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mandalhoerian · 2 months ago

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(4) 🦭 signed, sealed, delivery pending...

Raf doesn't take well to you leaving for university. Shenanigans ensue. Congratulations on giving a literal seal separation anxiety.

genre: fluff, comedy | word count: 7K | read on ao3

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note: i'm sorry this is late but i hope you enjoy that it's a bit longer in the word count! we will be back to the present in the next chapter with THE REVEAL! YAYYYY

It’s your last evening on the island.

Your bags are already packed. Two suitcases, a duffel, and now a fourth carry-on — one Mom insisted on adding last minute. It's half-insulated, stuffed with three Tupperwares of home-cooked rice and frozen stew andthree packs of marinated something-or-other wrapped with ice packs and to be put into the dorm fridge ASAP, jars and jars full of pickled vegetables, frozen dumplings layered in foil, a suspiciously heavy thermos labeled 'for emergencies only,' and god knows how many packs of your favorite snacks. There’s even a loaf of bread wedged on top like an afterthought. It’s less of a bag and more of a portable pantry. She’d kept slipping things into it all morning, muttering about how the dorm won’t have "any real food and you have to cook your own" and you’ll thank her when you’re freezing and tired and want something warm.

The other bags are crammed tight, zippers barely holding, the fabric stiff from years of use. One of the suitcases is missing a wheel. It screeches whenever you drag it across the floor, like it knows this is the last time it’ll scrape across this house.

Your ferry ticket is tucked into your wallet, itinerary triple-checked, outfit for the next morning already laid out on the back of a chair. Tomorrow, you’ll board the ferry not to work it, not to haul crates or wrangle tourists, not with your shirt tucked into old cargo shorts and your name on a patch, but to leave. For good, or for long enough that it might as well be.

University waits on the mainland. City air. Dorms. Cafeteria food. The smell of dry-erase markers and hand sanitizer and too many strangers crammed into a lecture hall. Your name printed on a laminated student ID that looks nothing like you.

Your parents had gotten a bit emotional, naturally. Mom kept touching your face like it might disappear, brushing your hair off your forehead with a smile that twitched at the corners. Dad had retreated to the garage, insisting he needed to reorganize the fishing tackle, though nothing had changed in that cabinet since you were ten. You’d caught him wiping his eyes with an oily rag.

Your friends had made plans for one last group call the night you arrived. Someone had promised to mail you festival candy every year. Someone else swore they'd visit, though you all knew they wouldn’t. Everyone was being kind. Everyone was pretending not to notice the knot in your throat.

Except — you hadn’t seen him.

Not really. Not in days.

You’d caught glimpses of him at a distance, once from the second-story window of your school during lunch, his sleek shape out past the reef where the sea meets the cliffs, another time while biking past the overlook near the old radio tower, just a head bobbing in the shallows.

But not at the cove. Not where you always found him.

Not since the day you skidded onto the sand beside him and babbled about your university housing being confirmed, about the dorm you'd picked and how it had real hardwood floors and a communal kitchen. You’d talked too much, too fast, nervous energy bleeding into every word, and he just sat there. Still, as if his body had forgotten movement. His eyes had gone wide, not cartoonish or expressive, just strange. The way some animals look when lightning cracks the sky — more instinct than comprehension.

He’d made a faint sound, something between a chirp and a cough, and then rolled away to show you his back with this stiff, resigned shuffle. Like air leaving a balloon.

You hadn’t thought much of it at first. You thought maybe he was bored. Maybe full. Maybe the tide was too low and he didn’t want to move again.

He had just stared out at the horizon.

And then hadn’t shown up the next day.

Or the one after that.

You’d started going by the cove each evening just in case, each time finding nothing but waves and rockweed and the ghost of where he used to be.

So now, with your heart thick and your sandals in hand, you leave the house to seek him out for one last time. The sky has gone soft and lilac with the last light of day, bruising gently at the edges like an old plum. The wind brushes against your cheek like breath, carrying the distant scent of salt and something faintly metallic, seaweed sun-warmed and half dried. The sand is still warm under your feet, tender from the afternoon sun, and each step feels both too slow and too fast.

