#<- suppose i should include his legal name

[chipthekeeper]

NOODLES BRIAN APPRECIATION POST

[melodymidway]

Just a few hard pills to swallow about the Westerosi succession for Team Black stans.

The Greens weren't at all delusional or selfish to expect Aegon to be named heir.

As a matter of fact, the firstborn sons of lords and kings become heirs the moment they were born, and without the need for specification. It doesn't matter if the first wife, or the second, or the tenth, has given birth to said son. So when Otto and Alicent advocated for Aegon's birthright, they asked for a basic thing in their time and society. No matter how much people want to ignore this fact and call Aegon 'usurper', his claim was very real and very strong. This is why he, his sons and his brothers would have found themselves on the Wall at best and dead at worst even if they had adhered to Viserys's whims.

Lucerys has zero claim to Driftmark. And no, being the great-great-whatever grandson of Alyssa Velaryon doesn't make the slightest difference.

Not even legitimisation would have helped Luke retain his Velaryon heirship because he isn't a Velaryon. Period. The argument about his being Alyssa Velaryon's descendant, which is somehow supposed to justify the actual usurpation of the other House's seat, is one of the most nonsensical takes I've seen. Naturally, the noble Houses intermarry all the time. If every lord opened his pedigree and decided that he has a claim to his great-grandmother's family's castle, Westeros would drown in blood. That's why succession laws exist, as unfair as they can be. For some reason, I don't see people saying that Doran Martell should be crowned king because he's descended from Daenerys Targaryen.

Women in Westeros can and do inherit. Rhaenyra isn't special.

As the Andal law goes, a son inherits before a daughter, and a daughter inherits before an uncle. While the male primogeniture is a thing, there's a clear clause of female inheritance. Cersei becomes the Lady of Casterly Rock when her brothers are out of picture. Rhaenys operated on the same law while trying to get her lawful heirship. There are cases when uncles attempt to steal their nieces' birthright (as in the situation with Sansa Stark and her uncle Jonnel), but plenty of women do rule their ancestral seats. Saying that Rhaenyra is the first woman to be named heir is wildly inaccurate.

If Rhaenys had ascended the Iron Throne instead of Viserys, the matters of succession wouldn't have changed.

For some reason many people believe that Rhaenys's ascension would have magically wiped out male primogeniture (same for Jace if he had become king). I'm sorry to disappoint, but Laenor would have been Rhaenys's heir, not Laena. The latter would have been made one only if Laenor had met his canon fate and died with no legitimate issue. As I mentioned earlier, Rhaenys strived to get her inheritance based on Andal law, according to which she does have an advantage over her uncle Baelon and his sons. If she had been the older sister of Viserys and Daemon, she wouldn't have pressed her claim. By the same logic, if Viserys had never remarried, Rhaenyra would have had a legal advantage over Daemon (though Jaehaerys's 'brilliant' management of Rhaenys vs Viserys debate might have gotten in the way).

The Greens are pro Andal law, not anti women in power.

And these are two different things since, as it had already been said, the Andal law does include a clause of female inheritance. So no, it isn't hypocritical of Alicent to offer to make Baela heiress of Driftmark. Laenor is dead without legitimate children. Laena is equally dead. The circumstances make Baela a very viable candidate for the Velaryon heirship.

[writingforstraykids]

I keep thinking about dilf!Felix like him being your besties dad or something….

-🎀

I swear I've been staring at this for so long, debating if I should do a full fic or just some thoughts. Well, thank my dear Azzy @galaxycatdrawz for this, because you made his thoughts go wild. Basically I just had to transform his whole little plan into a fic. There will be 2nd chapter (including smut) but have fun with this for now.🖤

Finding home in your heart

Pairing: Felix x fem!reader (mention of Minchan | Jisung)

Word Count: 7571

Summary: Felix got cheated on by his wife repeatedly and ends up heartbroken after the discovery. His adoptive daughter, your best friend, tells you the whole story and asks you to move in as you're struggling to find a place. Your only problem; you had a crush on Felix for ages and living with him isn't making it easier...

Warnings/Tags: angst, emotional hurt!comfort, fluff, insecure!lix, domestic shit, baking, cuddles, slowburn (ig?), first kiss, age difference (8 years, it's legal since this fic is for adults, chill out)

PART TWO

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -

Felix’s love life had been nothing but a steady stream of predictable days blending into years. He would have never doubted his beautiful wife and would have never second-guessed her love for him. They had gotten married early and soon found out his wife was incapable of carrying his children. So, after some consideration, they adopted a young girl and raised her like their own. She had grown into a smart young woman, and Felix couldn’t be more proud of her. Given the age gap of only ten years he had always been rather close with her and later you, her best friend.

One night he decided to surprise his wife, coming home early as his daughter was staying at yours. What greeted him wasn’t the usual warmth and coziness of his home but the sight of his wife in a certain setting no man wants to find the love of his life in with another man. For a moment, Felix found himself frozen in place, the safe foundation of his life slowly crumbling away beneath his feet. He whispered her name in disbelief, only to find out that this had been going on for years. Felix felt like his whole life shattered to pieces and the betrayal left an ugly taste of bitterness on his lips. How the hell was he supposed to get out of this?

-

“And then she just left,” your best friend ends her story, and your eyes grow even wider than they have already been. 

“You’re kidding?” you ask, shocked. 

“Apparently, she said something about how this shit has been going on for years, that she never really loved him, and that she’ll leave until he finds a new place,” she rages on and paces her bedroom angrily. “Oh, and I’m just another burden he talked her into,” she scoffs, and your frown deepens. 

“You won’t stay here, right?” you ask cautiously. You can’t imagine she will, but still. 

“Oh, hell no. I’ll go with Dad, she can piss off,” she shakes her head and drops onto her mattress. “The perk of being not related to her is that I can push her out of my life for good,” she snorts, and you gently pat her back. “I feel so bad for him,” she sighs. 

“It must’ve been a huge shock,” you nod, your heart feeling heavy. Felix has always been kind to you from day one. Whenever your family was struggling, he helped out, even if it was simply by taking you with them to theme parks, the movies, or shopping. Felix was only eight years older than you and ten years older than your best friend, so the older you got, the more he felt like an older friend instead of your best friend’s father. Also, he was stunningly handsome, but that wasn’t relevant right now.

“He’s trying to hide it, but I know how shitty he feels right now,” she tells you worriedly. “I mean, he’s never been with anyone else and-.”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” you assure her gently. “He has such a kind heart, I’m sure someone will love him, truly.”

“I will thoroughly check the next person. You’ll have to help me then, go all detective on them,” she smirks, and you agree, laughing. 

A gentle knock at the door interrupts you, and Felix opens the door flashing you a tired smile as a greeting before glancing at his daughter. “Channie called, he has a spare place we can have.”

“Just like that?” she asks baffled. 

Felix chuckles weakly and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, just like that. I told him I’d pay, but Minho insisted they don’t need the place, and it’s all paid off.”

“How convenient,” she smirks and rolls her eyes. “Typical uncle Min,” she grins.

“Yeah,” he laughs and sighs softly. “You think you can get everything ready in the next few days?”

“You really can’t wait to get out of here, huh?” she laughs, and his smile dies, eyes clouding with pain. 

“Yeah, I guess,” he nods and clears his throat as his daughter looks at him apologetically. “Well, let me know when you’re hungry, and we can order something,” he announces, putting on a smile and quickly pulling the door closed. 

“See?” she whispers. “That’s exactly what I mean.”

You hum gently and pat your best friend’s knee. “Well, I can help you move, I have nothing to do those next few weeks.” 

“You’re so sweet,” she giggles and hops up, ripping the door open. “Dad, Y/nnie says she’s gonna help us move our stuff!” she shouts downstairs. 

“Lovely,” Felix shouts back halfheartedly and flinches as his daughter slams the door closed again. “Fucks sake, this woman,” he snorts and stands still in the living room for a moment. He chews on his lower lip as the many memories he made in this very room crash over him like a wave, trying to drown him. “You’re such a dumbass,” he whispers to himself. 

“No, you’re not, she’s just a massive bitch,” you speak up gently, suddenly standing in the living room with him. 

He blinks at you with wide, confused eyes before a small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “Mhm, you could say that. Doesn’t make me any wiser, letting her fool me for the past ten years,” he huffs softly and rubs his face. “I just feel bad for her,” he says, and you know he means your best friend upstairs. “All I always wanted for her was a stable home after everything she went through.”

“Look at her, you did great,” you tell him, and he chuckles weakly.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you this,” he waves you off and blinks at you surprised as you offer him a hug. He accepts it after a short moment of hesitation and bites back a laugh as you pat his back encouragingly. 

“You’ll be okay…she’ll never find someone better, so fuck her. It’s her loss,” you tell him, and Felix snorts before letting go of you and grabbing his phone. 

“We’ll see,” he hums softly, subtly bringing some distance between the two of you again. “You’re gonna stay for dinner?” he asks, and you gently shake your head. 

“I promised Mum I’d be home for dinner today,” you tell him, and he nods gently.

“You need a ride?” he offers, and you wave him off. 

“I’ll be fine, promise,” you assure him and exchange your goodbyes.

One week later

You put down the boxes you carried inside and look around with wide eyes. “Wow, Min wasn’t lying. This place is huge.”

“Right? I didn’t quite believe it as well,” your best friend giggles and puts down her boxes as well.

“Why would I lie about that, huh?” Minho asks playfully offended, adding some boxes on the floor next to yours. “You think we’d give your dad and you some shabby place? You think that lowly of us?”

Chan pokes his side, making him squeak and giggles as Minho playfully raises his fists to fight him. “Relax, no one’s calling you a liar, baby.”

“Sure hope so,” he teases and naturally intertwines their hands, pulling Chan with him. “You haven’t seen the view from up here yet,” he announces and waves you after him.

You follow the pair of them onto the huge balcony, and your breath hitches. From up here, you can see parts of the city and the ocean, and still it’s so peaceful up here. 

“How’s your dad, kiddo?” Minho asks your best friend after a moment of comfortable silence.

“Worse than he admits,” she answers, and Minho hums gently. “If you ask me, he’s fucking heartbroken and feels worthless. If you ask him, he’s okay and just a little caught up in his thoughts,” she further explains. 

“Give him time,” Chan tells her gently and sighs, looking down at the ocean. “Ten years is a lot, you know?”

The door to the balcony opens, and Felix steps outside, laughing at you all. “Seriously? You’re out here enjoying the view while I’m carrying all those boxes?” he asks, and you all start laughing before hurrying back inside to help him.

Once everything is inside, Minho and Chan give you a tour through the house and you wonder what Felix and your friend would do with all this space. The couple soon leaves again to give them some space to settle in. 

Your best friend strolls through the house and frowns softly. “You’re alright?” Felix asks her, frowning softly. “I know it’s not home, but we can make it work, it’ll just need some time and-.”

“Dad, home is wherever you are, relax,” she laughs, and Felix nods, stunned, looking adorably touched by her words. “I just…this place is huge.”

“It is,” he nods. “I have no idea what the hell they had planned for this.”

“Nothing useful, as Min put it,” you chime in, and Felix grins at your remark.

“I’ll feel so lonely here if you’re at work,” she speaks up after a moment, and Felix’s face softens.

“Dear, there’ll be a point in your life when you move out and everything. I won’t always be around,” he says, and she glares at him. 

“Don’t say shit like that, you’re only ten years older than I am, it’ll take a while,” she points out, and he snorts but gives in, remaining quiet. “Y/nnie, how’s the hunt for a flat going?” she asks.

“I already told you it’s shit,” you sigh softly, not quite picking up on her true intentions behind that question. “It’s either too expensive or so much out of town it’s not exactly convenient.”

“Oh, you’re going to move out?” Felix asks, busying himself with one of the boxes.

“I want to, my parents could use the space for something else,” you nod.

“Dad?” she asks, drawing out the word with a sweet tone. 

“What do you want?” he asks, not even looking up.

“She could move in with us,” she says, and you frown at her. Felix looks up, confused, and tilts his head at her. “She can’t find a place, I worry about getting lonely here…you could use some more company as well before you’re fully depressed and-.”

“Will you stop?” he snaps at her. “I’m not depressed, I’m fine besides the fact that I got cheated on after wasting ten years of my life,” he continues and shakes his head at her. “Stop reading into it that much, I’ll start believing you at this point.”

You lower your gaze at the floor and awkwardly shuffle on your feet. “Gosh, relax,” she sighs. “That just proved my point.”

Felix throws the contents of the box back inside and pushes himself up. “I’m getting some fresh air. And yes, you can move in if you want to, it’s not like we’d lack space or whatever,” he says before leaving the two of you. 

“Nice one,” you sigh softly. 

“What?” she groans and rolls her eyes. “You know I’m right.”

“And that makes it better?” you chuckle, and she huffs softly. “Fine, fine, I’ll go apologize…but would you?”

“I don’t know,” you sigh softly. “I’d feel like I’m intruding,” you argue gently. 

“Never,” she shakes her head firmly. “Also, you’re here every day anyway, so nothing changes,” she grins before sighing softly. “Dad?” she shouts, and you roll your eyes at her.

Should you? Move in with your best friend and her heartbroken, conveniently handsome adoptive father? That could only go wrong, right?

