#|⠀ ⋆ ˚｡ protector of his solitude ⠀ ⠀╱ ⠀ ⠀ I.

[meteoramp3]

I - The cage ˊˎ-

⋆.˚ Summary: When you find out your father decided to promise you—without asking you—to an unknown man, you burden yourself thinking of a plan to escape this unpleasing marriage. Words: 2k Warnings: English is not my first language, no dance of dragons au, forced marriage/marriage of convenience, mentions of disgust towards sex, mentions of virginity loss, minor spoilers for Fire and Blood, accurate period misogyny, betrayal, reader is from the Reach. A/N: Can noble ladies have a sworn protector or is it just a princess thing? idk, but reader has one. Also he's called ser Barristan cuz idk what else to call him lmao, and i miss him [cry]. ALSO, the fanfic was inspired by the song "The cage" by Oasis and the movie Possession ;). Masterlist

  Your fingers turned another page of the forbidden book you had found in the library of your house earlier that day, the wind made the grass dance a little, tickling your skin. The place offered a sense of calm and comfort, sheltering you from prying eyes and scolding Septas, who often reminded you of your place and duty as eldest daughter and someday, someone’s wife, and someone’s mother; a thought that always made your tummy twist.

  You rolled onto your stomach, leaning on your shoulders to admire the landscape of the field, trying to distract yourself from intrusive thoughts. You'd never felt content about marriage or motherhood. After hearing many horrible stories, you were frightened of such a destiny: being used as a bargaining chip for the family's sake, being touched and bedded without any say, while prying eyes watched to ensure the deed was done.

  Days like this always passed quickly, and today was no exception. You ignored the inevitable scolding from your parents—the tranquility and solitude kept you from leaving, even knowing your father had probably sent your sworn sword to search for you by now, as darkness had fallen.

  You were right. Ser Barristan had indeed left the castle to fetch you. Always so kind, the old man asked about your day, making small talk throughout the walk. Upon arrival, you went straight to the castle kitchen, famished and assuming your family had already dined without you.

  As usual, the pastries tasted delicious, sweet but not overly. The cooks had let you steal some of them after finishing your meal, which you shared with a serving girl and your youngest brother, who had sneaked from his room. His cheeks were sugar-coated with crumbs as he clung to your skirts, covering them with flour while babbling about his day.

  Now in your room, your dress lay discarded on a wooden chair, waiting to be cleaned.

  The night was unusually cold—the past years had been warm, especially in The Reach. The curtains flowed in the wind, and silence reigned.

 Until a knock at the main door broke through.

  The sound pulled you from your thoughts. You quickly rose, making a beeline for the door, which creaked as you opened it.

  “My lady.”

  “Oh, Ser Barristan,” You looked at the man curiously. “I didn't expect you at such an hour. How can I help you?”

  “Your father wants to see you, it seems.”

  “My father, of all people at this hour? Really?” He nodded. “Alright, I'll go in a moment. Thank you.”

  “Shall I accompany you?” You shook your head. “There's no need. Thanks, and good night.”

  You made your way to his chambers and knocked. “Father, may I come in?” A faint “yes” came from inside. You opened the door, and entered the big room, it was covered in tapestries and furniture from Essos

 Your father sat before the fireplace, smiling as you entered.

  “Sweetheart, where were you all day? I saw you once this morning, then you vanished.” He motioned to the chair beside his. “Your Septa says you missed your lessons. I thought we'd discussed this.”

  “I was in the gardens, in the clearing, specifically.”

  He sighed. “I know you find embroidery boring, but you should have told me.”

  “...Sorry.”

  “Mm, that's not why I called you anyway.”

  That made sense—he'd never summoned you at such an hour. “Then?” You watched him swallow nervously, and you raised an eyebrow.

  “I've promised you to another.”

  You choked. “What?”

  “You're to wed a Lannister. You'll be fine, and most importantly, safe. Think how this will benefit the family!”

  Your throat went dry. This had to be a jest. Your daddy wouldn't do this... would he? Just yesterday, and every day since you had been born, he had told you he loved you. You didn't even know this man, and now you have marry him? Love doesn't work that way, does it? Your mind raced to identify which Lannister it might be. You hadn't met many, nor studied their dynasty beyond the basics. Could it be Jason Lannister? No, he was married. That left his twin, Tyland Lannister, by what you've heard and studied, had already fought for the favor of Rhaenyra Targaryen many years ago.

  “Is that what you really want?” You questioned his decision. Surely as a concerned father, he wanted the best for his children, but he knew of your friendship with prince Jacaerys. Wouldn't that better serve the family? 

  You could rule beside him, and your eldest child would inherit the throne. How could you tell Jace about this? In your letters, Jacaerys had expressed his interest in marrying you, promising to wait until you came of age, and even then, until you truly felt ready for children, mindful of what had happened to his grandmother, Aemma Arryn.

  “Of course it's what I want. You're my only daughter—I want only the best for you.” Guilt suddenly gripped you for questioning him. He wanted you secure, wanted to ensure an easy life, but at what cost? Your dignity? Your autonomy? Those earlier fears flooded back—you'd always expressed disgust at forced marriages while talking with your friends, especially those with large age gaps. What of the wedding? The bedding ceremony?

  Would your father ensure your safety, or simply trust you to this stranger? You wanted to scream, to tear at your nightgown and the tapestries, perhaps even strike someone. This betrayal cut deep. This man before you—who until five years ago had shared stories of Westeros before you went to bed, who had let you roam freely when well-behaved, who had taught you archery and given you a horse—was fading away as his words sank in. By next year's end, you'd likely be with child.

  You shook your head, fighting tears. “I'm not ready.” How could you be? You'd barely spoken with men, especially those not your age. “I'm not even sixteen, by the Seven! I'm not ready to leave you, Mother, or my siblings. I'm not ready for bedding or childbearing. Father, please—tell me this is just a jest I don't like.”

His face darkened with an unfamiliar frown. “You are ready. You're a woman now—it's natural. Your mother had you when she was barely a year older.”

  “Is that what you think?”

  He tensed at your unprecedented defiance. “Go to your room. You leave in a fortnight.” He returned to his reading. You stared, feeling your soul depart. Where was your father? He who had sworn to protect you until his last breath—had he already drawn it?

  Rising reluctantly, you slammed the door, its echo bouncing off cold stone walls. Were you overreacting? True, you could be dramatic, but only in jest. The air felt bitter against your skin as you realized your vulnerability in this violent world, and you made your way to your room.

  Behind your closed door, you finally crumbled. Tears streamed down your cheeks as your head throbbed violently. You muffled your sobs behind your hand, curling into a ball on the cold floor, seeking solace or perhaps the Maiden's mercy.

  When the crying finally stopped, you weakly pushed yourself up, eyeing the desk across the room. Thoughts of your beloved prince returned. You had to tell him—but how could you defy the realm's heir?

You approached the desk, pen and ink beckoning like whispered promises of help. But you knew better. You were growing up; you must accept your path without complaint.

Settling into the chair, its cold metal details no longer welcoming, you stared at the blank page, wondering what options a girl your age had. None.

You began writing a brief letter to Jace, explaining your situation and apologizing for leaving him against your will.

Soon finished, tear-stained ink marring the page, you folded and sealed it. Your house sigil stood proud on the wax—likely the last time you'd use it before another house's sigil claimed you, along with your name and identity.

The next two weeks brought no joy, you could not look at anything or anyone without a sudden nostalgia filling you.

  It hurt, it stung, it felt like betrayal to be sold to a man twice your age—a stranger—by your own family, as if the past years meant nothing. Were they truly so desperate for power?

  You tried to reason with your father three times, but each attempt was met with dismissal. “You're old enough to wed and start a family,” he'd say, ignoring your dreams of the prince sweeping you off your feet. Perhaps it was a childish wish, but was it truly so foolish to hope for marriage to someone you loved? Someone you'd be excited to build a life with? In a world where men looked down on women, maybe it was. Still, you never expected your own father to promise you away without seeking your thoughts or offering alternatives.

  What pained you most was leaving your family, home, and friends behind. As the eldest sibling, who would care for the little ones when mother was exhausted? Would the wet nurses be as attentive as you? Would your siblings face the same fate, promised away without a choice?   

 Leaving home felt like being torn from your roots. It was such a beautiful place, with its soft grass and flowers, and that nearby clearing—your favorite hiding spot when you should have been studying the old houses and dynasties of Westeros with your septa.

  Now you stand in your chambers, dimly lit by your favorite aromatic candles, their wax melting for what might be the final time. You pack your finest dresses—silk adorned with gold and intricate patterns. After what feels like an eternity, you closed the suitcase firmly, fighting back tears.

  You didn't get a lot of sleep that night.

  Your head throbbed relentlessly and your eyes were puffy, but your handmaidens quickly tended to you with pain-relieving tea and cool cloths. They brushed your hair until it gleamed, then dressed you in your mother's courtship gown—the blue one with silver embroidery, long sleeves, and flowing skirt. You'd always longed to wear it, but your mother would laugh softly whenever you asked, saying you'd need to be old enough—and tall enough—to fit it properly. That day had finally come, though it felt far from the special occasion you'd imagined.

  The castle walls felt different that morning, as if they might swallow you whole at any moment. Pitiful glances and farewells followed your every step, each “thanks” burning in your throat. In the castle's front yard, your family and handmaidens waited. Your siblings' faces were particularly forlorn; you knelt to their level and embraced them fiercely. When you reached your parents, your mother's bone-crushing hug drove the air from your lungs. Her tears soaked your velvet sleeve as she wished you well, assuring you that this Lannister—whose name no one had bothered to share—would treat you kindly. She kissed your forehead one last time before passing you to your father.

  After the farewells, you turned toward the carriage, only to feel a tug at your skirt. Your youngest brother stood there, eyes wide. You kissed his head repeatedly, promising to write whenever possible. Then, finally, you stepped into the carriage, leaving your entire life behind.

── .✦ Part two: Little by little - wip

─ .✦ Part three: Born on a different cloud - wip

A/N: I'll try to finish writing the other two chaps asap, wish me luck :')

[tutelaris]

( 「   RP MEME :   VARIOUS KINGDOM HEARTS QUOTES.   」  | @glacierites )

‘ we shall go together. ’

“ are you certain, my lady? ”

her hands halted, half––––packed supplies momentarily forgotten. these sorts of quests were her responsibility & she had no problem with shouldering them alone. while she never would have turned jill away, she wanted to ensure that there was no expectation of her presence.

jote turned to speak to jill properly, to tell her that her company would be welcome, but it certainly wasn't a necessity if she wished to remain safe within the hideaway, but she found herself pausing the moment she met jill's eyes. there was something restless there. hidden behind the calm was a brewing tempest, ready to be set free.

it was a look that she had seen before. in the eyes of the undying who spent their lives traveling only to suddenly be stationed among their posts. in the eyes of her charge when his search for answers weight heavily on his mind but weather or illness forced them to stay in place.

in the reflection of her own eyes when she was separated from her charge.

she acquiesced without even waiting for a proper answer. the look in jill's eyes as answer enough, & jote turned back to her preparations.

“ is there aught that you need before our departure? ” the look she sent in jill's direction was bright & understanding, a smile that felt welcome among their budding friendship.

“ it would seem that we are in for quite a journey. ”

[logicallyblind]

i see your “bruce wayne laughs in upper class, 100 dollar bills fall from his lips when he chuckles, etc etc” take and i agree wholeheartedly but also i raise you

“bruce who doesn’t really laugh at things out loud like that really, he’s more of a nose exhale, brief grin and intense eye contact conveying his emotions” type of guy but sometimes

something will happen that constitutes, his full on body laugh and when its an instinctual thing it’s so rare that bruce doesn’t have a failsafe for that reflex and the person they’re with just,, stops

because the laugh they’re so used to can’t be compared to this genuine deep, heavy with emotion and feeling laugh that fills his lungs and your soul- and they just wish he would do that all of the time instead of his wooden paparazzi simpering and its something so stark that it throws them for a loop

and idk i just love watching bruce expose layers of himself to those he loves without consciously doing so

[tutelaris]

even if she had not been in tune with every minuscule movement that he made, it would have been impossible not to notice his touch. he was warm. warm enough that she could feel the heat in excess, even through the fabric that covered her skin. a shameless part of her wished that the barrier was gone, that she could feel his touch on her, however brief.

the smile that graced his features brought a sudden heat to her face, separate from the flame of his touch. yet there was a sadness in his expression that lingered. she wanted to brush the worry lines from his cheeks with her thumbs & kiss them away from his brow, but she knew that was a careless impulse & far beyond the proper conduct between attendant & ward ( though she knew that line had already been crossed, there was a difference between stepping over it for his comfort & erasing it completely ). she would have to settle for this moment of reminiscing & dropping formalities & propriety behind closed doors.

“ i simply wished to save you from one of cyril's monotonous lectures. ” she had been the receiver of many, along with most of the children who grew up in the order. the importance of training, of balanced meals, of truthfulness, of obedience. unsure as she was as to whether or not he would feel as though he had the authority to scold the dominant of the phoenix, jote had decided very quickly that she wouldn't allow him the chance.

“the first of many daring rescues. " & the beginning of her eternal loyalty to her charge but, moreso, to her dearest friend. She would protect him from anything & everything that she could, including detestable root vegetables. though her words were intended playfully, her tone grew more serious than she had intended. “ i have always taken my vow to protect you quite seriously. "

these tender and innocent moments shine like divinity through memory that sleeps in a bed cast of hell's flames . he cherishes the time she chooses to devote to him , the weightless minutes that soar effortlessly , making it feel like their time together is never quite enough . always leaving him wanting , yearning , that she might exist again by his side . but right now , he relishes in this . that is , until her usual formality is pinned to the conclusion of her sentence like she , herself , had completely forgotten their stations . reality can oft feel like a crime ; robbing them of each other .

if they could at least live their lives as friends . . . nothing more , nothing less . . . he figures he could be content , for then , they might feel free . he'll smother his love for her always in favor of even just her contentment . and as he listens to the familiar and comforting cadence of her voice does she burst into a fit of giggles , reminiscent of several nights shared at one another's bedside . still , rare enough that he thinks it a treasure .

a warm smile counters the coolness of the air that holds them in it , and his own chest swells with laughter , cast from sincerity into the world , yet painful as it claws from a brutal devotion , aching beneath its crystal center . he feels the vibrations of their laughter as his hand still lays atop her leg , his thumb brushing delicately over the cotton fabric that envelops her . such sincerity lives beneath irises , reflections of the sky on a day of a peaceful past .

❛ to me , they had . ❜ he plays gently into the reprieve in her jest , his face light - hearted , but seemingly completely serious . ❛ if my trusted companion hadn't been there to rid my plate of them , my survival would have been called to question . ❜ he flashes her a knowing curve of his lips , despite the lingering sorrow of truth in the air . ❛ thank you , jote . you have saved me many times from the throes of distaste . ❜

[goingmerryfics]

Hello, could you please do mihawk, benn, Rayleigh and shanks x f reader who is a lot younger? (like early 20s)

Younger S/O - Shanks & Mihawk

Content: female reader, age gap, younger (but not minor ofc) s/o

Notes* Hey! So I tried a few times to write for Rayleigh and Benn, but I just don’t know their characters like that- so here's the two I know I can do! I apologize for it being a little shorter than normal, I opened up requests and then immediately got cursed with writer's block again

Shanks

Shanks definitely does not look his age, so when you’d spotted him at the bar all those years ago, you had no reservations about flirting with him

He was totally into it, too. A young, pretty girl showing interest in him? Hell yes

At first, it was a simple fling. But then Shanks continued to return to your island again and again, seeking you out over and over until it wasn’t just coincidence anymore

You two became a couple, but on the low. Shanks didn’t need any idiot bandits, pirate or marines targeting you to get back at him

In the beginning of your relationship with him, he was very careful about the power dynamic between you two

He was a powerful man and an older one at that, so he makes extra sure that during the time you two spend together, he takes care of you very well

Of course, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t tease you!

