#;the son of man || ic posts

[fallensxvior]

"Miryam and I talked about having children when I was human.. but we knew that since I would die about a decade out from our wedding, it wasn't wise for us to have kids. They would grow up without me, and I couldn't bear the thought of leaving them behind."

[fallensxvior]

Yeshua swallowed softly, tugging gently on his cloak as he stood opposite the other. Lilith. his sister in law, the Queen of Hell- and yet it was not her power that made him nervous. No, what made him nervous was the knowledge she had.

She had known long before he had that his father was a monster. What would she think, seeing that it had taken so long for Yeshua to come to the light?

"I wouldn't begrudge you to turn me away, Lilith. But.. this is the only place I could think to go."

A knuckle taps against the Queen's chin, her eyes fixed. There's a touch of perplexion, but intrigue, as well. "And what is it that I'm looking at?"

[fallensxvior]

Is still wary around him , like a stray cat , but pushes an apple his way if he wants it, not saying anything .

He couldn't help the small smile as Yeshua took the apple in hand. He was still getting used to the new prosthesis, and what better way to test it than to hone those fine motor skills? His palm cradled it for a moment, fingers gently squeezing, trying to get used to the feeling as he took the smallest bite. It was almost like having his arm back, in a way. "Thank you, brother."

[throwawayasoiafaccount]

god tywin lannister deserved worse

just remembering elias death and i wanna puke and the way tywin talks about elia and what happened is so damn gross

but rip tommen and myrcella we all know what’s about to happen in the next book :/

the cycle of violence just keeps spinning and damn you tywin for beginning it

(i got a bit crazy in the tags 💀)

[fallensxvior]

"Say what you want about Hell, but there's no shortage of things to do. Always some new shop opening, some new entertainment cropping up. If there's one thing they know how to do well, it's party."

[fallensxvior]

"I admit... I do think Miryam would only be more radiant if she were with child..."

His face is red just thinking about it.

"People that aren't turned on by the idea of putting a baby in their partners are cowards."

[sonchiildren]

"Heehee, booping Mr.Beerus is fun."

[hauntingblue]

Yabushige count your fucking days. I am so mad

[e-m-p-error]

[ Valentino ]

I cannot believe that someone on Sinstagram just slammed me for being an empath. Fuck that. Fuck all of you pendejos thinking I'm a fake-ass bitch. D<

[chuluoyi]

✎ baby to the rescue

- gojo satoru x reader

in which gojo recruits your baby son to “save” you from a credit card salesman

genre: immense fluff !! baby gojo and dad!gojo shenanigans~

note: based on this and this reel. with this i hereby declare that anything past chapter 235 is null and void HAHA anyway, i truly want to post remarried empress au by this week but since 261 leaks hurt me so much, i need more fluff so have to postpone it to next week :') tagging @karikari19hikariiii <3

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

Your husband Gojo Satoru... is handsome as hell, which means your baby son is also undeniably good-looking.

"Why do you pout at me?" Satoru poked his squirming baby's cheek while pursing his lips too. "C'mon, smile! That auntie is smiling at you!"

Everyone who passed by them in Shinjuku shopping district turned heads to admire him and his pumpkin just a little longer, and Satoru visibly enjoyed the attention. He smiled back at them, occasionally winking even.

If only they knew how pretty his wife was too...

Wait, no! On second thought, if they know how hot you are, there will be problems!

You had left him to go to the nearest pharmacy to restock some things, while Satoru decided to entertain his baby in the toy section. He basked in the starry-eyed looks people were giving him... until he heard some strange sounds and turned to his baby boy—

—who was chewing the beak of a duck toy with all his might. Satoru was mortified.

"—! Let that go! Your mama will beat me if she sees you eating this!"

Your baby paid him no mind though, desperately pushing the duck into his mouth. Satoru sat him on one of the empty racks and began the tug of war—

"Let go!" he reprimanded. "You're so naughty, gods—!"

Some people were now openly giggling at both of them. His son tried to resist by rolling, and Satoru clicked his tongue. He then yanked the toy away until his baby finally let it go, sniffling sadly that his papa wouldn't let him have the duck.

"Oh, you..." he picked him up again and consoled the pumpkin. "You can't do that, you hear? First, it's not clean. Second, mama will grow two heads to chew you and me both, understand?"

No, your son totally didn't understand a thing. Satoru sighed, seeing his little blue eyes welling up with tears. He ruffled his head and pulled him close. "There, there... I'll get you ice cream, okay? Now let's go."

Satoru was determined to turn his son back into a smiling, happy baby. But just as he was about to head towards the ice cream parlor, he encountered the most unbelievable sight—

"Miss! I guarantee you'll love this credit card features!"

You. That was clearly you, and a salesman (or a bozo, in Satoru's eyes) was trying to bother you.

You raised an eyebrow. "Uh, no— thank you—"

Yet the bozo was still persistent, like the pesky fly he was. "You can use it to pay for your monthly beauty treatments! Someone as pretty as you..." He eyed you from head to toe, blinking suggestively. "Oh my! Your skin is flawless! You have to maintain it this way! I can also give you recommendations for—"

You were wearing a flare dress that made you look so young and petite, and obviously, Satoru too was lusting after you. And true, your skin was smooth like a soft serve of mochi, but still!

You are meant for him and his eyes only! Oho, this bozo would get heavenly punishment.

