in the tapestry of your relationship.
At last, his gaze shifts towards you, and he beholds the tranquility that graces your sleeping form, nestled beside him. There you lie, on your back nonetheless, which really mustn't be nice considering your big belly.
You’re almost nine months pregnant and the baby can come any minute, he knows.
You’d been trying to conceive for some time, a delightful excuse to have sex all the damn time–although, truth be told, he never needed one.
He feels his dick strain against the confines of his boxers and he wonders  whether to rouse you from slumber, it's not merely the urgency of his arousal but the genuine concern for your well-being—your supine position hindering blood flow and oxygen to the precious life within your belly. 
Thus, with a tender touch, he delicately stirs you from your peaceful slumber.
Initially met with silence, your slumbering form stirs slightly, emitting a soft murmur of both moans and snores.
A soft chuckle escapes him as he observes your endearing response, yet undeterred, he persists in gently prodding you.
In a hushed and tender tone, he attempts to reach out to you with a gentle “Babe,” his voice a delicate whisper, carrying the weight of affection.
As your head gracefully pivots towards him, your eyes, like delicate butterflies, flutter open in response to the gentle call. A soft smile graces his lips, a silent serenade to the gradual awakening of your consciousness.
As consciousness fully embraces you, your eyes roam the dimly lit room before finding solace in his gaze.”Why did you wake me? It’s the middle of the night…” you inquire, the bedroom's shadows bearing witness to the query that hangs in the air.
With a gentle yawn, you pivot your body, settling into the comforting curve of your side. In the quiet accomplishment of this subtle shift, one of his cherished missions finds completion.
In a tender tone infused with love, he begins, “You were sleeping on your back. It’s not good for the baby,” his words a gentle caress carrying the weight of concern for the precious life cradled within your belly.
A warmth infuses your smile as you meet his gaze, a silent acknowledgment of gratitude for the depth of his concern and the wellspring of love that envelops you both.
And with a playful chuckle lacing his words, he adds, “And you were moaning too.” Your laughter joins his, and you both know what this means.
“You’re always horny, Yoon.” you tease, your hands exploring the contours of his body with purpose. Swiftly finding the elastic of his boxers, you trace the outline of his dick with a deliberate touch, a dance of desire that unfolds seamlessly between you.
Your hand glides sensually over him, a teasing caress through the fabric of his boxers, and a guttural groan of pleasure escapes his lips.
He seizes your hand, bringing a pause to the tantalizing dance between you. “Do you want to, babe?” he inquires, his gaze a reflection of both restraint and anticipation, hanging on the unspoken words between you.
A soft chuckle escapes your lips, your body and mind fully alive, the air already charged with the unmistakable electricity that Yoongi seems to effortlessly ignite within you. You’re already soaked in your panties, and with a whispered moan, you confess, “Yes, I need you Yoongi.”
Gently guiding your hand away from his cock, he inches closer, turning you to lay on your side facing away from him.
Swiftly seizing his pillow, he artfully tucks it beneath the gentle curve of your belly, sculpting a cocoon of support and comfort.
Nestling his head into the crook of your neck, he inhales deeply, savoring the heady and intoxicating essence that is uniquely yours. It's more than a fragrance; it's a potent elixir that courses through him, a sensory drug that elicits an involuntary response—a subtle, primal twitch in the fabric of boxers.
A low, guttural moan escapes his lips, intimately shared in the cocoon of your embrace, as he senses your shiver echo through his touch.His skilled hand embarks on a journey, tenderly caressing your breasts, lingering over the soft expanse of your tummy where the fluttering life within makes its presence known. As his exploration ventures lower, he cups your pussy outside your panties.
Your hips undulate into his dick, a rhythmic dance that draws an involuntary duet of pleasure-laden moans from both of you. His awareness sharpens, attuned to the undeniable evidence of your arousal. With a deliberate touch, he tugs your panties aside, revealing your drenched pussy.
Initiating a delicate exploration, he trails his fingertips along the contours of your folds, gathering the essence of your arousal before skillfully guiding a single digit into the velvety warmth of your desire.
With a rhythmic precision, he starts a sensual dance, his digit sliding in and out of your eager core. Each movement draws forth an increasing symphony of heavy pants, and he can already hear that you’re not gonna last long.
Adding another skilled finger, he intensifies the intimate pleasure, a seamless union of sensation as your bodies synchronize in a provocative dance. Your backside grinds into the rigid length of his desire, fueling his fervor to push the limits further. With an escalating pace, his fingers move within you, a crescendo of pleasure building with every adept stroke.
Breathless and on the precipice of ecstasy, you urgently plead, “I'm so close, Yoongi. Touch my clit instead,” your voice a desperate plea. He complies with a deft move, withdrawing his slickened fingers from the depths of your core to redirect their attention, skillfully navigating the peaks of your pussy with an intoxicating dance against your throbbing clit.
Yoongi has become attuned to the cadence of your breath, a masterful symphony that he has memorized like the back of his hand. In the harmonious rhythm, he discerns the telltale signs that you are on the precipice of ecstasy—so close that the intoxicating anticipation hangs in the air like an electric charge.
His fingers move in a tantalizing dance, tracing circles around your clit with an intimate familiarity. As he senses you teetering on the brink, your breaths hang heavy in the charged air, and the ethereal moans escape your lips like a whispered melody. In a bold move, he pinches your clit. Your body responds in an electric surge, tension radiating through every inch of your being, held in the exquisite grip of his deliberate touch.
Returning to the rhythmic circles on your clit, he guides you through the waves of your orgasm, a seismic tremor that reverberates through your being. Each stroke of his touch acts as a steady anchor, grounding you in the aftermath of what feels like an earth-shattering climax.
You gasp for air, your breaths coming in furious bursts, and in a voice drawn out with need, you moan his name—a melody of pleasure that lingers in the charged air between you.
“'Fuck!” escapes you in a guttural moan, your hands clenching into fists under the watchful gaze of his darkened, appreciative eyes. 
Withdrawing his hand from the depths of your core, he endeavors to temper the tempestuous movements coursing through you, a steadying touch anchoring your fervent reactions with a gentle grip on your hips. 
“'Damn. It's like the orgasm is lingering,” you confess in a strained voice, leaving Yoongi uncertain whether to interpret it as a blissful prolongation or a potential intensity that might overwhelm you. 
“What do you mean?” he inquires, his voice a warm breath against your neck.
“It's just... I can feel it all the way around my stomach,” you pant, the lingering sensations creating a unique symphony within you. “Ah, it's probably Braxton Hicks contractions, because of the orgasm,” you assert with a newfound certainty. In response, Yoongi hums in acknowledgment, his hand delicately finding its place on your belly, where he can feel the subtle tightness.
“Are you sure it’s just that?” he questions, his concern etched in the furrow of his brow. Yet, as your assurance unfolds, a palpable relaxation courses through the muscles of your belly. “Yeah, they're fading now,” you confirm.
“Yoongi, I need you inside me now,” you declare, your words a sultry plea as you sensually grind your ass into the rigid bulge within his boxers. 
With a sharp intake of breath, he hisses, seizing your hips in a possessive grip, molding you against the heat of his pelvis.
Effortlessly, he peels your panties down your thighs, and you willingly lift your legs to aid in their complete removal. As he holds the damp evidence of your arousal in his hand, a wicked glint in his eyes betrays the realization, damn they are soaked. Without a second thought, he discards them to the floor.
“'Is this position comfortable for you?” he tenderly inquires, a gentle concern threading through his words as he sheds his boxers. Adjusting his position, he moves slightly, aligning himself with the contours of your core from behind.
“Yeah, I’m good.”
Lying down and approaching from behind, the fit feels unusually snug. Yoongi, with deliberate intent, spreads your ass cheeks, his hand tracing a teasing path before he strokes his arousal, the anticipation building. As he aligns with the entrance to your core, a slow and deliberate entrance ensues, eliciting a moan from you.
An almost primal growl escapes your lips as he sinks in, each agonizingly slow inch a delicious torment. It's not just amazing; it's an exquisite tightness that makes you acutely aware of his presence, as if you can feel him reverberating through every fiber of your being, from the deepest reaches of your pussy to the intimate confines of your uterus.
Yoongi indulges in a series of deliberate thrusts, each movement a slow dance that unveils the exquisite tightness enveloping him. With each rhythmic advance into your core, he keenly senses the escalating tension in your body.
“Yoon,” you pant, the syllables a breathless plea that lingers in the charged air. Yoongi, attuned to your every reaction, halts his movements, his hand tenderly caressing your cheek. “I can feel you everywhere inside, fuck.”
“Is it good, or should we stop?” he asks, a genuine concern etched across his features. His desire is not just for pleasure but for your comfort and satisfaction.
“No, it's good for now, but I'll let you know if it gets too intense, okay? Maybe we can change positions then?” you inquire, your voice a sultry whisper that hangs in the air. As you sensually grind your ass down into his pelvis, fucking yourself on his cock, a soft moan leaves your lips.
Yoongi releases a low, guttural moan against the sensitive skin of your neck, his reverberating pleasure mingling with lust between you. His hand journeys down the curve of your hips, gripping them with a possessive urgency. In this tactile exchange, he finds stability, a grounding force that allows him to drive into you once more, each thrust a testament to the fervor building between you.
As you surrender completely against him, a harmonious synchrony of pleasure unfolds. Sensing the shift, he accelerates his thrusts, a rhythmic dance that quickens the desire between you. 