Your dress is plain this time, something old, soft and familiar, already wrinkled, smelling faintly of lavender detergent and ferry salt. There's a safety pin holding the hem where you never got around to mending it properly. The pattern’s nothing special, just a scatter of flame lilies across soft white cotton, but Raf’s always been weirdly drawn to it. You’d caught him staring at it more than once, eyes fixed not on you, but the bright, strange flowers trailing down the side of the skirt. Maybe it was the shape, the color, the unfamiliar way it moved in the wind like flickering candle fires. You’d decided, in a half-laughing sort of way, that it made sense. He was a seal. He’d probably never seen a flower before.

And it's a cheap way of trying to hold his attention now.

You wind your way around the tidepools, stepping over seaweed-slick rocks, squinting into the breeze as gulls wheel overhead, screeching their approval of the approaching twilight. The cove is quiet. The way it always is this time of day — tide low, sky deepening, water turning to silver glass, like someone poured a breathless hush over the entire shoreline.

And here he is, completing the painting.

Raf.

He’s lying at the edge of the rocks, lumped in a pile of his own sulk, flippers tucked close and head turned toward the horizon where the sun is beginning to dip. He looks like a statue someone forgot to carve the face onto—still, slow-breathing, stubbornly present.

You stop a few feet away and raise your brows. "Hi, hi, hi, my cutie pie," you call, in the same rhythm you've always used—the sing-song greeting that once had him springing upright, barking like he'd been summoned by royalty.

He doesn’t move.

Doesn’t even look startled. Like he knew you’d come. Like he’s been lying there for hours, maybe all day, waiting for you and doing a terrible job pretending he hasn’t.

"Raaaaf," you whine. "Don’t do this."

You inch closer, navigating the rocks with practiced hopping, one foot bracing while the other leaps forward, the soles of your feet stinging from the uneven stone. He shifts slightly as you approach, but only enough to angle away from you, offering you nothing but the slope of his back and the faint twitch of one earless head.

You sigh, easing yourself down beside him, careful to keep a respectful distance. You wrap your arms around your knees and let the silence stretch, like a long breath held between waves.

"Seriously? You’re gonna be like this?" you mutter. "I’m not dying, you know. I’ll be back."

He flicks his tail once, like punctuation. Noncommittal. Moody.

"You know," you go on, voice softening, "most seals would’ve at least looked sad. Maybe whimpered a little. Instead, I get full passive aggression. Complete stonewall."

Still nothing.

You rest your chin on your knees. The wind plays with your hair, threading it across your face. It smells like dried kelp and brine, and the faint sweetness of crushed beach plum.

He’s still watching the horizon. Pretending you’re not there.

You remember not being able to sit still on the beach without Raf nosing at your backpack, tugging it half into the water just to get your attention. Once, he dragged your towel three meters down the shore while you were diving, then looked genuinely offended when you got angry.

He brought gifts, too — bits of sea glass, shells worn smooth, a shiny bottle cap once that you’d still kept in your drawer. Once, he rolled up with a perfectly intact Gucci sandal that definitely wasn’t yours and dropped it in your lap like an offering. Always a treasure. Always for you. You always joked that he had a hoarding problem, but deep down you wondered if he just liked seeing you surprised.

You also dove together. Or rather, you dove while he spiraled around you like a corkscrewed comet, all fins and glee, sometimes vanishing below you only to burst up like a shadow chasing light. He liked playing chicken with your bubbles, popping up right in front of your goggles with a bark that echoed through your mask and made you choke from laughing.

But lately, none of that.

"You’re the only one I didn’t get to say goodbye to," you murmur. "And I thought — well. I don’t know. I thought you might at least come see me off."

He doesn’t respond. But his curled whiskers twitch. Barely. Maybe it's just the wind. Maybe not.

You don’t blame him. Animals know. Cats sit in suitcases. Dogs vanish when the leash comes out. You just didn’t think a seal could tell. But then again, Raf was never just a seal.

"I’ll be back during holidays," you promise. "And I’ll bring snacks. The good kind. They have so much variety in the mainland. None of the soggy fish fries. I’ll get those crunchy things you liked. You remember those?"

He lets out a soft, resigned noise. Less a huff, more a breath held too long. For all the ignoring and sulking, the usual dramatics of his is missing, and it’s making your heart clench.

You smile, a little. "Okay, okay. I’ll try harder. You’re so high maintenance."

Still, he doesn’t come closer. Doesn’t nudge your hand or toss something shiny at you. He just lies there, quiet and distant and solid as stone.