Around the crew or people he feels can take a joke, he calls you his sugar baby

You hate his dumb jokes, but you love him, and he loves you

Mihawk

Mihawk is the type of man that he doesn’t care who you are or where you come from

Age would not factor into his views of his wife. If he loves you, he loves you

While he’s not always the type to show that outright with words or constant physical affection, he prefers to show it with acts of service

Respect is his top priority as well- doesn’t matter the age. You will be respected and regarded highly as his wife

He’s a protector, but sometimes overly so. That’s where the age gap gets him- he often assumes that you need help or company with anything from household chores to a walk on the island (but to be fair, the island can be dangerous

He also likes to use old slang, which sometimes leaves you baffled as to its meaning

It’s actually pretty funny having to ask him what the hell he’s talking about when he says things like, “A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush”

It’s one of the rare moments when you can watch him laugh, because the sheer confusion on your face amuses him

He gives you your own space in the castle as well. He values his own solitude at times, so he’s sure you want yours at times, too

[raccoon-in-the-danger-room]

Sometimes I see reviews about D&W where people think Worst Wolverine's backstory is super lacking. That they expected something epic like how Mysterio tricked Logan to slaughter everyone in the Old Man comic run.

But that plot, at least to me, doesn't make The Worst Wolverine. It probably makes the Most Tortured Wolverine -- the story of a man slaughtering his own family with his bare hands because he was mind controlled. Which inevitably created a power vacuum so gigantic that the world basically collapsed as supervillains take over the world.

But the title of Worst Wolverine should belong to the Logan that completely abandons his most important moral value: to be the protector.

Sure, he tends to be nomadic and at times self-isolates, but at his core he truly knows what it means to be a pack animal: to be a part of a cohesive family unit, rely on others, be a guardian for the weak.

In a literal sense, a common backstory for him was that he just fucked off from human society after he mutated to live with a pack of wolves. He turned feral, but they also taught him about the importance of community.

Even if you aren't a fan of the wolf background (which I AM because I think it's funny and dramatic as hell), there's other stories where he got taken care of by the Blackfoot Tribe and Lord Ogun before somehow winding up in the Weapon-X Program. Then, the Hudson family rescued him and helped him gain his humanity back after the adamantium experiments. He joined Department H, and sometime after, he found his place with the X-Men.

My point being that past or present, Logan has always belonged to a family. He needs it -- his human AND animal side both need it. He's not meant to be a creature of solitude. When he is, it's a form of punishment that he inflicts upon himself because he doesn't feel worthy to be around the people he loves or he's worried about hurting them. Or it's something inflicted upon him -- aka he's been captured and is being experimented on.

So what does all this tell us about Logan's moral code? He cares deeply for others because it's in his nature to be a part of a pack and he will do anything to protect them.

He's very caring towards animals (ex. looking after wolves that took care of him, mercy killing a bear in The Wolverine, and saving the horses in Logan). He tried to save Silver Fox's life when Sabretooth attacked her. When his wife Itsu was murdered, he relied on the advice of Lord Ogun to get vengeance for her with the Muramasa Blade. He joined Department H and Alpha Flight because he owed the Hudsons so much after re-acclimating him to society. He stayed with the X-Men because Charles gave him a home, family, and purpose outside of being a weapon. He enabled him to be the good man that he is by not only using his powers for the good fight but also being a teacher for the students.

As a character, Logan was created to reflect the archetype of the cowboy/samurai with the morals of honor, integrity, and justice. He's also not afraid to be judge, jury, and executioner for the people he loves. He's a man of action.

So what is the antithetical? A man who dishonors himself by not taking his job seriously. A man of inaction who abandons those he loves. A man who doesn't seek justice but wallows in regret and guilt.

And what did the Worst Wolverine do?

He let his fondness for drinking harm his work. While he was drinking at a bar, a group of humans invaded the X-Mansion and killed a large part of the staff, students, and X-Men. He entered a berserker rage where he murdered the invaders AND innocent people. He tarnished the legacy of the X-Men.

The title of Worst Wolverine doesn't go to the man who got brainwashed and killed without knowing. The title goes to the Logan who killed indescriminantly and didn’t want to stop.

He chose to walk away when they called out for him. He went into a beast state that made the public completely turn against the X-Men in just one night. Instead of making up for his sins, he just went back to the bar -- the very thing that killed his family. He did everything he could to go against his morals of honor, integrity, and justice.

He was a man who failed his family.

THAT'S what makes him The Worst Wolverine.

[sweetlittlehoneybun]

Stress + Zoro = little moss head

Zoro gets super stressed and ends up hiding up in the crow's nest of the thousand sunny as he regresses to the age of a toddler to relieve stress. However, he didn't tell the crew about it as Sanji finds him crying leaving Sanji super confused.

Zoro, the 3 sword-style swordsman, stood at the bow of the Thousand Sunny, the cool ocean breeze ruffling his green hair as he stared out at the endless horizon. The ship sailed smoothly on the calm sea, the sails full of wind. It was a rare moment of peace for the Straw Hat Pirates. However, Zoro's mind was anything but calm. The weight of recent battles and the ever-growing list of challenges ahead pressed on him like a heavy iron anchor, each thought a new link in a chain that threatened to drag him under. His brow furrowed, his eyes tightened, and his teeth clenched.

Without a word, Zoro abruptly turned and sprinted to the base of the main mast. He took to the steel ladder in a swift, practiced motion, climbing higher and higher until he reached the crow's nest. The wooden planks creaked under his feet as he settled into his safe haven, his usual stoic expression replaced by one of intense contemplation. The crew below, accustomed to Zoro's sudden spikes of stress, gave him space, knowing he needed to be alone.

Zoro, overwhelmed by stress, silently climbed to the crow's nest of the Thousand Sunny for solace. The crew, used to his stressful episodes(most of the time he just exercises), allowed him his space, unaware that his mental state had regressed to that of a toddler's.

In the quiet solitude of the crow's nest, Zoro felt his thoughts become a whirlwind of childish fears and worries. As he tries to workout, silently hoping that exercising will silence his fuzzy brain. His grip tightened around one of his dumbells as the ship swayed gently, his eye widens as he began to tear up. The stress of the past battles, the pressure of his role as the crew's protector, and the looming shadow of the New World overwhelmed him. In his heart, he was no longer the strong swordsman that the crew relied on, but a scared, overwhelmed child seeking refuge from the world.

Meanwhile, Sanji, the ship's chef, noticed Zoro's erratic behavior from below. Sanji's instincts told him that something was wrong, but he couldn't resist the urge to test Zoro's limits. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he began to climb the ropes to the crow's nest, he feels a burn in his legs, you could tellthathe was itching for a fight. His mind raced with the thrill of an impending confrontation.

As he approached the crow's nest, he could hear faint sniffles and the sound of someone trying to stifle their sobs. Pausing in his climb, Sanji's confusion grew. Zoro, the epitome of stoicism, crying? It was unheard of. But his curiosity and concern outweighed his initial amusement, and he quickened his pace.

Finally reaching the top, Sanji poked his head over the edge, only to find Zoro sitting in the corner, knees drawn up to his chest, with tears streaming down his face. The swordsman looked up, his eye red and puffy, and immediately tried to hide his face, but it was too late. Sanji's expression shifted from one of battle-ready excitement to utter bewilderment.

"What's going on, Zoro?" Sanji asked, his voice gentle. "You're not hurt, are you?"

Zoro looked up with a wet, pleading eye. "anji, go 'way," he sniffled, his voice unusually high-pitched and childlike as he also struggled to say Sanji's name right. Zoro holding himself in a hug like fashion.

Sanji's brows shot up in surprise. "What's wrong, Zoro?" he asked, his voice laced with genuine concern. He had never seen the swordsman in such a state. He stepped into the crow's nest, his boots making a soft thud on the planks.

"I said go 'way," Zoro repeated, his voice still high-pitched and trembling. He scooted back, trying to put as much space between them as possible in the small space. His cheeks were flushed with embarrassment, and he buried his face in his arms.

Sanji's eyes widened, and he took a step back, holding up his hands in a non-threatening gesture. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry, Zoro. I didn't mean to scare you." He tried to keep his tone light, but the sight of his usually fearless crewmate in such distress was unsettling.

Tentatively, Sanji sat down a few feet away, his eyes never leaving Zoro's huddled form. He studied the swordsman, noticing the way his shoulders heaved with each sob and his fingers gripped his arms with a strength that belied his size and would most definitely bruise. It was clear that this was not a simple case of nerves or exhaustion. Something deeper was troubling Zoro, something that had stripped him of his usual stoic facade.

For a long moment, the only sounds were the rhythmic creaks of the ship and the distant calls of seagulls. Sanji waited patiently, knowing that pushing Zoro would only make things worse. Finally, the swordsman looked up, his eye brimming with unshed tears. "S-anji... I-I don't know what's happening to me," he whispered, his voice cracking.

"It's okay," Sanji assured him, his voice soothing. "Just take a deep breath and tell me what's going on."

Zoro sniffled and took a deep, shuddering breath, his chest rising and falling heavily. He looked at Sanji with the wide eye of a lost child. "Everyfing's just... too much," he murmured, his voice still high and trembling. "The fighting, danger, pressure... I just want to be safe agains, like when I was little."

Sanji's heart went out to his friend. He had never seen Zoro so vulnerable. "You don't have to be strong all the time," he said softly, reaching out a hand to pat Zoro's back awkwardly. "We're all here for you."

But Zoro just shook his head, his grip on the himself tightening. "No, no, no," he repeated, his voice growing more insistent. "I need to be strong, for the crew, for Luffy. I can't be a burden."

Sanji sighed, his expression a mix of concern and understanding. "You're not a burden, Zoro," he said firmly. "We're all in this together, and sometimes, it's okay to lean on your friends."

Zoro looked up at him, his eye filled with a mix of frustration and gratitude. He knew Sanji was right, but the thought of admitting his fears to the rest of the crew was unbearable. "They'lls laughs ats me," he whispered, his bottom lip quivering. "Theys won't take mes ss-ser-eriously anymore." Zoro says struggling with the word seriously.

Sanji frowned, his eyes searching Zoro's. "They're not like that," he said. "They'll understand."

But Zoro was lost in his own world of doubt. His mind was a tumultuous sea of fear and inadequacy, the words of his comrades just distant whispers on the wind. The stress had taken its toll, and his thoughts had regressed to a time when the world was simpler, when the biggest challenge was climbing a tree or catching a fish. He wished he could be that carefree again, if only for a little while, but he had to protect the crew.

Sanji watched as Zoro's body remained taut and tense, despite the childlike whimpers that escaped him. It was a surreal sight, one that made the cook's heart ache for his friend. He knew Zoro was struggling to reconcile his adult responsibilities with the desperate need to be comforted like a little kid.

"You know," Sanji began, his voice gentle, "sometimes, even the strongest people need a break." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "When I'm stressed, I just think of the warmth of freshly baked bread or the taste of a perfect steak. It helps me feel a bit more... grounded."

Zoro looked at him with a mix of wonder and despair. "Dat's your way," he said, his voice still high-pitched. "But why dos I have to be like this?" He gestured to himself with a trembling hand. "Why can't I just... I don'ts know, punch somefing or yell and feel better?"

Sanji nodded, his eyes never leaving Zoro's. "Everyone has their own way of coping," he said, his voice gentle. "And maybe, just maybe, your mind is telling you that you need a different kind of comfort."

Zoro wiped his nose with the back of his hand, his eye never leaving Sanji's face. "But why a toddler's?" Zoro whined, his voice cracking with emotion. "Why do I want to cuddle up in a blanket and hold onto a dumb stuffy?"

Sanji chuckled, his expression warm and understanding. "You know, everyone has their quirks," he said, his eyes twinkling.

Zoro looked at him skeptically, his eye still filled with the pain of his inner turmoil. "But why a toddler's?" he repeated, his voice small and lost. "I'm a swordsman, nots a baby."

Sanji gave a soft chuckle, trying to lighten the mood. "You know, Zoro, sometimes our minds are like an animal," he said, leaning in slightly. "You've got all these claws, all this strength, but even the toughest animal has a weak spot."

Zoro looked at him, his expression unchanged, but the tightness around his eye eased a fraction.

"But... buts everyone will fink I's gone soft," he said, his voice still high and trembling. "They'll fink I can't handle being a pirate no more."

Sanji leaned back, folding his arms. "You think Luffy's got it easy because he's carefree?" he asked, a smirk playing on his lips. "Or Usopp, because he runs away from fights?"

Zoro considered this, his brow furrowed. "But they're not likes me," he murmured.

Sanji shrugged. "Luffy finds strength in his childlike wonder, and Usopp in his vivid imagination. Maybe this is just your way of dealing with things, Zoro."

Zoro pondered Sanji's words, his thumb knuckle finding its way to his lips as his mind continued to regress. The gesture was involuntary, a habit from a time when the world was less demanding, and fears could be soothed with the simple comfort of sucking his thumb. The feeling was strange yet oddly comforting. He felt his shoulders relax, and his breathing even out as the stress started to wash away, replaced by a warm fuzzy feeling in his head.

Sanji noticed the change in Zoro's posture and watched with a mix of concern and curiosity as the swordsman's features softened. He could see the cogs turning in Zoro's head as he grappled with the idea that it was okay to seek solace in his childish ways, even if only for a brief escape. The silence between them grew thick, punctuated only by the occasional sniffle from Zoro.

Finally, the swordsman spoke again, his voice still small and tremulous. "anji, promise me you won't tell the others."

Sanji nodded solemnly. "Your secret's safe with me," he assured, his voice low and soothing. "Now, let's get you a nice, warm blanket and something to eat. That always helps me feel better."

Zoro nodded, his thoughts drifting to the idea of a plushie, something soft and comforting to cling to. He remembered the small, one-eyed bear he had as a child, how it had been his constant companion during thunderstorms and nights when the darkness felt too vast. His eye searched the crow's nest, longing for something similar to provide him the comfort he desperately needed.

Sanji watched as Zoro's thoughts seemed to drift away, his eye misting over with longing. The cook couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for his friend. He knew that in their line of work, it was easy to lose sight of the simpler things that brought happiness. The thought of Zoro craving something as innocent as a plush toy was both endearing and heartbreaking.

Zoro's whines grew softer as he remembered the plush bear he had lost long ago. It had been with him through countless nights, the silent guardian that had seen him through his early days as a pirate hunter. He missed the comfort it had provided, the way it had made the vast, unpredictable world feel just a bit less big and less frightening.

His thoughts grew fuzzy, and he found himself wishing for a similar object to cling to. A soft plushie, or a soft blanket, something that could absorb his fears and soothe his frayed nerves. He pictured himself hugging it tightly, his face buried in its fur, feeling the warmth and safety that had been missing for so long.

The memory of his childhood plushie grew more vivid in his mind, the feel of its worn fabric under his tiny fingers, the smell of home that lingered on it despite the years of travel. Zoro felt a pang in his chest, a yearning for that innocent time when battles were just imaginary and friends were never in danger. His eye searched the crow's nest again, desperately seeking something to fill that void.

Finding nothing, Zoro's frustration grew, his toddler mind unable to reconcile the lack of a familiar comfort object. He let out a wail, his fists pounding against the wooden railing. "I want my teddy!" he sobbed, his voice cracking as he dropped the dumbbell he had been gripping and his arms flew up furiously trying to wipe the tears running down his face. The sound of his distress echoed through the ship, reaching the ears of the confused and concerned crew below.

Sanji's eyes widened in surprise at Zoro's sudden outburst, but he remained calm, his hand still resting comfortingly on Zoro's back. "It's okay, Zoro," he murmured, trying to soothe the distressed swordsman. "We'll find something to help you feel better."

But Zoro was beyond consolation. His frustration boiled over into a full-blown tantrum. He kicked his legs out, his feet thumping against the planks of the crow's nest. "No, no, no!" he wailed, his voice reaching a pitch that would put a banshee to shame. "I want my teddy now!"

Sanji's eyes darted around, searching for anything that could serve as a makeshift plushie. Spotting a rolled-up shirt in the corner, he grabbed it and held it out to Zoro. "Here," he said, trying to sound reassuring. "This can be your teddy for now."