He had to get to you somehow, but this was public space and if he cooked up some sort of shenanigan, you would put him in sex ban. I can't have that! so Satoru wracked his brain to think of another way...

Once again, his gaze fell on his now calm baby, who was also looking at his mama over there with utter curiosity. And an idea immediately popped up in his mind.

"Hey, kiddo, look at that, a bad man is trying to take your mama," Satoru nudged him as if trying to egg him on. "We can't let that happen. Will you help me to save her, hmm?"

"Mama..." your baby looked back at him so innocently before smiling. "Mamaaa!"

"Good boy." Gods, his baby was so adorable, he almost felt bad for doing this but...

Swallowing his guilt, thinking he would make it up later, he pinched his son's butt a little too firmly—

"WAAAA!" and suddenly, the little boy burst into tears, and even Satoru was surprised by the sheer volume of his wail.

The sudden inconsolable sound of your baby sent you scrambling in panic, your eyes wildly searching for him, completely disregarding the credit card man. "My baby!"

"Eh?" the credit card man was visibly surprised. "Oh... so, you're married...?"

You immediately made your way towards Satoru and snatched your baby from him, hugging him tightly. "Oh, there, there... What happened to you?" you shot your husband a distaste look as your son kept wailing. "Satoru, why is he crying?"

He nonchalantly shrugged. "Maybe missing his mama? Dunno~"

By now, you had completely forgotten the credit card bozo, but he still looked at the three of you in mild surprise. Satoru took this chance to approach him and whisper in his ear:

"You see, my wife doesn't need your credit card," he whistled. "My cards or lumpsum money will do more than enough."

After seeing how pale the bozo looked, Satoru chuckled darkly... before leading you and your son away from the crowd, with one arm possessively around your waist.

Epilogue

"I'm sorry— I'm sorry, okay!?"

Satoru looked down at his son in utter hopelessness, as the little boy refused to be held by him, looking at him with teary, resentful eyes, and backing away from him in his playpen.

Can babies hold a grudge? Satoru didn't know, but his son definitely was not happy with him, and he couldn't think of any other explanation other than his sin against him back this afternoon.

"I've bought you mochi ice cream!" he opened his palm to reveal the treat. "Don't you want some? Papa will give you some, yeah?"

Baby looked skeptical now, and at that moment, he resembled you so much—accusing eyes, pursed lips, exactly like the expression you would pull when you were unsure of what Satoru might do next. He almost chuckled at the resemblance, feeling giddy.

"C'mon, forgive me, yeah?" he patted his son's little beanie and offered his hand for him to take, eyes crinkling in fondness. "Now, here comes your treat, come closer?"

Your baby crawled closer, seemingly accepting him, and Satoru was all smiles, until—

Whack!

It happened in a flash. He could have avoided it, but he was too taken aback. The pain exploded in his jaw, so intense that he grunted loudly.

"What the—?! You... you—! You kicked me— in the face!"

[tojipie]

˚ ✧ content: first-time parent toji, doctor reader, fluff, brief mentions of injury

“oh— hey! found one more for you down the hall.” a dreaded patient chart is thrust into your arms before you can tell the cheery nurse that your shift is already over. 

“great,” you mutter, tiredly scanning the stack of paperwork as you make your way down the hall. it was way too late for this. 

2-year-old male, already triaged and x-rayed. drove in by his dad about 2 hours ago. nothing too extensive, wouldn’t take more than an hour to get him sent home. 

soft cries greet you at the door to the examination room, a hushed voice— his father— attempting to console the child.

“megs, c'mon. you’re gonna be okay! these are good people.” the older man whispers, sighing as the toddler’s sobs only grow louder.

your knock silences them both, the little boy trying to put on a strong face for you despite the little sniffles wracking his chest. 

the kid is a carbon copy of his dad, donning the same shaggy black hair and big green eyes. the toddler looks up at you hesitantly, long lashes slick with tears.

“see? doctor’s here,” his dad coos, feigning fake excitement as you shut the door behind you. you can hear the quiver in his voice as he says it, anxiety eating away at his composure.

first-time parent you think, cute. always more terrified than the child. always.

“how’s our little trooper doing?” you smile, sympathetic to both their states. the younger boy says nothing, wiping the wetness from his face with his good arm. poor baby.

“fell off his trike in the driveway,” the father explains, shaking his head. he was charming, soft-spoken yet commanding respect. gnarled edges of a scar gracing the side of his mouth.

“can i see? just want to have a better look at the injury site,” you say calmly, snapping on a pair of blue gloves.

“show her where it hurts kiddo,” he asks tenderly, wincing as you take the ice pack off to expose the child’s swollen wrist.  

megumi looks up at you curiously as you examine the injury, exhausted from a mix of pain and sleep deprivation.

 “mama?” he mumbles, idly kicking his feet in his father’s lap.

“no bud not mama.” the older man laughs, clearly embarrassed. you feel your heart twinge just a bit at the adorable show of confusion.  

“no broken skin, the joint is still aligned too.” you say confidently, placing the ice pack back. “likely not a break or a dislocation but i’ll look at the x-rays just so we’re positive, sound good?”

the father nods quietly, hugging his son to his chest.

“his mom was never in the picture, s’ hard handling him alone,” the older man doesn’t follow up on his comment, leaving it at that.

you nod. “i’m sorry.”

“toji,” he mumbles.

“i’m sorry, toji.”

it doesn’t take long for you to go over the blue images. an intact bone stands out against the illuminated wall, not a break thankfully. the stranger catches on soon enough, tension leaving his body at the good news. 