You join them on the balcony and sigh softly, meeting your best friend’s eyes. “Fine, I’ll do it.”

She shouts in joy and pulls you into a tight hug, hopping excitedly. “You’re the best best friend I could’ve ever wished for!”

“Yeah, yeah,” you chuckle and roll your eyes playfully, catching Felix smirking at the two of you.

Three weeks later

You hum to yourself as you make your way from the kitchen to the living room area. Your best friend is staying the night at her boyfriend’s, and Felix is out on Stray Kids duty, as you jokingly call it. So, for now, you have the whole house to yourself. You moved in fully about two weeks ago, and your new room is bigger than you ever dared to imagine. There’s an attached bathroom as well, and your few things look ridiculous, trying to fill up all that space you have now. 

You grab your phone and check your messages before scrolling through some news. Refreshing the page, a new article appears on top, and you realize it’s about Felix. Curiously, you click on it, and your eyes widen, realizing it’s about what happened with his wife. You read through it and smile sadly; Felix seems to have tried putting it as respectfully and vague as he could. You don’t support what that woman did for years one bit, but you also know how their fans can get so you’re glad Felix tries to stay neutral in public.

You glance up from your phone as the front door opens downstairs, and Felix comes up the stairs only a little later. Looking at him, you can tell he was crying, and your heart sinks to your stomach, seeing how tired he looks. His eyes meet yours, and you swallow softly as he stops in his tracks as if he just remembered you live here as well. “You’re okay?” you ask softly, and for the first time in weeks, Felix shakes his head.

“Not really, no,” he admits, his voice a little raspy. You can tell he’s fighting back tears, and you gently pat the spot next to you on the sofa. Felix momentarily searches your eyes before moving forward and dropping down on the sofa next to you. “I know it’s my own fault because I took off my wedding ring but I didn’t expect them to ask already,” he tells you quietly and nervously fidgets with his hands. “Chan told me to be honest before she comes up with something that’ll drag me down.”

“I think you’ve handled it quite well,” you tell him gently, and he groans in response.

“Already online, huh?” he sighs, and you hum softly. Felix throws his head back against the sofa and stares up at the ceiling. You can’t help but take in his side profile and let your eyes wander down his neck. “I hate this.”

“Hate what?” you ask gently.

“I have to have an explanation for everything as if I’d know why she cheated. Maybe it’s because I’ve been gone often with all our schedules. Maybe she got bored. Maybe she just saw past that facade of fame and sunshine behavior and realized I’m not as lovable as everyone thinks I am,” he huffs, making you frown at him. “Maybe she never loved me in the first place, and I can’t even blame her for that.”

“Stop it now,” you scold him firmly and Felix turns his head, blinking at you. “Have you ever considered that maybe she’s just a massive bitch and there is absolutely nothing wrong with you?”

“Not really, no,” he shakes his head and sits up straight again. “That’s rather unlikely, isn’t it? There’s always a reason people cheat.”

“Sometimes it’s simply stupidity,” you insist. “Not everything is your fault, Felix.”

“Why does it feel like it then?” he asks quietly, and your heart breaks at the desperate glint in his eyes. “Why does it feel like I’m the one who fucked it all up? And why doesn’t she care one bit, and I’m here feeling like complete shit?”

“Because you loved her,” you say quietly and watch his face fall. “She didn’t try to make it right, did she? She didn’t protest when you suggested a divorce.” Felix shakes his head, eyes brimming with tears. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe she never loved you for who you truly are. Maybe all she saw was the fame, the money, the places you went to…but how is that your fault?”

“I…I should’ve known,” he says quietly, his lower lip quivering a little. 

“You can’t know that shit if they’re good at hiding and pretending. Who knows how long she could’ve kept up that show if you hadn’t come home early that day?” you ask, and Felix avoids your observant gaze, staring down at his hands. “The only thing you’re at fault for is beating yourself up for this and thinking you’re worthless.”

Felix remains quiet and presses his lips together tightly as hot tears run down his cheeks. His hair falls into his face as his head hangs low, and you can only tell as he sniffles softly. You hesitantly reach out for him and rub his back soothingly. Felix whispers an apology and buries his face in his hands, a quiet sob rippling through his body. You don’t know where you get the confidence from, but you move before you can reconsider what you’re about to do. Wrapping your arm around him, you pull him into a warm embrace and gently rub his shoulder. Felix tenses up briefly before he relaxes into your touch, allowing himself the comfort you spend. 

It doesn’t last for all too long, and Felix pushes himself off the sofa, messily wiping his cheeks. “Sorry, I shouldn’t-,” he stammers and exhales shakily. “I shouldn’t dump this all on you.”

“I don’t-” you start and shut your mouth as he raises his hand to stop you. 

“I know you don’t mind. I know,” he says and shakily wipes his cheek. “That doesn’t make it any better. I appreciate you trying to help, but I’ll go before I start unloading even more nonsense,” he sniffles and flashes you a sad smile. “Thank you, though.”

“You’re welcome,” you nod gently and watch him leave. Only then do you notice your heart racing in your chest and the wet patch of his tears in your sweater. “So much to keeping boundaries, Y/n,” you scold yourself, rubbing your face tiredly.

Felix closes the door to his room and buries his face in his hands with a soft groan. “What the fuck are you doing?” he whispers and stands still for a moment. What is he doing, sobbing in his daughter’s best friend’s arms? Is he going insane? Felix closes his eyes and tries to forget how comfortable your hug felt, how good you smelled, and how soothing your presence was to him. “Fuck,” he whispers into the emptiness of his room.

One week later

Your heart thumps loudly in your chest as you walk down the hallway, clutching your visitor pass. Your best friend asked you to pick up Felix from work tonight because she had to work late and would then stay at her boyfriend's again. Would he think weirdly of you for it? He's been avoiding you a little after that emotional breakdown a week ago, and you can't blame him. 

You reach Chan's studio and knock gently, letting yourself in. 

“Oh, Y/nnie,” Chan greets you cheerfully. 

“Haven't seen you here in a while,” Minho adds curiously. 

“Yeah, uh, I have to pick up Felix,” you say, and they frown. 

“I thought-”

“No, she's working late and staying at her boyfriend's or something like that,” you shrug your shoulders. 

“She asks you to move in so she isn't lonely and leaves all the time,” Minho shakes his head, amused. “Well, at least someone's keeping an eye on Lix, then.”

“Mhm, yeah,” you nod. “Where is he?”

“In the practice room down the hallway. Uh…he's in a shit mood today,” Minho tells you. 

“Define shit mood,” you chuckle. 

“Everything is shit, nothing works, he's useless,” Chan sighs softly and shakes his head. “We tried.”

You sigh heavily and roll your eyes. “Fine, I'll do my best.”

“Good luck,” Chan giggles. 

Only a little later, you open the door to the practice room and slip inside. You frown as you spot Felix stretched out on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. “I swear, Channie, if you're here to tell me another bad joke that's supposed to make me laugh, I'll snap,” he announces. 

You stop next to him and tilt your head at him. “Not Channie,” you say. “What's that supposed to be?” you ask, vaguely waving at his current position. 

“It's my new favorite yoga position called utter depression,” he says dryly and throws you a peace sign. “That's I'm a failure, what's your name?”

“Chan wasn't lying,” you nod slowly. 

“Did Chan call you? Seriously?” he asks, sitting up on his elbows. 

“No. In fact, it was your lovely daughter asking me to come pick you up. She's working late, and then she'll stay over at her boyfriend's.”

“I still can't believe she asked you to move in so she wouldn't be lonely, and now she's barely home,” Felix snorts and groans softly. 

“Mhm, you guys are repeating yourselves, Min said the same thing,” you tell him and gently poke his side with your shoe. “What's going on, Mr. utter depression?” 

“Nothing, as you can see,” he sighs. “I fucked up during practice today. Minho only didn't call me out for all the mistakes because he felt sorry for me at the time,” he tells you. 

“And that led you down the good old road to self-hatred?” you ask, sitting down on the floor next to him. 

“Maybe,” he answers vaguely. 

“Surely,” you correct him. “Lix?” you ask gently, and he turns his head toward you. “Have you eaten yet?”

“No,” he shakes his head as his eyes trace your features. 

“We could take a walk and grab some food on the way. We don't have to talk or anything. It's just for you to clear your head and empty all that garbage you keep up there,” you tell him, tugging a small smile at the corner of his lips. 

“Yeah, okay,” he nods. 

You exchange your goodbyes with Min and Chan, who secretly throw some hearts your way when Felix isn't looking. Idiots. 

-

After that evening, it all got easier again. You didn't talk much that day, but the fresh air, bright lights, and warm food had lightened Felix's mood immensely. Over the following two weeks, you two grew closer, and Felix allowed himself to be more open. With your best friend gone quite frequently, it was often only you and him. 

The more time you spent together, the more you realized how ridiculously perfect Felix was. His beautiful brown eyes, soft features adorned by all those sweet freckles, and blond hair falling around his face made your stomach flip. His sweet smile and even prettier laugh made you feel like winning a trophy every time you were the reason for it. He's so kind and polite that it makes your head spin. 

Felix can't quite stop himself from looking at you whenever you don't notice. The more time you spend, the more he notices how beautiful you are. How caring and gentle. Your smile brightens his days and he can't fully shake the longing to be in your arms again off. He hasn't felt as comfortable around someone in a while, and there's a lingering worry in the back of his head telling him that he really shouldn't allow himself to fall for you. It only gets worse watching you doing the most mundane things and wishing that you wouldn't leave again. 

-

Another two weeks later your best friend announces she'll be abroad for a holiday with her boyfriend for two weeks. Two weeks. It'll only be Felix and you for fourteen days. That thought wasn't helping your anxious heart, trying not to fall for him at all. 

You decided to make the best out of it and forget about your worries. Seeing Felix smile again was all that counted. 

The first morning, Felix tiredly strolls down the hallway from his room and stops in his tracks when he sees you at the stove. A sweet scent lingers in the kitchen, and he realizes you're making pancakes for breakfast. His heart picks up pace, and he takes a deep breath, reminding himself to act normal. “Morning,” he says, not knowing that his even deeper morning voice sends shivers down your spine. 

“Good morning,” you smile at him, bright as ever. He has to look somewhere else to stop himself from blushing. “Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes,” you tell him, and he hums softly. 

Felix sits down at the kitchen island and watches you thoughtfully. It's ridiculous how used to your presence he got over the past few weeks. Almost as if he couldn't imagine it any other way anymore. “Do you have any plans for today?” he asks and you shake your head as you put the pancakes on a big plate. 

“Why?” you ask curiously and turn off the stove. 

“Uh, I was thinking about painting her room since she wanted a new color so badly…I was wondering if you'd like to help?” he asks nervously. 

You put down the plate and nod. “Sure, why not?” 

Felix flashes you a sweet smile and thanks you as you hand him a plate with some pancakes. They're so fluffy they almost melt on his tongue, and he has trouble biting back a moan. “Oh, they're amazing,” he tells you and notices the subtle blush settling on your cheeks. 

“Thank you,” you smile almost shyly. 

Seriously, can't you give him a break? 

-

After breakfast, Felix takes a quick shower, and you put on some clothes that could be ruined by the paint. You meet again in your best friend's room, and you smile at how soft Felix looks in a pair of gray sweatpants and a wide sweater. You pull all the furniture away from the walls, covering everything up before Felix shows you how to apply the paint properly. In the beginning, you're both quietly working and it feels peaceful, just focusing on painting for now. Then Felix starts talking, trying to kill the silence. “I signed the divorce papers yesterday,” he says casually, and you need a moment to figure out how to answer. 

“Congratulations?” you chuckle, and he laughs, realizing how out of pocket this has been.

“Sorry, that was pretty random,” he apologizes. 

“No, it's fine. I'm glad you did,” you say, and he glances at you, making you ramble on quickly. “I mean, it's the right thing to do. Did you settle on anything? Does she demand stuff?”

“If she doesn't want my legal team to be less nice about the reason we're getting a divorce than I was, then she won't,” he tells you and sighs softly. “She has the old house, and I don't have to pay her anything. I'm glad when we're done with the whole process,” he admits tiredly. 

“I bet you are,” you nod gently. “You deserve some peace after everything,” you say, and he hums softly, pressing his lips together briefly. “We can stop talking about it,” you assure him gently, and Felix nods thankfully. 

“We need more paint,” he states. 

“Well, we should let this dry anyway for today,” you nod and flash him a gentle smile. “We could go buy some more and then call it a day?”

“Sounds good,” he nods, rubbing his face tiredly, and turns toward you fully now. 

“You've got some paint on your cheek,” you say, and he blindly reaches out to wipe it off. He doesn't quite get it and you step in front of him, reaching out for him. “Let me help,” you say and gently rub your thumb over his cheek, wiping the still fresh paint off. 

Felix freezes in place, staring at you as you do so. He feels like the world stops for a moment but then your soft touch is already gone again. He exhales a breath he didn't know he was holding in and follows you outside. Fucks sake. 

-

You wander through the store next to him and you end up buying some more stuff to decorate the house a little more. Felix's phone rings and you can tell it's Chan by the way his face lights up. He nudges your side after a moment. “You're hungry?”

“I could eat,” you nod.

“Min and Chan ask if we wanna stop by,” he tells you, and you shrug your shoulders. 