Zoro's eye lit up for a moment, but as soon as the fabric of the t-shirt brushed against his skin, his expression crumpled into one of discomfort. "It's scratchy!" he wailed, his voice piercing the air. The realization that his own clothes were also scratchy only added to his distress, and his screaming grew louder, his sobs more intense.

Sanji winced at the sound, his hand hovering over Zoro's shoulder, unsure of what to do next. He had never seen his friend in such a state, and the sight was both heart-wrenching and alarming. The crew below grew more concerned, exchanging confused glances as the swordsman's cries echoed through the ship.

With a sudden idea, Sanji turned to the supplies in the crow's nest, searching for something that might resemble a plush toy. His eyes fell on a rolled-up piece of cloth, likely used to protect the ship's lookout equipment. He unfurled it, revealing a soft, red material that looked surprisingly snuggle-worthy. He approached Zoro cautiously, holding out the cloth with both hands like an offering.

"Here, Zoro," he said softly, "This could be your temporary teddy."

But Zoro was lost in his tantrum, his cries piercing the calm of the sea. He pushed Sanji's hand away, his face a mask of despair. "No, no, no!" he screamed, his voice raw with emotion. "It not same!"

The chef looked on, his heart in his throat. He had never seen the swordsman so vulnerable, so utterly lost. The usually stoic Zoro was now a tempest of toddler emotions, inconsolable in his distress. Sanji's mind raced for a solution, desperate to provide his friend with the comfort he so clearly needed.

In the midst of Zoro's wails, a new sound reached their ears. It was the thump of hooves on the mast, growing louder with every passing second. Sanji's eyes widened as he recognized the source of the commotion. "Chopper," he murmured, a mix of hope and trepidation coloring his voice.

Chopper, the ship's doctor and a reindeer-human hybrid, poked his head into the crow's nest, his expression one of bewilderment. His eyes grew wide when he saw Zoro's state, his antlered head tilting to the side as he took in the scene before him. "Sanji? What's wrong, Zoro?" he asked, his voice filled with concern and worry.

Sanji saw his opportunity and took it. He swiftly scooped Chopper into his arms, despite the latter's protests. "Hold still, you," he murmured, his movements surprisingly gentle given his usual exasperation with the doctor's antics. "You're going to be Zoro's teddy for now."

Chopper squirmed in his grasp, his eyes wide with shock. "Sanji!, what are you doing!?" he squeaked, his voice high with confusion and a hint of fear.

Ignoring the doctor's protests, Sanji held Chopper out to Zoro, who had stopped crying to stare at the bizarre sight before him. "Here," Sanji said with a hopeful smile, "Chopper can be your teddy for now. He's soft and warm, just like the one you used to have."

Zoro's eye lit up with hope, and he reached out tentatively to touch the reindeer's fur. Chopper, still bewildered, allowed Zoro to clutch onto him tightly, his eyes wide with shock. The sudden weight of the swordsman's burly arms was a surprise, but he remained still, sensing the gravity of the situation.

As Zoro buried his face in Chopper's soft fur, his body began to relax. The warmth of the reindeer's body and the comforting texture of his fur calmed the swordsman down a bit. The sobs grew quieter. His breathing evened out, and his body melted into the embrace.

Chopper, still in shock, patted Zoro's back gently, his own heart racing. He had never seen the swordsman so distraught and didn't know how to handle it. But as he felt the tension seep out of the pirate's muscles, he realized that perhaps Sanji's strange solution had worked.

The crow's nest grew quiet, save for the sound of Zoro's muffled sniffles and the occasional squeak from Chopper as he tried to adjust to his new role. The doctor's mind raced, trying to understand what was happening, but he knew better than to disturb the fragile peace that had settled over the swordsman.

As Zoro's cries grew softer, he felt his eyelid droop and a yawn slip through his mouth. His eye grew heavy with the weight of exhaustion and the gentle swaying of the ship. He leaned into Chopper, his body feeling boneless with relief. The reindeer's soft fur was surprisingly comforting against his cheek, and the steady beating of the doctor's heart beneath his ear was a lullaby that promised safety.

Sanji watched as Zoro's breathing grew even, his eyes closing as he drifted into a peaceful slumber. He couldn't help but smile at the sight of his tough comrade holding onto Chopper like a cherished plushie. It was strange, but seeing Zoro find solace in something so innocent was oddly endearing.

Chopper, now accustomed to his role, allowed Zoro to use him as a pillow. He could feel the swordsman's thumb knuckle making its way into his mouth, and his eyes grew wide with surprise. He'd heard of thumb-sucking as a childhood comfort, but he had never seen it in action, especially not from someone as formidable as Zoro.

The sound of Zoro's gentle snores filled the crow's nest, a stark contrast to the fierce battles he usually dominated. The blue-nosed reindeer looked to Sanji for guidance, his gaze questioning. Sanji just shrugged and chuckled, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Let him be," he whispered. "We all need our comforts."

Chopper nodded, his concern for Zoro outweighing his own discomfort. He shifted slightly to get more comfortable, feeling the warmth of the swordsman's body seep into his own. The sea breeze picked up, sending a shiver through him. Sanji noticed and pulled out an extra blanket from the supplies, carefully tucking it around them both. "You two take it easy up here," he said, his voice low so as not to disturb the sleeping pirate.

Sanji descended the ladder, his mind racing with the events of the last few minutes. He knew the commotion had to have alerted the rest of the crew, and they would be worried about what had happened to their comrade. As he reached the deck, he found the Straw Hats gathered in a concerned huddle, their eyes on the crow's nest.

Luffy looked up as Sanji approached, his eyebrow raised in question. "What's wrong with Zoro?" he asked, his voice filled with genuine concern. Sanji took a deep breath, trying to find the right words to explain the bizarre situation without causing unnecessary alarm.

"He's just... having a rough time," Sanji replied, his voice carefully measured. "I think the stress is really getting to him." The rest of the crew exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of confusion and worry. They had all seen Zoro stressed before, but never like this.

Luffy's eyes widened in concern. "Is he okay?" he asked, his voice filled with a rare seriousness.

Sanji nodded. "For now, he's just... sleeping," he said, trying to keep his tone casual. "But we should keep an eye on him. Make sure he gets plenty of rest and doesn't push himself too hard."

The crew murmured in agreement, their faces a mirror of worry. Sanji knew he had to be the one to explain, to prepare them for the changes in Zoro's behavior. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the conversation to come.

"Look, guys," Sanji began, his tone serious. "Zoro's been dealing with a lot of pressure lately, and I think he's just reached his breaking point." The pirates looked at each other, their expressions a mix of confusion and concern. "He's been bottling up his stress, trying to be the stoic swordsman we all know and depend on. If he wakes up he might be a bit different than the swordsman's were use to "

Nami stepped forward, her eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, 'different'?" she asked, her voice tinged with skepticism. Sanji rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a bit awkward.

"Well, it seems like... Zoro's mental state has kind of, uh, regressed," Sanji stuttered, searching for the right words. "He's acting like a... a toddler right now."

The Straw Hats gaped at him, their eyes wide with astonishment. Luffy's hat tilts back, revealing his puzzled expression. "What do you mean, Sanji?"

Sanji sighs, running a hand through his hair. "He's... not quite himself," he says, his eyes darting to the crow's nest above. "His mind's kind of gone back to when he was a little kid."

The Straw Hats stare at him, their expressions a mix of shock and disbelief. Usopp's hand shoots up. "You mean like, he's going to start playing with toys and asking for bedtime stories?"

Sanji nods, a small smile playing on his lips. "Yeah, something like that. However I'm not completely sure."

The crew exchanges skeptical glances, their expressions a mix of confusion and concern. "But why?" Usopp asks, his voice a high-pitched squeak. "Is he okay?"

Sanji nods firmly. "He's okay," he reassures them. "It's just his way of dealing with stress." He pauses, weighing his words carefully. "You know how Luffy gets all excited and hyper? Or how you get all scared and imagine things?"

The crew nods, understanding the varying ways each of them dealt with their own stress.

"So what do we do?" Nami asks, her eyes never leaving the crow's nest.

Sanji scratches his head, his mind racing. "For now, let him rest," he says finally. "We'll see how he is when he wakes up. Maybe it's just a one time thing."

The girls exchange a look, nodding in understanding. "I've got some plushies in my room," Robin offers, her voice gentle. "I'm sure he can borrow one if it'll help."

Nami nods in agreement, her expression thoughtful. "I'll grab some of my stuff too," she says, already turning to head below deck. "Maybe something from my childhood will work."

Usopp looks at Sanji, his face a mask of confusion. "But, what if he wakes up and starts crying again?" he asks, his voice quivering slightly.

Sanji nods, his eyes serious. "Chopper's with him," he says, his voice firm. "If Zoro needs anything, Chopper will be there."

Luffy, who had been quietly listening to the conversation, suddenly bursts out in laughter, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Haha, Zoro's finally cracked!" he says, a wide grin spreading across his face. "It's about time he deals with all that stress he's been hoarding!"

The crew looks at their captain, a mix of shock and concern etched on their faces. Sanji sighs, knowing that Luffy's innocence sometimes leads to insensitivity. "Luffy, it's not something to laugh about," he says, his voice a gentle reprimand. "Zoro's going through a tough time."

But Luffy's grin doesn't waver. "I know, I know," he says, his eyes sparkling. "But think about it! Zoro's usually so serious and tense. Now we can finally play together!" He claps his hands together, his enthusiasm infectious. "Maybe we can have a game tag, ooooooo I can teach him some of my cool moves!"

Sanji sighs, knowing that Luffy's intentions are pure. "Keep it down," he murmurs, a hint of a smile playing on his lips despite the situation's gravity. "We don't want to disturb him."

Luffy nods, his excitement momentarily dampened. The crew stands in silence for a moment, the only sound being the gentle slap of waves against the Thousand Sunny's hull. They all knew Zoro well enough to understand that his stoic exterior was a shield, one that had clearly been breached by the weight of their pirate life's stresses.

Nami breaks the silence, her voice filled with a hint of amusement. "You know, it's kind of refreshing to know that even Zoro can't handle everything all the time," she says, a smirk playing on her lips. The tension in the air lightens, and the others chuckle in agreement. It was true; the swordsman's unshakeable demeanor had always made them wonder if he ever felt fear or doubt.

Robin nods thoughtfully. "Perhaps this is his way of letting us in, of showing us that he's not invincible," she says, her voice soft. The crew exchanges knowing looks. They had all seen the weight Zoro carried, the silent burden of being the crew's protector and Luffy's right-hand man.

[beware-of-pity]

You believe me like a god (I destroy you like I am) I

Masterlist

- Next

Jacaerys Velaryon x reader

Summary:

Your family was dead; everyone had been killed. The war had been fought, many had died, and the victor had ascended the throne in the name of Rhaenyra Targaryen, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. Everyone was dead…..except you, your mother and your little niece, Jaehaera.

TW: Self-hatred/Implied Self Harm. Complicated family relations. The reader is a Targtower.

A/N: This is a blend of both the show and the book, so if most characterisations (mostly the greens) don't add up to you, it's because of that. (since the show has been....something, as of late). Also, Silverwing is your dragon, for story's sake.

Cross-posted on Ao3

. 𓆰♕𓆪

Chapter I: I fell in love with a war (nobody told me it ended)

Your family was dead; everyone had been killed. 

The war had been fought, many had died, and the victor had ascended the throne in the name of Rhaenyra Targaryen, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. 

Everyone was dead…..except you, your mother and your little niece, Jaehaera.

After the Blacks captured the capital and killed your brother Aegon and the rest of your family, your sister ruled the Seven Kingdoms unchallenged. Prince Jacaerys, her son and your nephew, was named the prince of Dragonstone in front of the whole of the realm. Her other sons were given high places of honour at her court, her family was praised and became the subject of songs and tales through the realm, while you and your remaining family became royal afterthoughts. 

Rhaenyra had been unsure of what to do with you when she had taken hold of the capital. At the time, you had the comfort of your older sister Helaena, who you comforted and held most of the time, especially after she had fallen into the grief of madness at the death of her eldest son. She had allowed you relative freedom, more than your mother was allowed, as she had been confined and chained to the dungeons of the keep, gaining her the name ‘The Queen in Chains’. In her ways, you suppose, she had tried to get close to you in an effort to reconcile the break the war had caused to your family, and despite how you had never seen her in the same way your mother had all her life, you remained unresponsive to her approaches. The wounds were too deep, and you weren’t sure you could forgive what had taken place the night Blood and Cheese stormed the castle, even with the knowledge that she had not been the one to orchestrate the siege but rather your uncle Daemon, in the name of revenge for the death of your nephew Lucerys. 

But when Helaena had thrown herself off the highest window of the keep, losing her life after getting impaled by the spikes surrounding it, Rhaenyra had given up hope for reconciliation.  Helaena was the closest family member you had, after your mother, never properly gettin' along with your brothers, except for Daeron. Safe to say, her death had broken you and left you unresponsive to each news of peril coming to your faction. 

When the news of Aemond’s death at the end of your uncle Daemon reached you, you did not shed a tear, and when Daeron died you said you had no time for them. They would be futile, tears did not reach the dead, after all. 

Amidst bloodshed and warmongering, there was but one person you allowed in the solitude your life had taken hold of; Your nephew, Jacaerys. 

It was he who had dismissed the attempts of his mother’s council of sending you away to Old Town to become a Septa or making you a lady in waiting to his step-sisters Baela and Rhaena, who they too took no comfort in the notion. You were their prisoner, yes, but no one must forget that you and Jaehaera were their family, of royal blood, and with peace now upon the realm, proving discord lingering still was not how the House of the Dragon would rebuild itself.  

Jacaerys had convinced them to keep you hostage, using you to keep in line the great houses that had fought alongside the greens - but that was a notion he used only for his allies and councillors. You were more than just a hostage for him, always having been. You were his aunt, one he cherished so. 

Since you were the same age, you had grown up together. You shared a wet nurse in infancy and were often taught your lessons by the same measter. 

You never shared the same dislike your brothers had for him and his brothers, and even so, you thought the notion of Jacaerys stealing Aegon and Aemond’s birthrights, which they and your mother believed in, to be utterly ridiculous. He couldn’t steal something that was not theirs in the first place; he got what he had from his mother, your sister, who had rights over the iron throne long before they were even born. To say you were heartbroken when your sister had taken residence on Dragonstone, taking her children with her, would be an understatement. You were more pained when the next time you saw him was the same night Aemond lost his eye. 

Aemond played the helpless victim of a deliberate attack by your nephews and cousins in public as he spouted devious words about them in private while gloating at his great accomplishment, claiming Vaghar for the greens. Words you tried to reprimand him for, which, in turn, turned his anger to you. It’s not that you didn’t condone his lost eye, but for him to be rid of guilt and his part in the ordeal always ticked you in the wrong way. His anger had always been his least strong suit, narcissism only growing from there, thinking himself invincible, which only resulted in him making rush decisions that gained him but a brief advantage, such as marching to Harrenhall and leaving King’s Landing undefended, giving the perfect opening for your sister to fly and claim as her own. 

You had been among the few asking for Aegon to send for peace. The damage was done, the throne was usurped, though everyone refused to call it so, and you couldn’t do anything about that. When Helaena suggested peace terms, she did so with your support as well as that of your mother and grandmaster Orwyle.

 But Aemond had to go and ruin everything. 

You thought of escaping then, wanting to bring Helaena and her little ones along, flying on Silverwing and Dreamfyre to Dragonstone, bending the knee and seeking protection before Rhaenyra’s wrath befell your family. But how could you? Helaena and you had been separated from Rhaenyra since you two were young, occasionally seeing her when her family visited King’s Landing, you didn’t know the woman or how she would react to you showing up at her doorsteps. 

Besides, you two had been securely under Alicent's thumb for your whole lives, and the thought of your mother thinking you a traitor filled you with panic. You couldn’t betray her or make her believe you had. You and Helaena had been robbed of autonomy your entire lives, but you did try to help Rhaenyra when you two could. So, when Helaena was punished alongside Aegon for something Aemond had done, you felt all the more guilty for not having done more for your siblings. 