“looks like it’s just a sprain,” you say, pointing to the image. 

“see that kiddo?” he whispers, turning the little boy’s head toward you. “s’ nothing.”

“nofing?” megumi mumbles, clearly too tired to pay attention anymore. shy as a bunny.

“you’re gonna want to ice and elevate for at least the next two days, you should see a full recovery by then but if not i want you to come right back, okay?” you explain.

the father nods, propping his little boy down on the floor as you type out your post-visit instructions.

“say thank you to the pretty doctor megs,” he encourages, chuckling as the little boy waddles over to hug your leg with his good arm. so incredibly tiny. 

pretty huh? you could get used to that.

“fank you.” his sweet voice latches onto your tired heart and melts you from the inside. megumi slumps down against your shoe as sleep takes over, caught under the arms and swept into his dad’s arms in an instant. 

[fallensxvior]

"We can leave in the morning. Give you time to prepare. Pandemonium is.. a bit of a shock to the system the first time someone visits."

That wasn't even the half of it. The Slayer was a man of will, this was well known, but the idea of taking him to the City of Demons was daunting. He had seen so many different hells thanks to him.... To travel to Lucifer's true dominion would be a bit of an ask. And Yeshua was not keen on leaving things to chance.

The last thing he wanted was to traumatize his friend even further.

"It's.... not quite what you're expecting, I can assure you. But it'll be safe at the very least." Yeshua tugged on his sleeve, fussing a bit with the hemline. His hands were always busy, some way to soothe his troubled mind. "It's the one place my father cannot touch."

To be fair, Y'shua wasn't as keen on the idea. He knew that it wouldn't be the same as the monstrous darkness he'd been fighting for virtually his entire life, but... it was still Hell, in a way. There would always be a sense of wariness, no matter how different it might be.

His gaze drifts to the Rabbi's shoulder, and he immediately understands the implications. It takes all his strength, physical and mental, to not immediately punch a hole in the wall in reaction to that information.

Not just a monster, but the kind that would abuse their own child.

Instead of venting his boiling rage, Y'shua simply shook his head in reply. "Nah- I wouldn't really say what I went through is any better than what happened to you." It wasn't him simply trying to somehow one-up him but, in his opinion, the truth; most human beings, even in the most extreme of circumstances, could simply not survive what Y'shua had gone through. A thousand years of endless war against demonkind, though to be honest he still didn't know how long he'd actually been in Hell for; time flowed strangely in that place, a result of it devouring so many different worlds and times, a parasite feeding upon the blood of the multiverse.

He'd sigh. "How soon can we depart? For... Hell?"

[novaursa]

The Dragon and The Wolf

- Summary: Rhaenyra sends her daughter instead of her son to fly North. You.

- Paring: velayrion!reader/Cregan Stark

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is second born child of Rhaenyra, has silver hair and violet eyes and is a dragonrider. For more of my works visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+ (expect for rating to go higher in the next chapter)

- Word count: 3 681

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @21-princess

- A/N: I had this one stored away, but I've decided to post it on a request. Harwin Strong one is not yet finished, but will be posted in coming days. I'll see how both of these are received before posting more.

The wind whips across the snow-dusted fields, biting and cold, as you soar above on your dragon, Thraxata. The North stretches below like a vast, white ocean, with Winterfell looming ahead in the distance, its grey walls rising like ancient guardians against the winter sky. The sun hangs low on the horizon, casting a pale light that glimmers off the frost-coated land.

Thraxata’s dark scales gleam like polished obsidian, a stark contrast to the endless white beneath. Her massive wings carve through the air with graceful power, the membrane tinted in deep shades of violet and blue, like the twilight sky before night fully descends. She is known as the Midnight Fury in whispers—born of shadow and flame, a terror in the night skies. Her roar splits the silence, echoing across the fields, a sound both commanding and otherworldly.

From your perch on her back, you spot the waiting banners below: the direwolf of Stark, surrounded by lesser sigils of Northern houses. Lord Cregan Stark stands at their forefront, a tall figure clad in thick furs and armor, as still and stern as the land he rules. He expects a prince, no doubt, a son of Rhaenyra, a warrior with fire in his veins. But you are no prince.

You are Y/N Velaryon, the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen. Silver-haired like your mother, with eyes the color of amethyst flames, you are the embodiment of old Valyria—a sight that would capture any man’s breath, even in the frozen heart of the North. Unlike your brothers, there is no questioning the blood that runs in your veins. You carry both the fire of your ancestors and the steel of the sea, a daughter of dragon and salt.

Thraxata descends with a mighty sweep of her wings, stirring a storm of snow and ice as her talons dig into the frozen ground. Her head swivels as she growls low, a deep rumble that vibrates through your body, her violet eyes fixed on the assembled Northerners. You dismount with practiced grace, the long cloak of thick fur billowing behind you as your boots crunch into the snow.

The men whisper, their breath misting in the cold air, eyes wide with awe and trepidation. No prince, but something more—something wilder, something that belongs in tales and legends.

Cregan Stark steps forward, his eyes fixed on you. They are grey like the winter itself, hard and sharp, yet there is a glint of something else—curiosity, perhaps, or a flicker of admiration beneath the layers of duty. He dips his head in a respectful nod, though his eyes never leave yours.