“Sure, why not?” 

Only shortly after, you reach their house, and your eyes widen, spotting the two small kittens on the carpet. “Oh, you have new ones?” you ask excitedly and Minho looks at you as if he's going to hit you. 

“Or not?” you ask, chuckling. 

Chan gently pokes his cheek and grins at you. “Yeah, we got them like a week ago,” he nods, and you crouch down as they make their way over. 

“Can I hold them?” you ask, looking at Minho, and his face softens. 

“If they let you,” he nods and tells you to sit down on the floor. 

He picks up the first one and gently hands it over to you, making sure you hold it right. “He's usually very calm, so if you don't move too quickly, you should be fine,” he tells you and sits down, grabbing the second one. “She's a little rascal,” he smirks and gently scratches her head. 

“They're so tiny,” you say, amazed. 

“Here, he loves those,” Chan says, handing you a little treat. 

You hold out your hand for the kitten, and he doesn't waste much time. You giggle at his tiny tongue licking over your palm and beam at Minho excitedly. Chan passes Minho and gently runs his hand through his hair mindlessly. Minho smiles softly and looks up at him so full of love you can't help but wish you'd find someone you shared the same type of deep love with. “Wanna help me set the table, Lix?” he asks, and Felix hums, following him, not after a quick glance in your direction to make sure you're alright. 

Soon after, you're all gathered around the table, and you all thank Minho for cooking. Chan glances at Felix after a while and seems to debate whether he should ask what's going through his head. “Lix?” he asks, and his friend turns toward him. “How are you holding up?”

“I'm fine,” he smiles tiredly, and you know the question starts to bother him by now. 

“You said that from day one,” Minho chuckles and tilts his head at him. 

“No, I am. I signed the papers yesterday and then soon it'll all be over,” he explains. 

“Have you met anyone new?” Minho asks curiously. “I mean, it's been almost two months.”

“Mhm, after ten years of a fake marriage. I still have time, don't you think?” he asks sourly. 

Chan steps in, trying to ease the mood. “We're just worried about you getting lonely, Lix,” he tells him. 

“I'd rather be lonely than that,” he says and rolls his eyes at them. “Not everyone finds the one and lives happily ever after from day one on,” he says, looking at the two of them. 

“That's hardly realistic, nothing was perfect from day one,” Minho shakes his head. 

“Not really, no,” Chan snorts and winks at him. 

“Well, you're not me, so…,” Felix says quietly, and the mood changes. 

“Meaning?” Minho asks patiently, even though you can tell he’d rather punch some sense into him.

Felix puts down his chopsticks and sighs heavily. “I'm way too emotional, I'm too shy to approach anyone or initiate anything further, I mess up stuff constantly and-.”

“Will you stop?” you cut him off, and everyone looks at you as if they're remembering you're still here. “You keep on talking shit about yourself, and you don't even realize you're letting her win.”

“I'm not letting her—” he frowns. Chan is about to speak up, but Minho stops him, resting his hand on his. 

“Yes, you are. She used you for years, and you're still letting her by making it all your fault. As if she had no other choice but to go off and fuck around with whoever she found moderately fuckable,” you say, and he blinks at you, stunned as Chan chokes on his breath. “You're talented at what you do, you're hardworking, and you're one of the most caring people I know. You didn't have to, but you always made me feel at home when I visited your daughter. You haven't done any differently since I moved in, and as long as you aren't talking shit about yourself, you're pretty funny. And-.”

“Y/nnie,” he says softly, and it's the first time he's called you that. “Eat up; it's going to get cold.” 

You quickly shut your mouth, ears burning up as you realize you've just been pretty open in front of Minho and Chan. “Yeah, okay, you better shut up then…respectfully.”

“Message received,” he smiles gently. 

Minho raises his eyebrows and glances at Chan before moving his eyes between the two of you. Chan frowns before his eyes widen, and he squints at him. Minho widens his eyes and puts on a little passive aggressively encouraging smile, signaling him that, yes, he is VERY right about this. 

“You can stop the eye fuckery over there, I'll get sick,” Felix calls them out, and you frown softly at Minho's mischievous grin. 

“Y/n, what about you?” Minho asks curiously. 

“You're playing cupid as a side business, or what is this?” you ask right back. 

“Simply interested,” he gives back. 

“I'm single if you must know so badly, and no, my self-esteem isn't drowning as much as Lix’s,” you say, and Felix pokes your side, protesting softly. 

Chan watches you quietly before glancing at his husband and humming softly. Minho simply smirks. 

Later, when it's time to leave, you hold your hand out for Felix, and he tilts his head at you questioningly. “Keys, please,” you smile. 

“Huh?” he asks, amused. 

“You had two drinks, I didn't have any, and I'm driving,” you tell him, stretching your hand out once more. 

“Listen to her, Yongbokie,” Minho tells him, and Felix gives in and hands you the keys. 

-

“That was really sweet,” Felix says, almost too quiet to hear. 

“The kittens?” you giggle. 

“Mhm, yeah, they too,” he nods and glances over at you. “I meant what you said…I uh... thanks.”

“Oh,” you nod and feel your heart warming at the softness in his eyes. “I meant it.”

“I know,” he whispers and can barely meet your eyes. 

“You should give yourself more credit. Try seeing yourself through the eyes of the people you mean something to from time to time,” you say, parking the car in front of the house. 

Felix looks at you, a little stunned. “I mean something to you?” he asks softly. 

“Well, of course you do, Lixie,” you smile and lean over, brushing his hair back for him. 

“Yeah?” he asks, eyes traveling down to your lips before he can fight it. 

“Mhm,” you hum softly and search his eyes. Suddenly, you move forward and your lips meet in a soft kiss that has him melting in his seat. He reaches up to bury his hand into your hair and-.

“Felix? Felix, wake up,” you say gently. 

“Huh?” he asks confused. 

“Wake up, Lix, come on,” you say softly, daring to brush a loose strand from his face. “Come on, let's get you upstairs.”

Felix blinks at you drowsily and needs a moment to realize he's been dreaming—dreaming of kissing you. His face burns up red with embarrassment as your gentle eyes meet his, and he shoots out of his seat. “Yeah, sorry,” he stammers, and you watch him a little confused. 

“You're okay?” you ask, closing the door for him.

“Sure, why wouldn't I be?” he asks, laughing nervously. Don't look at the lips. Don't. 

“Man, you're weird when you get woken up,” you shake your head and unlock the front door, letting him in. Felix stumbles taking off his shoes, making you laugh. “Is alcohol having such an effect on you?”

“Mhm, yeah,” he lies, spotting his lifeline. 

“Well, let's get you to bed then,” you say and gently pat his back, shoving him inside. 

“I'll make it on my own, thank you,” he quickly says and wishes you a good night. He throws himself face forward onto his bed and groans into his blanket. “Fuck, no, Lix, you can't.” He turns onto his back and stares up at the ceiling, brushing his fingers over his lips. Groaning softly, he fumbles for his phone; he needs some clarity now. 

“It's late, what the fuck, mate?”

“Jisungie, I fucked up,” Felix whines softly. 

“Oh, please don't tell me you're drunk,” Jisung sighs softly. “Do I have to pick you up somewhere?”

“No,” he quickly assures him. “I just…there's this certain someone I can't stop thinking about, and…Ji, it's wrong!”

“I don't like the sound of this,” he states calmly. “Go on.”

And Felix does, spilling all his hurt, feelings of emptiness, and worthlessness. Telling him how you mend his heart, fill his entire being with happiness, and make him feel loveable. He confesses how he can't stop thinking about you, worrying how messed up this could get. 

Jisung lets him ramble on and nods gently once he's done. “That's fucked up, mate.”

“I know,” he whispers. 

“No, I don't think you know how bad that bitch fucked you up,” Jisung says, and Felix is too stunned to speak for a second. “Fucks sake, Lix! Where's my pretty boy getting all the girls, huh? When did you get all shy and scared? Did she fuck up your self-esteem that badly?”

“Ji, you're missing the point here,” he insists. “Everyone would think I'm using her, she's eight years younger. They'll make her a victim and-.”

“Lix,” he cuts him off firmly. “I'm that victim you're describing here, you do know that, right? My hubby is ten years older, Hyune’s wife is six years younger, and no one gives a fuck,” he tells him. “The thing you really can't take is the fact that she's your daughter's best friend.”

“That surely doesn't help,” he groans. 

“Well, technically-.”

“She's my daughter, you can try and twist this how you want,” he shakes his head. “And she'll hate me if I act upon my feelings for Y/n.”

“All she wanted was for you to be happy. Why not with Y/nnie?” he asks gently. “Listen, buddy, you gotta figure out what you really want and then act accordingly. Stop sending her signals if you don't want this to evolve into something more.”

“I know,” he sighs softly. Fuck. 

-

“Can you get the eggs?” you ask him as you pour some sugar into a bowl, weighing its content as you do. 

“Sure,” Felix nods and his hand rests on your lower back for a brief moment, notifying you of him standing behind you to stop you from bumping into him. 

You swallow softly at the lingering touch, and it's already gone again before you can't think much of it. Felix got home from the studio about an hour ago, and you two decided to surprise your best friend with a cake for her birthday tomorrow. At least she had planned to come back again for it. After quickly buying the ingredients, you two got busy in the kitchen. He's unusually clumsy, your hands brushed against each other four times already since you've started and you already bumped heads, both wanting to grab something off the floor he dropped. The brief touches and his soft eyes combined with that shy smile are slowly driving you insane. 

Once you're all done you put it in the oven and set a timer, cleaning up the kitchen for now. You'll still need a few things for the icing later but you get rid of most of the mess for now. After loading the dishwasher, the 25 minutes are over, and Felix carefully takes it out. You leave it there to cool and throw yourself on the sofa. 

Felix joins you and turns on the TV, putting on the next episode of the series you've recently started watching together. After a while, your head slowly drops onto his shoulder and it takes him a moment to realize you fell asleep. He cautiously wraps his arm around you to make you more comfortable and lets you rest against his chest. He tries not to think too much of it and chews on his lower lip nervously as he tries to pay attention to the screen. 

As much as he tries to fight it, he's exhausted from their intense practice today, and his eyes grow heavier with every minute. It doesn't take long and he falls asleep as well, getting more comfortable and dragging you down with him in his sleep. 

You wake up in his arms, your head resting on his chest. Your eyes widen in shock, and you fight the urge to jump up and get as far away from him as possible. You barely dare to lift your head. Glancing down at him, your heart skips a beat at how soft and vulnerable he looks in his sleep. His chest is slowly rising and falling, his hair hangs into his face and he looks so soft it makes you want to squish his cheeks. You admire the beautiful freckles painting his face as the fading sun caresses his golden skin. Gosh, he's pretty. 

He moves in his sleep, tightening his grip around you and rolling you both onto your sides. Burying his face in your neck, he lets out a content sigh and pulls you in close. You bite your lip and curse yourself for wanting this so badly. You should really wake him up…but you couldn't. Not when he had a long day and finally got some rest. Not when he looked this content and peaceful. You couldn't. 

You timidly rest your chin on his fluffy hair and wait for a moment, but he doesn't seem to mind. Carefully, you fondle his back and rest your hand between his shoulder blades. He doesn't stir one bit, and you decide to try sleeping some more as well. 

-

You wake up again when he stretches in your arms, pulling back with a soft groan. Felix squints at you drowsily before he slowly picks up on your current situation. A blush creeps up his neck and colors his cheeks and ears. He pulls away and rolls onto his back with a soft sound, rubbing his face tiredly. “Sorry,” he mumbles. 

“For what?” you ask gently. 

“Uh…this,” he awkwardly gestures between the two of you. “I uh…I tend to get cuddly when I fall asleep. I didn't want to make you uncomfortable or-.”

“You didn't,” you say firmly, and he slowly glances at you. 

“No?” he asks quietly. 

“Not at all,” you assure him, and he hums gently in response. “You seemed like you needed it, so I let you sleep a little longer.”

“Oh,” he nods dumbly and searches your eyes timidly. “Okay.”

“Yeah,” you nod and smile at him. “I think we can finish the cake by now.”

“Probably,” he laughs and sits up. 

The pair of you soon gets busy in the kitchen again and Felix turns on the mixer to finish the icing for the cake. It's a little too fast, and some of it lands on his sweater. “Fucks sake,” he curses softly before slowing it down. 

You laugh at him, and he turns to you, raising his eyebrows. “Oh, you got some on your face,” you giggle and step in front of him. You cup his face gently with one hand, rubbing your other thumb across the icing on his forehead. “Keep still, Lixie,” you say and don't quite notice his lips parting at the new nickname. You move further down, wiping the bits on his cheek off, and only then you meet his eyes. They're wide and filled with thousands of questions and insecurities. “You're okay?” you ask worriedly. 

Felix blinks at you before very slowly shaking his head. “I'm not okay,” he says, and you turn off the mixer, bathing the room in silence. 

“What's wrong?” you ask and want to pull your hand off his face, but his hand wraps around your wrist keeping you there. 

“I…,” he trails off, sinking deeper into your eyes, and you can see the sudden longing in them. It's pure and innocent, making you all dizzy the longer you look at him. “You're driving me nuts,” he confesses. 