You stay until the sun slips behind the sea, until the sky turns to bruised blue and the stars begin to appear. One by one, the cove starts to change, growing cool and strange under moonlight. Your legs ache. Your eyes sting. You’ve said goodbye in your head a dozen times now, but it still hasn’t landed.

Eventually, you rise. Sand clings to your toes. Your dress rustles in the wind.

But you pause before you go. Just once. Just long enough to glance back.

He’s watching you.

You smile, small and wobbly. "I'm going to miss you the most, you know."

The morning of your departure is mostly quiet. The island is smaller than it has ever felt before. Or maybe you’ve just grown too big for it.

Mom wakes you with gentle hands and a bowl of warm congee, topped with a perfectly jammy egg, and as you’re washing up, the sight of your bags lined up neatly by the door of your family home feels unreal, like it belongs to someone else’s life. The ferry you’ve spent your whole life working on will be taking you away this time, but not just across the water to another island. This time, it’s the mainland. This time, you won’t be coming back in a few hours.

Dad loads the last of your stuff into the trunk as you’re having breakfast while muttering about ferry times like it's not him who gets the final say about them. You’re wearing the outfit you picked three days ago: practical, still slightly wrinkled, but something that makes you look like someone who has a plan.

Your dress from yesterday hangs near the door, flame lilies fluttering in the breeze each time someone opens it.

There are only a few things left to pack into your backpack, your charger, your toothbrush. Mom tucks a flat envelope into your duffel when she thinks you’re not looking. You let her.

“Are you sure you have everything?” she asks, and you know she’s not really talking about the bags.

“Yeah,” you say, shifting the strap of your carry-on over your shoulder. “I triple-checked.”

There’s a silence that settles between the three of you — not uncomfortable, just heavy with the weight of change.

Dad clears his throat. “You know, if you need anything—”

“I know.” You smile, trying to keep things light. “You’ll have me on the next ferry back before I even finish a sentence.”

Mom huffs a soft laugh, shaking her head. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

The joke lands, but the truth sits beneath it. Leaving feels impossible even as you stand at the threshold of it.

The ride to the dock is short, too short, the windows slightly fogged from the still-chilly morning. The conversation in the car starts with Mom nagging before the seatbelt even clicks. "You triple-checked your toothbrush? You always forget your toothbrush. And your charger—the thing with the thing—the long plug one? And a rain jacket. You didn’t pack a rain jacket, did you?"

You're already dissociating. She takes that as permission to continue.

"And don’t wait too long to buy your textbooks, because the good copies go fast. And when you run out of what we packed, don’t just live on instant noodles. You need real food. You need greens. Do you even know where to buy produce? Ask someone. And don’t sleep with your hair wet. You’ll get headaches. You will."

Dad doesn’t say a word. He drives like he’s praying for tunnels.

"And don’t put your laptop on your bed," she adds. "It overheats. You do that. You do that all the time."

You sigh. "I’ll be fine."

"You won’t be fine if you fry your hard drive again. I don’t want a crying phone call from the mainland at two a.m., asking if we backed up your files. We didn’t. Don’t do that to me again."

You nod. Because if you speak again, you’ll laugh or cry or scream, and none of those are safe. You nod, promise, nod again.

Everything’s been arranged: they’ll drop you on the mainland and spend the day in town, just to stretch the goodbye a little longer. Mom has already named three restaurants she wants to try. Dad has said “we’ll see” to all of them.

The dock is alive with movement — vendors dragging ice chests into place, deckhands coiling ropes, early commuters standing in quiet lines. The ferry waits at the end, squat and familiar, ropes taut and mist clinging to its sides. Somebody’s playing music through a phone speaker too loud, and it echoes between the beams of the terminal.

You stand with your parents near the loading ramp. Dad double-checks your ID for the fourth time. Mom tugs your sleeve down over your wrist, then back up again. She smooths the back of your collar like it’s a goodbye ritual—like maybe if the fold is just right, you’ll be protected from everything.

Then—

“Wait,” Mom says, sharp and alert. “Where’s the red suitcase?”

You blink. Scan the stack beside you. Duffel. Suitcase. Food carry-on.

Three.

There were supposed to be four.

“The red one,” she says again, louder now. “The one with your bedding. The toiletries. The extension cord! And your skin care—do you know how expensive that serum is?”

You turn slowly.

And then you see it.

Out in the harbor. A bright, bobbing flash of red. Moving steadily away from the dock.