If before you had been worried about losing everything, now that you had nothing, you spent your days mute, not doing anything. When your mother was allowed to visit, you turned her away, not wanting to hear of her maddening and secretive plans to place you or Jaehaera on the throne. 

You were told she mostly cried, ripped her old gowns and threw the books given to her out of the windows of her room. You cared for her still, but not enough to deal with her when you too were not doing any better. 

You were not allowed outside, in case you tried an escape, unless Jacaerys or a group of guards accompanied you. You were not allowed to dine with everyone in the great hall and most of all you were deprived of Silverwing. The last you saw or rode her was before Rhaenyra had taken King’s Landing…..and how long ago was that? A year….two? You couldn’t tell….you had lost perception of time.

Jacaerys always proved courteous and kind, just as he had before the war. Even when you were stripped of your room and placed in a smaller one, your staff diminished to only a few trusted maids of his mother, and your gowns relegated to simple, black ones, he always made sure you had everything you needed, which you were grateful for. What he couldn’t give you though, was the thing that pained you the most. 

He brought you books, needles and points to pass your time, and kept you company when he was free of his duties. But it was all futile, nothing could quelch the sting of pain in your heart. 

You wandered the halls like a ghost, the black of your gowns making you blend in the darkness. Some say you were dead inside or having died the day your sister had. Nevertheless, Jacaerys’ attempts at bringing light to your life never ceased. He brought you flowers which you kept in vases in your room, but that with barely any light or air in the smallness of it all, died by the days. As so, he’d let you plant your flowers in the gardens of the Keep. Even though you barely spoke after the death of your entire family, taking care of the flowers made you happy.

You were allowed to bring Jaehaera with you, the little girl taking to you as if you were her mother, and if you were mute, she was another case altogether. Jaehaera was born tiny and slow to grow. She did not cry or smile or act as babies normally would. Her lack of emotion continued as she grew older. She is sweet but a simple girl in mind.  She loved the flowers you planted, which you encouraged for her to pick and take with her to her room.

You two were often asked to attend court, to remember others of your presence and what they meant. Jaehaera would clutch your hand as you held hers, standing as close to you as she could and more so she could hide behind the panels of your skirt. Those days were those she dreaded most; she hated being looked at, especially by so many people, but your presence beside her gave her enough strength and courage to withstand the ordeal. 

Those were also the days you had begun begging your sister to allow you for things. You would kneel, if necessary, in front of the iron throne which she sat upon, asking her in front of the eyes of the court to allow you for simple things, the simple pleasures you had long forgotten the taste of, such as one more gown for you or Jaehaera, the companionship of more maids, or for you to see your dragon.

She would accept every request of yours except for the last, she never accepted the last. But you held the same stubbornness every Targaryen was born with, one she had, and saw in her children too. Your requests became more frequent, sometimes, they were frantic, at times, you cried, while at others, you just asked with the monotony of a dead woman. How low of you, some thought, a royal princess, the daughter of a King long gone, having to beg her sister on her knees. 

While it pained Rhaenyra to turn you down, the pain you felt was one she would never understand. Jacaerys would watch from the sideline all the time, knowing he couldn’t interject with his mother’s word, but none of it made it easier for him to see you so torn down by the reality which you now lived in.

So, one night, he went to his mother, suggesting the one thing he could only come up with.

“Let me take her on Vermax” he had said “if you’re worried about her flying away, with me beside her and on a dragon not of her own, she surely will have nowhere else to go”

Rhaenyra couldn’t object to her son’s words, as so, she relented, though not without a few warnings and orders on her part, which Jacaerys was more than happy to relent to. 

At last, when he came to your room the morning after, he did so with an air so light, it startled you. 

“You wouldn’t mind dressing in your riding fit, would you?” He asked, taking you by slight surprise 

“What do you mean?” You didn’t know if he was making fun of you, and if he were you thought he was doing so in a really bad taste

“I want you to come ride with me” he walked closer, taking your hand in his “Fly on Vermax with me. I know you wish to take to the skies, and Mother has agreed to my request,” he said.

Vermax was small, having grown only to the size of a middle-sized dragon. When you sat upon his saddle, which was tight for two people, such as you and Jacaerys, you only reminisced about Silverwing’s leathery one. Only having to hang around the handle, not being able to pull at the reins or command the dragon, only deepened your yearning for the many rides you had taken in the past and the freedom to do so again. 

You had thanked him, but the gratitude felt hollow when your heart ached so much, and perhaps he had seen through you too. You felt guilty for complaining about such an opportunity and the rarity you had been given. You should be grateful, but what was here to be grateful for when you were a caged bird, in a golden cage, whose wings were ripped from its body? 

You had become hot-tempered, wishing harm on others and yourself, cursing in despair, and picking up one of your mother’s most destroying traits, her nail picking. Your cuticles were often raw and bloody from you either picking at or chewing at them. You did the same to your lips, pulling at the dead skin, drawing blood, the sting making you hiss and following you for days.

You ordered for the curtains of your room not to be drawn, preferring the glow of candles and the scent of incense, even during the day. You visited the sept, the royal one in the Red Keep, not the Grand one in the city, always followed closely by your Septa and guard, lighting candles for the lost souls of your family and for those that had fought for you.

You picked at your food, often leaving it untouched; you had no fondness for meat and mead, leaving you famished and pushing down food when your stomach was begging you for substance. 

Eating yourself alive was the last thing you thought you would be doing if you were to look into your future long ago, but now even the feel of your skin made your fingers crawl over it with the intent to rip and tear apart. How hypocritical of you to send your mother away because of her descent into madness when you were carrying yourself down your own. 

But you weren’t mad, you were unhappy, and unhappy people often were also depressed, which you were.

You only wanted to be happy, to be free, to do as you pleased after years of having been conditioned to the bids of others. First, it was your mother’s, and now they were Rhaenyra’s and her family's. You dream of a time when you could live for the simple pleasure of living, not someone else’s life but your own, not the one others envisioned for you but the one you dreamt for yourself. To breathe the open air, to walk where you wished, whenever you wished so. 

Was it so wrong of you?

The gods are cruel, that’s why they’re gods, and the curse of your family being usurpers now laid all on you. You suffered from the sins which your mother perpetuated, from those her own father sowed the seeds he planted with his ambitions in the dirt laid and worked by your ancestors. You held the rage of all those women before you, your mother’s, her mother’s too, that of your sister and the people at her heel and call. 

All because of who you were. 

[aventurineswife]

The weight of the sky seemed endless as the two of you sat in silence, the gentle hum of the Astral Express vibrating beneath your feet. Sunday’s gaze was cast toward the swirling cosmos outside the window, his eyes softened by the vastness before him. His wings fluttered ever so slightly, a subtle sign of something unspoken, something held close within his heart. His halo hovered faintly above him, the eyes etched within it flickering in time with the distant stars.

Beside him, you, a fallen angel, watched as the space between the two of you expanded and contracted, as if the universe itself was breathing in sync with your hesitant connection. Once, you had both been celestial beings, bathed in light and purpose. But now, the wings that had once been a symbol of grace hung heavier, tarnished by the fall, by the choices that had been made. Your shared past was no longer a dream of peace, but an echo of something more complicated—something fractured.

It was the stillness between you that felt the loudest. Sunday’s usual calm demeanor, always so composed, now seemed like a fragile facade, as if his very presence was too delicate to bear the weight of both his idealism and his doubts. And you—your once-vibrant wings were now a muted reflection of their former glory, the loss of innocence still fresh on your soul. You had fallen, yes, but in your heart, you both knew it wasn’t just the fall that kept you grounded. It was the constant struggle to rise again, together or apart.

You had loved him once, and perhaps still did, despite the years of separation, despite the wounds that had never fully healed. His soft gaze met yours briefly, and for a moment, the distance between the two of you seemed to vanish. But only for a moment. The coldness of his self-imposed solitude crept back in, shrouding him in the same protective shell that had kept him isolated for so long.

He, the protector of dreams, the idealist who wished to escape suffering, now seemed caught between worlds—the one that was real and the one he so desperately wanted to create. You understood that pain; it resonated within you, reverberating through every fiber of your being. The loss of your wings had not been a simple fall; it had been a choice, a fracture of ideals, a departure from a reality too painful to face.

Yet in that fleeting look, you saw him—the Sunday you had known before everything had fallen apart. The one who still clung to hope, however fragile, despite the weight of his guilt. The one who believed in redemption, in healing, even when the path forward was cloaked in shadows. He was still searching, still yearning for something better, but it was unclear whether he was doing it for the world or for himself.

Your wings, though broken, still yearned to reach him. To soothe the turmoil that clouded his thoughts, to whisper the truth that you both were more than the sum of your pasts. You had fallen, yes, but you had also risen, over and over. And so had he, in his own way, struggling with his own fall.

But it was the fall that had changed you both. The quiet way you drifted into each other's orbit, two souls bound by the same celestial ache, yet bound by the knowledge that redemption wasn’t a place—it was a journey. Together, but apart, your connection remained fragile, and yet undeniable, like the stars that burned dimly yet persistently in the void.

As the train drifted further into the unknown, you sat beside him, not speaking, but knowing. Knowing that no matter how far the distance stretched between your hearts, there would always be something that tethered you both together—a shared past, a shared longing, a shared, quiet hope.

Originally was requested by someone on Wattpad but I wanted to post here too because I can and I will 🧍‍♀️🫶

[oceandolores]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | chapter 3

Dbf! Joel Miller x female reader

"𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘦"

summary: After the incident, where past traumas resurface and threaten to unravel your fragile sense of security, Joel steps in as a protector. His presence becomes a beacon of comfort amidst the chaos.

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, ped0ph!l1a, cann1bal!sm, human traff1ck1ng, r4p3, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

CHAPTER 3

masterlist of the series!

Previous | chapter 2

Next | chapter 4

The night when Jamie took your virginity by force felt like the moment the light within you was extinguished. It was as if the divine spark that once illuminated your soul was snuffed out, leaving behind a darkness that clung to you like a second skin. The purity you had cherished as a good Christian girl was shattered, and in its place, you felt an overwhelming sense of dirtiness. It was as if you had been marked, branded with an invisible scarlet letter that only you could see, yet you believed everyone else could see it too.

The past two months had been a relentless descent into a personal hell. You had become a ghost of your former self, your once vibrant spirit now a flickering ember. Physically, you were a shadow, your body wasting away as if your soul’s torment had seeped into your flesh. The weight of your violation bore down on you, leaving you with no desire to eat, to engage, to exist. Every day was a struggle against the ever-present feeling of disgust, the conviction that you were tainted beyond redemption.

In the eyes of others, you felt exposed, as if the sin of that night was etched into your very being. It was as if the words “dirty slut” were emblazoned across your skin, a silent condemnation that followed you everywhere. No matter where you went, the eyes of judgment seemed to follow, their silent accusations piercing your already wounded soul.

At school, you had withdrawn into yourself, a stark contrast to the lively girl you once were. You spoke to no one, even when you went to church, you avoiding Ellie, Tommy, and Maria. After class, you would rush home, seeking refuge in the solitude that had become both your sanctuary and your prison. Only Joel knew the truth of what had happened that night, and he had been your anchor in the storm.

After that night, you stayed at Joel’s. He had been nothing but gentle, his touch a stark contrast to the violence you had endured. He cleaned you up, gave you a bath, and ensured your privacy by standing near the tub with the curtain drawn, only intervening if you needed something. The care he showed you was the kind of protection you had longed for all your life. His presence was a balm to your wounded spirit, his protectiveness a shield against the darkness that threatened to consume you.

The morning after, you insisted on walking home, despite Joel’s offer to drive you. Your house was nearby, but in your daze, you had forgotten to inform your parents where you had been. As you walked through the front door, your father’s fury was immediate. "Where have you been?" he demanded, his voice a thunderous roar. "You didn’t tell us you were staying out. Do you have any idea how worried we were?"

"I stayed at Ellie’s," you lied, your voice barely above a whisper. "If you don’t believe me, you can call Joel."

Without hesitation, your father dialed Joel’s number. You stood there, heart pounding, as Joel answered. "Yes, she stayed with Ellie here last night," Joel confirmed, his voice steady. He kept his promise not to reveal the incident with Jamie, but your father’s anger was far from assuaged.

"Even so," your father raged, "you didn’t inform us. What’s next? You’ll become a whore, wandering the streets? Is that what you want?" His words cut deep, each one a dagger plunging into your already shattered heart. He berated you about the virtues of Christianity, reminding you of the sanctity of purity and obedience.

"You need to understand the importance of your faith," he lectured, his voice a relentless drone. "You must remain pure and obedient, not fall into sin like this."

You stood there, numb, the weight of his words adding to the already unbearable burden on your shoulders. The guilt and shame threatened to overwhelm you. Every word felt like another chain, binding you in your own personal hell.

"Take off your shirt and face the wall," your father ordered, his voice cold and commanding.

With trembling hands, you did as he said, the shirt you borrowed from Ellie slipping to the floor. You turned to the wall, feeling the roughness of the paint against your skin, a stark contrast to the softness you craved. Your father took his belt, the leather a familiar implement of punishment, and began to strike.

Each lash was a searing reminder of your perceived sins, each word of his condemnation a nail in the coffin of your spirit. "This is for your disobedience," he spat, the belt cracking against your skin. "This is for the whore you’re becoming."

You bit back your cries, the tears streaming down your face silently. You were too exhausted to scream, too broken to protest. The pain was overwhelming, but it felt deserved. In your mind, this was God’s punishment for your unholiness, a penance for the dirtiness you couldn’t wash away.

Your mother watched from the doorway, her eyes filled with helplessness. She didn’t intervene, just as she never had. Instead, she retreated to the living room, turning up the volume on the gospel music to drown out the sound of your father’s anger and your silent suffering.

With each strike, you closed your eyes, the pain coursing through you like fire. You envisioned yourself as a fallen angel, wings torn and bloodied, cast out from the grace you once knew. The purity you had cherished was gone, replaced by a deep, unending shame.

When it was over, you collapsed to the floor, your body trembling with the aftershocks of pain. You felt like a martyr, bearing the weight of your father’s righteousness, the gospel music a cruel hymn to your suffering. You were unworthy, unholy, and the punishment was your penance.

As you lay there, tears mingling with the cold floor, you prayed. Not for forgiveness, but for strength. "God, if You’re listening, help me endure this. Help me find a way to survive." Your prayer was a whisper in the storm, a desperate plea from a soul that had known too much darkness.

In that moment, you understood the depth of your isolation. Your purity was gone, your light extinguished, but a spark of defiance remained. You had survived this night, just as you had survived Jamie. And somehow, you would find a way to keep surviving, to reclaim the light that had been stolen from you.

***

The days that followed were a blur of silence and shadows. You moved through the house like a ghost, your presence barely acknowledged by your parents. Your father’s words echoed in your mind, a constant reminder of your perceived worthlessness. Every glance in the mirror revealed the invisible brand of shame you felt etched into your skin. You had become a stranger to yourself, lost in a labyrinth of guilt and self-loathing.

At school, you withdrew further into yourself, avoiding everyone’s gaze. Ellie noticed your absence, but you couldn’t bring yourself to explain. The weight of your secret was too heavy to share, the fear of judgment too great. You walked the halls with your head down, each step a reminder of the burden you carried.

A month had gone by, and now it was Sunday. The weight of another church service loomed over you. You had managed to somewhat regain a semblance of normalcy, but the shadows of that night continued to haunt you. Despite the slight improvement, you had been avoiding everyone, including Joel. His calls went unanswered, and you took alternate routes to avoid passing his house. The shame you felt was overwhelming. You had developed feelings for Joel, but you believed he would never want you now that you felt so dirty.

Joel, on the other hand, was deeply worried about you. His concern grew with each passing day. He would occasionally ask Tommy if he had seen you at church, but Tommy’s answers never provided the comfort Joel sought.