"Princess," he greets you, his voice deep and resonant, like a wolf's growl beneath the snow. "Winterfell welcomes you. I had expected a prince, but the Queen has sent a dragon nonetheless."

Your lips curve into a small smile, cold as the winter air. "My brothers may be princes, but it is I who bears the fire and ice that binds our realms, Lord Stark. I trust you will remember the oaths sworn to my mother, and the duty you hold to the true Queen."

His eyes narrow slightly, though there is no hostility, merely calculation. "The North remembers its oaths, Princess. But oaths are easily sworn and easily forgotten when the fires of war draw near. I would hear your words and judge for myself where our loyalties lie."

Thraxata’s tail lashes behind you, sending a spray of snow into the air. You can sense her restlessness, her desire to protect you, to assert her dominance in this land where dragons are more myth than reality. But you place a gloved hand on her scaled flank, a silent command, and she stills, though her eyes remain fixed on Cregan.

"You speak with wisdom, my lord," you reply, your voice firm but laced with the authority of the blood you carry. "But the North has never bent to whispers or empty promises. My mother’s cause is just, her claim undeniable. The realm needs strength, and you know as well as I that only fire can bring the long night to its knees."

There’s a flicker of something—approval, perhaps—in Cregan’s gaze. He steps closer, his boots crunching in the snow, until you are but a breath away. The North has always been a place where respect is earned through strength and resolve, not titles or finery. In that moment, you realize that your mother’s choice was not a mistake; you were sent because here, in this land of cold and iron, you are seen not as a delicate princess, but as something fiercer.

"Then perhaps the Queen chose wisely in sending you," he murmurs, his voice low, for your ears alone. "The North respects strength, and it seems that is something you possess in abundance, Y/N Velaryon."

There is a tension between you, a silent acknowledgment of the game you both play. He is the Wolf of Winterfell, and you are the Dragon sent to bind him to your mother’s cause. But there is something else too—a flicker of intrigue, of something more personal beneath the formalities.

“I shall make my case before the gathered lords,” you say, breaking the charged silence. “And I trust that Winterfell will extend the hospitality due to a dragon and her rider.”

He gives a slight incline of his head, a gesture of respect between equals. “Winterfell is yours, Princess. And I look forward to seeing just how fierce the fire of a dragon truly burns.”

With that, he steps back, signaling to his men. The banners dip in a formal show of respect as you walk forward, the Northern lords parting to make way for you. Thraxata stays behind, watchful, a dark shadow against the snow.

As you enter the gates of Winterfell, you can feel the eyes of Cregan Stark on your back, heavy with unspoken questions, and perhaps—just perhaps—the first stirrings of something that could grow amidst the frost and flame.

The warmth of Winterfell’s great hall is a great contrast to the biting cold outside. The stone walls are thick and ancient, adorned with tapestries depicting wolves in the hunt and battles long past. A roaring fire burns in the hearth, casting flickering shadows that dance across the rough-hewn beams above. The scent of woodsmoke and roasted meat fills the air, mingling with the faint tang of iron and earth, as though even the stone itself remembers the blood spilled within these walls.

You stride forward with measured grace, your fur-lined cloak trailing behind you. Eyes turn your way as you pass, curious glances that are quickly averted once they meet your violet gaze. The courtiers and bannermen of Winterfell are not accustomed to your kind—a dragonrider with Valyrian blood, a figure more suited to the tales of Old Nan than to the cold North. They murmur among themselves, voices hushed but thick with speculation, wondering if you are as fierce as the stories of your mother suggest.

Lord Cregan walks beside you, his stride steady and sure, the embodiment of Northern strength and resolve. He leads you to the head of the hall, where a carved wooden chair sits, draped in furs—a seat of honor, meant for you. As you take your place, his voice rings out, commanding the attention of everyone present.

"The Princess Y/N Velaryon graces us with her presence. Her arrival is most fortunate, for it seems the North’s business does not wait. House Glover has brought a criminal before us—a man accused of grave crimes—and they demand justice. Perhaps," he says, his grey eyes locking onto yours, "it would be fitting for a dragon to pass judgment."

There’s no mistaking the challenge in his words. This is a test, one meant to gauge your strength, your understanding of Northern customs, and how you wield your authority. He watches you closely, waiting for your reaction, as do the assembled lords. You know this moment is pivotal; how you handle this situation will determine whether they see you as just another southern princess, or as something more—someone who can command both fire and frost.

You meet his gaze evenly, a faint smile playing on your lips. "It would be an honor to dispense justice in the North, Lord Stark. Show me this criminal and let us see what manner of man he is."

Cregan gives a slight nod, and with a gesture, the doors at the end of the hall creak open. The sound echoes through the chamber as two men of House Glover drag a prisoner forward, shoving him to his knees before you. He’s a ragged, weathered man with wild eyes and a face marked by scars. His clothes are filthy and torn, his hands bound with rough cord. There’s a stink about him—of sweat, fear, and desperation.

One of the Glovers steps forward, bowing briefly before addressing you and Cregan. "This man, Wyl Gray, is accused of murdering his kin and stealing from their holdings. He fled north to escape our justice, but we tracked him down and brought him here, as is our right."

The hall falls silent, all eyes on you now. The weight of their expectation is palpable. You rise slowly from your seat, descending the steps with a regal grace. Your voice is soft but carries through the room with the authority that only a dragonrider can wield.

"Wyl Gray," you say, your tone cold as the Northern winds, "you stand accused of betraying your own blood and committing theft in the lands sworn to House Glover. What have you to say in your defense?"