Being dragged.

By something large, round, and unmistakably gray.

“RAAAAFFF!”

There’s a pause on the dock, like the hush that comes over a herd upon a loud noise. Then someone nearby laughs like it’s a sitcom.

He’s paddling like he has all the time in the world, flippers slicing through the water with purpose. The red suitcase is clamped in his jaws, handle caught like a leash.

“Oh my god,” Mom gasps, slapping Dad’s arm. “He’s stealing the luggage! He’s actually — he’s taking it!”

“Relax,” Dad says, shielding his eyes with one hand. “It’s fine. They’re waterproof.”

“Not animal-proof!” she hisses. “What if he unzips it with his teeth? What if the sunscreen pops open? It’ll be like an oil spill in there!”

You stagger forward. “Raf! What the hell! Get back here!”

The dock crowd thickens — fishermen with crates half-unloaded, tourists with raised cameras. Two kids shriek with laughter. A woman in a floral bucket hat whispers, "Is that trained? Like one of those therapy dolphins?"

Your entire head is on fire.

“Raf!” you shout again.

He swims like a parade float, silent and committed, red suitcase bobbing behind him like an accusatory balloon.

“I swear to god, Raf, this is not a bit! This is NOT CUTE!”

He pauses. Just long enough to make eye contact.

Then gives the suitcase a little tug and keeps going.

“Do something!” Mom cries, pacing in tight frantic circles.

“I am,” you snap, yanking off your shoes.

“WHAT? No, you’re not—don’t get in the—!”

Too late. You’ve dropped your backpack along with your jacket and mentally said goodbye to your cute outfit, and are halfway down the dock ladder.

The water bites immediately. Icy and dense, winding its way into your clothes with zero mercy. You grunt, teeth clacking. "Raf," you sputter, dog-paddling furiously, "if you don’t drop that suitcase right now, I will bite you back."

Your arms ache. Your dress — your going-away outfit chosen specifically to make an impression on your dorm mates — is plastered to your skin, heavy as a sack. You slip once, crash forward, get a mouthful of salt and indignity.

“Come here, you kleptomaniac!”

His fin splashes. Not too far away, but not within grabbing distance either. He makes it look effortless — long body cutting through the waters without a hitch, flippers paddling leisurely, his precious stolen luggage swinging to and fro in tow like the tail end of a comet.

He barks at you once, quick and clear above the slap of waves. Taunting you, almost. Calling you back. Come catch me. If you think you can.

"Yooooouuuu," you growl, dragging your freezing, seawater-logged self forward, arms stiff and dress dragging like annoyingly behind you. "You absolute menace. After days of ghosting me like a moody little shit, this is your grand finale? This? This is what you pull the morning I’m leaving?"

It happens quickly — the cold has slowed your reaction times and made you clumsy. An uneven wave buffets you from below and sends you lurching sideways. There's a confused second before your head sinks under the surface and icy black closes around you. You kick automatically, heart pounding, lungs burning with sudden terror. But it's only seconds before you bob up again, gasping and spitting out seawater.

And he’s right there.

Raf floats beside you, nose hovering near your shoulder, eyes wide and black as obsidian. His nose nudges at you, first one side, then the other, gentle, inquisitive pushes against your shoulders like he's testing the give of you. It should be funny, a seal checking in on you like this.

You blink at him, dazed. His expression — if a seal can even have one — is alarmingly innocent. No trace of mischief. Just concern. That wide-eyed, alien kind of worry that somehow reads so clearly across a face that isn't built to show it.

A laugh escapes you, helpless and watery. It’s all too much: the cold, the shouting, the absurdity of nearly drowning because your emotionally unwell sea-friend decided to hijack your journey.

From the dock, someone’s yelling your name. You can hear Mom now, shrill with worry. The sound of boots clattering. The unmistakable click of a camera shutter.

"Aw!" someone coos. "He’s helping her swim!"

"Silly boy," you chide fondly, reaching out carefully with one stiff hand. "Trying to play savior after kidnapping my belongings."

But Raf remains where he is, letting your fingers brush briefly across the top of his slick head, his whiskers tickling at your inner forearm in soft bristles. The intent he has in looking at your face with those deep, unfathomable twin dark mirrors that reflect your own image back to you tells you he means something by it. Something significant. He whines quietly in the back of his throat, low and rasping. You hear something in him in that moment, something mournful. The sound seems to travel directly through water to nest itself inside your ribs.