The night before Sunday, Joel decided to visit Tommy and Maria with Ellie, hoping to have a casual movie night. He needed an excuse to ask about you without raising suspicions.

As they settled in the living room, Tommy was setting up the movie. Joel took a seat next to him, glancing around at the familiar surroundings. Ellie and Maria were chatting in the kitchen, preparing snacks.

"So, how’ve things been?" Joel asked, trying to keep his tone light. "Busy with the kid, I bet."

Tommy chuckled, nodding. "Yeah, you know how it is. Little one keeps us on our toes. What about you? How's work been?"

"Same old, same old," Joel replied, leaning back in his chair. "Ellie's doing good in school, keeping me busy with all her activities."

Tommy smiled. "That’s good to hear. She’s a great kid."

Joel nodded, then took a deep breath, trying to steer the conversation. "Yeah, speaking of kids... you seen Gibson girl around lately? Maybe at church? Haven't seen her passing by my home."

Tommy frowned, scratching his head. "Yeah, now that you mention it, I haven't seen her at church either. And she's usually always around."

Joel tried to keep his voice casual, not wanting to raise suspicion. "Right," Joel answered, but his thoughts were far from the conversation at hand. He couldn't shake the image of you from his mind—the pain in your eyes, the way you had avoided him, the way your voice trembled when you last spoke. Every unanswered call, every sight of your empty path gnawed at him, filling him with a deep, gnawing worry.

He replayed that night over and over, the way you had clung to him, the way he had tried to provide comfort without crossing any lines. He had never felt so helpless, so desperate to protect someone, yet so unsure of how to do it. His heart ached with the thought of you suffering alone, believing you were dirty or unworthy.

"Joel?" Tommy's voice broke through his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. Joel blinked, realizing he had completely zoned out.

"Huh? What?" Joel said, shaking his head to clear the fog of worry. "Sorry, what did you say?"

Tommy gave him a curious look, tilting his head slightly. "I was asking if you wanted more popcorn, but you seemed a million miles away. Everything alright?"

Joel forced a smile, trying to mask the anxiety that churned within him. "Yeah, sorry just got a lot on my mind. But yeah, more popcorn sounds good."

Tommy didn't seem entirely convinced, but he let it go, standing up to refill the bowl. Joel watched him go, taking the moment to gather himself. He needed to find a way to reach you, to make sure you were alright without raising too much suspicion. The worry gnawed at him, a constant presence in the back of his mind.

As the movie continued, Joel found it hard to focus. His thoughts kept drifting back to you, hoping that you were finding some measure of peace, even as he felt his own slipping further away.

As the sun rose on Sunday, you prepared yourself with a painstaking precision. The morning light seemed to cast an unforgiving glow on your efforts, illuminating every detail of your attire and makeup. You adorned yourself in a soft yellow dress, a stark contrast to the stained white dress you had left behind—a symbol of a past tainted by invisible scars. Your hair was styled meticulously, and a light touch of makeup tried to mask the weariness in your eyes. It was as if you were trying to paint over the shadows that clung to you, hoping that the brightness of the yellow might somehow wash away the stains of your recent past.

Your father was adamant about you joining the service, and the pressure of his expectations weighed heavily on you. The town would be present, as it always was for these occasions, their curious eyes a stark reminder of your recent absence. You could feel their gazes, and you braced yourself for the inevitable scrutiny. The anticipation of stepping into the public eye once more was almost suffocating.

When you arrived at the church, you noticed Tommy and Maria’s car parked nearby, a sight that barely registered in your anxious state. But as you turned, your heart seemed to freeze. There, behind Tommy’s car, was a familiar truck—a vehicle you hadn’t expected to see in such a context. It was Joel’s truck.

Your breath hitched in your throat. Joel had decided to return to church after years of absence. The scene before you was a tableau of mixed emotions: the congregation’s whispers, the look of surprise on Tommy’s face, and your father’s exuberant welcome of Joel. The church buzzed with curiosity, and every eye seemed to turn toward Joel and the unexpected presence he brought with him. Your father’s enthusiasm was palpable as he greeted Joel, his gestures warm and welcoming. Tommy smiled, clearly pleased to see his brother, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You, on the other hand, felt an overwhelming urge to disappear. The thought of facing Joel was almost too much to bear. The last time you had seen him, everything had been different. The thought of him seeing you in your current state, a mix of shame and unresolved feelings, was unbearable. You moved swiftly to avoid his gaze, slipping through the crowd like a wisp of smoke.

Joel's presence was a silent declaration of concern and hope. His return to the church was more than a gesture; it was an effort to reconnect, to understand why you had vanished so abruptly from his life. He couldn’t risk coming to your house and questioning your parents directly, as that would have been too conspicuous. Instead, he chose this public setting, hoping it might offer a chance to see you, to gauge your well-being without drawing undue attention.

Tommy and Ellie had been startled by Joel’s decision to attend church after all these years. To them, it was an unspoken mystery, a puzzle piece that didn't quite fit with the past patterns they knew. Tommy’s curiosity was evident, though he kept his questions at bay, respecting Joel’s unspoken wish for discretion.

As the service began, the room was filled with the familiar hymns and prayers. The sounds of the congregation’s voices blended into a backdrop of solemnity and devotion. You sat through the service, your mind a turbulent sea of emotions, while Joel’s presence at the back of the church was a constant, heavy reminder of your own turmoil.

Joel, despite his own feelings of discomfort in this sacred space, kept his gaze low, trying to remain unobtrusive. His concern for you overshadowed the solemnity of the service, his heart aching with the desire to reach out, to offer solace, but restrained by the fear of overstepping. The echoes of the sermon, the rustle of prayer books, and the collective murmur of the congregation seemed distant, as if you were trapped in a bubble of your own distress.

After the Sunday service, the church transformed into a space of community and fellowship. Tables were set up with an array of homemade dishes, and the congregation gathered for a communal meal. The aroma of comfort food filled the air, mingling with the murmur of conversations and the clinking of plates. It was a time for members of the congregation to connect, share news, and strengthen their bonds.

You moved through the gathering with practiced grace, helping your mother and father arrange the food and interact with the attendees. Your smile was a well-practiced mask, concealing the turmoil that churned beneath. You greeted old friends and acquaintances, your responses polite but distant. The effort to maintain this façade was exhausting, but you felt it was necessary to avoid further scrutiny.

As you made your way to the storage room in the church, a quiet refuge away from the bustling hall, you found yourself alone. The clamor of the gathering seemed a world away, and the space was filled with the scent of dust and old paper. You were organizing a stack of donation boxes when you heard the faint sound of footsteps approaching.

Turning around, you saw Joel standing in the doorway. His presence was like a sudden storm cloud on an otherwise clear day—unexpected and overwhelming. He looked at you with a mixture of concern and apprehension, his rugged face lined with worry. The weight of his gaze was almost palpable, and it seemed as though he was struggling to find the right words.

“Hey,” Joel said, his voice low and gravelly. He took a hesitant step forward, his hands stuffed into his pockets. The usual gruffness in his tone was softened by the underlying worry.

You shifted uncomfortably, caught off guard by his appearance. “Joel,” you managed to reply, trying to keep your voice steady despite the emotions welling up inside you. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Joel looked around the small room, as if searching for the right way to start the conversation. “Yeah, well,” he began, his gaze falling back on you. “I’ve been—” He paused, trying to gather his thoughts. “I’ve been worried about you. Haven’t seen you around much. I wanted to see if you’re okay.”

His words were simple, yet they carried the weight of his genuine concern. Joel was a man of action rather than words, and his struggle to articulate his feelings only highlighted how much he cared. He took another step closer, his eyes searching yours for a sign of how you were really doing.

“Joel,” you said, your voice trembling slightly, “did you come to church just for this? I’m fine. Really.”

Joel’s expression softened, but his concern remained palpable. “I’ve been tryin’ to reach you, and you’ve been avoidin’ me. It’s not like you to just disappear. I need to know—are you really okay?” he said, his voice tinged with a hint of frustration.

His words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of his worry. You looked away, struggling to find the right response. “I’ve just been dealing with things,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I needed some time.”

Joel’s eyes narrowed slightly, his concern deepening. " You’ve been missin’ from school, from church, from everythin’. And don’t think I haven’t noticed how you’ve been keepin’ your distance."

You felt a pang of guilt at his words, the truth of your situation pressing heavily on your heart. “I'm fine, Joel” you said, struggling to keep your composure.

Joel’s gaze remained steady, a mixture of frustration and concern etched into his features. “Why’ve you been avoidin’ me?” he asked, his voice a blend of urgency and care. “You can’t keep runnin’ away from this. You keep pushin’ me away.”

You felt a sharp pang of guilt at his words, your heart twisting in your chest. The shame and the weight of your feelings made it difficult to meet his eyes. “I just—” you began, your voice faltering. “I didn’t want you to see me like this. I didn’t want you to see how... broken I am.”

Joel’s expression softened, his eyes filled with a mix of sadness and tenderness. “What are you talkin’ about?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re not broken. You’re still you. You don’t have nothin’ to be ashamed of.”

His words were a balm to your wounded spirit, yet the weight of your shame still felt suffocating. You shook your head, tears blurring your vision. “But I’ve changed,” you said, your voice cracking. “I feel like I’m not who I was before. I feel... dirty. Like I’m not even me anymore.”

Joel’s eyes softened as he noticed the tremble in your voice, the tears that began to fall. Without a second thought, he closed the distance between you, wrapping his arms around you in a tight, reassuring embrace. His touch was warm and steady, a stark contrast to the cold grip of your shame.

As he held you, Joel let his guard down, something he rarely allowed himself to do. The strength in his arms was a shield against the world, a sanctuary where you could momentarily escape the torment you had been living through. The gentle rise and fall of his chest, the steady rhythm of his breathing, provided a grounding comfort. This was more than a physical embrace; it was a silent promise of protection, akin to the way he had once shielded Ellie and Sarah.

“It’s alright,” Joel murmured into your hair, his voice low and soothing. “It’s not your fault, it's not your fault. Everything's gonna be alright, babygirl."

His words were like a balm to the raw wounds of your spirit, yet the weight of your emotions still felt heavy. You could sense the sincerity in his voice, a quiet strength that contrasted sharply with the tumult of your inner world. In his embrace, you could almost imagine the weight of your shame lifting, if only for a moment.

After a while, you slowly pulled away from Joel’s comforting hold, grateful for his presence. “Thank you, Joel,” you said softly, wiping away the remnants of your tears. Joel, ever the pragmatist, decided to lighten the mood with one of his characteristic jokes.

“You know,” he said with a crooked smile, “cryin’ like that might just mess up your makeup. And we wouldn’t want you lookin’ like a raccoon now, would we?”

His playful jest brought a genuine smile to your face, a rare and fleeting moment of joy. Joel’s eyes softened as he saw you smile, his own expression a mix of relief and affection. “That’s right, like that, doll,” he said, his voice warm.

He gently cupped your face, his rough fingers brushing away the last traces of tears. “You’re stronger than you think. Just gotta give yourself some credit. You ain’t broken, not by a long shot.”

Before you could respond, the sound of footsteps approached, and your mother appeared at the doorway of the storage room. Her cheerful voice cut through the tension. “Sweetheart, what’s taking so long? Did you find everything?”

You and Joel quickly pulled away from each other, making a show of straightening up and wiping your faces. “Umm, yes mother, I-I found it,” you said, trying to sound casual.

Your mother’s eyes fell on Joel, her eyebrows lifting in surprise. “Joel? What are you doing here?”

Joel cleared his throat, trying to mask the unease in his voice. “Hey, Evelyn, I, uh, just looking around the church again. Almost forgot how it looks from the inside, you know? It’s been a while.”

Your mother, ever the bubbly personality, clapped her hands together. “Oh, that’s wonderful! We’re so glad to see you back. You know, you should come more often. It’s always nice to have you around. It’s been such a long time!”

Joel nodded, his eyes flicking back to you with a hint of concern. “Yeah, I’ll think about it. Just felt like catching up with old times.”

Your mother beamed at Joel, her enthusiasm unwavering. “Well, that’s fantastic. You must join us for some of the refreshments afterward. It’s a potluck today, and there’s plenty of food. Everyone’s been asking about you.”

Joel gave a polite smile, trying to hide his discomfort. “Sure thing. I’ll stick around for a bit.”

As your mother continued to chat with Joel, her cheerful demeanor filling the room with a lightness that contrasted sharply with the earlier tension, you took the opportunity to discreetly collect yourself. You adjusted your dress and smoothed out your makeup, trying to regain your composure.

Joel, noticing the change in your demeanor, shot you a small, reassuring smile before turning his attention back to your mother.

Your mother excuse herself to go out but lookback to you, “Oh, sweetheart, I almost forgot. We need help with the setup for the refreshments,”

You quickly nodded. “Yes, I’ll take care of it, Mama." and she went to outside.

You and Joel moved outside too, where the atmosphere of the church’s potluck was in full swing. The laughter and chatter of the congregation filled the air, mingling with the scent of freshly baked goods and savory dishes. Joel, despite his unease, tried to adapt to the social scene, engaging with the women who flocked to him. He was a striking figure, with his salt-and-pepper beard and intense brown eyes that had a rugged charm to them. The women, clearly drawn to his distinguished appearance and the success he embodied, tried to catch his attention, though Joel’s discomfort was palpable. He offered polite smiles and brief responses, all the while his gaze frequently wandered back to you.

You moved among the congregation, offering refreshments and engaging in small talk, your presence like a breath of fresh air amidst the busier, more boisterous interactions. To Joel, you appeared as a serene vision—an innocent beauty despite everything. There was something ethereal about you, a delicate grace that made you stand out among the crowd. Your yellow dress seemed to shimmer with a soft glow, as if capturing the very essence of spring's first light.

Joel’s eyes lingered on you, the sight of your genuine smile and the way you interacted with others tugging at something deep within him. You were like a lone daisy in a field of wildflowers, untouched by the wilting sun. His admiration for you was undeniable, though it was mingled with concern and protectiveness.

Suddenly, as you were handing out refreshments, he noticed a boy approaching you. He moved with a kind of familiar swagger, and Joel’s heart skipped a beat as he recognized him—Jamie Lee. The sight of Jamie sent a shiver down Joel’s spine, and a protective instinct surged through him. He watched, tense and alert, as Jamie neared you.

Jamie’s presence was like a shadow falling over your radiant light. Joel’s gaze hardened, his focus narrowing. He could see the unease in your posture, the way you instinctively took a step back. The fear in your eyes was palpable, and it made Joel’s fists clench at his sides.

Joel, unable to stand idly by, started making his way towards you. His movements were deliberate and calculated, every step driven by a fierce determination to protect you.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your emotions before turning back to Jamie. The confrontation had left a bitter taste in your mouth, and you approached him with a cold, composed demeanor.

Jamie, noticing your icy response, shifted uncomfortably. “Hey,” he started, his voice trying to sound casual but laced with an apologetic tone. “I didn’t mean to, you know, I was just—”

"Get off from my face," you said quietly doesn't want to make a scene.

amie’s face twisted into a desperate mask of fear as he took another step closer. “Look, I’m really sorry,” he said, his voice trembling. “Just... just listen to me. I didn’t mean to—”

“Get off from my face,” you repeated, your voice barely a whisper but sharp as a blade. Your hands trembled slightly as you tried to push him away, but Jamie persisted, his fear morphing into a desperate, unsettling urgency. “Please, just leave me alone.”

Jamie’s panic grew. He began to reach out, trying to grab your arm. “You don’t understand. I need you to—”

Before he could touch you, Joel’s imposing figure appeared, his presence radiating a quiet, intimidating authority. His eyes narrowed as he assessed the situation, the protective instincts within him coming to the forefront. “What’s goin’ on here?” Joel’s voice was steady, yet carried a dangerous edge that made Jamie freeze.

Jamie’s eyes widened in recognition. “Mr. Miller!” he stammered, backing away slightly. “I—uh—”

Joel’s gaze shifted to you, noticing the fear and distress on your face. He took a step closer to you, his body language radiating both calm and control. “Gibson, you alright?” he asked softly, his voice a reassuring balm amidst the tension.