Yoongi inhales deeply against the canvas of your neck, and in a sudden, electrifying twist, you feel the graze of his teeth. Your body shivers with anticipation, and then he descends, sinking his teeth into your neck. Not too forcefully, but with a compelling intensity that sends a jolt of electricity down your spine. Your body responds in kind, grinding against his, and a sinful moan escapes you.
Then, with a sensual grace, he traces the path where his teeth had left their mark, his tongue delicately caressing your neck before placing soft, lingering kisses. Your response is a sultry mewl, the audible manifestation of pleasure, and in the electric aftermath, you feel a surge of arousal saturate his dick.
Breathless and on the precipice of ecstasy, you gasp, “Yoongi, I'm—,” the words trailing off into a passionate pant as he skillfully drives into you, each thrust an artful symphony of pleasure that transcends language, leaving you teetering on the edge of bliss.
“Hmm?”
His grip on your hips tightens, and with each deeper thrust, the world around you seems to blur as you swear that, despite the physical limitations of the position, you can feel him everywhere. It's an overwhelming sensation, almost too much.
“I want to change positions,” you pant, and in an instant, Yoongi withdraws, his response swift and attentive. With a purposeful motion, he turns you around, orchestrating a seamless transition that repositions you to face him once again.
“What do you want to do?” he smiles, his gaze tender as he caresses your cheek with the gentle strokes of his long, slender fingers. In the delicate dance of his touch, you feel an overwhelming sense of love and appreciation.
“I want to ride you,” you confess, leaning in to capture his lips in a soft kiss. As you pull away, a playful smile dances across your face, your eyes reflecting a potent mix of love and lust.
“Fuck, yeah, babe,” he breathes in eager agreement, turning to lie on his back. As you discard the pillow he thoughtfully fetched for you, you proceed to shed your nightgown, leaving both of you completely bare.
With a graceful motion, you hike one leg over his body, settling into a commanding straddle. Your hand confidently takes hold of his dick, aligning it with the eager warmth of your pussy again. A smile plays on your lips as you gaze down at him, relishing the empowering intimacy of having him beneath you in this moment.
His smile mirrors the adoration and appreciation he feels as he takes in every incredible feature of yours. As you descend slowly onto his cock, your face flushes a subtle shade of red, your quivering lips betraying the intensity of your desire. Your nipples stand proudly, and your gracefully rounded belly hangs low, a testament to the life you’ve both created and soon to welcome into the world.
God he loves you. So fucking much. In his eyes, you’re a goddess.
As you lower yourself onto his dick, a duet of moans escapes both of you, the soft stretch heightening the sensory experience. The angle of this position enhances the feeling, and in the synchronized exchange of pleasure, you both revel in the palpable sensation that binds you together.
“Fuck, Yoon!” you pant, the breathless exclamation escaping your lips as you reach the apex of his pelvis, his cock filling you up completely. 
“'Ah! It's so much better like this,” you moan, the words dripping with satisfaction and pleasure as you take control, beginning to ride him with a rhythmic motion. 
Yoongi's hands find purchase on your hips, their firm grasp not only steadying you but becoming an integral part of the rhythmic dance as you bounce on his dick. 
It's undeniably exquisite, the sensation heightened by the captivating sight of you taking control, sending Yoongi into a feral state of desire. The raw power of your dominance, setting the pace and depth, fuels an irresistible fire within him. Your expressions—those eyes closing in lust, the whimpering pleas—seemingly unravel his restraint, threatening to push him over the edge. 
“You look so good, bouncing on my dick. Such a good girl,” he pants, the words imbued with a husky appreciation. His hands, slightly squeezing your hips, become a tactile affirmation, letting you know that every movement is not just good but exceptionally arousing. 
You keen in response to his praise, a melodious symphony of pleasure that resonates in the air. Empowered by the encouragement, you guide yourself down deeper, every movement an exquisite dance that intensifies the feeling of being incredibly full.
“Yoongi, I don't think I'm gonna last long,” you pant, the admission hanging in the air like an electrifying confession. Sensing the imminent climax, you slow your movements, the deliberate deceleration amplifying the anticipation.
“It’s fine,” he reassures you, “I’m not going to either.”
You chuckle at him, the sound a melodic blend of pleasure and fatigue as you continue to bounce on his arousal. “I'm also so damn tired. This is challenging with my belly being this big,”
“I can take over if you want—or we can try another position?” His offer is laced with genuine concern, a desire to ensure you don't strain or tire yourself unnecessarily. 
“No! I love this. I want to ride you,” you moan, the words a passionate declaration as you sink down on him once more. The anticipation of your impending orgasm begins to unfurl in the depths of your stomach.
“Yoongi—, I'm close,” you pant, the admission a breathless revelation as you continue to move at a languid pace, the enticing rhythm showcasing the delightful bounce of your tits with each motion.
He has always been captivated by the allure of your tits—a mesmerizing aspect of your physicality that leaves him in awe. A part of him remains undecided, caught in the delightful dilemma of whether he prefers your tits or your ass, a choice he'd willingly forego, harboring a fervent desire for both.
Your hands find purchase on his sculpted pectorals, seeking support as exhaustion sets in, causing your movements to slow, each languid motion bringing you closer to climax. His gaze lingers on your face, a canvas painted with the intensity of the moment—sweat glistening, mouth slightly agape, and eyebrows creased in ecstasy as you fervently ride him, lost in the rhythmic dance of pleasure.
He senses a primal twitch within as he stays deep within you, and his gaze traces a path down your neck where the evidence of his love bite remains visible. Continuing his journey, his eyes appreciate the sight of your wonderful, bouncy tits.
Withdrawing both of his hands from your hips, they now tenderly grasp both of your tits. “These are so wonderful, as is every part of you,” he murmurs in a voice laced with appreciation.
You feel the walls of your pussy contract in response to his words of praise, a cascading sensation that culminates in a soft moan, his name escaping your lips like a whispered melody. 
He caresses your tits, their softness, fullness, and weight filling his palms with a tangible desire. As his hands explore, he discovers your perked nipples, rolling them between his fingers in a delicate dance of pleasure.
“Yoongi!” A high-pitched moan escapes your lips, the fervent cry echoing in the charged atmosphere as you throw your head back, surrendering to the pleasure of sinking down on him once more. 
He luxuriates in the splendor of your beauty, every facet of your amazing body a source of enchantment. Everything about you accelerates the rhythm of his heart, the butterflies in his stomach multiplying with each passing moment. 
He gives a gentle tug on your nipple, sending a surge of sensations through your body like an electric current, a simultaneous feeling of warmth and chill enveloping you in a paradoxical embrace.
You sense a delightful tingling sensation rippling across your entire body, a prelude to an impending climax that hovers tantalizingly on the edge.
“Shit, Yoongi, I think I'm gonna come,” you moan, the admission carrying the weight of impending ecstasy.
He grunts in response, the primal sound echoing the urgency of his own impending release. “I'm close too.”
You start to sense a delightful tightness in your breasts, with Yoongi skillfully alternating between rolling your nipples, tugging, and pinching them. The exquisite play on your sensitive peaks sends shivers down your spine. Simultaneously, you become acutely aware of the wetness between your thighs, a slippery testament to the overwhelming arousal that courses through your body.
The sound of skin on skin slapping resonates through the air, a visceral percussion that punctuates the charged atmosphere. The noise sends a jolt through your body, causing your muscles to tense in response.
The tingling and prickling sensation in your breasts intensifies, creating a crescendo of arousal that surges through your body. Then, in a sudden release, you feel the pressure in them subside, a wave of pleasure ebbing away like a tide.
Yoongi watches in awe as a gush of milk shoots out of your tits, creating a mesmerizing display that soon turns into a sensuous drip. His finger skillfully rolls your nipples, the fluid covering them and your tits in a glistening sheen of your breastmilk. Fuck it’s hot. He feels his dick twitch again, as he keeps looking at your tits.
You sense a wetness on your breasts and instinctively glance down, only to be met with a wave of horror as you realize you've begun lactating. In an instant, you cover your bobs, a mix of shock and embarrassment washing over you. The sudden shift in your body leaves you feeling vulnerable and a bit grossed out.
“I'm so sorry,” you begin, breathless words escaping your lips as you continue to fuck yourself on his dick. 
“You don't have to be sorry, babe. It's natural and sexy,” he reassures you with a loving smile, a genuine attempt to dispel any insecurity. His eyes, filled with both warmth and desire, convey a message beyond words—that he not only doesn't mind but finds the situation undeniably hot. 
“Please let me touch them,” he pleads with a rare vulnerability in his usually composed demeanor. 
You take a moment to contemplate, acknowledging that while you might not find it as inherently sexy as he does, the arousal sparked by his desire for you is undeniably enticing. Embracing the vulnerability, you lean in and press your tits closer to his face, your tummy meeting his, as you concede with a whispered “okay.” 
You release your breasts from your grasp, and like a magnet seeking its counterpart, his hands find them once more. With deliberate tenderness, he begins to massage your tts, each slow and deliberate stroke creating ripples of pleasure that resonate through your body. 
As you move up and down on his length, the kaleidoscope of emotions—love, lust, and adoration—mirrored in Yoongi's eyes sends a shiver down your spine. In that charged moment, overwhelmed by the intensity of his gaze, you feel like you could die a happy woman. 
His fingers resume their dance, skillfully rolling your nipples and coating them with the warm fluid of your breast milk.
With a newfound determination, you pick up the pace, fervently chasing the brink of your orgasm. Yoongi, fully immersed in the moment, continues to fondle your tits with an affectionate touch.
“Ah! Yoongi, it's so good!” you moan with a symphony of pleasure as you lower yourself onto him, and in response, he tugs a little harder on your nipples.