"I'm very angry at you," you murmur, patting him gently one final time on the nose before pulling away. "Give it back."

He noses at your shoulder. As if asking for another stroke. As if he hasn’t done anything wrong. As if this is just another normal day in paradise and there isn't chaos unfolding overhead, nor witnesses observing the weirdest act of petty theft ever witnessed in these parts.

You wrestle the handle free from his surprisingly tight grasp and glare at him reproachfully, pushing the suitcase back towards shore like a surfer sending her board off on its own mission. You hear cheers from the direction of the ferry. More than likely, they assume you got whatever had attracted the seal's interest away safely and are celebrating accordingly. But Raf's cries behind you sound plaintive rather than victorious at having succesfully delayed your departure, almost apologetic. You ignore them stubbornly, instead focusing on getting yourself and the suitcase back ashore in one piece.

He's the better swimmer of course, so it doesn't take long for him to catch up with ease. His giant bulk bumps you repeatedly in the side like he's trying to help keep your head above water in case the weight of the luggage drags you down. He makes an obvious attempt at stealing it from you mid-stroke every so often, but he seems more interested in keeping you company rather than any real attempt at further sabotage, content enough to simply be nearby rather than running off again with his ill-gotten prize.

You reach the dock ladder exhausted and out of breath, Dad lifting you up bodily by your armpits onto the dock as though you weigh nothing while Raf circles below in clear agitation at not being allowed up onto dry land himself. Mom's clearly been fretting this whole time judging from her frazzled appearance when you finally make it to the surface again, wrapping a thick blanket around your shoulders with the urgency of someone trying to contain a small explosion and clucking over you like an anxious hen as Dad attempts to lure the wayward suitcase closer in order to fish it back in.

“You spoiled him,” she snaps, pointing an accusatory finger at the gray head still bobbing below. “He thinks he’s family. This is what happens when you let wild animals eat from your hands and sleep next to you. I told you this would happen. I told you.”

You know she's upset and concerned, but still it irks you to have someone else talk about Raf that way. Even if the trouble's been caused due to his bad temperament for the day. "I know he's not a pet," you snap. "He's just playing, Mom."

Dad looks up from his attempts at retrieval. "Have you noticed him becoming aggressive recently?"

You shake your head immediately, remembering the tenderness of Raf's worried attentions moments prior when you both had been alone together. The same worries which Mom is currently expressing aloud. "Not at all, no, and even if he were, we'd know because we've seen the signs long before it became a problem, Dad. Don't treat him like he's sick or rabid. That's just cruel. He's doing great."

Dad lifts both hands in defeat, giving up on making any sense of the situation.

"C'mon, let's get you changed," Mom decides finally, guiding you away towards the family ferry with one of your carry-ons trailing behind her.

You twist around to look for Raf — who hasn't seemed to realize yet that the two of you have abandoned their efforts — only to feel your chest clench painfully when you find him gone completely from sight, as though he never existed in the first place.

It begins the moment the dock recedes, the ropes unwinding from their cleats like threads unraveling from the hem of a shirt you can’t stop wearing, even when it no longer fits. The ferry groans forward. Beneath the swell and churn of propellers, your mother is still murmuring into the lid of her thermos, rehearsing the list of things she’s convinced you’ll forget the moment you step foot into the dorms, though she’s already said it twice, maybe three times.

You don’t register the splash. Not over the drone of the engine, the high, desolate cries of gulls circling overhead like winged punctuation marks. But others do. There’s a shift in the air — an intake, a thrum, a ripple of attention moving across the deck.

“Is that the same seal?” someone says, the words caught halfway between delight and disbelief.

You know before you turn.

There’s a charge in your chest, a tightening beneath your ribs, the inexplicable weight of knowing you’re being seen.

Raf.

Not basking on the rocks. Not lurking near the moorings. He’s in the open now, out in the deep, and he’s keeping pace.

A streak of mottled gray slicing through the wake. Each curve of his body surfaces, glistens, then vanishes again. Unerring. Tireless. As if the ocean were built to part for him.

It’s not a game. It’s not curiosity. He’s following.

“Like a dolphin,” someone breathes.