You nodded, though your face was pale and your eyes betrayed the turmoil within. “Yes, I’m fine. Just... I need to go," You trying to gave Joel a smile and then walk away continue what you were doing.

Joel watched you walk away, his protective instincts still simmering beneath the surface. Once you were out of sight, Joel turned his full attention back to Jamie, his expression hardening.

“Hey, Jamie,” Joel said, his voice low and controlled. “How’s your old man? Still keepin’ busy with the firm?”

Jamie seemed to relax slightly, though his eyes still flicked nervously between Joel and the direction you had gone. “Uh, yeah, he’s doing alright,” Jamie replied, trying to sound casual. “Still busy as ever. You know how it is.”

Joel’s gaze was unwavering, a subtle intensity in his eyes that Jamie seemed to sense but couldn’t quite place. “And what about you? What’ve you been up to lately?”

Jamie fidgeted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh, just... you know, school and stuff. Nothing too exciting.”

Joel nodded slowly, maintaining a calm exterior while his mind worked through his options. “Right, right. Well, it’s been a while since I’ve seen you around. Thought I’d come back to the old church, see how things are goin’.”

Jamie’s eyes darted nervously. “Yeah, it’s been a while,” he said, his voice faltering. “So, uh, what brings you back? I thought you hadn’t been around for years.”

Joel’s smile was tight, the warmth of it not quite reaching his eyes. “Just felt like it was time to reconnect. Thought I’d check in on the old place, you know?"

Jamie seemed to relax a bit more, although his discomfort lingered. “Yeah, well, it’s good to see you,” he said awkwardly. “Things are... different, but you know how it is.”

Joel’s gaze remained steady, a quiet storm of thoughts behind his calm facade. “Yeah, I know how it is,” he said, his tone measured. “Well, Jamie, I’m glad we had a chance to catch up. I'll see you around,"

Jamie’s face was a mask of confusion and relief as he nodded quickly. “Yeah, see you around, Mr. Miller.”

As Jamie walked away, Joel’s eyes followed him, a thoughtful frown settling on his face. He knew there was more beneath the surface, and he was determined to uncover it, but for now, he kept his thoughts to himself.

Joel took a deep breath, his gaze returning to where you had disappeared. He knew that protecting you and making sure you felt safe was his priority now. The façade of casual conversation was just that—a façade.

Joel watched you slip away from the crowd, a cloud of worry settling over him. His thoughts were a maelstrom of concern and determination, but before he could follow, he was waylaid by several familiar faces. They were eager to catch up, their questions and greetings a barrier he couldn’t easily cross. He tried to be polite, nodding and offering half-hearted responses, all the while his mind remained focused on you.

Meanwhile, you navigated the church grounds with a heavy heart, your steps driven by a desperate need for solitude. You approached your father with a feigned urgency. “Papa, I need to leave early. I have a test tomorrow and I need a book from the library,” you said, your voice trembling slightly but with a determined edge.

Your father, engrossed in the after-church festivities, waved you off with little more than a distracted nod. “Alright, just be back before dark,” he called after you, his attention already shifting back to the conversation he was engaged in.

With a sigh of relief, you made your way to the edge of the church grounds, your thoughts a tangled mess of despair and shame. The path to the lake felt like a journey through an emotional wilderness. Each step seemed to echo the emptiness inside you, the trees and underbrush closing in like the walls of your own confinement.

As you walked, the weight of your thoughts felt like an oppressive fog, obscuring any sense of clarity or peace. The forest surrounding the path seemed to mirror your inner turmoil—dark, tangled, and impenetrable. The chirping of distant birds and the rustling leaves became a muted symphony to your solitary reflection, their sounds like distant whispers of a world you felt disconnected from.

Reaching the lake, you sank down onto the grassy bank, the weight of the past weeks pressing heavily on your shoulders. The water’s surface was a mirror of your own fractured soul—rippled and distorted, reflecting the tangled mess of your emotions. You fished out a crumpled pack of cigarettes and a flask from beneath your jacket, your hands shaking slightly. The cigarettes were a crutch, a way to cope with the stress that had become almost unbearable.

Lighting a cigarette, you took a long drag, the smoke curling up into the air like a wisp of your own troubles being released. You retrieved the flask, unscrewing the cap and taking a swig of the whiskey you had managed to sneak away. The warmth of the alcohol spread through you, a fleeting comfort in the midst of your turmoil. It was a bitter solace, a way to dull the sharp edges of your pain, but it never truly erased the deep ache within.

The lake, now dimming in the encroaching twilight, seemed to embrace your solitude. Its surface reflected the last rays of sunlight, shimmering like scattered fragments of hope amidst the darkness. You leaned back, the grass beneath you soft and cool, the calmness of the lake providing a deceptive sense of tranquility.

As you looked out over the water, your thoughts drifted like the gentle ripples across the lake’s surface. The recent events played out in your mind like a series of shadowy figures, each one a reminder of how your life had spiraled into this moment of isolation and despair. You clung to the fleeting moments of numbness provided by the whiskey and smoke, trying to drown out the crushing weight of your reality.

Joel, meanwhile, managed to extricate himself from the crowd of well-wishers. His concern for you was a constant pull, a magnetic force guiding him towards you. As he scanned the area around the church, his eyes caught sight of your disappearing figure, and he felt a renewed urgency to follow.

The lake stretched out before you, its surface a placid mirror reflecting the fading light of day. The gentle rustle of leaves and the distant calls of birds seemed like distant echoes compared to the chaos in your mind. You lay on the grass, feeling the cool, damp earth beneath you, and the weight of Jamie Lee’s presence still heavy on your soul. Each ripple in the lake's surface seemed to mimic the turbulent waves of your thoughts—crashing, receding, only to rise again with relentless force.

You had managed to slip away from the crowd, the world around you feeling far removed from the comforting isolation you sought. As you stared out over the lake, the thoughts of Jamie’s unwelcome reappearance, the haunting memories, and the crushing fear of being trapped in this endless cycle of pain and shame twisted through your mind. You were desperate for a way out, a new beginning, a place where you could shed the weight of your past and start anew. But for now, all you could do was lie there, the whispers of the forest around you a faint consolation against the storm within.

Then, breaking through the oppressive silence, a voice reached you. "Thought I found you here."

The sound of Joel’s voice was a stark contrast to the turmoil you felt inside. You turned slowly, your heart pounding as you saw him emerging from the trees. His presence was a tether to reality, grounding you amidst the chaos. His gaze was soft but intense, filled with a concern that seemed to pierce through the veil of your anguish.

Joel walked over to you with deliberate steps, his expression a mix of determination and empathy. He settled beside you on the grass, his body language a silent promise of protection and understanding. The familiarity of his presence was both a comfort and a reminder of the stark contrast between your own inner darkness and his unwavering support.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice gentle but laced with genuine worry.

You didn’t immediately respond, the weight of your emotions rendering you almost speechless. The silence stretched between you, a fragile bridge spanning the gap between your fractured state and his steady presence. Joel’s eyes, dark and intense, held yours with an unwavering focus, as if trying to read the secrets written in your sorrow.

“I don’t know how to make it stop,” you finally said, your voice trembling. “Everything feels like it’s falling apart, and I keep trying to run away from it. But every time I think I’m getting away, it all just catches up with me.”

Joel’s expression was a mix of deep concern and frustration as he watched you struggle to keep your composure. “I’m here for you,” he said softly, his voice carrying a weight of earnest reassurance.

As Joel reached out to place a comforting hand on your shoulder, you flinched as though struck, your body reacting involuntarily to the touch. Joel pulled his hand back, a flash of confusion crossing his face. “Hey, what’s goin’ on?” he asked, his tone gentler now. “What’s wrong?”

You quickly shook your head, trying to mask the truth. “It’s nothing, Joel. I’m fine,” you insisted, though the tremor in your voice betrayed your distress.

Joel’s eyes narrowed with concern. It was clear to him that there was more to your reaction than you were letting on. “You’re not fine,” he said firmly. “You're hidin' something, let me see your back,"

“I’m fine, Joel,” you insisted, trying to back away from him. Your voice was steadier now, but your heart was racing.

Joel’s face was set in grim determination. “No, you’re not. If you don’t show me, I’m gonna keep pushin’. I can see it in your eyes—you’re in pain, and I need to know why.”

When you continued to resist, Joel’s frustration reached its peak. “You gotta trust me,” he said, his voice harsh but filled with a desperate edge.

Unable to bear his insistence any longer, you shouted, “Joel, stop! I said I’m fine!” The raw pain and fear in your voice were undeniable, and Joel’s eyes softened for a moment, but his resolve remained unshaken.

Joel’s expression hardened. “I’m not lettin’ this go,” he said firmly. He gently but firmly reached for the hem of your dress, pulling it down further to expose the scars on your back. His movements were deliberate and careful, but his eyes were filled with a cold intensity that brooked no argument.

As he revealed the cruel marks etched into your skin, his anger became more apparent. His gaze swept over the scars—long, angry lines, some still raw and others faded but no less painful. Each mark told a story of suffering, and Joel’s jaw clenched in response.

Joel’s eyes darkened, his voice strained with barely controlled rage. “Who did this to you?” he asked, his tone growing colder with each word. “Who did this to you?"

"It's... It's my father," you replied, your voice barely more than a whisper. The confession felt like a stone lodged in your throat, its weight choking you.

Joel closed his eyes momentarily, fighting to contain the storm of anger threatening to erupt. His fists clenched at his sides, his jaw working as he muttered curses under his breath. The fury simmering just below the surface was palpable.

“How long has this been goin’ on?” he asked, his voice hoarse with emotion. “How long have you been dealin’ with this?”

“Since forever,” you said quietly, your shoulders sagging under the weight of your admission.

"Does your mother know?" Joel asked, you nodded.

“My mother knows, but she’s too scared to do anything. It’s... ironic, really. Just a few months ago, he was giving advice to Tommy about parenting, acting like some holy figure, but he's nothing but a hypocrite.” You try to lighten up.

Joel’s face contorted with a mix of disbelief and disgust. He stood abruptly, his movements sharp and decisive.

You scrambled to your feet, desperation gripping you. “Joel, where are you going?! please,” you said, your voice trembling. “Don’t do anything. Please, just let it be. This is my fault. I made him angry. I deserve this. Please, don’t make it worse. I can’t handle more trouble.”

Joel’s gaze was intense, his anger still visible but mixed with concern. “Are you fucking crazy?!” he shouted, his voice echoing across the still lake. “This ain’t your fault!” His outburst was raw, his frustration spilling over.

You flinched, your body instinctively drawing back from the intensity of his anger. The sudden surge of emotion was overwhelming, and you could feel the fear rise in your chest, a cold shiver racing down your spine.

Joel’s expression softened as he saw your reaction, his own anger faltering in the face of your fear. He took a deep breath, trying to regain control. “I’m sorry," he said, his voice rough but gentler now. “I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s just... seeing what he’s done to you...”

You took a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. “I know, I know, Joel,” you whispered. “I just don’t know how to handle this. I’m scared, and I feel like everything’s falling apart.”

Joel’s eyes, usually so guarded, now reflected a rare vulnerability. “You don’t need to be scared,” he said, his voice softer, like a steady hand in the darkness. “I’m here for you."

The night air felt colder, but Joel’s presence was a warm, unspoken promise. His rough exterior hid a well of compassion, and though he struggled to find the right words, his actions spoke volumes. He gently pressed his forehead to yours, their breaths mingling in the space between them. “I’ll keep you safe,” he vowed, his voice a low murmur. “I promise,"

The contact of his forehead against yours was a silent, grounding connection. It was a gesture filled with the weight of his resolve and the depth of his commitment. The orange sky seemed to hold its breath, the world narrowing down to the two of you in that fragile moment of solace.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked softly, your voice tinged with confusion and vulnerability. “Why are you helping me like this?”

Joel pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes searching for the right words. He honestly didn’t know, not really, why he felt this way. Why the protective instinct was so strong, why his heart ached with a depth he hadn’t felt before. This wasn’t like his feelings for Ellie or Sarah; it was different, an enigma wrapped in the folds of his hardened exterior. He was trying to piece it together, to make sense of the emotions that seemed to defy all his usual defenses.

Inside your head, the sensation was equally foreign but profoundly powerful. It was as if, for the first time, you were standing on the edge of a cliff, gazing at an ocean of comfort and care you had only ever dreamed of. The feelings you had longed for, the protection and the tenderness, were now here, enveloping you like a warm, protective cocoon. The stark contrast between this new sense of safety and the pain you had endured made the emotions even more intense.

Joel’s presence was like a lighthouse in a storm, a beacon that cut through the darkness of your fears and insecurities. The connection between you was electric, a thread that wove itself into the very fabric of your being. It was as if every touch, every glance, was an echo of a deep-seated need for solace and understanding. In his gaze, you found not just protection but a promise of something more, something you had never allowed yourself to fully believe in.

As the sky deepened around you, the intimacy of the moment became undeniable. You wanted to close the distance, to feel the warmth of his lips against yours, to make this bond even more tangible. But there was a hesitation—a barrier of years and experiences, a chasm you weren’t sure you could or should cross. Joel was older, a figure who had always seemed out of reach, yet now he was the focal point of a desire that was both thrilling and terrifying.

In your mind, the longing was like a fragile flower blossoming in the dark—a tender, delicate thing that had been waiting for the right moment to bloom. You felt a pull toward him that went beyond mere comfort; it was a magnetic force that drew you closer, promising a kind of connection you hadn’t thought possible.

You wanted to kiss him, to bridge the gap between what was and what could be, but the uncertainty lingered. Would he reciprocate, or would the age difference and the complexities of your feelings stand in the way? The desire was there, shimmering like moonlight on still water, but you were unsure if this was a path you should walk or a dream too fragile to grasp.

Joel's presence was an anchor, grounding you in a moment of clarity and vulnerability. The depth of what you felt for him was new and frightening, like navigating a starless sea in search of a shore you hoped existed. In the silence that followed, you could almost hear the unspoken questions hanging in the air between you, a testament to the complex dance of emotion and need that neither of you could fully understand but both could feel.

Driven by the raw need to bridge the chasm between what was and what could be, you made a sudden, bold decision. You leaned in, closing the distance between you with a desperate and trembling kiss.

The moment your lips met his, Joel’s eyes widened in shock. He had not expected this, and for a heartbeat, he was paralyzed, caught between instinct and confusion. It felt like an electric jolt had surged through him, awakening something deep and primal. His heart raced, and his breath hitched as he processed the reality of your kiss.

But as the shock wore off, something else stirred within him—a burgeoning need that mirrored your own. The kiss, so raw and honest, ignited a flame that Joel had long kept buried under layers of grief and stoicism. He felt the world narrow to just the two of you, a universe where the complexities of age and propriety faded into insignificance.

Without fully realizing it, Joel responded with a fervor that surprised even him. His hands cupped your face gently but firmly, drawing you closer. The kiss deepened, becoming more urgent and passionate, a dance of newfound desire and connection. It was as if each touch, each movement, was a revelation, a discovery of a shared longing that neither of you had fully acknowledged until this very moment.

Joel's kiss was eager, almost desperate. The way he pulled you closer, the intensity of his touch—it was as if he was trying to anchor himself to this fragile but profound connection. His initial shock gave way to an overwhelming need to reciprocate, to explore the emotions that had been unearthed by your bold move.

For both of you, this kiss was a turning point, a leap into a new realm of intimacy and understanding. It was more than just physical; it was an acknowledgment of the depth of feeling that had been building between you. The night around you seemed to hold its breath, as if waiting for this moment to solidify into something undeniably real.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your faces flushed with a mix of exhilaration and uncertainty. Joel’s gaze was softer now, his eyes reflecting a blend of awe and desire. He reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his touch tender.

“Doll,” Joel said, his voice a rough whisper as he pulled back slightly. “I’m sorry, Joel.” The realization of what had just happened washed over you like a cold wave, leaving you feeling vulnerable and uncertain.