The man’s eyes dart around wildly, searching for some hope, some mercy, but finding none. He looks up at you, trembling slightly. "I did what I had to," he snarls, his voice hoarse. "My kin treated me worse than a dog, taking what was mine by right. I took back what they stole from me—nothing more!"

The hall murmurs in response to his words, some in anger, others in grudging acknowledgment. You can see the flickers of approval from a few of the assembled Northerners—they value strength, even when twisted by desperation. But you know better than to be swayed by the claims of a desperate man. His actions speak louder than his words.

You step closer, your gaze piercing. "You claim they took from you, yet you took their lives. Blood demands blood, Wyl Gray. In the North, justice is harsh and swift, but it is also fair. A man who cannot protect what is his without resorting to murder is a man unfit to live among honorable men."

Cregan watches you intently, his expression unreadable, but you can feel the shift in the room. The lords are weighing your words, assessing how well you understand their ways. It’s not enough to be just, you must be decisive—and you must show that you are not ruled by softness.

"You are guilty of murder and theft," you continue, your voice unwavering. "But the North does not deal in mercy for such crimes. You shall face the punishment decreed by the Old Ways. Justice shall be meted out by the one who passes the sentence."

A heavy silence falls over the hall. This is the moment—where the test truly lies. You could ask Cregan to deal with the criminal himself, and none would question it. But you understand what is truly being asked of you. The North respects those who do not flinch from difficult decisions, those who stand by their words with action.

You turn to Cregan. "Bring me the sword," you command.

There’s a ripple of surprise among the lords, but Cregan’s expression shifts, a hint of approval crossing his stern features. He gestures, and a massive sword, long and sharp, is placed into your hands. Its weight is heavy, but you hold it with ease, feeling the cold steel beneath your fingers.

You step before the kneeling man. His eyes widen in terror, realizing that you intend to carry out the sentence yourself. You look down at him, feeling no pity, only the cold resolve needed to see justice done. "In the name of House Glover, for the blood you have spilled and the dishonor you have brought upon yourself, I sentence you to death. May the gods judge your soul as they see fit."

With a swift, clean stroke, you bring the sword down, severing his head from his body. The hall is silent, save for the soft thud of the head hitting the stone floor and the hiss of blood soaking into the rushes.

You let out a breath, handing the sword back to a waiting Stark guard. The lords nod with approval, respect in their eyes. This is not a land for those who shy away from harsh truths or difficult choices. You have shown them that you understand the North’s ways—and that you are as much dragon as you are queen’s daughter.

Cregan steps forward, a slight smile touching his lips. "Well done, Princess. The North remembers strength, and today, you have proven yours."

There’s a weight to his words, a subtle acknowledgment that you’ve passed his test. The respect between you has grown, forged not only by fire and ice, but by a mutual understanding of what it takes to rule.

As the hall begins to stir with renewed conversation, you feel Cregan’s eyes linger on you a moment longer than necessary, something unspoken passing between you. It’s not just respect now—there’s a flicker of something deeper, something that might grow, given time.

But for now, you’ve earned your place among the wolves. And in doing so, you’ve taken the first step toward binding the North to your mother’s cause.

A little more than two weeks have passed since your arrival at Winterfell, and in that time, you have come to understand the North in ways few from the south ever do. The cold no longer bites as fiercely, the rough customs of the Northerners have become familiar, and even the solemn howls of the wolves at night are a comfort rather than a cause for concern. You’ve spent your days among Cregan’s people, riding alongside his bannermen, sitting in council with his advisors, and breaking bread with his warriors in the hall. You’ve proven yourself capable in all the ways that matter to them—skilled with both words and steel, a dragon in human form.

The Northern lords have come to trust you, their respect won by your ability to speak plainly and match them in courage. They see in you a reflection of their own values—honor, strength, and loyalty. Even Thraxata, the Midnight Fury, has found her lair in the craggy wilderness nearby, roosting among the jagged rocks as if she, too, feels at home in this stark and wild land. The villagers whisper tales of the black dragon seen circling the mountains, her shadow long across the snow, a fearsome guardian from the days of old.

Today, you ride out with Lord Cregan and his men on a hunt. The sky is a bleak grey, thick with the promise of snow, and the air carries the scent of pine and earth. The forest is dense, the trees tall and ancient, their branches heavy with frost. It’s a test, of sorts—Cregan’s way of seeing how well you handle yourself in their world, not just as a rider of dragons, but as a hunter and a leader.

You ride astride a hardy Northern stallion, its breath steaming in the cold air, and you match the men stride for stride as they navigate the rough terrain. Cregan rides beside you, his expression more open than it had been when you first met. Over these past weeks, a bond has formed between you—one built on mutual respect and a growing sense of trust. He speaks more freely now, and there’s a warmth in his tone that was absent when you first arrived.

When the hunt begins, you do not hesitate to join the chase. The hounds bay as they track the scent of a massive stag, and you ride hard, your cloak snapping behind you in the wind. You’re no stranger to riding, and you handle your steed with ease, navigating the twisting paths and snow-laden ground. When the time comes to strike, you draw your bow with practiced precision, letting the arrow fly. It finds its mark true, and the stag falls. The men around you roar with approval, slapping their shields and calling your name in praise. They respect a woman who can hunt as well as any man, and here, they see you as one of their own—a warrior, not just a princess.