“Breathe,” you tell him before experimentally brushing your thumb over his lips. He exhales shuddery, eyes fluttering close at your touch. “Can I kiss you?” you ask. 

“What?” he squeaks, eyes snapping back open. 

“You heard me,” you say and tilt your head at him. “Can I?” Felix gulps before nodding timidly. You close the distance between the two of you, and your lips brush against his. A soft, quiet sound escapes him and then you're cupping his face and kissing him. Felix melts into the kiss, body searching yours as he grips your waist and stumbles a little, shoving you against the kitchen counter. He pulls back only to catch his breath and presses his forehead against yours. “You're okay?” you ask again. This time, he nods. 

“Yeah,” he whispers with a soft smile. “I'm okay...”

PART TWO

MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES

Taglist: (Please let me know if you want to be added to/removed from the taglist!)

@atinyniki @galaxycatdrawz @silverstarburst @kailee08 @mal-lunar-28 @lilmisssona @aaa-sia @kthstrawberryshortcake @channieaddict @soullostinspaceandtime @michelle4eve @lixie-phoria @xxstrayland @kibs-and-bits @mellhwang @ihrtlix @pheonixfire777 @palindrome969 @harshaaaaa

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Retrogradation

Warnings: non/dubcon, coercion and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Part of Roo’s Pajama Party (October 7-8)

Prompt: Retrogradation - a backward movement. (List of prompts here) + this look

Note: Please leave some feedback and reblog <3 As always, I love to chat with you all. I hope you enjoy this one and have a lovely weekend.

This isn’t how you saw things going. Nothing ever really goes how you expect. You think you’d be used to it by now. That after all the disappointment, you would give up hope. You tried that too but it still hurts. 

You pull the blanket over the couch. You don’t anticipate a good sleep. The springs are broken and squeaky and the cushions not quite thick enough to pad the jabbing metal. You can’t complain, it’s somewhere to lay your head. That morning, you didn’t have even that. 

You try to fluff up the slightly dingy pillow. You just as sad for your brother as for yourself. This isn’t anyway to live. Thin walls, noisy neighbours, and that constant stale smell that doesn’t go away. Even so, you won’t spurn his kindness. It’s all you have. 

You can at least be grateful for the solitude. He left about an hour ago, said he’d be back in a few hours. You didn’t ask why. He’s an adult and you’re sure he has more to worry about than his errant sister. 

Before you can recline, footsteps make their way steadily down the hall. You stop and listen, watching the crack beneath door. For a moment, you think it’s just your brother but the knock that follows assures you otherwise. He wouldn’t do that. 

Hm. Maybe you should ignore it. If it’s his friend, they might assume that he’s not there. They knock again. It would be rude to not answer. What if it’s an emergency? 

You get up and cross to the door. You pause for just a moment as you think about how short your pajamas are. How the top is a bit too loose so that the top button hangs a bit lower than it should. They won’t think about that. 

You open the door and choke on your voice. You’re so stunned to see Mr. Smith there, you’re certain you’re dreaming. You must have fallen asleep and not even realised. You stare as his lashes flick to mirror your surprise. 

“Eh, think I might have the wrong place,” he says. “Sorry, love.” 

“That’s quite alright. It’s... do you remember me, Mr. Smith?” 

“Oh, yes, I do recall,” his cheek twitches, “you moved on from the kiosk, yes?” 

“I moved to the home store, sir,” you explain. He was a regular down at the south end location when you worked at the small coffee pop-up near the train station. “How are you doing?” 

He looks back and forth evasively and fixes his glasses, “very good, love. As ever.” He turns back to you. “And you...” his eyes wander up the splintering door frame, “suppose serving medium roast to the masses doesn’t pay much.” 

“It’s money. This... I’m...” you’re suddenly very self-conscious. Having to say it aloud is harder than you expect. “My brother’s letting me stay over. Just until I find a new place.” 

“Oi? What happened then?” He asks with a tweaked brow. 

“Evicted. They’re upgrading my flat to let at a higher price.” 

“Hm, I don’t think that’s very legal.” 

“I didn’t either,” you shrug. “Anyhow, I hope you find whoever you’re looking for.” 

“Me too. Say, I know it’s not your neighbourhood but you wouldn’t happen to know where I might find a lad by the name of Alex?” 

“Alex?” You echo and add your last name. “That’s my brother. How do you know him?” 

His blue eyes flicker and he takes a deep breath. His cheek ticks again. He smooths his hand over his slicked back hair. 

“Is he in?” He asks. 

“Not at the moment. Can I help? I can tell him you stopped by.” You offer. 

“Mm, well, it’s rather urgent. Any way you can tell me where he is?” 

You frown, “I can give him a call but I don’t know where he’s off to.” 

“That’ll do then.” 

There’s a solemnness to his agreement. He hardly seems happy about your solution. It is rather late. You suppose he doesn’t want to be waiting around all night. 

“Would you like to wait inside?” You ask. 

His cheek dimples and gives a single nod, “alright then.” 

You step back as he enters. You spin in search of your phone as the door clicks shut gently. You scoop up your phone and filter through for your brother’s number. You tap call and put the phone to your ear. Your keenly aware of Mr. Smith pacing by the door. It must be urgent with how restless he is. 

No pick up. You try a second time to the same end. You leave a voice mail then text for good measure. You shrug as you face Mr. Smith. 

“Sorry, sir, he’s not pickin’ up. Should I tell him you stopped by?” 

“Mm, you think he’ll be back soon?” 

“Well, he left a bit ago. I’m sure he’ll be back soon. If you want to stick around, I guess you can.” 

“Sorry if I'm imposing. I don’t mean to.” 

“No, it’s fine. Not my place,” you go to the couch and fold up the blanket and stack it on the pillow. You turn back to him once more. “Would you like a cuppa? I think Alex’as at least a few bags in the cupboard.” 

“Thank you but I’m alright,” he waves you off. “Your brother... you’re close to him?” 

“Erm, he’s my brother. We’ve not been very chummy since we were kids,” you shrug. You notice how his eyes flit around the room. You squint. “Are you looking for something?” 

His blue eyes meet yours. His jaw ticks and a dire shadow fills his eyes. You squirm. 

“You’ve any idea what business your brother’s mixed up with?” He asks. 

You swallow and shake your head, “he works down at the garage, I think.” 

“Oh, does he? And he lives here? Known some mechanics in my day, they take home a decent pay,” he says. “Yet he’s livin’ in a slum like this.” 

“Well, er, I...” a trickle flows down your spine. “Mr. Smith, why are you looking for me brother?” 

His eyes drop and he tilts his head. He sighs. He tucks his hands into his pockets before he looks at your again. 

“He’s taken something from me.” 

You stare at him. His tone, his posture, his very gaze, you know what he truly means. Alex has stolen from him. But what? 

“Well, why don’t we have a look around and see if we can find it--” you suggest. 

“That won’t do. It isn’t the sort of thing you just give back and call it even,” he says dully. His demeanour shifts with his timbre. He steps closer and you shy away. “And I’m not the sort to let that sort of thing go.” 

You know Alex lies. You know better than to buy into his stories but you wanted to believe. You wanted to hope. Still, even after all is lost, you really, truly wanted it all to turn out. 

“Oh,” you swallow.  

“You see, he’s crossed me. I’m not a man to be crossed and this isn’t it about getting back what he stole. It’s about the principle of it all. About teaching him a lesson,” he comes close until you have nowhere to go. Until he is right in front of you and the couch is against your legs. “I really wish you hadn’t have been here, sweetheart.” 

Your mouth falls open. His words are like a punch in the gut. You expect worse than that by the gleam in his eyes. 

“Mr. Smith, please, you don’t have to--” 

“You don’t get it. It’s not up to me,” he grabs you by the neck and you cry out.  

You bat your lashes at him as your eyes glisten. You don’t fight. You can’t. No matter what you do, you lose. Whether it’s him, your landlord, or life in general.  

He pushes you until you sit. His grip tightens for an instant than eases. He inhales through his nose so it flares out. 

“Will you listen?” He asks. You lower your eyes and nod. He sees right through you. He already knows you’re weak. “Alright then, don’t pull nothing.” 

He rescinds his hand. Your skin tingles where his fingers had dug in. He reaches to your top button, undoing it with both hands. You shudder and let out a squeak. He continues down the shirt and lets go. The fabric opens around your naked torso. 

Your bottom lip quivers as you stare at the tailored weave of his pants. He brushes his fingertips along your hairline and down your cheek. You lock up as his touch continues down your neck and wanders along your chest. He fondles your naked tits as your top slumps down your shoulders. 

“Get up.” 

You stand as he backs up. He grabs your upper arms and turns you with him. He takes your place on the couch. He sits back and braces his thighs. 

“Finish it. Everything off.” 

You nod and keep your head down. You shrug off the shirt and untie your shorts. You shimmy them down and kick them away.  

Your eyes are drawn up by his movement. You waver as you notice his open fly. He strokes himself above the rich brown fabric of his pants. You press your hands to your stomach and shudder. 

“Get on me,” he orders. 

You sway and dare to bring your eyes up to his face. You don’t understand. Mr. Smith was always so polite. He always tipped and wished you a good day. Why would he do this? 

“Bad luck, that’s all it is,” he assures you. “Isn’t my fault, eh? Blame your thief of a brother.” 

You gulp and step up. You bend and grab his shoulders. You feel as if you might collapse at any moment. He latches onto your hip with one hand and guides you down. You ease yourself down and wince as his tip brushes between your folds. You whimper. 

He lines up with your entrance and pushes you down. You stretch around him as you whine. Your voice grows louder and louder with each inch. Your tears leak out and you puff through your teeth. You’re set alight by the shame that underlines your pain. You won’t even resist. Like everything in life, you just let it happen. 

He takes your hand and lifts it to his cheek. He leans his jaw into your palm so his beard tickles you. He holds you like that as he rocks your hips. You roll against him, following his motion as you weep softly. He groans and bites his lip. 

You hang your head as you give yourself over to him. You snivel as your core swirls with heat and your skin speckles hotly. You bring your free hand up to wipe your nose. 

“Sir, does this—will this--” you can barely speak or think, “my brother...” 

He growls and pulls your hand further, hooking your arm around his neck as he forces you closer. 

“I’m still going to break his fucking hands,” he snarls. “But I think I’ll keep you too. Show him what it’s like to lose something.” 

You sob and nod. He runs his hand away from yours and up your arm. He nudges your chin up as he keeps your hips moving. 

He groans and grunts through shallow breaths, “don’t be sad, sweetheart. I’ll take care of you. Better than this heap.” 

[estcaligo]

As a certified knight enjoyer, I can now yap about knights even more!

So, what will Sebek's future look like? Of course, we don't know a huge amount about Briar Valley lore or fae lore in general, but I had fun thinking about it based on what we know about knighthood from our world.

my old edit but it would be cool if the Royal Guard's uniform looked like this (made of dragon scales)

Let's start with the fact that knights were often granted land by their lord. These lands could provide income through farming, labor from the people who worked there, and local trade.

Also, a knight who served a lord well in battle might even be rewarded with a small estate, including farmland and villages.

Not sure how this works (or if it works at all) in Briar Valley, though. But if there's even a tiny possibility, that means Sebek has land yay. (He will build a Malleus shrine there :)

Next, knights had the right to bear arms (which we already saw at NRC - Diasomnia bodyguards are carrying batons).

Only knights could own full battle armor and weapons, setting them apart as the elite warrior class. So I wonder, is this still true in Briar Valley? There are dragons and other magical creatures, and magic is technically a weapon itself… I need more lore information...

Moving on, knights were recognized as part of the noble class, which meant they had different legal rights from commoners. (Sebek will be SO smug about it) They also had special legal protections and were often exempt from some taxes. (Hmm not that Sebek and Silver would do anything illegal, but it's fun to think about. Considering how hot-tempered Sebek can be, he might use this privilege a couple of times…....)

In medieval England, for example, a knight could only be tried by other noblemen in a court rather than by a local magistrate, offering them more legal security.

(I like to think that Malleus would make it equal for every race - so it wouldn't matter if you're a fae or a human, but rather that your status would be earned. Like, a human knight would be more noble than a commoner fae.)

Anyway, from now on, Sebek should be addressed as Sir Zigvolt :) I suppose

Exceptional knights could be granted titles, positions at court, or membership in elite chivalric orders.

And a knight's success in battle or loyalty to a king could lead to even greater rewards, like being named a baron or even a duke. (And here I can't not think about Silver, who is already technically a prince… )

But Sebek and Silver aren't just knights - they're Royal Guards, which is basically the top-tier status for a knight, with all of the above privileges and more.

Royal Guards were personally chosen by the ruling monarch (which is exactly the case for Diasomnia).

Their privileges included:

Direct access to the monarch and court (already do)

Superior equipment and weaponry ( Mystium! Even though it was in a dream, Sebek still has his Mystium halberd in his card chibi haha)

Roles as political advisors or diplomats (my favorite headcanon - Sebek becomes the general, and Silver the diplomat, I talked about it here )

Also, they often served as champions in duels or tournaments on behalf of the king. (I NEED to see this in twst - Malleus sending Sebek or Silver as his champions to… do whatever)

Oh and wealth, of course. Lots of wealth.

In conclusion, fun life!