You fold your hands into your coat pockets as if you could anchor yourself there, contain the vertigo rising in your chest. He’s never followed the ferry, never even crossed the cove’s border over to the populated areas. He was fine in the open sea. He liked the quiet vastness of it, the way the water stretched wide and unpeopled. What rattled him was the presence of others. People. Crowds. The tight concentration of noise and motion. Places where voices bounced off concrete and metal, where strangers reached and pointed and lingered too long with their eyes. He'd always skirted the edges of such spaces, drawn but wary, inching closer only to vanish when attention turned sharp.

He'd avoid the fishing boats, the ports, the children with their bright towels and sticky hands. You’d seen it — how the jerk in his posture came quick and absolute, how he slipped into the water like a breath held underwater the moment someone raised a voice. His world had rules, unspoken but absolute: stay hidden, stay safe, stay away.

And now — he is here. In the thick of it. Among the diesel-smudged air and the spectacle of faces. Moving with intention, not accident.

The meaning of that hits you hard, sharp beneath the ribs.

This isn’t a lapse. It’s a decision.

And now, here he is. Out where it’s loud, unpredictable and unkind.

The significance lands with a weight that makes your knees ache. This isn’t just a fluke. It’s not momentary courage or curiosity. It’s will. It’s devotion dressed in salt.

You’d never thought him capable of that kind of leap, of forsaking instinct for longing.

And maybe that’s what stings most. That he would go where even people haven’t. That he would follow when others chose not to. That he would brave something that once made his whole body flinch.

For you.

The ferry’s path threads the archipelago, a slow, ceremonial glide from island to island, each stop familiar and hollow. Wind-worn docks. Sun-cooked ropes. The same children pulling at their parents’ sleeves, the same vendors stacking crates of sugar fruit and bread. But everything feels warped now, longer, thinner, stretched too tight.

At the first island, you almost allow yourself relief when he doesn’t appear right away. But as the horn sounds and the ferry pushes off again, he surfaces in the wake.

At the second, he’s waiting. Still. Still as stone, except for the water whispering over his back.

By the third, a crowd has gathered. Children at the rails. Teens with phones out. Someone throws a cracker. Raf doesn’t so much as twitch. His eyes don’t leave you.

You sit pressed against the window, arms crossed so tightly across your stomach it aches. And still your gaze drifts, pulled to the edge again and again.

By the fourth island, you feel it in your shoulders — the pressure, the strain. Every dock feels harder to leave.

By the fifth, you’re standing, wind tangling your hair, your eyes burning.

By the sixth—

Your hands are clenched on the railing. Your eyes overflow without warning. There’s no noise to it. Just a slow descent of tears, tracking over your cheeks, falling onto the scarf your mother insisted you bring.

Most animals understand human patterns to an extent, even intelligent mammals like dolphins have been studied for their social intellec t, but seals operate on different cognitive mechanisms altogether compared to the more popularly researched sea animals, and whether Raf could comprehend anything beyond being a nuisance at best for most folk still remained unclear.

But. He’s still there.

He shouldn’t be.

But he is. A small, relentless shape. Never flagging.

And something about that undoes you.

What kind of creature follows you this far? Not for food. Not for spectacle. Just because it cannot fathom not following.

Not even people do that. Not even the ones who promised to.

There is something about his persistence, mute, unwavering, ferocious in its simplicity, that hollows out your chest. It’s devotion in its rawest form. Without language. Without demand. And it devastates you.

He follows without knowing where you’re going. That’s what shatters you. That he has no map, no endpoint, no idea of how far or how long, or what he'll be encountering.

He doesn’t follow the route. He follows you. And even that is too simple.

He follows the grief of your absence before it’s fully formed. He follows the outline of goodbye.

And it undoes you. That kind of devotion. That kind of belief.

You press your knuckles to your eyes, heat blooming beneath your lids, something bitter and unwelcome tightening behind your sternum. The shame swells in the silence, low and heavy and undeniable. You were unkind. Too sharp. You treated him like he was something ordinary like a kid throwing a tantrum.

He's following, of course he is. Because you're all he knows. Because you taught him connection, safety, love, companionship unique to humanity. He thought you to be permanent. Stable. And trusted that no matter what happened to you, even if something took you away from him temporarily, you would return. That's how it had always been like for three years now. And instead of saying your goodbyes properly, like friends would, like friends ought to, like he deserves, you had cut things short by storming off.

He was a fucking seal for god's sake, you wouldn't be able to text him later or call to apologize, or invite him around yours once you've settled down properly at school. What does he know about distance and change, time passing, plans changing, responsibilities?