As the hunt winds down, Cregan approaches you, his face flushed from the cold and the thrill of the chase. "You’ve more than earned your place among us, Y/N," he says, his voice gruff but warm. "Few could keep pace with Northern men in their own forests, let alone best them. I see now why the Queen sent you instead of a prince. You’ve shown strength and wisdom—two things the North values above all else."

You incline your head in acknowledgment. "I’ve come to admire the North and its people. But admiration is not the same as allegiance. I must ask, Lord Stark—will you now stand by my mother and send your armies south to fight in her name?"

Cregan’s expression shifts, a shadow crossing his eyes as he considers your question. He’s silent for a long moment, his gaze turning toward the distant horizon, where the land stretches into a vast, icy wilderness. "The North is not like the South," he says finally, his tone measured. "Our duty is first and foremost to our own. With winter coming, my responsibility is to the Wall and to the people who must survive the cold months ahead. I cannot, in good conscience, march thousands of men south when their families might starve without them."

You frown slightly, frustration creeping in. "So you’ll abandon my mother’s cause? You gave your word, Lord Stark."

Cregan’s eyes meet yours, unwavering. "I do not break my word, Princess. I swore to uphold my oaths, and I will. But sending armies south would be folly with winter approaching. However," he continues, his tone softening as he watches your reaction, "there are those in the North who would fight, even in the harshest winters. The Greybeards—elders, warriors who have lived long and seen much. When winter comes, many of them leave their homes, believing it is better to pass in battle than to linger and be a burden on their kin. They are few in number, but each is worth a dozen younger men in skill and experience. I will send them to your mother, to fight in her name. They may not be an army, but they are a force to be reckoned with."

It’s a compromise, one that you didn’t expect but cannot wholly dismiss. You nod slowly, understanding the practicality behind his words. "Your support, even in this way, will strengthen our position. I thank you for honoring your oath, Lord Stark."

Cregan remains silent for a moment, his expression thoughtful. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter, more personal. "There is another matter I wish to discuss—a way to bind North and South even closer. You’ve proven yourself in the eyes of my people, and I have come to value your counsel and your strength. The North needs a Warden, but it also needs stability and unity. I am in need of a wife, Y/N."

His words catch you off guard. You had expected negotiations over troops and strategies, but not this. You study him closely, searching for any hint of jest, but there is none. His gaze is steady, earnest even, and the weight of his words is not lost on you.

"A marriage alliance," you murmur, more to yourself than to him. It’s a move that makes sense, politically and strategically. Your mother��s cause would be strengthened by such a bond, and Cregan’s position would be solidified, uniting the North under his leadership. But you know it’s more than just politics—there’s something personal in his offer, a recognition of the connection that has grown between you over these weeks.

Cregan inclines his head. "A marriage would do more than just bind our houses. It would be a show of unity between North and South, and it would ensure that whatever may come in this war, our strength remains undivided. You are a woman worthy of the North, and I would be honored to stand beside you as more than just allies."

You consider his words carefully, your mind weighing the implications. There’s a certain inevitability in the offer, a recognition that your paths have been converging since the moment you arrived at Winterfell. You could refuse, insist on keeping your independence, but you know that this is more than just a marriage proposal—it’s a partnership that could shape the course of the war and the future of the realm.

Finally, you meet his gaze, your voice clear and firm. "If this is the path we choose, Lord Stark, know that I will be as fierce in our union as I am in battle. The North will have a wife who is as much dragon as she is Velaryon. But I do not take such matters lightly—if we are to do this, it must be done with respect, trust, and understanding."

Cregan’s smile is genuine, his eyes gleaming with both respect and something warmer. "I would expect nothing less, Y/N. We’ll have much to discuss in the days to come, but I believe this could be the start of something greater than either of us alone."

The weight of his words lingers between you, and as you ride back toward Winterfell together, there’s an unspoken understanding—a shared resolve. You have won the respect of the North, secured their support, and now, perhaps, you are on the verge of something more—an alliance forged not just in duty, but in fire and ice, strength and trust.

[kyri45]

✨ShadowPeach Bio Parents Bio AU Q&A! 28/09✨

Welcome to the Q&A! A space where I can answer related or similar question about the Shadowpeach Bio Parents AU! If you submitted your ask anonimously, then you’ll have to check the whole post if it’s answered here, if it’s not, worry not! Your asks might have been used for a future comic or just in the queue~

Anonimo ha chiesto: I am going to ask you to make a difficult decision… freenoodles or Shadowpeach

(Freenoodles, in my opinion, is just barely better than shadowpeach. Just because of how gay they are in season five. I mean, look at them and tell me they aren’t married.)

Sooo I go with shadowpeach. Freenoodle is like my comfort shit. so many cute and funny shenanigans, for me they are just the married couple who would probably have the healtiest of the relationship. They have teh experience, they went already throught all the "obliviouss-ness" and the "what if they don't love me" yadda yadda.

But Shadowpeach. Ow man. I thought the ineffable housband ship was complex. but god. oh god. how wrong I was. like- these two went from friends, to brothers, to lovers, to enemies, to friends again and to be lover again. They fucked up so much nothing will ever be the same. But they still weak for each other. They are at each other throat and also they know the other in the most intimate way. they are immortal. One of them fucking killed the other. They thought the other left them and betrayed and went both drama to forget (one choose found family, the other murder but anyway-)

Like- WHAT SHIP CAN BE MORE COMPLEX THAN THIS?????