But I still want to learn more about Briar Valley lore (hopefully in a hometown event) so I can elaborate…

[aloysiavirgata]

Will you write me a post-Fight Club fic? They’re bruised and beat up and I want to read about it.

Kersh had said Sweet fancy Moses when he saw their injuries and ordered them either home or desk bound until such time as they would not terrify small children with their countenances.

***

Scully slouched against the wall with an ice pack on her face. She did not want to be here, but she didn’t want to be anywhere else either. People stared and she hated it more than she hated paperwork. She had practically worn a groove in her apartment floor from caged pacing.

Mulder was using a tape dispenser to grind Excedrin tablets into a powder. He rubbed it on the insides of his swollen lips like cocaine.

“Ow,” he observed. He didn’t get the fun medications until he went home, which he didn’t wish to do because it was boring. He carried his injuries with a certain swagger.

“I thought Mr. Saperstein was going to show you some in-your-face, smack-down moves so you could quit getting your ass kicked so often,” Scully said.

Mulder scowled at her. He grabbed a pad of paper from the desk and wrote YOU’RE LOOKING PRETTY ROUGH YOURSELF XENA. He tapped at it until she looked up.

“The Lorax is coming for you, Mulder,” she warned.

He was finding it difficult to talk clearly with a wired jaw but, because he found it impossible to refrain from making smart remarks, he was on his third legal pad.

WELL EXCUSE ME BUT I WASN’T EXPECTING TO HAVE TO EITHER TAKE A CANE TO THE JAW OR PUNCH AN OLD LADY

He added a frowny face and several exclamation points to emphasize the complexity of the situation.

Scully examined her reflection in the back of a spoon. Either Lulu or Betty - Scully couldn’t remember which thanks to the concussion - had launched herself off the ropes and onto Scully. She had led with her forehead.

“Burt Zupanic,” she mused, readjusting the ice. “Of all the men to fight over.”

SWEET-ASS PERM, Mulder noted, unhelpfully.

She laughed, which hurt. Most things hurt at present, her pride included. She’d already had three cups of coffee this morning, but after surviving all her various maimings, Scully was confident her organs could handle it. She emptied the pot into her Stanford mug.

Mulder tapped her arm. HEY I AM ORDERING SOME CLAM CHOWDER FOR LUNCH. DO YOU WANT ANYTHING?

“Clam chowder through a straw, ugh, Mulder. Besides, you’re not supposed to have anything with chunks in it.”

THEY ARE BLENDING IT UP FOR ME. MILKSHAKE OF THE SEA.

She gagged a little. “That’s vile.”

PROBABLY. IF THEY MAKE ANOTHER MOVIE ABOUT US I THINK WE SHOULD NOT MENTION THIS PARTICULAR INCIDENT.

As though he actual movie had been so much better. She cringed every time she thought about it. At least the COPS episode conveyed her reluctance and irritation. “Pinky swear.”

He held his own finger out and she hooked hers around it.

THE PACT IS SEALED

“Hey Mulder?”

“Hmmm?”

“Do you want to get the hell out of here, go take some of the really good painkillers, curl up in my bed in our underwear, and watch bad Lifetime movies until we pass out? I don’t have chowder but there’s leftover tomato bisque with your name on it.”

FUCK THE CHOWDER LET’S ROLL

They were out the door before the ink dried.

[krunklys]

Why Batcest is a Thing

I was talking with my friend the other day and while she's not a batcest shipper, she asked me why I was. I said that I don't think I take it to the same extremes some other people do, a few things that aren't a personal favorite of mine would be any of the REALLY younger kids with Bruce or say Dick and Damian. It's mostly the age gap that gets to me.

But she asked why I liked JayTim and I had a time explaining it to her and I wanted to bring it here as a sort of explanation, I suppose for people who might not enjoy batcest ships.

first of all, the name. Batcest is... an interesting name. A lot of arguments you'll come across is that they're not actually related, or there are some fanfics out there for aus where one of them (most commonly Tim or Jason) were never apart of the Batfamily in the first place. Of course, there are some where they are! Because, at the end of the day, in Canon they do share a family. But the implication of it being incest can be a real no no for people, even if it's not. Dick wasn't adopted into the family for quiet some time (I think he was adopted around the same time Tim was but I'm not a 100% sure, not to mention he acted as his ward and then aged out of it), Jason was adopted but after his return to life has regularly denied his part in the family (Look at literally any Red Hood Comic, though I do prefer to look at the New 52 Red Hood and The Outlaws for his feelings towards Bruce and the Wayne's in general), Tim was adopted but was later emancipated (in Red Robin), and Damian has a blood relation to Bruce only. Morally, there can be a problem with it but for mow shippers, since this is fiction, the lack of blood relation means there's no problem. Remember! They're not real people. Adoptive relationships, or pseudo familial ones, they don't see these relations as any reason to not ship them! And in later points, I go into why. And if people really had a problem with this pseudo familiar relationships, take for example Tim and Jason who have never once lives under the same roof nor have any legal connection to each other through Bruce, then on principal alone they should have a problem with Cassandra and Stephanie - Cass is adopted by Bruce, yes, but Bruce has also claimed Stephanie as part of the family and includes her in family talks. Does that not make them family members? No. They're friends or girlfriends, depending on how you want to interpret them.

Secondly, the canon relationships that any of the Bats have with their partners. I could go through all of them and explain the nuance of the relationships but I'll simplify for the sake of the post. In Bruce's sake, whether it be Talia or Selina or for the more fanon ones like Clark and Min Khoa (i think that's how you spell that, I'm not sure though!), there's no denying that in Canon these relationships don't pan out. Talia and Bruce have moral problems, even if she was originally a spy and didn't kill, and Selina and Bruce have an entire history of problems. For Dick, himself and Barbara are much of the same. A sweet beginning until something comes in to ruin it and they break up. Take, for example, the newest Nightwing run (on webtoon and not technically canon, i know). Barbara breaks up with Dick because she feels disconnected from him and like he's still preforming for her, but they have no conversation about this prior to it. With Kori, I'm not as knowledgeable about why they broke up, all I know is that they did and it was ugly. Another example is Tim! Himself and Stephanie didn't work out because she couldn't trust him, due to now knowing his identity, and then she faked her death, causing the distrust between them both. These are only a few examples of how relationships work out for Bats and in my personal opinion I think it's because of a ack of understanding for the characters, their love interests I mean. And in fanon, partners for Batfamily members tend to be washed down - Kon acts as an emotional crutch for Tim, Roy has morals he simply does not stand with anymore in Canon in JayRoy fics, Barbara is an anecdote in DickBarbara fics, and Selina is barely featured in Bruce fics. Not to mention the simple lack of wlw fics in the fandom that aren't background.

Due to this, the shipping of Batfamily members together is only natural. The characters share similar morals or in the case of Tim have such complicated morals that in fandom you can pick and choose what to use. They're fleshed out, have a canon relationship with multiple layers to it, and complete each other in many ways. In comparison to some of the fandom favorite ships like SuperBat or BirdFlash, where we only see a two dimensional aspect of their relationship recently, then the shipping of characters like Jason and Tim or Tim and Dick together is a natural conclusion to reach.

And Finally, History and old characteristics. It was mentioned before in another post that I'll try to hunt down for you guys and link in a repost because it will be WORLDS better than what I could write and have much more research thrown into it than this does, but originally there were a lot of implications under their relationships, specifically Bruce and Dick. Wardships programs were used by a lot of gay people when gay marriage was illegal, so were adult adoptions. It was to have a legal connection in whatever way possible. And I think in a really old comic, Dick has a dream where he's living in the manor as an adult still with Bruce. Bruce has a portrait of them together. They eat breakfast together in their pajamas or underwear, and spend all their time together. Batman regularly saves Robin over civilians and for his relationships, sometimes they wouldn't work out simply because of Dick. It worked this way for many Superheroes and their sidekicks in the "golden age" of comics! Batman has always had queer undertones since his creation but adding Robin into the mix just proved this. Like it or not, Bruce and Dick had sexual and romantic implications to their relationship since the character was first introduced in the 40s.

As for Old characteristics, in the New 52 i feel as though some of the characters have been washed down do their base characteristics. They lack depth in a way some characters don't or in a way some do, particularly in fanon. Dick's possessive originally and I see people talking about his anger issues as a child a lot, especially in comparison to Jason's Robin run, but either way - the characters have changed throughout the years. That doesn't mean that people can't cling on to their old relationships or even their old personalities. People are so fond of making Jason insane and crazy and Hella mean when in recent adaptations, he's a normal vigilante for all intents and purposes. He's not even a crime lord anymore, I'm pretty sure he still owns the Iceberg Lounge. That's all to say that the boys used to be a lot closer than they are now, especially Tim and Dick and Dick and Bruce.

The conclusion to my explanation to her is that batcest is much of the same as any other ships - picking and choosing what to take from canon to put two people together into a relationship that you like. It's a work of fiction and while that's important to remember, it doesn't say anything about you in real life! you don't enjoy real life incest if you like JayTim. That's all to say si that there's reasons behind it that some people like and some people don't. She wasn't swayed by my answer but accepted it since she couldn't deny that the Batfamily has been explored on and their relationships together so much more than their relationships with anyone else, canon or fanon.

[essenyare]

LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT

—Jack Krauser, written on my sixtieth birthday.

I, Jack Krauser, in full clarity of mind and unwavering will, set forth this testament.

1. All of my assets—including but not limited to land, finances, weapon stockpiles, personal documents, and records—shall belong solely to Leon Scott Kennedy. He is the one I cherish above all else. No matter the path we took to get here, no matter how time has shaped us, he remains the only person to whom I entrust everything.

2. The home we built together, wherever and whenever that may be, is his to do with as he sees fit. He may choose to keep it, or to burn it to the ground. If it is the latter, I hold no grievance—for we have never been bound by walls. Home was never bricks and mortar. It was always each other.

3. As for my remains, I do not desire a grave, nor do I wish for Leon to be burdened with needless rituals. I have walked the edge of death for most of my life, and now that I have finally found peace by his side, I wish for my ending to be just as quiet. I am to be cremated. A portion of my ashes shall be left to Leon, should he choose to keep them. If not, he may scatter them in the place where we once stood as enemies and chose, instead, to save each other.

4. I wish for Leon to live unbound—free from legal constraints or the expectations of others. He has already walked beside me for a lifetime. He owes nothing to anyone. If he so chooses, what I leave behind will be enough for him to live out the rest of his days in peace—but I know he won’t stop. I won’t ask him to. To love him is to accept him entirely.

But I hope he remembers—wherever he goes, there will always be a place waiting for him to come home to.

---

Leon,

I suppose I’ve never said this properly in my life, but I don’t want to leave any regrets in the end.

As your instructor once before, I have to admit—the worst student I ever trained was my thirty-three-year-old self.

Back then, I thought I had it all figured out. I believed my body, my will, and my skills were at their peak, strong enough to justify every choice I made. I believed power could override everything, that I could decide what was right and wrong. I even thought that if I was determined enough, the truth itself would have to bow to me. But I was wrong. I was arrogant, stubborn, too caught up in my own damn beliefs to see that I was driving myself into a dead end. And the worst part? I dragged you down with me.

I know you never blamed me—not out loud, at least. But I owe you this: I’m sorry, Leon.

I forced you to make choices you never should’ve had to make. I pushed you into a fight you never should’ve had to endure. Back then, I told myself it was necessary—it was a trial, a law of survival. But some nights, I still hear your voice, your anger. I still see the way you looked at me in the end. And in that moment, I knew I had no right to teach you anything anymore—because the man who should have protected you has already strayed from the right path.

But you still turned back for me. You knew it would hurt you, but you still pulled me out of the pit I had thrown myself into. You stubborn bastard.

It took me years to learn what I refused to back then—to learn humility, honesty, to admit that I had been a damn fool. I know I can never undo the damage I caused you.

So if this letter is the last thing I ever get to say to you—remember this, Leon, I love you.

This love isn’t something that should be shackled by guilt or hesitation, nor should it be clouded by the mistakes we’ve made. It is the one truth I have never questioned. And you’re the reason I found it.

I know you’re still learning to let go of the pain we’ve lived through. But you need to understand—I have no regrets. If not for this path, I never would’ve found my way back to you.

We’ve both been wounded, both hurt each other, both questioned whether love could withstand everything we’ve been through. But every time you hold me, every time you say my name, I know—that’s my answer.

You always called me a stubborn old bastard, always said I never took care of myself. Well, for once, I’m listening. I’ll go first. One less thing for you to worry about.

If I have one regret, it’s that I didn’t figure this out sooner—that I didn’t say these words to you earlier. But you always knew, didn’t you?

I love you, Leon Scott Kennedy. My comrade, my home—my only place to return to.