“Fuck,” you pant, breathless, the sensation of being so thoroughly filled with desire and pleasure overwhelming your senses.
As your stomach tightens, the internal coil finally springs free, and you unleash your slick juices on his dick. A surge of ecstasy washes over you, rendering your vision blurry, a temporary blindness overcome by the intensity of pleasure. A strange ringing noise fills your ears, and your body collapses against Yoongi's in a state of blissful surrender.
With remarkable speed, he intercepts your naked form before it collides with him, his strong and firm hands seizing your hips to anchor you on top of him. 
You man fervently, the echoes of your climax still reverberating through your body. In the throes of your descent from ecstasy, a desperate plea escapes your lips, “Yoongi, please fcuk me.”
With a firm grip on your hips, he squeezes them again, initiating a rapid and relentless pace of thrusting into you. The urgency in his movements mirrors the crescendo of desire building within him as he fervently chases his own impending orgasm. 
Fuck, it was hot to witness you unravel in such ecstasy. The lingering sensation of your walls pulsating around his dick lingers, as if you're tightly embracing him, and he revels in it. Being inside you, outside you, every facet of connection with you fuels a deep and insatiable love within him. 
“Fuck, babe – you’re so tight!” he moans in pure delight. As you sit up, a newfound intensity in your movements, your hands find your tits, skillfully rolling your nipples, and a rivulet of breast milk drips out. Fuck. That will be his undoing.
“Ah, babe—,” he moans your name with a drawn-out, languid tone, his eyes unable to tear away from the sinful allure of your face and the captivating sight of your incredible tits. 
Inexplicably, your walls continue to throb around him, coaxing an unbridled release from him. A guttural moan of your name escapes his lips, a primal declaration of the intensity of the moment, synchronized with the eruption of his warm seed, cascading into the depths of your pulsating pussy. 
“Fuck!” he pants, his thrusts persisting a few times before he deftly lifts you, positioning you higher on his stomach. In the aftermath of shared ecstasy, both of you lost in the haze of pleasure, the residue of your combined orgasms coats and binds you together, a slick and intimate testament to the intensity of lust.
“Ah…” you moan, a sultry melody escaping your lips as you descend into Yoongi's embrace. Despite the undertones of desire that lace your voice, he can't help but wonder what might be amiss as he sees pain etched in your face.
“What’s wrong, babe?” he inquires, his gaze locking onto your lustful eyes as he seeks to unravel the secrets veiled behind their desire-laden depths.
“I think I’m still orgasming,” you pant, rising once more, “it’s like my body won’t stop.” A shared gaze lingers between you, uncertainty flickering in both your eyes as the lingering waves of pleasure blur the lines between ecstasy and the unknown.
“Is it good or bad though?” he probes, a furrow forming on his brow as he attempts to unravel the mystery. “It’s not bad, but my tummy feels so tight,” your hand guides his to the firmness, and indeed, it does feel tight.
“Hmmm…” he contemplates the peculiar situation, his curiosity piqued but not overly concerned. “I’ll grab some towels and clean us up. Let’s wait a moment to see if it subsides, alright?”
You nod at him, then gracefully ease down from his lap, sprawling on your side, the remnants of passion and desire lingering in the air as you continue to pant for the sweet breath of satisfaction.
Yoongi gracefully rises from the bed, navigating the darkness of the night with an innate sense of purpose. He effortlessly locates your bathroom, skillfully secures a handful of towels, and returns to your bedroom with a quiet assurance, the dim shadows highlighting his silhouette as he prepares to tend to your shared aftermath.
“Here—, I–” With a sudden urgency, he tosses the towels aside as his eyes widen at the sight of you. Your figure is curled in on itself, hands instinctively cradling your stomach, every muscle in your body taut and tense.
“Yoongi, I think I’m in labor,” you declare, the gravity of the moment reflected not just in your words but also in the silent agony etched across your face, a shared understanding mirrored in the intensity of his gaze.
And then it hits him like a tidal wave; the tightness in your tummy was contractions. A surge of realization floods over him—shit, it’s happening. You're having your baby. In the whirlwind of emotions, he battles to remain calm, to steady himself for the pivotal moments ahead.
“Okay. Let's time the contractions and then call the hospital, okay?” he says, a sense of urgency in his voice, frantically searching for his phone on the nightstand.
“Let me know the moment you sense the beginning of a contraction,” he instructs, poised to start the timer.
“Right now,” you gasp, clutching your stomach tightly. The sensation grips you, an intense pressure, especially at the apex, and then, moments later, it releases. “It’s gone now.”
“Almost a minute,” he observes, his tone laden with the realization that you're edging closer to the throes of labor.
“Describe them to me. Are they intense? The pain worries me, seeing you in discomfort tears me apart,” he inquires, genuine concern etched across his face as he tries to understand what you're going through.
“Just a hint of pain, nothing unbearable. I can handle it,” you reassure with a soft chuckle, a resilient spirit shining through despite the discomfort, and he finds solace in your strength.
“Let's keep an eye on the contractions for about an hour, and then we'll give the hospital a call,” he suggests, retrieving the towels scattered on the floor earlier with a sense of urgency.
“While we wait, let me take care of you,” he proposes, coming closer with a towel. Gently lifting one of your legs, he begins to clean you, erasing the traces of our orgasms.
Your body quivers in response to his tender touch, eliciting delicate moans that dance in the air.
“Fuck. I don’t know why, but it’s turning me on, Yoon.” You moan softly, unable to explain the unexpected arousal, but your body instinctively grinds against the towel, turning a simple act into a sensual dance of lust.
A playful chuckle escapes him as he tends to your aftermath, skillfully cleaning you up. Satisfied with the tender care he has given you, he proceeds to clean himself up. Together, you reclaim your clothing, sitting down in your bed anxiously waiting for your contractions to pick up. 
As the cadence of contractions quickens, Yoongi takes decisive action, reaching out to the hospital to announce the fact that you’re in labor. With a voice poised between urgency and excitement, he navigates the conversation, detailing the progression of your contractions over the past hour. He wants to know how you should proceed.
As anticipation swirls in the air like a palpable force, Yoongi's voice resonates with a newfound sense of joy. “They've given us the green light to drive to the hospital,” he announces, his eyes reflecting the shared excitement. As you both perch on the edge of the bed, he turns to you with a practical inquiry, “Where did you stash your hospital bag?”
Your gesture guides him to the dresser, and with a graceful sweep, Yoongi retrieves your carefully prepared hospital bag. His voice, a comforting melody, invites you to join him, “Come, we can go now.”
Guiding you with a gentle hand, Yoongi accompanies you to the entryway of your home, a silent pact of shared determination. The darkness outside, coupled with the December chill, calls for the practicality of boots and a warm coat.
Assertively reaching for Yoongi's car keys, you declare, “I can drive.” The shift in Yoongi's expression is so abrupt, it's as if you've caught a fleeting glimpse of a storm cloud on a clear day, the sour twist on his face a testament to the unexpectedness of your statement.
His voice takes on a stern edge, swiftly denying your attempt to take the wheel. Yoongi snatches the keys from your grasp, his firm tone leaving no room for negotiation. “It’s not safe for you to drive in the midst of contractions,” he insists, a protective glint in his eyes amplifying the weight of his concern.
“But it’s not that bad,” you argue, why, you don’t really know.
“Look, babe. I know you can do everything by yourself, you’re strong, and I love you for it. But you’re not driving the car,” he says with a tone that brooks no argument, a gentle firmness underlining his love and concern for your well-being.
As you both prepare and the keys find their place in Yoongi's firm grip, you swing the door wide open, only to be greeted by a blanket of white—the snow-draped landscape stretching across the grass, road, and your car. To top it off, gentle snowflakes dance down from the heavens. Fuck.
“Ugh, it’s going to take forever driving into the city in this weather,” you grumble, trudging your way towards the car through the dense, snow-laden path. The flakes fall thick and heavy, making it difficult to see ahead.
Yoongi grumbles under his breath, popping the trunk to stow away your bag. With meticulous care, he ensures you've got everything essential for the journey. Satisfied, you both slide into the car, ready to face the challenges the snowy night has in store.
“It's going to be alright, babe,” he reassures you, his hand gently covering yours before tenderly moving to your belly. “Can't wait to finally meet you.” 
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Yoongi is accustomed to navigating challenging weather conditions on the road, his driving skills unaffected by the snow. However, the incompetence of other drivers in snowy conditions infuriates him. Inside the cocoon of your car, he vents his frustration, unleashing a symphony of curses directed at everyone causing chaos on the wintry roads.
“Ease up on the road rage, Yoongi. I don't want our little one picking up a vocabulary lesson in expletives before they even arrive,” you chime in, settling deeper into the seat, your concern for the baby evident in your voice.
“Babe, seriously, who ventures out on the road without a clue about driving in the snow? And it's the crack of dawn—why is everyone suddenly on a snow-day adventure?” Yoongi grumbles in exasperation, his frustration bringing a smile to your face despite the situation.
“Have you forgotten it’s Christmas time?” you quip, chuckling as he gapes at you, realization dawning on him. Damn, he had indeed forgotten.
“We haven’t even reached the city yet and there’s already so many cars,” he complains some more, and you let him. His voice, a melody that always soothes, even in the midst of chaotic Christmas traffic.
“They’re going home to their families—, watch out!” you point at the car in front of you, its headlights blazing like a comet in the snowy morning, almost blinding in their intensity.