Joel shook his head gently, his gaze steady and reassuring. “No, it’s okay,” he said, his tone firm yet tender. “It’s okay. you're alright, you'll be fine, I promise."

You nodded, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to fall. The sky was growing darker, the first hints of night casting long shadows across the lake. You knew you needed to head back before your father’s anger took a new form, a punishment you feared more than the quiet storm that had just passed between you and Joel.

Joel’s hand lingered on your shoulder, his grip warm and steady. “Do you want a ride back?” he asked, his concern evident.

“No, it’s alright,” you replied, shaking your head with a small, weary smile. “Just… go back to the church. Say goodbye to everyone, Joel.”

Joel hesitated, his expression a mix of reluctance and understanding. “Alright,” he said, but before turning to go, you couldn’t help but add a touch of humor to lighten the mood.

“Hey, are you gonna become a regular at the church again?” you said, forcing a grin. “You’ve been MIA for years, and now you show up just to connect with me? What’s next, a testimonial about divine intervention?”

Joel chuckled, the sound a rare and genuine escape from the weight of the moment. “I wouldn’t hold my breath,” he replied with a wry smile. “But maybe I’ll drop by once in a while, if only to make sure you’re still alright.”

You both shared a brief, understanding smile. It was a fleeting but comforting connection amidst the chaos of emotions and revelations.

Before parting ways, Joel gave you a warm hug, his embrace firm yet tender. He pulled back slightly and placed a soft kiss on your cheek, a gesture that carried more warmth and affection than words could convey. It was a promise, a silent vow of protection and care, even if he wasn’t entirely sure of the depths of his own feelings.

“Stay safe,” Joel said, his voice gentle but earnest. “I’ll see you around.”

As Joel walked away, his figure blending into the shadows, you turned and began your journey back home. The cool night air brushed against your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth that Joel had left behind. The path ahead was dimly lit by the moonlight, each step resonating with a mix of hope and uncertainty.

In your mind, the night’s events replayed like a vivid dream. The touch of Joel’s hand, the tenderness of his kiss, and the tangled emotions you felt were all swirling together, creating a new and unfamiliar reality. You felt like you had crossed a threshold, where the lines between safety and danger, affection and fear, had become blurred.

The lake, once a silent witness to your sorrow, now seemed like a distant memory. It was as if you had left it behind, stepping into a new world where the echoes of the night and the promise of something different lingered like a soft whisper.

As you entered your home, the weight of the night’s revelations settled heavily on your shoulders. Each step felt like a delicate balance between the pain you had known and the uncertain hope that now lay ahead. Today had ended with its own kind of twilight, a space between the darkness of the past and the uncertain dawn of the future.

[vinesinmyheart]

Balance Once Realized

Once, I was expected, overdue from my mother's womb.

Her languishing tears fell over an empty bassinet, cursing me out of her.

I was already too much,

Already not enough, before my lungs took their first breath.

One, I was a tiny girl, crafted of feelings and music,

Too sensitive to be just right.

Abandoned by the mother who'd once yearned to hold me close,

A trembling, anxious heart, my only friend.

My only protector.

I hadn't been enough for my father;

Only alcohol and self-destruction were his friends.

I'd never be right at all for my mother;

She'd never choose me. I wasn't the life she’d wanted.

I was made well aware:

I'm not good enough, I'm too much.

I learned in those days, the age when we're molded into vessels of human nature,

I would never be enough,

I would always be too much, so odd to everyone else.

Otherness burned into my pain like a tiny hand on a hot stove,

Until I befriended the loneliness, who knew I wasn't the right amount,

Who hurt and exhausted me.

The solitude and it’s pain were my constants,

Unlike anyone else.

As a woman,

I tried so desperately to be just right.

Just enough for my husband,

I danced on eggshells in lingerie.

I strived to be all things to my children. Exhaustion chased me,

A hound with a scent,

I often stumbled,

Wrecked by the expectations.

Yearning to be loved, longing to be just right for someone.

Never was I right. Not once.

Now I see myself, alone by choice.

Am I enough now? Am I too much?

Perhaps, but by whose standards?

Perhaps, I am too much.

It’s possible the oceans and deep seas of emotion that I swim freely in are too intense for some.

Maybe I'm not enough,

Not scaling mountains,

Or being a boss bitch,

Or sometimes even leaving the house,

Or getting out of bed.

I live so actively in my mind.

For me, I'm just right.

I enjoy a day spent in the alleys of my curiosity.

These days I’ve lost my taste for the excitement of acceptance.

Take me as I am, or leave me,

I am just right, with or without you.

A balance once realized can never be forgotten.

- E.M

[tutelaris]

( where flowers bloom, so does hope | @opyre )

he's picked a red and gold petaled flower from rosalith during his travels and pressed it in a journal , that it might not wilt 'fore it reaches jote's hands . and he sits aside her , stilling himself into a position of serenity in order to appear as collected as possible when presenting her with such a gift . he does not say what it is for , nor does he speak much on the feelings involved in the matter , instead , opting to open the page and break their silence with its art , " i thought of you when i picked it . " he smiles , delicately tracing the flattened stem , " it is called the treasure flower . they used to grow outside the castle . "

SHE HADN'T SPENT much time on the castle grounds as a child. much of her days had been spent in lessons. learning ceremony, history, & lineage. the undying served from the shadows, & she had been no different. perhaps that was why the first time she saw the castle gardens had stuck with her even now, so many years later. it had been late spring, with the flowers in full bloom, & only a stern reminder to behave herself had stopped her from giving in to the childish desire to pick a few of the colorful blossoms.

jote visited the castle a few, precious times after that. & each time she savored the view of the flowers as if a part of her had known that she would lose the sight forever. often the flowers would appear in her dreams of the only home she'd known before joshua's side. dreams of returning to a peaceful rosaria & watching the flowers bend & twist with the wind at her leisure.

but none of that was on her mind this day. it had become difficult enough to keep herself focused on her task once she'd realized what day was upon them, there was no room for wayward thoughts of a lost home. luckily there was much to do as she prepared for the next leg of their journey, with many opportunities to pull her back to the task at hand.

poultices, ingredients, replenished armor, & medicines. only once their traveling bags were near full did she give into temptation ( & joshua's insistence ) & allow herself a break. she sat comfortably in a small field. flowers, cool colored & healthy despite the blight that crept closer by the day, surrounded them. jote, always tuned into joshua, noticed him beginning to rummage through his pack despite her eyes on the horizon.

her head only turned when the journal entered her peripheral vision, & her eyes landed on it as a questioning sound left her lips. in return, her charge said nothing, simply opened the journal to a page that contained a sight she'd thought she'd only see after they had accomplished the impossible.

a treasure flower, he called it.

“ i remember. ” her guard had been dropped by the surprise, & she moved closer to him, sitting just at his side. her fingers brushed gently over the petals, taking in the details that had faded from her memories with time. “ i used to sit & watch them for hours when we visited the castle. after what happened at phoenix gate, i thought––––. ” but, that didn't matter now. she would not spoil such a kind gift with melancholy thoughts of the past.

“ i'd like to see them again, someday. when things are...better. ” when the blight was gone. when ultima was a distant memory. when the boy blessed with the blood of the phoenix could live a life without balancing the life & death of the world on his shoulders. she had to believe that such a day could come.

jote's head rose to look properly at joshua &, for the first time, noticed how close they had become. in a moment of selfishness, she did not move away.

“ thank you, your grace. i will cherish it. & it will serve as a wonderful reminder. ”

though it was no treasure flower, she found herself picking one of the pale blue flowers in reach. he regarded it for a long while in silence, smiling when she did finally speak anew.

“ a reminder, ” her voice was all but a whisper as she tucked the flower behind his ear. “ of the world we wish to create. ”

[nahoney22]

🌺 Foxglove Commander Fox 🌺

Garden Wishes

X female senator reader

word count: 1.3k

🌸 💐 Flower Fic Event 💐 🌸

Just a cute little event with Clones and some Flowers me and some of my moots decided to do on discord for @arctrooper69 birthday today! 🎉 🌸 🌺 Check the tag #cloneflowerficevent to see more! 💐

warnings: None, fluff, reader wearing a skirt, catching feelings.

Others involved with this event are (will add links to there fics once posted💜):

🌸 @arctrooper69 - Tup, Rex, Gregor

🌸@photogirl894 - Hunter, Wrecker, Fives

🌸 @totallyunidentified - 99, Cody

🌸 @dragonrider9905 - Hardcase

🌸 @l-lend - Wolffe

🌸 @jedi-hawkins - Kix

🌸 @moonstrider9904 - Howzer

“It’s a lovely day, wouldn’t you agree, Commander?” You muse, enjoying the sun's warm caress on your skin. Your question is directed to Clone Commander Fox, who trails a few steps behind you as you stroll through the Senate Gardens.

As a Senator, moments of peace and solitude are rare and precious and for you, it’s best spent admiring the diverse plant life. Though Commander Fox, your assigned protector, doesn’t seem to share your enthusiasm.

“It is, ma’am,” he replies curtly, his lack of enthusiasm evident. You decide not to press him and continue your walk with a playful roll of your eyes.

Pausing by a bush adorned with tiny white flowers, you crouch carefully to avoid snagging your regal, albeit cumbersome, skirt. “These are some of my favorites,” you say as Fox halts behind you. “Leucanthemum Vulgare.”

“I’m not familiar with it, ma’am,” he responds, surprising you. Fox rarely speaks unless spoken to, but perhaps after weeks of close quarters, he feels inclined to converse back.

“Just daisies,” you chuckle, standing again. You notice Fox instinctively reaching out to assist you, only to quickly tuck his hands behind his back when you were fine.

Continuing your walk, your feet eventually tire, and you opt to sit on a nearby bench while Fox stands awkwardly beside you. “You can sit with me, Commander,” you suggest, patting the space next to you.

“I appreciate the offer, but I must remain vigilant to protect you,” he replies, giving you a nod and you can’t help but wonder what expression lies behind his helmet.

“I doubt anyone will attack me here,” you say, though Fox’s squared shoulders suggest otherwise. “...or do you know something I don’t?”

He clears his throat and gazes down at you, his eyes meeting yours through the visor. “All Senators are at risk, ma’am. However… your advocacy for Clone rights has made you a target in certain political circles.”

You shrug. “If they want to shoot me for it, so be it.”

“Ma’am, please don’t say that,” Fox winces, looking away and shaking his head. He seems to want to speak freely, but refrains.

“Thank you for protecting me,” you say gently, shifting your gaze to the vibrant flowers that soothe your nerves. “I can’t think of another Clone I’d rather have by my side to appreciate these gardens.”

Fox tenses beside you. “Y-you’re welcome,” he stammers, a rare but endearing lapse in his typical stoicism.

You both settle into a peaceful silence, though you wondered how Fox is faring. Often, you ponder whether he enjoys these quiet moments with you or would rather be back in his office. You recall the amusing sight of his brothers stuffing countless empty caf cups into a corner when you first visited him, and the strain in his voice and stiff body language betrayed his embarrassment over the discovery of his caf addiction.

You just hoped it wasn’t because he was exhausted.

“So,” you begin, snapping out of your worried thoughts, “you’ve walked with me in these gardens plenty of times now, Commander. Is there any particular plant, flower, or tree you like?”

Fox turns his head towards you, tilting it slightly, which you find unexpectedly adorable and you scold yourself mentally for thinking so.

“I’m afraid my answer will bore you.”

You give a wry smile. “I’m sorry, you probably have more important things to be doing, I’m sure.”

“Taking care of you is the most important thing to me,” he says almost sternly. The way he says it sounds almost desperate, not just dutiful. Realising this, he adds, “as it is my current job.”

Clearing your throat, you turn your gaze away, hoping he doesn’t notice the tips of your ears burning with a blush. “I see.”

He nods simply, but after a moment, he sighs slightly. “There is, uh, one flower that catches my eye every time we come here actually.”

You look back at him, surprised. “Really? Which one?”

“It’s over there in the corner to the right.” He nods in the direction, and you stand, asking him to show you.

He hesitates for a moment, unsure if you’re serious. But judging by your smile—something he has grown rather fond of—he nods and leads the way.

You stop in front of a flower bed filled with a mix of pink, purple, white, and red flowers—tall and breathtaking, and quite familiar to you.

“I believe these are Digitalis purpurea,” you say, leaning forward to inhale their delicate fragrance with a soft smile. “I can see why you like them, come to think of it.”

He nods slightly, pleased to have a name for the flower, even if he wasn't going to try to pronounce it. “Why’s that?”

“Well,” you say with a smirk as you turn to him, “it’s also more commonly known as ‘Foxglove.’”

“Oh, really?” he asks, genuinely curious, and you nod in confirmation.

“Quite the coincidence, don't you think?” you add, your eyes sparkling with amusement.

Fox seems taken aback, the irony not lost on him. “Yes, quite the coincidence indeed.” His voice is softer, and there's a hint of a smile in his tone that you wholeheartedly wish you could see.

Fox admires the flowers once more before his eyes drift to the ground where a small bunch had been either knocked or blown off. He bends down and picks them up, then without thinking, holds them out to you. “Would you like these?”

Your mouth gapes open slightly, looking at the outstretched flowers and then at him. “Oh,” you say pleasantly, reaching out and taking hold of the slightly battered and broken stems, “thank you, Commander.”

But you notice that he doesn’t let go at first, instead focusing on the way your fingers brush against his. You feel your heart skip a beat as you both look at each other, neither of you willing to let go. This had to stop. This was completely inappropriate. But yet…

“Senator, Commander Fox.” A voice interrupts you both, and you almost gasp as you quickly let go of the flowers and turn to see who has interrupted this—if you could even call it—moment.

“Thorn,” Fox acknowledges, his attempt to sound composed betrayed by the heavy rise and fall of his chest.

“You are both needed inside. I did try to comm you, but I, uh, must’ve not gotten the signal.” Thorn's tone carries a hint of amusement, and you feel a rush of nervousness and fluster. Did Fox feel the same awkwardness you did?

You glance at Fox, who gives a curt nod to Thorn. “Understood. We’ll head there immediately.”

As you walk back towards the Senate building, you can't help but replay the moment in your mind. The gentle brush of his fingers against yours, the intensity of his gaze behind his visor—it was so unlike the stoic Commander you had come to know.

“Thank you, Commander,” you say softly once the two of you were alone again, glancing at the flowers in your hand. “For the flowers.”

Fox nods, his voice steady but tone also softer than usual. “You’re welcome.”

Later that day, you receive word that you are needed on a different planet for urgent Senate business. As you prepare to leave, you find yourself thinking about Fox and the moment you shared in the garden. An idea forms in your mind, and you act on it impulsively.

Before you depart, you make your way to Fox’s office. It's empty, as he's likely out on duty. You place the flowers on his desk, arranging them neatly. Beside the flowers, you leave a small note:

‘Hopefully you will protect these like you protected me until I come back, Fox.’

And signed with your name. Not just Senator.

With one last glance around the room, amused to see his caf cups still there, you quietly slip out.

When Fox returned to his office that evening, confused with the days events and how he was feeling about you, he never realised he would experience missing someone. Yet as he reads the note you left and looks at the flowers, he does something strange. He pushes his steaming caf to the side and instead, lets the memory of you and the scent of the Foxgloves relax him.

He would not tell the others, but he could not wait for another stroll in the gardens with you.

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[sugar-grigri]

Nayuta must become the big sister

I think what's especially interesting to note in chapter 154 is Nayuta's failure to use the right tactics.

Denji raised Nayuta correctly, emphasizing going to school, trying to control her possessive outbursts while being extremely present for her. In short, he nurtured her, giving her the protection he hadn't enjoyed as a child himself.

Although Nayuta knows her own nature and instincts, and is not naturally altruistic, she still looks at herself in a certain way: from society's point of view, and from her own, she is a child.

What I'm trying to say is that it's not insignificant to have Makima reincarnated; we could very well have had Nayuta, already an adult, because she's a devil who doesn't grow up. Nayuta already seems to grow up much faster than humans, so Fujimoto could very well have decided that a demon, especially a knight of the apocalypse, should already be born as an adult.