Jack Krauser 19 March 2031

[chaifootsteps]

that tweet Viv liked about Stolas having a life outside Via and it being fine for him to do so

obviously it's fine and healthy for Stolas to have a life of his own. I'd say that most parents should have lives of their own - it provides a healthy model for their child to emulate and avoids them getting too clingy and dependent on their child for emotional support when the child gets old enough to start trying to assert their independence. and it helps parents feel less alone and gives them a support network, something people of all ages need

the point is that life of Stolas' shouldn't come at Via's expense, which it very much has. if we assume she had an OK home life up to the age of 17 when the fallout happened (which is a stretch given how s2 Stella and Stolas don't at all seem like they'd be able to pretend for Via's sake given how self-centred they both are) that doesn't make it OK for Stolas to upend that life by cheating and neglecting her for his new obsession, Blitzo. then he supports her through all this turmoil that he caused by *checks notes* sexually harassing his affair partner right in front of her at a theme park she had no interest in going to, forgetting a promise he made to her while he was abusing his butler and calling her mother a bitch and not telling her they both might be in danger of assassination

and if fans want to play it like Via is legally an adult at 18 so Stolas' obligations are over, Stolas still had a responsibility to prepare her for adulthood and being his heir. which he obviously didn't since she apparently doesn't know magic and he was lending out the grimoire most of the month anyway. And if we assume he didn't want to have Via in the first place, he still chose to have her instead of abdicating. he could have run away if he didn't want a child of his own to care for.

that he didn't want it doesn't suddenly mean Via isn't a person who needs to be cared for.

more than that, though, Stolas could have been building a support system and life for himself while she was young. he wouldn't have to devote 100% of his time to raising Via, especially not when she was young enough to go to bed early. what was stopping him calling up friends on the phone or inviting people over? what was stopping him going out if Via was out shopping or busy on weekends? he has a phone, can teleport and has butlers like the one who raised him, it's not like he couldn't have been back in a blink for any problems that came up. are we just supposed to assume all of Hell prefers Stella even though she's supposed to be so terrible and bitchy so Stolas couldn't have made friends even if he tried? supposedly Vassago was one of the 'good ones' of the Goetia - he couldn't have been friends with him?

as it is it comes off like Via was following Stolas' example - she stays trapped in the palace most of the time, has no friends and would make a terrible heir because that's how Stolas is. he has no friends of his own and is terrible at both his jobs - magic and parenting. honestly it's super weird Via is a 17yr old and seemingly has no friends of her own before she met Loona. was she just isolated in the palace this whole time? even if she's royal she can still have security, though I guess if Stolas' invisible legions appeared onscreen fans would rightfully be asking why he keeps expecting Blitzo to bail him out all the time

Bingo.

Stolas can and should have a life outside of Via. The problem is that Stolas's life outside of Via is full of choices that actively harm Via, in addition to pretty much everyone else around him, including himself. The problem is that Stolas is a delusional manchild hellbent on getting his idea of a fairy tale romance, and it doesn't matter to him who has to suffer in the name of that.

[writingescapades]

The Past

A/N: This is going into the back story of my Pinocchio modern day AU. P's not really in this part, but I needed to tell it for the story to go on. I hope you guys are enjoying the series and not getting bored.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

When you agreed to help the siblings break from their father, you weren’t entirely sure what it would tell. Actually, it was more that, you weren’t sure what use you had in their life long struggle. You couldn’t help in the legal world, and anyway, Sophia and Venigni already had that field covered. Slow, though it was, they were beginning to transition the hold Geppetto had over the family business onto Sophia. Since you were evicted from the apartment, you could not longer continue to create a haven for the siblings. You weren’t sure why Sophia believed you would be able to help them. If Geppetto didn’t listen to his children, why would he pay attention to a stranger he despised? So, until Sophia explained your role to you, you left with being the cat defender. This role included looking after Spring and sending daily updates to Eugenie through her roommate’s cell phone. Just as you were easing into your new life, Sophia bustled in, carrying a kettle with tea.

The aroma of bergamot filled the kitchen where the two of you sat. It was a cramped bachelor’s apartment. Falling into your old habits, you forwent buying a table when a bar stool and counter top would do well enough. Which was why Sophia sat primly on the stool while you leaned against the counter, awaiting her words.

One aspect Sophia appreciated about you was your willingness to forgo formalities. For once the CEO did not have to watch her words or lace them with a sweet tongue and saccharine smile. Considering the state of your life, she knew such an approach would anger you. So she put down her cup and breathed life to words and emotions long buried.

“I was adopted into the family. My biological parents died in a calamity. They were researchers and knew Geppetto. Neither had any living close relatives, so I suppose circumstances made them choose Geppetto as my guardian.

Geppetto had a contractual agreement with a woman. He wanted an heir, and she wanted financial stability. Though he never told her to take care of me, I suppose she did, in her own way. All my needs were well looked after and she always ensured that I achieved whatever Geppetto wanted. But well, that’s where the relationship ended. I don’t even remember her name. I suppose I should call her mother.

When I turned 7, mother, became pregnant and soon she gave birth to twins”.

Sophia abruptly cut the conversation and stared hard at you as she steeled herself for the rest of the story.

“When Carlo and Pinocchio were born, Geppetto changed somewhat. He was around more. Nicer. He paid more attention to us. The twins took precedence, but he always looked in on me. Of course, he was still Geppetto. He still controlled everything, but, despite how brief and stunted it may have been, I really believed Geppetto became somewhat of a doting father.

Three years later, Eugenie joined us. She had the same circumstances as I did, but her parents were missing, and we were to look after her till they were found. For seven years we had an odd family, but nonetheless, it was family”.

The afternoon sun peeked through the single window in your apartment and landed on Sophia. She turned to its warmth and closed her eyes. The room was silent for a while, until you cleared your throat, brining her out of her reverie.

“Ironically, it was Geppetto’s own sons who rebelled against him the most. I suppose Eugenie and I didn’t feel stable enough to resist. It was Carlo though who resisted the most,” she laughed softly. “He would do anything and everything. Toad in the pocket. Snake in the bed. water bucket over the door. Missing items. And P was with him the whole way through, choosing to support his brother at the cost of his father’s mild irritation. Those two terrors.

Both were smart. With Geppetto, we all had to be, but Carlo excelled academically, and P was more athletic. Carlo was also more social than P, who preferred the library to hang outs. Despite their differences, the twins were close and looked out for one another. There was one thing though that they disagreed on. Carlo was quick to insult our father while Pinocchio was quick to defend him.

But, from the start, Geppetto eyed Carlo as his heir. Even though I was the eldest, it was Carlo who would be molded into Geppetto’s successor. Naturally, Carlo rebelled, and his anger felt genuine, it was around this time that P went into fencing. He was good. Really good. Geppetto, though, thought it to be a waste of time. A distraction from his studies. He barred Pinocchio from going to classes. That was when things changed”.

Sophia looked up, hesitation apparent on her face and in her voice.

“I don’t know what happened, but suddenly P was back in his classes and Carlo was studying with father. I thought they made a deal, but Carlo begged us and our mother to keep P’s classes a secret from Geppetto. We all agreed, and somehow managed to keep it hidden from Geppetto. Then—,” Sophia’s voice hiccupped, and it surprised her how even after so many years that event still managed to pry out her tears.

“When the twins turned fifteen, P had a grand competition. He really wanted Carlo to come and see the progress he made. It would be the first his brother would have seen in years. But Geppetto completely had Carlo in his hold. He wouldn’t have been able to sneak away without our father coming to learn about P’s fencing tournament. So P came up with a ruse. A potential client. I suppose after all those years of pranking Geppetto, it was easy for P to make the scenario believable enough. Father agreed. He even let mother drive Carlo. Of course, they made quick stop in the house to pick up P.

Pinocchio won the tournament, and with the celebrations, they were running later on returning. And that’s,” Sophia paused and breathed in and out a few times. “That’s when it happened. The accident.

A truck hit them from the back. Mother had hit the brakes, but the ricochet and sudden breaking made the car flip over, off the road, down the ditch.”

Beads of tears formed at edge of Sophia’s eyes. She could hear her voice hitch, but she forced herself to calm down and continue the story.

“Mother died on the spot. Carlo and P were taken to emergency. When Geppetto saw the trophy, he stayed with Carlo. He didn’t attend to mother or check in on P. I signed mother’s death certificate, and the amputation agreement papers for P. His arm was shattered beyond recovery. It was his fencing arm.

Carlo died the day P came out of surgery. P fell into a coma soon after, as if he knew his brother was dead and somehow lost the will to live. Geppetto wanted the funeral to be done soon, without P, and so it was done.

A few weeks after the funeral, Geppetto finally visited P. With the accident, loosing his arm, his mother and brother, P was vulnerable”.

Sophia’s eyes narrowed in anger as she finally let a long-awaited steel finally enter her voice.

“I don’t know what Geppetto told P in that visit, but P completely changed. He stopped his teasing and pranks. He stopped talking. He practically did anything Geppetto wanted. If it wasn’t for Eugenie, he would have given up on fencing!”

Sophia glanced up at you. She finally let the tears roll down.

“Meeting you was the first time since that day in the hospital that P seemed to regain a bit of himself. I want you to remind P of what it means to be alive again. Please,” she held out her hand to you, “will you help me?”

[gojomyshayla]

✷Nightly wonders ✷

(gojo x reader)

Warnings: This fic contains NSFW/explicit content (18+), including detailed smut, strong language, teasing, dirty talk, praise kink, mild degradation kink (light mocking), possessiveness, manhandling (wrist pinning, holding down), oral (female receiving), and protected/unprotected sex (depending on interpretation). There’s also overstimulation and a hint of aftercare. If any of these themes make you uncomfortable, please proceed with caution.

Author’s Note: YO, I JUST UNLOCKED ADULT MODE—NO MORE PG-13, ONLY EXPLICIT CHAOS FROM HERE ON OUT. I’ve got the legal pass to be unhinged, and you bet I’m using it to write the most brainrotted, down-bad, absolutely feral fanfics imaginable.

Summary : All you wanted was to help your one and only best friend Gojo Satoru However gojo seems to have some other things in mind....

(i want him so fking bad)

The air in Gojo’s dorm was thick with the faint scent of his cologne—something fresh, clean, but distinctly him. The dim lighting cast seductive shadows across his chiseled features, accentuating the playful smirk he wore as he leaned closer, his breath fanning against your skin.

This wasn’t how the night was supposed to go.

You were here to help him with calculus, not to be pinned beneath him, half-naked and utterly at his mercy. But with the way his large, warm hands traced slow, torturous circles along your thighs, teasing, coaxing a gasp from your lips, you weren’t complaining.

A soft chuckle left him, low and amused. .

The night was thick with tension, the dim glow of the city casting seductive shadows over Gojo’s chiseled frame as he hovered above you. His hands, large and warm, traced slow, torturous circles along your thighs, teasing, coaxing a gasp from your lips.

“You always get like this when I touch you,” he murmured, voice dripping with amusement as his lips ghosted over your collarbone. His breath fanned against your heated skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

You never realised how a supposed study session turned into a full blown makeout .

Books long discarded . You were not laying on the bed of satoru's personal dorm room

half naked

Gojo satoru ,blessed with godly looks and generational wealth , who also happend to be the strongest sorcerer in the world ,was failing in calculus.

And you ,being the being his best friend decided to help after he kindly went up for help (he straight up went to your class and partially kidnapped you ) it was supposed to be just a teaching session keyword: just

but boy...

Well it didn't go like it should have...

You arched against him, desperate for friction, your fingers fisting in his soft white locks as he trailed wet, open-mouthed kisses down your torso. His tongue flicked over your sensitive flesh, a sinful smirk curving against your skin as your breath hitched.

“Gojo,” you whimpered, barely recognizing your own voice.

He clicked his tongue, his grip tightening as he pinned your wrists above your head. “Tsk. Use my name properly, sweetheart.”

You swallowed hard, heat pooling low in your belly. “Satoru... please we shouldn't do this" she begged totally not meaning it.

"Alright baby.." ,he withdrew his hand ,making you whimper.

"I thought you didn't want this sweetheart.", He mockingly laughed at you.

His low groan sent a shiver through you.

"No..I want..no need it please satoru.." ,you cheeks flared at your own words. You sound so desperate for him.

“That’s more like it.” His hands roamed lower, fingers tracing every dip and curve of your body, igniting every nerve ending along the way. The slow, teasing pace was torturous, leaving you aching for more.

He smirked at your desperate whimper, the smug expression only making your body tighten with anticipation. “So needy,” he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I love it when you beg.”

His mouth continued its descent, leaving a path of open-mouthed kisses and bites down your stomach, savoring every reaction he pulled from you. When his hands finally slipped between your thighs, you gasped, back arching off the mattress as heat surged through your veins.

“Satoru, please,” you panted, thighs trembling beneath his touch.

He hummed in satisfaction. “You’re so sensitive tonight.” His fingers pressed against your core, a slow, torturous pressure that had you keening. “Is this what you want?”

You nodded frantically, hips bucking in search of more friction. His chuckle was low and indulgent. “Impatient, aren’t we?”

He finally gave in, fingers slipping beneath the last barrier of fabric separating you. The first touch of his skin against your heat had you gasping, nails digging into his shoulders. He watched your every reaction with those piercing blue eyes, his smirk widening as he set a slow, delicious rhythm.

“Look at you,” he mused, voice thick with desire. “Falling apart just from my fingers.”

You barely had time to catch your breath before his mouth joined in, hot and wet, tongue working in tandem with his skilled hands. Your body trembled, pleasure mounting until you were barely coherent, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

Satoru drank in every sound, every arch of your body, pushing you further until you shattered beneath him. And as you lay there, gasping, skin burning from his touch, he leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips.

“We’re not done yet, sweetheart.”