Yoongi's keen eyes caught sight of the car in the opposite lane, and it became painfully evident that the driver couldn't navigate the snowy roads to save their life. Inexplicably, this inept driver seemed to believe they owned the road, arrogantly straddling both lanes. Distinguishing one lane from another was challenging in the snowy chaos, but it wasn't rocket science either.
Yoongi skillfully swerves the car to the side, narrowly avoiding a collision with the vehicle in front. The abrupt move sends a rumble through the car as it navigates the bumpy terrain, plowing through a massive mound of snow hastily shoved to the side.
The car grinds to a halt, Yoongi unleashing a string of colorful curses directed at the absent driver. Now, you find yourselves stranded in the unforgiving grip of the snow.
His concerned gaze shifts to you, seeking reassurance. “Are you okay, babe?” he asks, and although you appear unharmed, your response carries the weight of the unexpected. “Yeah, I'm okay. Just a bit shaken.”
As he hums a soothing melody, his attempts to reassure you echo in the confined space, yet beneath the surface, he senses the gradual erosion of his own calm demeanor.
“That fucking jerk,” his frustration intensifies as he hisses about the reckless driver, but you, amidst the escalating contractions, offer soothing reassurance, masking the growing urgency within the car.
“I'll assess the damage outside, okay?” he proposes, seeking your consent. You nod, delving into your bag for a snack, a sudden wave of hunger overtaking you amid the unfolding situation.
Yoongi steps out into the freezing cold, the car's engine humming in the background. He surveys the vehicle, searching for any visible damage, but to his relief, nothing appears broken or in need of immediate repair.
The towering mound of snow engulfs the car, rendering the hood invisible. Yoongi, realizing the severity of the situation, understands that extricating the vehicle from this icy trap is no easy feat. The sheer depth of the snow suggests a challenging predicament, one that requires assistance. Knowing you're in no condition to lend a hand, he contemplates the help he'll need to navigate the car out of this wintry predicament.
He reenters the car, discovering you engrossed in a candy bar, and a hearty chuckle escapes his lips.
Between bites, you inquire, “I was hungry. How's the car?”
“It's stuck pretty bad in the snow pile. Can't get it out myself,” he begins, but you interrupt with a smile, “I can help you with that.”
“Have you forgotten that you're in labor?” he laughs, his voice raspy from the cold outside. “And you're not going out to shovel snow. We don't even have shovels,” he adds, sharing a hearty laugh with you.
“I thought you had all kinds of things in the car,” you chuckle, finishing your candy bar with a mischievous glint in your eyes.
“Yeah, but not shovels,” his laughter resonates in the car, a contagious sound that brings a smile to your face.
“What are we gonna do then, just wait?” you inquire, a hint of worry coloring your voice as the realization dawns that you might not make it to the hospital in time.
“I’ll call Jimin and ask him to come help,” he declares, urgency in his tone as he swiftly pulls out his phone, dialing Jimin’s number with determination.
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Even in the early morning hush, Jimin's phone vibrates, and he glances at the caller ID to find Yoongi's name flashing. It's an unusual call at this hour, sparking an immediate concern that propels him to answer without hesitation.
“Hey, Yoongi hyung, something wrong?” His voice, tinged with worry and genuine concern, breaks the silence of the room as he answers the call. He rises from the bed, instantly alert to the unusual urgency in Yoongi's early morning summons. 
“We had a car accident,” Yoongi's words hang heavy in the air, shattering the tranquility of the room. Jimin's reaction is immediate, a storm of worry and disbelief brewing within him. He erupts from the bed, shouting into the phone, “What??” The sheer concern in his voice mirrors the gravity of the situation.
Yoongi's reassurance echoes through the phone, a soothing balm to his frayed nerves. “It's minor, relax,” he utters, and the calmness in his voice acts as a lifeline, pulling him back from the edge of panic.
“A guy forced us off the road, and we ended up plowing into a massive snowbank. Now, the damn car's wedged in tight,” Yoongi recounts, frustration coloring his words. Jimin, attentive, absorbs the details. “Think you can come lend a hand? Bring some shovels. I'll shoot you our coordinates,” Yoongi requests, the urgency evident in his tone.
Jimin readily agrees to help, his concern palpable through the phone. However, he can't shake the worry as he inquires, “Are you guys okay? And ___? How's the baby?”
“Yeah, we're all fine,” Yoongi reassures, his voice a bit raspy. Jimin strains to catch some muffled sounds on the other end, unable to discern the details.
He glances at the dropped location on his phone, “I can be there in about 30 minutes,” he assures Yoongi, swiftly rising from his bed to grab some warm clothes.
“Thank you, Jimin.”
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As the promised 30 minutes Jimin assured you passed an hour ago, he couldn't help but wonder if you were growing impatient with the prolonged wait.
Jimin spots your car on the roadside, its hazard lights casting an eerie glow, and he expertly maneuvers his own vehicle to a stop right behind yours.
He steps out, ready to retrieve tools from the trunk, but his attention is abruptly stolen by piercing screams emanating from your car. His muscles tense, and without a second thought, he dashes towards the source of the cries.
Why are you screaming? What's going on, and why are the windows so foggy?
With an overpowering urgency, he wrenches open the left door to the backseats, sending it flinging wide, the metallic screech echoing the urgency pulsing through his veins.
He hadn't anticipated the shocking scene that unfolded before him; there you were, legs pressed against the headrest on both the front and back seats, completely exposed from the waist down. He can clearly see your vagina. Fuck, your vagina is big—wait, something is coming out of it!
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Yoongi catches Jimin unabashedly staring at your vagina, prompting an eye roll from him. What's with Jimin? Having already witnessed your tits and now your vagina, it annoys Yoongi to no end. He's possessive; the idea of others seeing you in such a vulnerable state doesn't sit well with him. Sharing is not his forte.
He hisses sharply, capturing Jimin's attention, all while the symphony of your agonized screams continues to pierce the air.
“Stop looking at her vagina, man! You’ve seen enough of her, Jimin,” Yoongi snaps, frustration dripping from his words as your writhing form remains nestled against his supporting frame.
Jimin's eyes widen in disbelief, his mouth agape at the unexpected scene. He quickly redirects his gaze to Yoongi, his expression a mix of shock and apology as he stammers, “I—I didn't mean to, Yoongi, I'm so sorry!”
You clutch your thighs tightly, a guttural scream escaping your lips as the contraction envelops you. Once it recedes, you direct an exasperated shout at Jimin, “Close the damn door! You’re letting all the cold air in.”
Jimin snaps out of his daze, berating himself for standing there like a fool. Swiftly, he slips into the driver's seat, positioning himself to face the backseats with a determined look on his face.
“How long has she been in labor?” Jimin queries Yoongi, who glances up from your panting form for a moment before responding, “A few hours, actually.”
“You could have mentioned that when you called!” Jimin hisses in frustration. Not that the information would have made a big difference, given that the snow was the primary cause of his tardiness.
“But that’s a long time. I can see the head coming out,” he informs, prompting both you and Yoongi to exchange amused eye rolls.
“Yeah, she's crowning,” Yoongi adds with a soft stroke to your cheeks, his touch a comforting anchor as you brace yourself for another contraction.
“What can I do to help? I don't think we can get the car ready in time to make it to the hospital,” Jimin inquires, his gaze shifting between you and Yoongi with a mix of concern and determination.
“I already realized I’m having this baby in the backseat of a fucking car. Serves me right — getting fucked in a car, giving birth in a car. I’ve come full circle!” you laugh hysterically between contractions, the situation not lost on you. Jimin shifts uncomfortably in the driver's seat, but Yoongi remains a steady rock, his presence grounding you amidst the chaos.
As Yoongi directs his attention to Jimin, he suggests, “Maybe you could call the hospital and check if they can send an ambulance our way, just in case. I haven't had a moment to make that call yet.” His fingers trace soothing circles on your thighs, a stark contrast to the urgency of your sudden need to push.
Jimin's face reflects genuine concern as he admits he's never witnessed someone in labor before, only having gleaned insights from movies. However, a memory surfaces—advice from Seokjin after his girlfriend gave birth. “You can try changing positions, something where gravity can aid the baby's descent,” he shares, a eureka moment breaking through the tension.
Following Jimin's suggestion, you and Yoongi exchange a glance filled with gratitude and amazement. Acting on the advice, you shift positions, moving to sit over the seats with your upper body draped across them, your face turned towards the back. The atmosphere is tense, yet the three of you share a determined resolve in the face of the unexpected delivery.
With Yoongi's steady support, you manage to assume a half-standing, half-seated position, your body poised for the imminent arrival of your baby. Meanwhile, the car fills with the sound of Jimin's urgent voice as he communicates with the hospital over the phone.
“They are sending an ambulance now,” he informs.
Gratitude colors Yoongi's urgent request, a plea wrapped in the intensity of the moment. “Thank you, Jimin. Could you come back here and lend a hand?” he implores, a mix of worry and determination in his voice, as you cling to the rhythm of your breaths, navigating the storm of contractions.
He teases with a nonchalant shrug, “I thought you didn't want me looking.” Yet, it's clear he's here to assist you; after all, you're his ride or die, and in this crucial moment, his quip holds a trace of underlying devotion and readiness to stand by your side.
In a playful retort, he asserts, “Bold of you to assume I wanted you to look at her vagina again. There are other ways to assist, you know. I'll keep vagina watch—she's my wife,” emphasizing the relationship he shares with you, as Jimin exits the car to join you in the backseat.
Your tired yet grateful gaze meets Jimin's as you acknowledge, “You were right, Jimin. This position is a game-changer. The pressure has eased up a bit.” Despite the sweat-soaked exhaustion etched on your face, a soft smile conveys your appreciation.