Anonimo ha chiesto: Does MK have a favorite between his bio parents

oUH NO POOR MONKEYS. He doesn't, but he has a favourite depending on the context. Like, for training he prefers Macaque because he explains a lot better than Wukong, but sparring with Wukong is much funnier, but he prefers Macaque scratches and grooming, but he loves Wukong squeezing hugs, etc...

Anonimo ha chiesto: You know, I just realized something. So you know how people in the fandom give Macaque lotus nicknames since his ears kind of resemble lotus flowers. Well since MK has both Wukong and Macaque's ears that kind of makes MK's ears resemble Peace Lilies (which is kind of ironic since MK is the Harbinger of Chaos)

Aww I guess they do look like them!

Anonimo ha chiesto: I may sound a little to mean but Mk din't suspect a thing aout macaques eye? he has multiple forms were his eye is a cross i mean, i would think smt happend to that eye but that just me uu I LOVE UR ART IT MAKES ME WANT TO KMS /POS

He surely suspected something happened to Mac eye but he didn't know how that happened.

@queen-of-purple-roses ha chiesto: I have a question and you don’t have to answer it if you don’t have too; since we’ve seen Macaque feel guilty with how he treated MK in the past, does Monkey King feel guilty about all the dangerous moments that MK was put in, since most if not all of the fighting ends up on MK’s plate and not Wukong’s.

Oh absolutely, the more time passes he feels more and more guilty.

@catbox730 ha chiesto: Can we get more MK and Red Son please

mayyyyyybe. If you guys behave

Anonimo ha chiesto: It would be funny seeing MK‘s dads going to a doctor with him for like getting his wisdom teeth removed or something xD

The parents being extremely worried that something will go wrong while MK is super chill. When the dentist comes out of the operating room they grab him and ask him if he survived while MK is just eating ice cream post-surgery.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Will MK ever fight against one of his parents in a serious battle ? Or be forced to fight one of them ?

mmm. Probably. Maybe in the future they have a discussion. Nothing maybe too serious. But not in the AU plans.

What is Wukongs and/or Macaques biggest nightmare(s) I imagine it would be something like seeing MK die or sacrificing himself again or something like that

I think Wukong is more terrified of being alone. So actually I think it would be worse for him that MK doesn't want to see him anymore.

Anonimo ha chiesto: so who is going to be MK‘s hero that he worships ? I don’t know if he still sees Monkey king in that way after finding out that he is basically his dad and hearing the past the fight with Macaque….

Maybe he wont have any hero. Maybe worshipping someone is not such a healthy thing to do. ( I'm not talking in a religious way of course, I meant worshipping a living normal person)

@emmais333 ha chiesto: Love your MK art. One question how many fights from Wukong and Mac does MK overhear on accident

He heard the first one (and the past one through the vision) then Wkong and Mac started to teleport far away enough so he wont be able to hear them discuss.

Anonimo ha chiesto: What if MK catches Mac and Wukong in the act, not visually, but audibly, like hearing it when going to flower feuit mountain, finding the monkeys in a pile, all traumatized. Or is it too soon? Do they get drunk enough to not care? Do they even drink?

in the....act? (sorry I don't understand stuff if it's not explicited said, like I can't understand double meanings if that was what you meant)

Anonimo ha chiesto: I LOVE YOUR STORY, REALLY!!!! I reread a lot. So lovely. And the Baby MK, I just want to hug so badly 🥺 ( I think Macaque become Protecting mode and he won't let me do it. ) You draw Baby MK so so so cute. My heart can't handle it.❤️ Maybe it's a terrifying idea but I would like know your thoughts. I think that Macaque sleeps very quietly, like a man in a coffin.  + Macaque fell into a very deep DEEP sleep. (maybe because he was tired from fighting demons to protect Baby MK or get injured or something?) = How do you think Sun Wokung will react?

o my god NO DON'T GIVE HIM AN HEARTH ATTACK (heloses one of their immortalities for having the most horrrendous of jumpscares)

@raspberrymixin ha chiesto: AHHH I LOVE YOU SHADOW PEACH BIO AU OMG ITS TO FREAKEN CUTEEEE AAHH I just melt into a puddle! Love you art and make sure to take breaks- anyway- I find it cute how redson interacts with MK I can just imagine him giving him stuff and little gifts and Mk just confused on why but takes it anyway because of friendship and maybe a sign he's trusting more- but MK is just oblivious to the courting- And maybe redson would ask Wukong, Macaque, Tang or pigsy to allow it maybe? And I also love the slow burn! It's just cute on how Macaque and Wukong make each other blush! Awww it's just to cute! I hope you're doing amazing and have a good night/day

Oh man MK would not be able to read a single clue and just think it's a symbol of friendship or wathever. O my god he really did take from his parents (all of them)

fayeangel25 ha chiesto: YOUUU UFUFFHH WHEN I GET YOUUUUU anyways, I wanna see wukong asking macaque about the story of him and mac ( after mamacaque storytelled his lil baby mk ) , cuz i wanna see more flustered macaque!!! Also, 👏 EATING 👏 THIS 👏 AU 👏 UP!!

Hehe he would be a little shy about it. But Macaque is a theater kid so for a bigger audience I guess he would do it.

Anonimo ha chiesto: I feel like I’m new here. What is Court napping?

Consensual Kidnapping with the intend of flirting with another demon.