His hands gripped your thighs, spreading you wider beneath him as he pressed his length against your core, teasing, dragging himself against your wetness with a low groan. The heat of him, the sheer size, made your breath hitch.

“Satoru—” Your voice was cut off as he pushed inside, the stretch making you gasp, fingers clutching desperately at his arms.

His head fell forward, breath hot against your neck as he groaned. “Fuck, you feel so good.” He gave you a moment, letting you adjust before he rolled his hips, setting a slow, torturous pace that had you clenching around him.

The rhythm built gradually, his pace deep and controlled, making you feel every inch of him. Every thrust sent pleasure surging through your veins, his name spilling from your lips in a litany of gasps and moans.

“Look at you,” he murmured, lifting your chin so your eyes met his. “So perfect, taking me so well.”

His control snapped when you clenched around him, the sensation making him groan as he quickened his pace. The room filled with the sounds of skin against skin, ragged breathing, and the desperate moans you couldn’t hold back.

He shifted, angling his hips just right, hitting that spot that had you arching beneath him, a cry tearing from your throat. “Right there, huh?” he teased, but his voice was strained, his own pleasure catching up to him.

Your body tensed, pleasure coiling tight in your belly, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. “Satoru—I’m—”

“Come for me,” he commanded, voice husky and full of need. And with one final thrust, you shattered, body shaking, vision blurring as waves of pleasure crashed over you.

He followed soon after, groaning your name as he buried himself deep, body trembling above yours.

For a moment, neither of you moved, bodies tangled, breath mingling as you came down from the high. Then he pressed a lazy kiss to your lips, smirking.

After a few moments of peace you finally found yourself asking." Satoru...w..what are we?" Your voice cracked,

Satoru looked at you like you are several times more precious than all the stars combined together in the night sky.

"What do you want us to be sweetheart?", He

shyly tucked a strand of hair behind your ear

like he did not rearranged your guts minutes ago.

"I..I want us to be together Forever"

Gojo smiled at your words "we will.. forever"

[mariacallous]

“The muddy depths are being stirred by new monsters and witches from the deep,” Gore Vidal once wrote of the resurgence of the far right in the United States. In the case of the rioting that has erupted across England and Northern Ireland this week and last, old hatreds have been stirred up using new technologies.

The initial spark for the violence that has plagued British towns and cities was the sickening murder of three young girls last Monday in the seaside town of Southport, stabbed at a Taylor Swift-themed dance and yoga session. It was the sort of horrific crime that is mercifully rare in Britain. The last comparable attack on children occurred almost 30 years ago.

The only suspect in the Southport murders, 17-year-old Axel Rudakubana, was immediately arrested. We know Rudakubana’s name only because the judge in his case lifted an anonymity order—imposed as standard when the accused is a minor until legal proceedings begin—because false claims about the suspect’s origins were helping to fuel the racist violence. Social media posts claiming that the attacker was a Muslim, a refugee, a migrant, or a foreigner received 27 million impressions on Twitter/X in the 24 hours after the Southport killings.

Far-right groups descended on Southport the day after the stabbings. We know little about Rudakubana, but on Aug. 1 we did learn that he is a British national who was born in Cardiff to parents from Rwanda, a country with a large Christian majority. This has not prevented far-right thugs from rampaging through towns and cities including Manchester, Liverpool, Sunderland, Rotherham, Tamworth, Hartlepool, Middlesbrough, Aldershot, and Belfast, targeting Muslims

Many on the right have rushed to attribute the mobs to a sense of disillusion and a supposed social gap between the working class and the “elite”—a group in which they are never keen to count themselves. A few left-wingers have shared similar opinions. It is true that material factors have created a propitious environment in Britain for unrest. After 14 years of Tory government, before the recent Labour victory, the country is a poorer and more resentful place, its sclerotic and creaking public infrastructure barely functioning after years of neglect.

There is much to be angry about. Yet this does not adequately explain the nature nor the scale of the violence, much of which has been driven by a bourgeoning alliance between a right-wing elite and the mob—an alliance that, as Hannah Arendt once put it, rests on the “genuine delight with which the former [watch] the latter destroy respectability.”

For its part, the mob has attacked mosques, set buildings on fire, looted shops, violently assaulted ethnic minority bystanders, attacked cars on residential streets, and thrown bricks at the police. “We want our country back,” they yelled over the weekend while attempting to set fire to a hotel in Rotherham because they believed it was housing asylum-seekers. “P**i Muslims off our streets,” they yelled in Leeds. Footage from elsewhere showed men adorned with swastika tattoos, arms thrown up in Nazi salutes, voices yelling at anybody with brown skin to “go home.” This is not a rage that can, or should, be appeased.

This is not the first time rioting in the U.K. has been driven by bigotry. In Notting Hill in 1958, a mob of 400 white people attacked West Indian residents and their property. In the same week, racially motivated riots also broke out in St. Ann’s in Nottingham. Going further back, the Gordon Riots of 1780 saw an eruption of violent anti-Catholic sentiment.

Despite the atavistic nature of the hatreds unleashed this week and last, many who have taken to the streets this time around are creatures of social media. Several prominent far-right influencers have come out on social media in support of the mayhem with all sails unfurled. Others have been whipped into a near-homicidal frenzy by misinformation on apps such as X.

The kudzu spread of incendiary falsehoods began with the lie, first promulgated on X by the managing director of a clothing company, that the suspect in the Southport murders was an asylum-seeker named “Ali Al-Shakati.” The misogynist influencer Andrew Tate shared the false claim while asserting that the attacker was an “illegal immigrant.” The far-right activist Stephen Yaxley-Lennon, better known as “Tommy Robinson,” has used X to call for “mass deportations” and described Islam as a “mental health issue.” Meanwhile, disgraced actor Laurence Fox reacted to the stabbings by calling for Islam to be “removed from Britain.”

The mob responded accordingly. The day after false rumors about Ali Al-Shakati had began swirling around on social media, a group of white men attacked a mosque in Southport. The street violence has continued ever since.

Lurking in the background while disinformation is spread is a wealthy right-wing elite that has started to flex its political muscles. Some of the worst purveyors of misinformation have accounts on X only because right-wing billionaire Elon Musk has reinstated them—together with numerous other white supremacist accounts—under the guise of “free speech.”

Musk has spread misinformation about the riots on the app, claiming in one post that “civil war is inevitable” in Britain and amplifying one of Robinson’s posts. Robinson was reinstated by Musk in 2023 and today has more than 800,000 followers. Similarly, though he was banned from X in 2017 for claiming that women should bear “some responsibility” for being sexually harassed and assaulted, Tate was reinstated by Musk in 2022.

The takeover of media platforms by wealthy elites is driven by a right-wing adoption of the Gramscian belief that the conquest of power comes only after the conquest of culture. Musk, the world’s richest man, purchased X for $44 billion in 2022 in order to combat what he calls the “woke mind virus.” Together with renaming the platform, one of Musk’s first actions was to do away with legacy blue checks and open up verification on the platform to anybody with $8.

The move thrilled Musk’s sycophantic fan base, which had previously chafed with resentment at the status differential on the app between themselves and what they contemptuously referred to as the “legacy media.” But it also turned X into the world’s largest vector of misinformation. It is also of a piece with former White House strategist Steve Bannon’s idea of “flooding the zone with shit”—i.e., destroying the traditional media’s ability to give the public accurate information by letting it sink in a deluge of bullshit.

It isn’t only social media where influential right-wing figures have been allowed to blur the distinction between legitimate protest and far-right violence. Ever since the riots began last week, the British television station GB News has often sought to excuse them. Launched in 2021 and co-owned by the multimillionaire hedge fund manager Paul Marshall, since the murders in Southport, GB News has given airtime to an assortment of cranks, demagogues, and grifters. On more than one occasion, the station’s language has come dangerously close to incitement. The leader of the Reform U.K. party, Nigel Farage, who has his own show on GB News, also took to X in the aftermath of the Southport attacks to ask whether “the truth is being withheld from us” by the police about the identity of the suspect.

Earlier this year, Marshall—who as well as owning the reactionary website UnHerd is believed to be trying to purchase the Spectator and the Telegraph—was caught liking and sharing content close to the material that has been circulated this week by paranoid fascist weirdos. In February, the anti-extremist charity Hope not Hate revealed that Marshall had endorsed tweets calling for mass deportations and which suggested a civil war between “native Europeans” and “fake refugee invaders” was imminent.

Many of the presenters and guests on GB News have spent this week mocking Prime Minister Keir Starmer for labeling the riots as far right. Instead, the channel has sought to portray the street violence as driven by the “legitimate concerns” of disenfranchised members of the working class. The idea that the thuggish behavior of recent days is somehow representative of the working class is itself a form of middle-class prejudice—rooted in the unspoken assumption that working-class people are inherently stupid, racist, and violent.

GB News operates on familiar right-wing populist lines. Its prolier-than-thou presenters make superficial overtures to the masses while its modus operandi is to ensure that power is never truly shared or redistributed. But let’s not be too partisan about it: GB News is pushing at a door that has already been loosened by more “respectable” media coverage of migrants and asylum-seekers.

There is a self-pitying refrain on the right that you “can’t talk about” immigration. Yet the big mouths and shock jocks of the right-wing media seldom shut up about it. This time last year, the broadcaster James Whale suggested on Rupert Murdoch’s TalkTV that the U.K. “should point weapons” at migrants in the English Channel. Even talking about migrants in this sort of bloodthirsty language is no impediment to getting on. A few months later, Whale was made an MBE.

The suggestion that the violent protests represent the last resort of Britain’s forgotten majority is, of course, laughable. When polled, nearly 50 percent of Britons wanted harsher-than-usual sentences for the rioters, 39 percent the usual norms of sentencing, and just 4 percent more lenient charges.

Less than five weeks ago, Starmer convincingly won a general election against a Tory party that campaigned on the slogan of stopping the boats carrying asylum-seekers to the United Kingdom. In truth, the ghouls who have haunted television studios this week making excuses for the rioters see any Labour government as equivalent to an occupying power. They want their country back because, after 14 years, they feel as if it has been lost at the ballot box.

But if anybody has a right to think of themselves as the voice of the people at the present time, it is the newly elected Labour prime minister. He may not own a television station or a social media app, but he does have a 174-seat majority in the House of Commons. The rule of law—and democracy—must prevail.

[accirax]

initial thoughts on DCAS episode 13

i guess Marcus cares about everyone. Marcus characterization jumpscare.

it's so interesting to me how much Alec seems to care about his family in retrospect when we've seen illustrated time and time again that he didn't seem to care about them (or at least his son) in the moment pretty much at all. i guess it's a "you don't know what you have until it's gone" type of thing?

hey, we finally got names!

well, that happened. once again, congrats to the AleRiya shippers. i probably still prefer them as friends for now, but i'm not opposed to them becoming a ship in the future. i doubt they will, since the writers seem to really like Connor and Riya and probably want that to be endgame, but i digress. it's really important to Alec's character, i think, that he was one of the only completely new characters created for s1, and was quite possibly crafted with an All Stars season in mind. thus, as much as Alec was created for Fiore in s1 (to help her have numbers and allies and stuff), he may have also been created for Riya in DCAS. i wouldn't be surprised if a lot of Alec's traits were crafted with this friendship and possibly even this plot beat in mind.

this whole scene is so sad :(

i... really don't understand Aiden's motivations here? like, what will happen if you tell the group "Alec and Riya kissed"? who would care other than Connor, who you already acknowledged would be crushed by the news? do you really think that Gabby or whoever would stop working with the villains under the knowledge that two legal adults smooched? is this about ruining Riya's reputation? the footage will certainly air on TV regardless of whether you tell anyone or not. am i just missing something? what game is Aiden playing at???

here's how aro Kristal truthers can still win.

waterBENDING? does Grett watch Avatar? :D i suppose she is in a good age demographic for it.

QUIRK??? DOES ALEC WATCH BNHA????? that's way more surprising than Grett watching Avatar. i do not know what Alec would possibly enjoy in BNHA. like, who's his favorite character? Aizawa???

this is WAY funnier than him being invisible. props.

Alec may have the looks of a mastermind strategist, but he has the heart of a simp. truly tragic. you know, if you want a family again, you could always direct that (platonic) love at a certain other competitor...

what a fucking loser (affectionate)

"have you considered that your employees might think you're cringe?"

LMAOOOOOOO this says so much about Jake. of course he's a villain shipper. but, see, to my point-- Jake literally doesn't give a fuck about this! what are you planning to gain!!!

Jake get the banana

potassium

ALEC FUCKING DIES?????? AIDEN KILLED A MAN??????????

i didn't put it together after watching the trailer, but it's really interesting to me that Yul and Grett were lightning and water respectively. i guess it's saying that if they could actually work together, they'd be a super deadly pair? or, maybe it was a coincidence.

nobody is wearing a cape, Gabby included. i thought she said she was working on her mask and cape designs :(

it's... a massive geological structure that weighs and should be able to withstand several tons of force? what?

TURN INTO A BIRD.

cathartic and appropriate that Yul becomes desperate once he feels his power is lost.

this was a real L episode for Alec. sorry buddy.

neither disappointed nor surprised. it truly was Yul's time to go.

THE TWINK TRUCE!! they're even making, like, the same face, lol.