For a second, Jimin doesn’t know what to do – can he touch you? Where? How can he help?
“Fuck it hurts!” Agony courses through you, each breath a struggle as you arch your back, a desperate attempt to wrestle against the relentless ache.
As the waves of pain intensify, he instinctively rests his hand on the small of your back, gently tracing soothing circles. To his relief, he witnesses the tension in your body slowly surrender to the rhythmic comfort of his touch.
Summoning all his composure, Yoongi bravely steals a glance downward, discovering a tuft of hair signaling the imminent arrival. Damn. He knows he must remain composed, steady—for you.
“How did you go into labor anyway? How did the water break, was it like in the movies?” Jimin launches into a barrage of questions, his curiosity pouring out like an unbridled stream. You shoot a glare his way, practically hurling invisible daggers in his direction at the audacity of his inquiries.
His hands continue their soothing circles on your lower back as he asks, “What?” Yoongi resurfaces, his expression a blank canvas.
And suddenly, realization flashes across Jimin's face. “You totally fucked! And then she went into labor!” he exclaims, a mix of shock and amusement in his voice.
You hiss in pain, your fingers clenching the seat with a vice-like grip, the intensity of the moment etched in the white-knuckle grasp of your hands.
Both your expressions affirm Jimin's earlier assumption, a silent confirmation that lingers in the charged air of the confined space.
“Shit, I can’t do this,” you gasp, exhaustion etched across your face, your body seemingly on the brink of surrender.
“You're almost there, babe. It's safe to keep pushing,” Yoongi reassures you with a tender kiss on your cheek, but you push him away, a fiery glare in your gaze.
“This is all your fault. You and your damn big dick!” you scream at him, and he understands, recognizing it as your pain talking and not the real you. Jimin chuckles from beside you, and you turn to give him a death glare, saying, “Don’t act so innocent, Mr. ‘I think Yoongi likes you.’”
“But I was right. And now you're about to have his baby. It's going to be okay,” Jimin reassures you, his hand gently rubbing your back.
“Just relax,” Jimin adds.
“Easy for you to say; a baby isn't shooting out of your body,” you huff, the intensity of your anger subsiding.
“I know it hurts, babe. But focus on your breathing, and when you're ready, push with all you've got,” Yoongi encourages, leaning in to kiss you on the lips.
The kiss sends electric shivers down your spine, and strangely, it acts as a calming balm, making the pain feel somewhat more bearable.
When he pulls away, he notices the lingering frown on your face, and a sense of curiosity washes over him. “It was nice, Yoongi. I think it helps alleviate the pain,” you admit, your voice a mixture of exhaustion and appreciation.
“Kiss me again,” you pant, your desperation echoing in the quiet space of the car. Yoongi obliges, capturing your lips with a hunger that elicits a moan from deep within you. In that stolen moment, the world fades away, forgotten in the intoxicating blend of passion and the rhythmic circles Jimin traces on your back.
“Don’t mind me. But I think the baby is coming, I can see more of its head just from here,” he informs, his eyes wide with a mix of awe and amusement. Yoongi's gaze follows Jimin's, confirming the imminent arrival. 
He positions his hands underneath your core, preparing to catch your baby as soon as it emerges. Yet, your screams of pain prompt a plea, “Please distract me with kisses,” you cry out, your hands clenching around the seats in a desperate search for relief. 
Yoongi glances up at you, your pain evident, and the desperate desire for relief palpable in your eyes. However, he's torn between wanting to provide comfort and being there to catch and deliver your baby. A moment of realization dawns upon him – he can't be in two places at once, something Jimin seems to realize too.
Yoongi gazes at Jimin, a silent plea for guidance evident in his eyes, but Jimin, with a mischievous grin, utters, “You've got two choices, hyung – catch the baby or let me kiss your wife. What's it gonna be?”
Yoongi gapes at him, astounded by the audacity Jimin displays in even suggesting such a choice. He's acutely aware of his own possessiveness, and Jimin knows how much he fucking wants to deliver his own child. He’s caught between a rock and a hard place.
With a sense of urgency, you turn your head and implore, “Do something! I don't care who kisses me, just someone, please!” Your plea echoes with a mixture of sternness and desperation, the pain coursing through your entire body amplifying the need for any distraction.
Yoongi moves with unwavering determination, ascending once more. “Fine. Deliver the baby. You're going to be the godfather anyway,” he grumbles to Jimin, reaching your head and pressing his lips plush against yours. Instantly, you relax, a moan escaping in the midst of the chaos.
“I am?” Jimin questions, uncertainty lacing his voice. Yet, he positions his hands beneath your vagina, mirroring Yoongi's earlier gesture.
You eagerly press your lips to Yoongi's, seeking out his tongue in a passionate exchange, panting and moaning in response to the surge of arousal coursing through you. Amid the heated kiss, you offer affirmative murmurs to Jimin, your desires spoken through the intensity of the embrace with Yoongi.
“It's working, the baby is coming out,” Jimin exclaims with a mix of excitement and focus, his hands securing the baby's head with delicate precision to ensure a safe descent into the world.
Yoongi abandons your mouth, tracing a fiery path down to your neck, his lips leaving a trail of searing kisses and tantalizing bites. Your response is an involuntary groan, a symphony of pleasure escaping your lips, as you gasp out, “Fuuuck, Yoongi.”
“The head is completely out now!” Jimin’s voice breaks through the intense moment and in response, you instinctively grab Yoongi’s head, pulling him back up into a passionate kiss.
As your lips entwine in an ardently sensual dance, the symphony of pleasure resonates, eliciting increasingly fervent moans from you.
Breaking away, you gasp, “Fuck. Why does it feel like I’m coming?” Your breath comes in pants, and you sense a relieving tightness escaping your body.
Jimin swiftly takes charge, catching the remainder of your baby as it emerges, and Yoongi lends his support, ensuring Jimin's hands remain steady in the crucial moment.
The infant rests gently between your thighs in the hands of both Yoongi and Jimin, and as you gasp for air, you steal a glance downward. There, your precious baby lies, serene and silent. A moment of quietude settles in, and a disquieting realization begins to dawn upon you—silence, in this context, isn't the reassuring sound you anticipated.
Dread courses through you as you breathe heavily, realizing the absence of that expected newborn cry. Without hesitation, you extend your trembling arms, pulling your baby up against your chest in a desperate embrace.
An air of tension hangs heavy, mirrored in the anxious expressions on Jimin and Yoongi's faces, both men holding their breath, awaiting the sound that should signify life's beginning.
In an instinctual surge of emotion, you tear your shirt to shreds with one hand, cradling your newborn against your bare chest. Shock registers on both Jimin and Yoongi's faces as they witness this raw display of maternal instinct, captivated by the power and determination radiating from you.
As you gently rub the baby's back, waves of sadness wash over you, and tears stream down your face. In a choked voice, you express your fear, “This is why I should have delivered in the hospital. What if something happened to the baby and it's...gone?” The last part of the sentence catches in your throat, too emotional to articulate fully.
In the confined space of the car, you twist around, pressing your back against the seat as tears cascade down your cheeks. The anguish in your body is palpable, each sob causing a tremor that echoes the pain you're enduring.
In an instant, a second cry intertwines with yours, and you lower your gaze to behold your baby, tiny and fragile, yet alive. A surge of relief floods through every fiber of your being, mirrored in the eyes of the two men who exchange a profound, knowing glance.
Clutching your newborn close, you haven't even taken a moment to check the gender, but in this raw and tender moment, it hardly matters. All that echoes through your soul is the reassurance that everything is alright.
Overflowing with gratitude, your voice carries a symphony of love as your eyes dance between your husband and Jimin. “Thank you, both of you” you whisper, your heart swelling with the depth of the moment.
Yoongi whispers, his voice a tender melody, “You did incredible, babe,” as he leans in to press a gentle kiss against your cheek, his words echoing with admiration for your strength and resilience.
“No problem at all. You were amazing, ___,” Jimin commends, leaning back into the seat beside you, his hands stained with blood, that he wipes off on his pants.
“Jimin, could you check the trunk for some thermal blankets?” Yoongi requests, his gaze tenderly fixed on your baby, who has quieted down and now rests peacefully against your boobs—what he believes to be the most comforting place.
Jimin returns with a bundle of blankets, and Yoongi, with a sense of urgency, joins him in carefully wrapping you and the baby. The blankets cocoon you both, shielding you from the biting cold as you patiently await the arrival of the ambulance.
“Should we find anything to cut the cord with?” In a sudden burst of practicality, Jimin scans the car, his eyes searching for anything suitable to cut the cord.
“No, no. I've read that the baby can stay attached for hours and even days. So I'm fine waiting to do it in the hospital,” you say, your voice carrying a mixture of fatigue and overwhelming love. Your eyes remain fixed on your baby, and you don't glance at Jimin as you express your decision.
Then, a sensation grips your attention, warmth and thickness enveloping you between your legs. As you cast your gaze downward, the revelation dawns upon you – it's the placenta.
“You guys might need a new car,” Jimin breaks into laughter and Yoongi looks at him perplexed, before he scans the state of the car; it’s filled with blood, anatomic fluid and God knows what else. He reckons you’ll have to burn it, if it can’t be cleaned.
Half an hour post-delivery, the ambulance team arrives like guardian angels, swooping in to cradle you in their capable hands as they whisk you away to the sanctuary of the hospital.
Jimin swiftly summons roadside assistance, ensuring a caretaker for your stranded car, while he maneuvers his own vehicle through the snowy streets to the hospital.