Anonimo ha chiesto: How many people want to court MK now that he is a real stone monkey AND the son of Wukong and Macaque ?

mmm. Only people close to MK knows that he's the bio kid of shadowpeach. So for now only Red Son

Anonimo ha chiesto: I bet PIF would try to wait for MK to lose the good guy ‘phase’ since she went through that before lmao (forget being good, convert to villainy in the name of love)

Awwww she would!!! But MK is just too good hearted to hurt a fly. (yeah I know he technically has a kill count still-)

Anonimo ha chiesto: MK would obviously call Pigsy "Papa" so what would MK call Tang and Sandy?

I think he would actually call Pigsy "dad" since it's what he calls him that in the show. Maybe it's Tang that gets to be called Papa. I think Sandy is more like an uncle.

@mage-of-words ha chiesto: When will Wukong purpose to Macaque?

WOW- HOLD ON THERE. LET HIM TAKE HIM TO DINNER FIRST.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Omg I wonder if Macaque and Monkey King ever saw MK get really hurt during a battle with a new demon. RIP the Demon bc two feral Monkeys are after them now bc they hurt their kid.

Them to said demon: So you have choosen.... death.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Hear me out, Mac and Wukong in a get along shirt for a day (lost a bet to MK and he planned this too) LOVE YOUR ART TOO ITS SO SCRUMDIDDLYUMPTIOUCIOUS

this is an old ask, sorry for taking so long to answer. But I would say that at this point of the story Wukong would probably be at cloud 9 being squished to super soft macaque all day. Macaque would be like a kitten undecided on wheter he loves or hate the situation (doesn't really likes un-warned physical touch.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Hoi there, I found you again! (Following you on Insta as well because your art is awesome ^^)

Reading your LMK ShadowPeaches comics and they are fun. And now my brain can't help but make up scenarios, one like this one. Oh my, MK is a cute little baby! (^///^) Oh my, MK is a little baby!! ('O_O) Welp, Pigsy is going to kill someone unless Wukong gives baby MK into his arms to calm down and be busy being a dad than a raging Hulk. (:P) Also, I imagine MK accidentally shrinking himself, (Wukong decided to play hide and seek with it only to later on regret it). Wukong would freaking out about it, and Macaque then shook him violently while yelling into his face for losing MK. Then out of Nowhere, Nezha shows up at the door frame and be like 'Um, hey guys. Is this yours?' Points at his nose where tiny baby bean MK was, clinging onto Nezha's nose while giggling.

askjajvbks that's a lovely scene! Unfortunately Nehza can't know yet about MK, but maybe he will...

@lara-legomonkiekid 💜:Hey! I'm here to ask permission!Can I make an art Drawing of your Bio parents AU Meeting One of my AU's?Please?(Mostly Suposed to be Meeting One of my OC's!) (Love Your Art and Comics!!!!)(⁠◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕⁠✿⁠)(⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)

Yeah sure! just be sure to tag me and link the masterpost of the AU

Anonimo ha chiesto: I find it funny how your shadowpeach bio au came from a joke and now.....wow Your art is amazing

My friend even tried to warn me. BUT I DIDN'T LISTEN

Anonimo ha chiesto: I need Freenoodles talking late at night about MK's new situation Will they be worried? Happy? I don't think Pigsy will take it very well that just when he and MK accepted each other as Father and Son, he is (partly) taken away by his biological dads.

Pigsy was mostly worried that Wukong or Macaque would hurt in any way MK. Both ahim and Tang after they saw how much the 2 care about MK calmed down, still they just hope they don't mess up things.

Anonimo ha chiesto: parenting it not just about having fun with your children, but also making sure there are boundaries even if the child isn’t happy about it. So, how would it go if Macaque and Wukong would try to ground MK 😂

MK is a little old for being grounded I think but if they were to do it maybe with something like no training for a week or smt. He's still an adult (i know we sometimes forget)

Anonimo ha chiesto: MK trying to prank his parents and wake them up with a loud instrument or sound. MK forgetting he has sensitive hearing 💀

reverso uno card

Anonimo ha chiesto: Would wukong or MK help macaque in his drawings if he asked 🙃 or if they tried to help him improve

Awww they would!!! Actually what if this creative side of him was something he kind of inherted from Wukong?

[fallensxvior]

Carefully, Yeshua embraced his friend, thumbs pressing carefully to her temples. It was true that the Apple had some.. frustrating side effects on those who ate from the tree- headaches being more than common. But if he could ease it, he would.

"Hold still, sister. I've got you."

Was it an abuse of his powers to mitzvah her migraine away? Maybe. But he didn't really care- helping was helping. And he'd help however he damn well pleased.

" Ah you sweet heart. I feel like absolute garbage today. my head is hurting... the lovely curse of the vast knowledge that I have"

She is groaning a little her head is really fucking hurting her right now.. she just wants to hide her face and scream because of the pulsating feeling in her head

[fallensxvior]

@keenie-bopper followed you!

There was one thing that stung more than watching the new faces that cropped up in Hell. And that was familiar ones.

For if he knew the face, he knew something had happened. And that knowledge- that something had transpired so heavy, that someone he had once adored the visage of would soon join him in damnation? That was a woe he had only grown to taste more by the year.

Keenie had always been a dear one- the lamb was gentle-spirited as best he remembered, and of good disposition. The idea that something would leave her cast down ached him. But he knew that wool, that face, that voice.

There was no mistaking.

"Keenie?"