GOTTEM

SO interesting how closely this mirror's Grett's exit in S1. Grett grew from her experience, while Yul can only manage to POSSIBLY be at the emotional maturity of s1 Grett now. and, tbh, he's not even close to that.

HOORAY!!! now make sure you apologize to her. thoroughly.

HOW?????????? i seriously don't understand this... maybe Aiden will explain himself better when this happens next episode.

yay, fun superhero challenge! love a good themed episode. i do think the fact that like... five people could have had immunity in this one was kind of weird, but, eh. as it turns out, Grett and Gabby could have won immunity as well as Aiden and Jake and it would have changed literally nothing about the outcome of this vote. it was really just about Yul (and kind of Connor, i guess).

i do wonder if Yul's elimination will essentially spell the end of the "heroes versus villains" portion of the game, and the gameplay will shift to being more individually focused. we do kinda have four groups of two at the moment-- Gabby and Grett, Alec and Riya, Aiden and Jake, and... Connor and Ally, I guess? that could make for some interesting votes.

after a somewhat longer hiatus than usual, now we're going to be doing one episode per week! how exciting! in that case, i'll see you again on (presumably) Wednesday for the power rankings, and if you don't read those, once again on Saturday for Episode 14. bye for now!

[yj-98]

oh sick a car appreciator. what cars would u have based the redbird on?

oohhh im glad u asked... to preface this btw im a car appreciator not exactly an. expert. i love old (40s-80s) cars (i grew up w/ my dream car being an aqua 1965 mustang convertible) but im not like. incredibly knowledgeable

that being said :] ! onward with redbird thoughts

shes supposed to be a rear engined sporty little coupe. modified to high hell. i would wager the rear engine is more so that tim can have weapons (missiles? grenade launcher? a fucking flamethrower?) under the hood and less actually thinking abt what a rear engine could DO for his driving experience at the ripe age of 14. its got a lowered chassis (rear-engine has a lower center of gravity, and if its a rear-wheel drive then overall its saving even More space cramped in the back, and probably has a better "grip" on the road) and apparently has pop out scoops for better airflow.. probably for the best.

its also got a bulletproof windshield! and blacked out windows! are those even legal in jersey? no! the tire shields are fine i guess

my problem with red bird is that shes just a little ugly. like there are things in the body of this car that have potential (i like the pop out scoops but they make the overall silhouette of the car look sort of . back heavy in a bad way) but ultimately fall flat.

so im gonna look at some cars that i think still sell the look they were going for!! FROM his time period even!!

the ferrari testarossa (produced from '84-'96 and im looking at the late 80s/early 90 ones here)

this is my ideal car to base redbird on. its a mid-engine, which has the best overall center of gravity, and while it limits cabin space its not like we were worried abt tht with tim. its still a 2 door sports car with a low chassis. the air scoops dont need to pop out, it has room in the back for the drag 'schute that they wanted to include, and has the room in the front too. also! she looks KILLER in red<3

the pontiac firebird trans am (1993) + chevy corvette ('90 red c4)

this is included in case we do not want to look at ferrari. sporty! red! coupe! i have less to say abt these ones honestly

i could just start naming other sporty coupes but my point being like.... theres cars of this era with the look theyre going for that look perfectly fine in the three different price ranges (general motors making pontiac as their low-tier, chevrolet as their bigger make) and ferrari at the luxury tier

ik 15 years later tim gets a new redbird (2008 i believe) and i do believe they WERE referencing real cars for redbird i simply think. it would not look like that. and didnt have to! less is more. if you want a cool looking aerodynamic sports car then she should look sleek. redbird drawn in the comics doesnt look sleek she just looks silly </3

ultimately i dont want to change her too much from being tim's (say it with me) sporty little red coupe. because thats not a bad thing for a car to be! i just dont think there was that much thought into what the car should look like aside from looking at a picture of a sports coupe and going "ok now add a flamethrower and a parachute"

[fiannalover]

bweirdOCtober Day 9 - Relationships

Post-College Medeia - Thread

“You are lost.”

“Mayhaps. But the journey is what matters most, no?”

“It is. Though less so when your destination has a strict time window.”

Once upon a time, there was a witch. Although, that wasn’t the profession she’d use to describe herself. Her long black hair, color that combined with her conversation partner’s attire, was slightly messed up by the wind passing by.

Hearing his answer, she frowned and returned to alternating between staring at her map and her cellphone that held the bare minimum of data, in hopes they made any sense whatsoever. In fact, all her travels carried a time limit, which, thematically, was very appropriate.

“I don’t suppose you could give me some hint regarding where I should go? It is your cult, after all.” She argued.

“I could. But this is your lead and your hunt, Medeia. And in my defense, it was more of a cult to dethrone me than to assist me.” The man accompanying her answered, floating a short answer behind her while wearing a tailor-made suit adorned by punctual, but valuable, rings, watch and jewels. “Of course, you have other tools that you can use at any moment.”

The suggestion was received and immediately thrown away. At the same moment, the spark of realization came to her face, showing she found the desired thread. “No problems, I located myself. Onwards!”

“Right behind you.”

Once upon a time, there was a girl, the kind you'd find anywhere. And her travel companion, Death.

A little village in the middle of nowhere.

Medeia had stopped by many of them on her odyssey,

“Your people really like this kind of place, don’t they?” She asked, while typing away in her notebook, the soundtrack of a tween musical playing softly as she worked.

“They are death cults. You do not think most of them would try to hide away in the midst of the biggest metropolis, do you?” He answered, filing his nails.

“Wouldn’t be impossible. Both of us have already lived in one of the biggest cities of the country. We know very well it’s super easy to hide stuff there.” She ceased typing for a second, pondering over some possibilities. “There likely are a bunch of rich guys plotting stuff right under our noses on some capital. I should go to one after exhausting my current clues.“

“Who knows. I but request you to remember, all business I realized in the world of the living was completely legal and according to the law. Including precious jewels that, officially, I found by pure luck. You cannot blame my own golden touch.“

“Don’t worry, Pluto, I know. You’re my favorite capitalist.“ She said, using the name few mortals were aware belonged to him. Closing her notebook and getting up from the chair, she declared. “Alright, let’s see what we’ll find here.“

-----

“You know, you probably would find the right path more easily if you used magic.“ He suggested, making use of his incorporeality to randomly go through the ruins’ walls.

Writing down all she saw on a notepad, she replied. “I remain only a potion maker and journalist. I clearly have no sanity and am addicted to adrenaline, but I won’t use free magic to make this worse.”

She kept patting around the walls and furniture of the place, eventually making an unnoticed mirror fall to the floor and shatter in a thousand pieces. Welp, just another relic of incalculable historical value.

One of the shards made a small cut on her leg, though, creating a thin thread of blood that would go all the way to her heel. Annoying, but no big problem. Still, she made a mental note to exchange her shoes for bigger boots.

“You know, I don’t think this partnership of ours is very equal.” She said, repeating an argument they made every other week, almost a little inside joke.

“Because it isn’t. I can destroy these magical artifacts and cults at any moment. But I grant you the opportunity to do so yourself, to further your own goals.”

“And for that not quite bare minimum, I’m eternally ungrateful.” After that jest, she finally found a place that looked slightly weird. Taking a small vial from her pockets, she spilled its liquid on the floor, making a stairway show itself. Great. At last, progress.

-----

A salvo of shotguns ringed through the air above the strategically located waist high half-wall Medea was protecting herself with.

“You REALLY can’t help me right now?” She shouted, her cover vibrating from the impact of the guns.

“In your age’s terms, nope. Work your magic, alchemist.” He replied, noticeable only to her.

She needed no magic. All that mattered was resources, ingenuity…

And many wiles!

At a spot, the noise surrounding her faded ever so slightly. Realizing her assailants were reloading, she quickly grabbed a potion bottle and threw it towards them as strongly as possible. With the cracking sound of impact and their surprised noises, she knew she hit her target.

Alright. Let's face the music!

-----

"Food poisoning. All considered, you suffer from that very rarely, for someone who is always traveling." Death pointed out.

"Hahaha. Very… urgh." Medeia remained on her knees, holding back nausea while facing the lunch she just finished throwing on the side of the road. "Very funny, Plu-"

The girl couldn't finish the sentence, instead returning to throwing out her own stomach. Truly, a lesson to never trust divine-looking beef.

Throughout the entire experience, her travel companion used one of his hands to hold her long black hair, keeping it from dirtying itself, while the other hand calmly pet her head or back, soft, calm words comforting her all the while.

It was a parental care she long didn't feel.

-----

In an almost desert, with no visible reference points, Medeia evaluated her maps and information. She could keep riding down the road with her bike, no problems, but having some idea of how long it would be before she got anywhere would be handy.

She somewhat asked herself how it would be like to be made of the same material as clouds or have the same wings birds use to fly. And in doing so, she noticed she was really, really bored.

"Why do you follow me?" She asked.

"We have known each other for a very long time. Old friends, practically." He answered.

"You can say that to a lot of people, not just me. Even within the occult means, I'm sure I'm not the only one."

"You are not. But you're also dedicated to solving terrible incidents being built with me in mind, be it in homage or against me."

"I am. But you're Death. You don't need my help to fix these."

"No, I do not. However, your motives are unique enough for me to consider them worthy of my support." He explained, putting an end to their little back-and-forth with a more in-depth explanation. "Mages are creatures of extremes. Many, as you know within your own blood, aim to deny me, destroying the natural order of our world. Others still seek to wreak great destruction, thus ignoring the equilibrium of life. You, not being a mage, are a very sensible person, Medeia. And your reasons for seeking passageways to my kingdom are approved."

And so, he vanished, leaving her with her own thoughts for a while. But she knew he was close by, as always. He was many things, but not a hunter unbeknownst to his prey.

Looking at her map again, she noticed she should go east. As she prepared to put it all back inside her bag, she found a piece of obsidian, which would easily finance her next hotel.

"Thank you, Pluto." Closing her baggage, she kept on going.

-----

Entering the new set of ruins, defeating the local cult with a sleep potion, a wool scarf and a high jump kick from really sturdy boots and finding the relevant magical artifact was, all considered, rather easy, with the maze she traversed to get there having unraveled in front of her experienced gaze.

Incense and liquids she brought now adorned an altar surrounding a curious mirror that, soonly, would cease having a connection to a world beyond.

"Alright, I think I neutralized the portal enough. How long can I make use of it?" She asked.

"Roughly ten minutes. Unfortunately, I cannot allow it to remain open any longer than that." Death informed her.

"Less than I got last time. Welp, it's enough. The cops are getting in eighteen or so to pick them up anyway." She reasoned. Picking up a brush and a hand mirror from her pockets, she looked at her own appearance for a bit, before deciding she was satisfied. "Let's do this."

The potion maker put down a feather and a golden coin in front of her, then lightly cut her own hand, letting blood fall on the proper place. Then, holding on to the mirror, she let her magic activate its restrained power.

Her reflection quickly vanished as the portal activated. In its place, were plains in eternal spring and, within them, a girl with the purest tranquility in her face.

It couldn't be traversed. It was but a camera, microphone and audio system, traversing the greatest of distances between two people.

Noticing the portal, the girl turned around and greeted the person standing on the other side with the greatest possible smile on her face.

From the deathly catacombs where she found herself at, Medeia theatrically bowed and proclaimed. "Fair maiden! Many dangers and journeys I faced to see thy lovely face once again!" With the overkill court provoking the desired laughter, she stood up straight and affirmed. "You're as beautiful as ever, Ariadne."

Carrying that special smile, from within her peaceful eternal rest, she answered. "And you're as courageous and smart as the last time we saw one another, my Medeia."

At the end of day, there is only one that truly makes life worth living.

And so, each and every day, she would search for her love's thread.

[pessimisticpigeonsworld]

https://www.tumblr.com/the-daily-dreamer/703632217679790080/aemond-and-aegon-should-go-full-uno-reverse-on?source=share

It's hilarious how TG fans don't get how A. Rhae's boys are all legal claimed by THE KING and their paternal grandfather and B. if believed, the king would have had to put ALL OF THEM (including baby Joffery and a five- and six-year-old) to death or exile. While Aemond is a kinslayer of a peace envoy and was a little boy and SUPPOSE to be granted protection from harm due to being a peace envoy.

See I think they do know, they just don't care. TG stans only care about morality and honestly if they can try to use it to make their favs look better.

To them, Rhaenyra daring to choose the father of her children and not getting the punishment they believe she deserves is worse than anything Aegon and Aemond have done. They believe that Luke, a literal child and envoy, deserved his death simply because his parents weren't married.

It doesn't matter that in the eyes of the law, historians, and literally every lord except the greens, Luke is Laenor's son. It doesn't matter that his life and those of his brothers and mother were constantly put in danger by what they were saying. Yes, everyone knew, but no one gave a flying fuck, and that pisses them off. Everyone should follow the same archaic and repressive ideals Alicent adores, except when they apply to men.

It is disturbing that they want to compare Rhaenyra protecting her children from that harpy named Alicent and her monstrous sons to Aemond murdering an unarmed boy. Aemond attacked Luke unprovoked while he was under the protection of Westerosi laws and conventions (protection of envoys and kinslaying). Like mother like son I suppose. Aemond is a mommy's boy, so it's no surprise he'd emulate her blatant disrespect and disregarding of actual laws and the lives of innocents.