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Nestled in the hospital room, you're navigating the nuances of new motherhood. The compassionate nurses guide you through the art of breastfeeding, and you're determined to master this intimate dance with your newborn.
Beside you, Yoongi shares in the enchantment, both of you reveling in the miracle of your beautiful baby girl, awestruck at the realization that you've crafted this extraordinary little being together.
Gazing into his eyes, a kaleidoscope of love, affection, and adoration, he whispers, “I love you, babe,” before tenderly leaning in for a heartfelt kiss.
“I love you too, Yoongi.”
Jimin sweeps into the room, a harbinger of warmth and color, bearing a bouquet of your favorite purple flowers. Your heart flutters as you press a grateful kiss to his cheek, expressing your thanks.
Deep gratitude colors Yoongi's voice as he wraps Jimin in a tight embrace. “Seriously, Jimin, thank you for everything,” he murmurs, sincerity etched in his words. Jimin, with a warm smile, responds, “It's no problem. You're welcome.”
Clutching Jimin's hand, you squeeze it tightly, your eyes reflecting sincere appreciation. “No, thank you. I would never have made it without you,” you express, the gravity of your words resonating in the room.
You express your heartfelt appreciation, looking directly at Jimin as you speak. “You are my best, best friend, Jimin. I love you and thank you,” your words carrying the weight of genuine gratitude. Jimin meets your gaze with tenderness, carefully keeping his eyes on your face, mindful of not stepping on any toes with Yoongi, not that there's anything he should be worried about.
“She’s really cute—the baby, I mean,” Jimin throws his hands up in mock defense, unable to contain his admiration. His genuine enthusiasm shines through as he revels in the adorable sight of your newborn.
Yoongi begins with a playful smirk, “Relax, Jimin. You're allowed to call my wife cute and pretty, and occasionally sneak a glance at her assets if the situation calls for it; like a birth or a bra mishap—but nothing more.” He chuckles, wrapping up his words with a friendly hug, leaving Jimin with a mix of relief and amusement.
Jimin's laughter resonates in response, and just as the sound fills the room, the door swings open, ushering in the rest of your friends.
They flood the room with warm greetings, and your eyes quickly catch Jungkook, who enters with a whimsical unicorn plushie and a vibrant bouquet in shades of purple, pink, and blue.
“These are for you,” he beams, thrusting the bouquet towards Yoongi, who delicately places them on the table beside you.
“Congratulations,” the boys chime in unison, closing in to catch a glimpse of your precious little one.
You shift your baby in your arms, delicately adjusting your gown to reveal the other breast for feeding. With each nourishing moment, you sense post-contractions coursing through your body, a gentle reminder of your uterus gradually returning to its normal size.
Jungkook, Taehyung, and Namjoon inadvertently direct their gaze toward your breasts, drawing Yoongi’s attention. However, Seokjin interjects sternly, “Enough, guys. Show some respect. Quit staring at her breasts while she's feeding. You've seen other breasts before; let's not be rude.”
Jimin lets out a chuckle from his position beside you on the bed, quietly noting that the others should consider themselves lucky that Yoongi didn't snap at them for sneaking glances at your breasts.
“Starting today, a strict no-gazing policy is in effect for anyone trying to sneak a peek at my wife's breasts or her vagina,” Yoongi declares, shooting a pointed yet appreciative smile in Jimin's direction.
Confusion flickers across the faces of all the guys as their gazes shift between Jimin, Yoongi, and then you, signaling that something intriguing might have unfolded.
As their jaws drop in surprise, you casually spill the details, “He played a crucial role in delivering the baby and got an unexpected front-row view of my vagina in the process.”
Yoongi clenches his jaw, his gaze piercing through the room as he asserts, “Yes, that happened. Eyes off—especially you two,” he warns, shooting a stern look at Jungkook and Taehyung, who quickly avert their eyes.
Jungkook hesitantly clears his throat, his curiosity overcoming his apprehension, “___, what's that on your neck?”
A rosy hue tints your cheeks as you recall the passionate love bite that Yoongi left on your neck just before the chaotic journey into labor began, and you find yourself cursing your husband under your breath for the intimate moment that now decorates your skin.
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What do you think??? Any kind of feedback is much appreciated ✨
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jaylver · 3 months
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CINDY LOU WHO — P.SH
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synopsis: christmas came early with a heartbreak as your present when you found out your boyfriend had fallen out of love with you. the boy that you loved is now in love with someone else, a new girl who managed to make him believe in love the way cindy-lou made grinch believe in christmas.
pairings: non-idol!sunghoon x afab!reader
genre: lovers to exes, break up au, angst
warning(s): underlying hints of cheating/unfaithfulness
wc: 731
a/n: when i said i was planning a depressive december ... i was not lying. hoping everyone is enjoying the festive season! please leave a feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated! muah xx
masterlist | © jaylver all rights reserved.
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Festive season hasn't been feeling the same ever since your boyfriend returned from his trip.
Sunghoon had been off somewhere in the desert with his friends as a getaway before Christmas. At first, you thought it was funny that he was going somewhere with the opposite season compared to where you were now. But the moment you noticed a change in him once he returned home, you figured things weren't about to be the same.
It shouldn’t be this hard to communicate and interact with him, but why was he acting like a stranger to you now? You had to bug him for ages to let him see pictures he took from the trip, that alone was enough to tell you something had shifted in the air. On the couch that night, it was probably only you that was enjoying your time as you swiped through the pictures, many were with his usual guy friends you already knew. 
However, there was one that specifically caught your eyes. There in one of his pictures was a girl laughing.
A girl amongst the group, odd wasn’t it? She was sitting closely next to your boyfriend. Repeat, your boyfriend. You couldn’t recognise who she was, nor could you recall meeting her in the past. Sunghoon must’ve noticed you staring too long and pausing on that specific picture, so he tried to explain despite your heart breaking into pieces, saying it was a girl they met on the trip and there was nothing more. 
To him, he claimed it was just ‘a girl’, but you knew there was more to that, and you weren’t trying to be a paranoid crazy girlfriend. You couldn’t sleep that night, sitting wide awake in your living room couch, the same exact spot where you had seen the pictures earlier. Was she the reason he’s been acting off around you? Had she casted a spell on him while he was there? Why him?
Maybe he met her somewhere in the desert. He was soul searching and found someone better. Did she make him happy like you couldn’t do? Or even worse, would she be the one with his ring on her finger? There’s red and green everywhere, but God, you were so blue.
“Let’s break up.” 
The timing was just perfect. Two weeks before Christmas day, and right before your annual trip back to his family’s house to celebrate Christmas with his family. He was cruel, a little too cruel for breaking your heart at this time. ‘Tis the season, you guess. 
Of course he would fall in love with her, you understood that almost at once when you saw her posts on social media. With her hair so long, lips so red, she was a dream anyone would wish to have. She was also the total opposite of you, that was what you noted as you scrolled five years back in her profile. You felt like a joke. 
Just thinking about the fact that she’d be doing the exact same thing you did the past five years this festive season has you crumbling inside out. You bet she’d wake up in his old bed at his family’s house, ready to celebrate Christmas, while you sat in your home all alone wondering what went wrong. 
The snow’s going to fall and the tree’s going to glisten. Everywhere around you was in a high, happy atmosphere, but you couldn’t seem to feel the same. All you knew was you’d puke at the thought of her kissing the boy who you once loved, the one who was in love with someone else. 
Even after breaking the news to all your friends, they said it couldn’t be true, and you thought it was funny, that they were much more in denial than you were. They tried to console you by putting on How the Grinch Stole Christmas, huddling together under a large blanket with snacks on the side, but you could only think of how she reminded you of Cindy-Lou. 
Cindy-lou showed the Grinch the real meaning of Christmas just as she had shown Sunghoon true love. Maybe all along he had never wanted to commit to you, and he had found something more in her. You should be happy now that your friends were around, but you were feeling the exact opposite. Everything reminded you of him and her both.
Cindy-lou, who?
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( © jaylver all rights reserved. do NOT copy, plagiarise or edit my work and repost whatsoever. once discovered will be exposed and blacklisted. )
☆ permanent taglist (open):
@silentkarnival @strvlveera @freshsaladbowl @bejewelledgirl @fakeuwus @yenqa @hsgwrld @ilovegyuvin @enhacatalog @aishigrey @shinrjj @kgneptun @ilovegyuvin @hyunniesvlog
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aemonds-fire-writes · 5 months
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The Sapphire Spell Ghost Aemond x Fem Reader Part Two - Cabinet of Curiosities
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Summary: Can a spell cast by Alys long ago bring Aemond Targaryen back to life centuries later in Westeros? When the remains of the Kinslayer are found and put on display in a Cabinet of Curiosities, the ghost of Aemond discovers the proprietor’s beautiful daughter is the only person who can see or hear him.
Word Count: 2315
Warnings: None
Not beta read. Any mistakes are my own.
@fire-scribbles is a fic only side blog I'm using instead of taglists. Please follow and turn on notifications.
The Sapphire Spell Masterlist
Aemond Targaryen Masterlist
Main Blog @aemonds-fire Taglists have been discontinued. Follow @fire-scribbles for notifications of fic postings.
Enjoy! Reblogs and Comments are much appreciated.
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Centuries later
“Good morning, father,” you say cheerfully, leaning down to kiss his cheek before joining him at the small dining table. Once you are seated, he says a short prayer before beginning to help himself to breakfast. “What are your plans for today?” you inquire while taking a sip of your tea.