She grew up more quickly, and by the time Denji had finished devouring Makima, she already had the appearance of a 4/5-year-old child.

Fujimoto made Nayuta a child, because it's this state of being that makes her a control demon so paradoxical. Indeed, if Makima was so powerful, it wasn't just because she was older; the fact that Denji had killed Makima didn't change anything in terms of the fear one can feel of control.

What affects Nayuta's power, capable of controlling only 3 people at a time, is the way she conceives herself.

Makima was so powerful because she occupied a fairly high hierarchical position among public hunters, just as she had unquestionable authority over her agents. What's more, the government assigned her an objective of a universal nature: to protect all mankind from evil things. This role of universal protector, albeit a protective one, naturally places Makima, the control demon, in the role of guardian, humanity being as harmless as obedient puppies. The only thing Makima couldn't feel superior to was Chainsaw Man, for he is the entity that provides the means to pursue her universal goal of protection.

The key to Nayuta's fate is the fact that she has been loved and pampered by Denji. She makes it clear: it's natural for a demon to kill humans. Which, on the other hand, indicates that it's completely unnatural and almost unnatural for a demon to love and be loved by a human.

To have been loved, to have been happy, enabled the control demon to understand other ways of relating than pure domination, whereas Makima didn't understand human relationships, to the point of being moved by a hug, so unattainable for her.

Nayuta understands the nuances of relationships, just as she claims not to be the leader of powerful public officials but a mere child, which always places her in an inferior position to her enemies. That's why she's less powerful: to be in control, she needs to feel superior, which she can't easily do when she sees all these adults surrounding her so vehemently.

She focuses more on her social role as a child to be protected than as a demon attacking head-on. She still adheres to her role as a child, she's not obsessed with CSM because she can't reach him, he's now in her inner circle, she doesn't have a universal goal such as protecting the humanity like Fami suggested, she just wants to go to school.

In short, the control demon no longer wants to control, no longer needs to, or when she does, it's out of sheer necessity. The fact that she's weaker was Kishibe's objective when he gave custody of the demon to CSM, to make the control demon more human, more childlike, to avoid this exponential need for control. In short, the fact that the Control Demon's supreme objective is to be loved has contained its power, because its objectives have been achieved.

We can see how love is an unnatural thing, because it limits a demon who should be supreme through his solitude. For Nayuta's sake, to get out of her situation in chapter 154 would be to have a crisis of ego, and I think that symbolically it's not out of the question that if Nayuta abandons her role as a child, she'll grow up brutally. For a demon, appearance and age are simply a question of positioning in society. Makima had chosen to take on the appearance of a femme fatale to enable her to manipulate more effectively.

A soft voice, an attractive appearance to encourage us to lower our guard, the better to control coldly.

This is also why Barem is so dangerous to her: he's big-boned, aggressive and very tall, so he can be naturally frightening to a child. If Nayuta wants to control him and regain the upper hand, she mustn't see herself as a child with a gun pointed at her head. That even when assaulted, even when held at gunpoint, she's still in full control, that despite the chaos, she's still superior.

It's no coincidence that it's a gun that's pointed at her. Guns are fatal for humans, but for demons, especially the most powerful ones, they don't mean much. Nayuta doesn't need to be afraid of a gun, she needs to embrace her demon nature.

And she's on that track because protecting CSM, rather than being protected by him, means she can now play the role of a big sister.

What's more, she needs to get to know her own need for violence and cruelty. Chaos isn't what she likes, this chain of violence and combat isn't what she desires, because what she wants is cold, absolute control, where all she gets is unfailing obedience, people falling into line, not men with spears fighting each other in a primal manner.

She has been brought up by Denji, adopting his mannerisms and his way of speaking, but she also needs to distance herself from this fraternal figure in order to be herself.

All this leads me to say that the Knights of the Apocalypse, by moving away from what they are, are THE ONES who bring about the apocalypse, which is totally obvious, hence their name.

By loving something abnormal for the demon of control, by falling in love with his worst enemy for the demon of war, by wanting to save humanity to better eat what it produces for the demon of famine... show how they are all affected by humanity, to the point of putting aside their demonic nature.

Think of it as a kind of broken balance, which leads the eldest, the demon of death, to intervene. Why? For death represents absolute equilibrium; no one can escape it, it is an absolute rule from which it cannot be dislodged, it is an inevitable and firm end. Common to all species.

So she intervenes, to pull the ears of her little sisters Nostradamus' prophecy doesn't predict the apocalypse - in fact, it predicts that it will be triggered by the Knights of the Apocalypse, who have set out to protect mankind from the apocalypse. It may sound complicated when you put it like that, but the idea is to reinforce the idea of inevitability: protecting mankind from the apocalypse isn't a rebellion, something that can work; on the contrary, Fami's plan triggers it because she denies her nature. It's a losing game.

When I say that Nayuta needs to be a little more Makima again, it's not just for her own good, it's also for the good of humanity, and I find that ultra interesting: it's necessary for the antagonist we got rid of in part 1 to return, at least partially, in part 2.

But she mustn't go back to being that obsessive protector, she must simply resume its role as predator. Mankind needs predators: with the evolution of technology, it thought it could challenge its food chain, but paradoxically it needs to be bruised by demons to survive, since the balance of the world is at stake.

It's all the more symbolic that Barem and Fami use the wrong strategy: like Prometheus, they give fire to men via contracts with the fire demon, reinforcing the idea of evolution to escape its nature. It's even more symbolic that many weapons serve this project, such as Miri, the demon of the whip and the spear, hybrids linked to this civilisation.

It's absurd for the demon of control to argue that she's just a child. If she wants CSM to escape, she must also allow him to free himself from his role as big brother and protector. And the answer to this question was given by Fumiko, who didn't realise that dogs and Meowy weren't just animals. What she should despise is certainly not her own family.

Humanity is nothing more than pets, and this realisation is the key for Nayuta to become herself again.

[cheynovak]

The Shadows' Touch

Intro / part 1

Aziel x Y/N fae female

Summary: Y/N, a fae from the Night Court, prefers the solitude of books and sunsets over the bustling life of Velaris, hiding from her traumatic past. Azriel, notices her one winter by the sea and becomes quietly captivated by her, though she never seems to acknowledge him.

Warnings: mentioning of abuse

English isn't my first language

Please do not copy my work. Likes/Comments/Sharing are appreciated

Y/N sat in her small, shadowy corner of the world, hidden from the glamor and chaos of Velaris. She wasn’t like the other fae of the Night Court who thrived in the limelight. Her solace came in the form of ink-stained pages and the quiet sunsets she watched from the jagged rocks by the sea. Her existence had always been one of quiet resilience. It wasn’t her choice to fade into the background—it was survival.

Azriel had noticed her last winter. The spymaster of the Night Court rarely allowed himself such indulgences as fascination, but there was something about her. The way her hair caught the dying light of the setting sun, the serene expression on her face as she watched the waves, or the way she seemed untouchable, like a living shadow. Azriel found himself returning to the sea more often than he cared to admit, watching her from afar as if her presence soothed something deep within him.

But she never seemed to notice him. Not once.

That night, at Rita’s, Azriel had reluctantly joined Cassian and Mor. The bustling music and chatter grated on his nerves, and he cursed their persistence in dragging him there. But then, as his shadows whispered in delight, he saw her. Sitting at a small table, her nose buried in a book, she seemed untouched by the noise around her.

Azriel was usually adept at concealing his emotions, but his eyes betrayed him, lingering on her too long.

Mor, always one to meddle in matters of the heart, grinned knowingly when she caught him staring. She nudged Cassian, sharing a wordless plan.

“Az, it’s your turn to grab drinks,” Mor declared, loud enough to draw his attention.

Azriel sighed but obeyed, weaving his way through the crowd. As he passed her table, he felt her presence more keenly than anything else in the room. But just as he returned with the drinks, Cassian’s "accident" sent a pint flying in her direction.

The amber liquid soaked her book, splattering onto her clothes. As Azriel cought the flying pint, the ones on his plate fell.

Azriel’s heart sank.

“Oh, I’m so, so sorry,” he apologized immediately, his voice softer than he intended. His eyes drifted over her to the book she was holding.

She stood abruptly, eyes wide with alarm, her hands clutching the ruined book. For a fleeting moment, their eyes met. Azriel thought he saw something—a flicker of recognition, a thread of connection—but it vanished as quickly as it came. Without a word, she turned and fled the tavern.

Cassian’s laughter echoed behind him. “I can’t believe that worked.”

Azriel didn’t respond. He left the drinks on the table and pushed his way outside, scanning the dark streets of Velaris, but she was gone.

**Y/N’s POV**

Tears blurred her vision as she walked away from Rita’s, her ruined book clutched to her chest. She hated herself for the panic that overtook her the moment she saw him up close. Azriel, the shadowed spymaster of the Night Court, the one tasked with protecting them.

But Y/N didn’t see a protector when she looked at him. She saw the Illyrian male who had haunted her childhood, the one who had broken her and left her retreating into shadows and stories.

She barely remembered how she got home, her mind a storm of fear and shame. Once inside, she stripped off her damp clothes and stepped into the bath, trying to wash away the lingering tension. But her thoughts kept circling back to the soft apology in Azriel’s voice, the sincerity in his golden-brown eyes.

When a knock came at the door, she froze.

Peeking through the crack, she saw a flash of blue siphons and dark hair. Azriel.

“Hi,” he said, his voice tentative, almost shy.

Y/N tried to shut the door, but his foot stopped it.

“I, uh, brought you your book.” He held out a book.

She hesitated, eyeing it warily. “T-this isn’t mine,” she stammered.

A small smile touched his lips, a faint thing that barely reached his eyes. “No, it’s my copy. The stores are closed, and since I ruined yours…” He trailed off awkwardly, holding it out further. “You can have it.”

She took the book gingerly, her fingers brushing his hand for the briefest moment. He stepped back, sensing her unease, but not before adding softly, “I’m sorry for earlier.”

As he turned to leave, Y/N surprised herself. “Thank you,” she said.

Azriel stopped, looking back at her. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to still. Their gazes locked, and Y/N felt something stir—a crack in the walls she’d built around herself.

“I, uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking unsure. “I hope I’ll see you around.”

Before she could respond, he vanished into the night, leaving her standing in the doorway with his book pressed to her chest.

For the first time in a long while, Y/N felt something other than fear.

Curiosity.

---

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[the-returnofartemis]

Hey, can you share more posts about Jungkook's future spouse? Anything interesting about her what she's like what she do etc. Ty.

hi, thank you so much for your question! i’ll share some qualities and interests that i found both heartwarming and notable about her. to me, these are some of the traits that make her truly special. please remember that this is for entertainment purposes only and based on my observations!

important note: the pictures featured in this post are from pinterest and were chosen because i felt they best represent the essence of his special one, based on my observations.

MINI PLAYLIST:

whiplash by aespa | only 1 by ariana grande | i'm that girl by beyonce | mantra by jennie | one life by justin bieber | real thing by pink sweat$ featuring tori kelly

INNER QUALITIES

⚘ MONEY HONEY (GEMINI VENUS + MARS 10H) ⇢ this placement suggests that she’s likely to be business savvy and able to see the bigger picture, which helps her spot opportunities that can help her build a successful career. she may have a strong sense of ambition and creativity that enhances her leadership abilities — not just in taking charge, but in setting practical steps to achieve her professional goals. this blend of determination and intense focus allows her to overcome any challenges that comes her way, which makes her successful in both short and long-term goals. she may also see herself as a provider and protector, where her motivation extends beyond her own personal accomplishments. her goals may be deeply intertwined with a sense of responsibility for her family and loved ones, giving her an even stronger reason to succeed— not just for herself, but for those who depend on her. this dedication could make her a reliable and supportive presence in both her professional and personal circle. this trait is one that tests her, engages her deeply, and in the end, blesses her with growth and insight!

⚘ PRIVACY (LEO 12H + MAGHA MOON DK) ⇢ she likely values her privacy deeply and understands the need to balance her heart for service with her need for solitude. this selective nature may make her cautious with her trust despite her friendly nature. as mentioned before, she radiates a quiet confidence that makes her presence felt, and while she may resonate with this inner strength, those around her — and maybe even the world at large — may place her on a pedestal, while she herself may prefer to remain in the background. at times, attention may feel overwhelming as she may simply just want to support others rather than take the spotlight herself, choosing peace over recognition. she may dream of expressing her creative talents, but this dynamic might sometimes lead her to hesitaste in revealing her true self. ultimately, she could be someone who is intentional in what she reveals, especially in the public eye, showing up only when it aligns with her values.

⚘ PURE HEARTED (PISCES JUPITER 7H) ⇢ this is my favorite trait because it's so endearing! she may radiate an innocent-like joy, that brightens any space she's in. she approaches life with intentionality and sincerity, believing that it's important to show that light can exist even in the darkest moments and that empathy matters. people may look to her as a source of inspiration and be drawn to her genuine motivation to support and uplift others. even in her own struggles, she’ll see her challenges as an opportunity for growth, encouraging others to do the same. she likely believes in cultivating a mindset that taps into gratitude and vitality, seeing joy as a powerful tool in navigating life's challenges. her ability to romanticize life isn’t about avoiding reality but stems from a genuine desire to see the silver lining in every situation. honestly, people may even see her as ‘human medicine’ for the healing aura she naturally exudes.

NATURAL GIFTS and ABILITIES

⚘ FAITH ⇢ again, she has a remarkable ability to see the silver lining in every situation and maintains faith that everything will work out. while it may be challenging to apply it to herself at times, she’s great at supporting and inspiring others, which is something she truly values.

⚘ HUMANITARIAN ⇢ she may feel like helping people is a part of her calling, so she may find ways to always give back to all and support those in need.

PASSIONS and PASTIMES

⚘ ARTS AFICIONADO  ⇢ she likely has a deep appreciation for art and music, viewing both as therapeutic and essential to society. to her, the meaning behind each piece of art is an experience that weaves together various aspects of life in ways that other forms of expression cannot. art brings together all her interests – it sparks inspiration, reflection, and, most importantly, joy. music is most likely a shared passion and a point of connection between her and jungkook, so it wouldn’t be surprising if they create playlists or share songs with each other, as they may have similar tastes. she may also be musically inclined, with a good ear for sound and an artistic sensibility that helps her discern the nuances of music. for her, music creates a sense of connection, as she values shared moments that bring mental and emotional closeness with her partner.

⚘ CREATOR ⇢ she may find joy in activities that involve building and constructing, which in turn sharpens her creative skills!

⚘ HISTORY BUFF ⇢ she may be drawn to history, with a natural curiosity that inspires her to explore historical narratives for a deeper understanding of life. at times, she may not understand mainstream trends until she delves into the ‘why' lol. her curiosity allows her to connect with her interests on a deeper level, giving her an opportunity to not only expand her knowledge but to also shape her way of thinking and strengthen her creativity skills. she likely enjoy learning through documentaries, travel, or even reading and studying — especially when it involves foreign culture!

SHARED INTERESTS

these two will most likely be similar to each other, like two peas in a pod lol. even if there are any differences, they’ll find ways to smooth out the rough edges to create a balanced connection, which is so cute!

⚘ LOVE LANGUAGE ⇢ i’m almost certain these two prioritize the same love language: acts of service and quality time. for them, actions speak louder than words, and they feel most loved and appreciated when they spend meaningful time together, and make an effort to show up for one another. while other love languages also play a role, they’re naturally woven into the moments they share. this shared approach in love may help establish a solid foundation for their relationship, where each partner feels seen and valued.

⚘ RELATIONSHIP DYNAMICS ⇢ she and jungkook may share a similar approach to relationships, valuing loyalty and commitment in both romantic and platonic connections. both tend to be ‘ride-or-die’ types, where they are willing to support those they care about through thick and thin. even though they are friendly, kindhearted and enjoy meeting new people, they may take their time when it comes to building genuine trust. for them, true friendship or partnership takes time because it’s built on shared experiences and understanding. so, when they do reach that level with someone, it’s a sign of deep respect and genuine love.

thank you for reading — i hope you enjoyed!

x