“Ah, my lovely girl, today is the day,” he exclaims, looking at you with a twinkle in his eye and a happy smile on his face. “My latest acquisitions for the collection will be delivered this morning. We have a great deal of work to do, much to prepare for our newest arrival.”
You stare at him with surprise. ”Oh, I finally get to know what this wondrous item is." You truly cannot remember seeing your father more excited than he has been recently. He still has an almost childlike wonder for new things, an enthusiasm unmatched by most for the curiosities of the world. “Will you at least give me a hint? You have tormented me long enough,” you ask him playfully.
Smiling mischievously, he says, “I suppose I could tell you that a former resident of the Red Keep will be brought to their new home today, but that is all I will say."
“The Red Keep? I didn’t think there was anything left in that old ruin,” you say, looking at him curiously. “What could have possibly been found there?” you ask him.
“Let’s just say that everyone in this city knows my reputation for paying good money for interesting objects,” he smiles, finishing his meal. As he gets up to leave, he tells you, “I’ll be next door; I’ll see you there after your lessons.”
After he leaves, you continue to linger over your tea, intrigued by your father's excitement. The Red Keep had long been abandoned, falling into ruin for well over a century. New rulers had built new palaces, and new government buildings were constructed. A fire several months ago mostly destroyed what remained. Workers have been toiling away for weeks, clearing through the rubble. What could have been found to cause him this much excitement, you wonder?
Hearing your tutors' arrival in the front hall, you hurry off to begin your lessons. While you are grateful for your father’s insistence that you continue your education, focusing today will be a struggle.
After seeing the tutor out, you rush to find your father in the adjacent building. Walking past the numerous displays of natural and man-made artifacts and oddities, you cannot help but smile, thinking about how your family’s fortunes changed in less than two generations.
Your family originally came from Flea Bottom, eking out a meager existence for generations. Your grandfather was born as one of six children. As a young boy, he dreamt of the sea, spending as much time as he could outside the Mud Gate of the city, where ships docked. Willing to learn anything he could about sailing and willing to do any task, he managed to gain favor with a ship's captain, who took him on as a cabin boy. At a very young age, he began a life at sea, steadily working his way up, taking on more responsibility with each voyage, and eventually meeting the great explorer, Lord Swann.
He was a member of Swann’s crew when the lost treasure of the Stepstones was found. With his share, he bought a respectable home in the city, away from Flea Bottom, married a pretty widow, and began a family of his own. He still continued sailing with Lord Swann for several more years. During his sailing years, he amassed a number of unusual items he found during his travels to far-off lands. After injury ended his career at sea, his time was spent with his growing collection, eventually buying the property next door and opening the first Cabinet of Curiosities Museum in King's Landing.
Your father inherited everything when he passed. He had grown up with a love for the collection, but he was also blessed with a flair for the dramatic and a sharp mind. He saw opportunity in the public’s fascination for things never seen before and kept expanding the collection. He said that most of the items in the collection were authentic, but admitted that a few forgeries were included.
There was still quite a bit of work to be done before the grand reopening of the collection in two days. Since your family had been adding oddities and artifacts for over fifty years, the assortment was getting quite large. It now took up the entire first floor of the building. The new exhibit is part of an expansion to the second floor. Flyers had been distributed throughout the city, promising something new and exciting. The temporary closure of the collection also allowed your father to have renovations done to the building. The major improvement is the installation of the new innovation of electric lighting, not only in the Cabinet of Curiosities Museum but in your own residence next door.
Once you find your father, you immediately understand his excitement these past few weeks, for this particular display is like nothing else in the collection.
He sees you standing back with a look of shock on your face and laughs. Coming over to put his arm around you, he says proudly, “I’d like you to meet the Kinslayer, Prince Aemond Targaryen."
The Kinslayer, the infamous second son of King Viserys. He claimed the dragon Vhagar as a boy and started the Dance of the Dragons when he murdered his nephew. He was named Prince Regent when his brother King Aegon II was seriously injured and went on a rampage, burning the Riverlands after Kings Landing was taken by his half sister Queen Rhaenyra.
Besides his horrific deeds, not much is known about him. It’s as if he was a stain on House Targaryen that they tried to erase from memory.
Displayed before you are the remains of a man; his bones are already laid on black velvet inside a specially made glass coffin, his skull bearing the damage caused when it was struck by the sword Dark Sister. The suit of night black armor he wore, sword and dagger attached, has been cleaned and reassembled next to the case, as if standing a ghostly guard. Hanging on the wall over the case is a somewhat damaged painting of a young man wearing an eyepatch. He has the trademark silvery-white hair of the Targaryens.
Stunned silent for a moment, you finally manage to ask, “How did you find this? I thought the Targaryens always burned their dead."
As you continue to examine this new display, your father explains, “While clearing the rubble from the fire, an underground chamber was found. Most of it had collapsed, but one corner of the room remained unscathed. These remains had been placed there in a stone sarcophagus, with the painting and armor stored nearby.”
“Why his body was not burned, I cannot say, but the fact that he was found under the Red Keep, along with the research I’ve done, convinces me that these are the remains of the Kinslayer,” he continues. “Now we have him, his armor, and his portrait. Once word spreads, people will be lining up outside to see him. He is going to make us a fortune.”
“The only thing missing is the sapphire he reputedly wore in place of his eye,” you remark, noticing the prince was a rather tall man from the looks of his skeleton.
“That has never been found and is still presumably at the bottom of the God’s Eye. Small chance of anyone ever seeing that again,” your father sighs.
You chuckle. “If it is ever found, I’m sure you will find a way to acquire it.”
Smiling, he says, “I would try.” Looking at the empty crates and packing the artifacts were delivered in, he says, “I’ll get the boys to clean this up. We still have a lot of work to do if we are to be ready to reopen.
Taking one last glance at the portrait of the Targaryen prince, you follow your father to see what you can help with.
The next two days go by quickly as you spend most of your time making sure everything is in perfect order. Your father’s enthusiasm is contagious, making the work more enjoyable. You are both optimistic that more people will be eager to see the new and improved museum, and they will be willing to pay the increased admission price. While you are not wealthy, it is a profitable business that affords you a very good living. Despite society’s expectations that you should be looking for a husband, you are happy with your life.
You also find yourself drawn to the painting of Aemond Targaryen, finding yourself standing before it several times. You can’t help but notice how regal he is, unsmiling but strikingly handsome; he has a strong jawline, good cheekbones, and a natural curve to his lips. His characteristically Targaryen silvery-pale hair, pulled back from his face, is long and straight. The eye patch over his left eye, with the scar trailing above and below, gives him a rather dashing appearance, you think.
As you remind yourself there is work to be done, you become aware of the freezing cold air around you, and you swear something grazes your hand. Startled, you whirl around to look behind you and find yourself alone in the exhibit. Nervously, brushing back the tendrils of hair that have escaped your loose chignon, you sense there is another presence here with you.
Trying to steady your breathing, your eyes dart around, but you see no other person near you. You can faintly make out the voices of some of the staff you employ, but they are distant. With a quick shiver from the cold, you shake it off and head downstairs.
Finally, the time has come to reopen the Cabinet of Curiosities Museum to the public. With a glance out the window, you can already see a crowd has begun to line up for the ticket window. Joining your father just inside the entrance, you can’t help but think he looks rather distinguished today. Your father is a natural showman, which is one of the reasons the collection has remained a popular attraction in the city. You love watching him, dressed elegantly in a tailcoat tuxedo, enthrall an audience with history and somewhat embellished tales of artifacts.
Playing your part as well, you are dressed in a fashionable gown with your hair styled up and adorned with jeweled combs. You act as a hostess for the collection, guiding visitors and answering questions.
You smile, knowing your father will be in rare form tonight, telling the tale of the Kinslayer from the Age of Dragons.
The afternoon and evening pass by in a blur. The grand re-opening is a stunning success, with high society rubbing shoulders with common folk. It seems that regardless of one's status in life, all share a fascination for the unusual and mysterious.
Several times, your father holds court, telling the tale of Aemond Targaryen. Captivating the crowd with the story of the villainous prince who murdered his nephew to begin the Dance of the Dragons, how he declared himself Prince Regent, mercilessly burning the Riverlands, and consorting carnally with a witch.
It was long past nightfall when the last patrons were ushered out and the doors locked. Your father brings out a bottle of the finest Arbor champagne for you and your small staff to celebrate the night’s success.
By the end of the week, you are tired from the constant activity and crowds of people that have surrounded you, and you are glad the museum will be closed tomorrow for the weekly day of worship of the Seven. After you and your father visit the Sept in the morning, you look forward to a more peaceful day with a pleasant walk if the weather allows. But as you prepare for bed, your mind is once again drawn back to Prince Aemond.
Whenever you are in the museum, you feel compelled to visit his display. You’ve found yourself looking down at his remains that lie on black velvet, staring at the bones of his hands, noticing how long his fingers are and how much larger his hand would be compared to your own. You’ve even had the strange urge to open the glass case, to reach in and touch him. But it is his portrait that captivates you the most. While his angular features may not be considered conventionally handsome, you see a strikingly unique splendor to his image. His scar and eye patch only deepen his mystery to you.
You confess to yourself that you find it difficult to reconcile this portrait with the accounts of the cruel monster he was said to be. The story of his short life and terrible deeds should repel you, but they intrigue you more. You have an intense curiosity about him. ‘What was he thinking as he sat for this portrait? What did his voice sound like?’ Questions like these have been going through your mind all week.
Also on your mind are the odd feelings you have when in the museum.
Many times, you have the feeling of being watched. You feel sudden, icy cold drafts that come out of nowhere and make you shiver. A few times you feel as if someone is standing beside you or behind you, much closer than would be proper, and each time you are alone with no one around. And tonight, as you were preparing to leave, you thought you heard a hushed voice whisper your name.
Your last thought as you drift off to sleep is that it all began when the remains of Prince Aemond were brought to the museum.
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4rimoire · 3 months
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MAGIC SAFETY
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magic safety is an important thing to know, so this post will cover both mundane and magical safety tips that you should always follow while practicing your craft! if i forgot to add anything to this list, feel free to reblog and add it on!
MUNDANE SAFETY
never burn anything you arent 100% sure is safe to be burned. remember that things give off fumes when burned, and if these fumes would be unsafe to breathe in, please dont burn the item
never leave any flame unattended, always have a way to put out the fire nearby if needed. make sure anything you are burning things in is fire-safe, and burn things in a well-ventilated space
make sure any crystal you are putting in water is water safe, some become toxic in water. salt and sunlight can also harm certain crystals
never leave salt in nature, it can harm animals and plants. in general, make sure anything you leave in nature is safe for the wildlife that lives there
never consume essential oils, and please do your research to make sure any that you use are skin-safe
never use witchcraft as a replacement for medical help. if you want to do a health spell, thats great! please also meet the spell halfway by seeking medical help
make sure any herbs or plants you are eating are safe to eat, and make sure they are safe to combine
MAGICAL SAFETY
always be respectful when interacting with entities or deities. if you allow a spirit into your house, its a good idea to set "house rules" and have the spirit agree to them
never cast a spell you cant undo, and always be sure of the outcomes of spells before you do them. in general, assume every spell you cast will work as intended
if you practice baneful magic, try not to use anything tied to you in your spells. this could have the spell be tied back onto you in some way and harm you as well
never give out your protection spells, this will give people the ways around them if they wish to harm you
always have proper protections up when practicing magic, this will lessen the chances of anything unwanted happening or any unwanted entities coming through
always know how to banish anything you work with
if you are mentally ill, know when something is intuition vs when something is disordered thinking. i cant elaborate on this too much, as everyones situation is different, but i can give an example. for example, if you have the assumption that everyone hates you, try to evaluate where this actually comes from. note that not all cases of disordered thinking will be this obvious and it is not always easy to recognize when something is disordered thinking
SPIRITUAL RED FLAGS
watch out for anything that pushes an ideology or belief set onto you, the most common example i see of this is judging everyone by the wiccan standards of doing things
please be aware of cult red flags when joining any kind of spiritual group. some red flags include an us vs them, or insiders vs "outsiders" mentality, having a leader resistant to criticism, demanding money, time, devotion, etc., isolating you from friends and family, and other things of this nature. for more detail, look into the BITE model
if the source or individual in question claims using things from closed practices while not being a part of that practice is okay, this is a red flag. same for claiming open practices are closed
look out for anything that claims you shouldnt use medication if youre a practitioner, that you cant practice the craft while being mentally ill, disabled, chronically ill, etc. or anything of the sort
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windvexer · 9 months
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Chickens Have a Prey Drive: the tiny velociraptor's peckables for protecting the coop
A list of stuff I believe about protections and all such, written in the style of the evil overlord list, which I have been fond of for two decades. Take what you like, leave the rest behind.
|. The best time to make protections is before you need them. The second best time is when you need them.
You can make a wide variety of protections ahead of time, whether or not you think you'll ever actually need them, and then learn to "pause" or "lay down to bed" the magic until you ever need it. This provides ample practice in not only spellcasting, but also in magical validation, and learning to pause and restart ongoing spellwork.
2. If your general protections fail, make specific ones.
3. Unless you have specific information that a failed ward was already out of energy when its boundaries were tested, recharging it is probably not going to fix your problem.
4. Protections change things. If you create a protection and it changes nothing about your life, it probably was not cast well.
If you created a protection against advertisements, something about your life should change. The wifi goes down and you can't go on the internet. Someone reblogs a post explaining how to install adblockers. Something happens every single time an ad comes up on screen, thereby distracting you. Where once you slavered with rage at advertisements, now you barely notice them and feel emotionally numb when you do. Etc.
A corollary to the above rule: if you need a way to verify preventative protections against things that are already not happening, use your same spellcasting techniques to make protections against things that are already happening, and see if you can get them to stop.
5. Protections using only "visualization" without energy work, spellwork, prayers, petitions, magical sacrifice, or other forms of metaphysical empowerment, are often ineffective/inert. This is because imagining things really hard is not automatically an act of magic.
Conceptualize visualized energies as being empty shells that then need to be filled up with some kind of metaphysical power. They hold a little energy on their own, but without being solidified, they will fade away over time.
6. It's possible to empower protections only with your personal belief or faith that they will work. But this is a bad idea for most people.
Willpower is not infinite. At a certain point, it runs out. Willpower runs out faster if you use a lot of it. The "batteries" of any spell drain faster when that spell is actively being used, I.E., protections run out of energy faster when they are being tested. Building a spell that relies on your personal willpower to protect you means that you are betting you will have enough willpower during a time of high personal stress to keep the protection going. Not only that, but metaphysically speaking, it is completely possible for the strength of your personal willpower to simply be weaker than whatever it is you want to protect against. (Shout out to the energy suns who have no idea what I'm talking about)
7. Ask for help when you need it.
Please note: this does not say engage in a formal petition ritual, or pay spirits for services, or whatever. It says what it means: ask for help. Ask your gods, spirits, and ancestors. Ask the house and the trees. Ask the sky and the grass. Ask your stuffed animals and your old spell vessels. Ask grace itself. You do not need to know their names. You do not need to have an ongoing, perfect, healthy relationship beforehand. Just ask.
8. Depending on how you're doing it, cleansing and banishing are not the same thing.
9. Powerful and effective protection spells can be performed with one (1) correspondence.
There is a time and place to make elaborate oils using 13 consecrated ingredients, and that time and place is after you've dealt with this current spiritual emergency. You can spend those new XP points earned in combat on leveling up your badass premade potions. Addendum to the above rule: the one (1) powerful correspondence will be found in your kitchen.
10. If you performed a cleansing/banishing/protection/whatever and the Symptom was not resolved, then the whatever failed and you need to try again.
11. Wards can and do trap unwanted presences inside.
If you do not have protections up, only place them after you've banished. If you already have wards, temporarily pause them or "open them up" so that things can get through. Or be very clever and construct wards in such a way that things can get out, but not in.
12. Don't wait before you begin taking care of hauntings or malefica.
Don't wait to research and order arcane little herb packets you read off correspondence lists. Don't wait for powerful magical timings. Begin acting. If you actually are dealing with a serious problem that needs special circumstances to be resolved, you probably won't have the data you need until you start trying to solve the problem, and see first hand what works and what doesn't work.
13. Many protections are best conceptualized as treatments, not cures.
A fence will rot if it is not maintained. Permanency in spellwork is a lofty goal that is difficult to achieve. If you are not tending to your protections and re-upping them as needed, they are going to burn out and over time, eventually degrade and fail. One solution is to intentionally put to bed various protections you don't need in the moment, and waking them up as desired. Beginner-level energy work protections, like shields, often only last 24h or even much less.
14. Ask yourself what may be going on with "advanced" practitioners who say they don't use and don't need protections.
Have they cultivated personal power that deters spiritual intrusions? Are they spirit workers or worshipers who receive spiritual protection outside of spellwork? Do they have a powerful natural talent for personal protection that they don't realize they're using? Do they have an ongoing routine of personal cleansing and empowerments that stop problems before they arise? Do they walk a personal path that simply never intersects with dangerous spiritual situations? When you see someone say, "I don't protect and I've never needed to," this should not be taken to mean that if you need to protect, something is wrong with you.
15. While it may be useful to have a heavy-handed protection amulet around in case you need it, cloaking yourself, your property, or your life in powerful protections may cause problems.
16. If you need protection, you need it.
17. It's wise to keep track of what protections you've cast, especially for the prolific spellcaster. Protections can have long-lasting and unexpected implications.
18. It's wise to construct protections with the foresight that you may need to pause their effects or modify their exact focus.
19. Putting things around the four corners of the property really does work great.
20. "Protection" may be best conceptualized as an umbrella term that contains many aspects: building walls, hiding from prying eyes, forming good relationships, preemptively resolving conflict, removing aggressors, and diplomacy.
It's better to have a stick than not have a stick, but a stick is still a poor tool when only talking things out will do.
21. "No, fuck off" might be a powerful act of magic, but it's not like practitioners are out here developing whole-ass spells and rituals for protections just for funsies.
22. You do not need to confirm that something is Going On before engaging in a course of self-cleansing, banishment, and protections - just in case.
23. The best protection spell is one which you are able to cast when you need it.
24. Shielding is a useful trick, and is a good introduction to energy work.
On-demand energy work protections may be draining to many, especially to those who aren't really energy workers and who don't actively develop that muscle or battery. If you find yourself needing daily protection but are becoming fatigued by relying on energy work, try switching to a protective amulet empowered by evoking correspondences or through prayers - anything that draws on external energy. These tend to hold their charge for much longer.
25. Protection won't shield you from symptoms of your disorder or illness, but they may be able to assist with limiting stressors and triggers.
26. For those finding that the regular upkeep of necessary protections has become too draining, experiment with enchanting batches of oils, waters, incense, etc., to easily feed spell vessels.
27. The astute witch will note that protections can and will block the ability of ancestors, guides, guardians, and other forms of desired spirit contact.
28. The practitioner who desires to fucketh about with their dreams does well to first protect their dreams.
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