What does he know about leaving, period?

The mainland bleeds into view like a wound stitched from concrete and steel.

Steel-gray docks yawning out across the harbor, cranes like rusting skeletons, the skyline stacked with buildings and noise. The water darkens here, churned by hulls too large and too many, and everything smells like salt drowned in engine grease.

People swarm the terminal, dockhands shouting over backup alarms, tourists fumbling with overstuffed bags, someone loudly asking where the restrooms are in a dialect not meant for shouting.

You feel it before you see it, the grit in the air, the way the water thickens under the ferry’s weight, the scent shifting from brine and seaweed to engine oil and burnt plastic. The sky flattens. The noise rises. It’s too bright here, too many sharp edges. The city swells toward you with its teeth showing.

A break in the noise.

A wave of sound fractures across the dock, screams, laughter, confusion honed to a blade’s edge.

He breaches the harbor like a rupture. Like something breaking the surface that was never meant to be seen.

Back home in the archipelago, it would’ve been met with little more than a glance. A hum of acknowledgment. Maybe a laugh, if he bumped into someone’s net or made a mess of a drying line. Seals weren’t miracles, they were a fact of the shoreline. They barked at low tide, hauled out on back porches like they owned them, draped themselves across sun-warmed stones under strict observation and firm protection. The archipelago didn’t just live alongside them, it carved space for them. Regulations kept their beaches clear, nets modified, engines slowed. Raf wouldn’t have been strange there. Just another wet face in the crowd. Maybe even invisible.

But not here.

But here—

Here he is spectacle. Alien. Out of place and unallowed.

Their fascination curdles fast. Not wonder, not even confusion, but that wide-eyed, teeth-baring kind of hunger. The city doesn’t know how to love a wild thing unless it can be packaged. Catalogued. Consumed. And Raf, still panting and soaked, has become a glitch in the script they thought they were following.

Raf, soaked and singular, rising from the water as if the sea itself is offering him up is a slick blur of grey and glinting salt. He’s already on the ramp. Not floundering — no. He throws his body forward with that stubborn, undignified determination only he can wear like majesty.

Phones raise like weapons. Fingers twitch with the instinct to reach. No one touches him, but it’s not restraint. It’s restraint like a child watching flame, longing to burn their fingers just to see if it will scar.

He knows. You can see it in the set of his shoulders, the too-wide stance of his flippers, the way he never once turns his back. He’s pressed taut with it, the knowledge of being watched by a crowd that doesn’t believe he should exist in their space.

He’s never looked more out of place.

Never smaller.

His flippers slap against the aluminum. He grunts. He screams. He galumphs. There aren't any docks here, no rocks for him to perch on, none of the old familiar salty scent of ocean he's so accustomed to. There are strangers. Scents and sounds that frighten him. There is nowhere else to go but onward.

People scatter in the ferry. A cup of coffee drops. A camera flashes. Somewhere, a child claps.

He disappears for a moment, past the threshold, into the ferry’s belly.

By the time you reach him, he’s tucked himself into the far corner of the lower deck, pressed against the vending machine like it’s the last safe place on earth, chest still heaving, whiskers trembling, his flippers flush to his sides like some strange version of a hug. He doesn't respond immediately despite seeing you, seeming more stunned than anything else as if trying to make sense of this new environment.

"Raf, holy shit, I am so sorry." The words spill out all at once, almost clumsy in your hurry to get them out. The floor hums under your knees as you sink to them, the metal cold through your jeans. "Look at you, oh god, I'm so sorry I left you behind—"

Your name hangs between you, threaded through with things unsaid, the gravity of a thousand shared days suddenly coiled too tight.

When he moves, it feels like something unsticking — a bone sliding back in place, a bruise blossoming, a slow surrendering of distance. It shudders up his entire body, a tremble that works its way from toes to fins until his tail slaps the ground once, hard, a final, reluctant release of control.

And then he’s on you, squirming close and eager. Lumbering with relief and excitement, almost knocking you flat as he nuzzles and paws at your shoulder insistently with those giant paddles, still somewhat damp, shaking so hard his whiskers quiver. He huffs softly against you as if still having trouble believing you're truly here now after following the ferry all the way from home.

"Oh, my cutie pie, yes hi hello," you mutter quickly, attempting pet him while simultaneously keeping both your bodies from toppling over backwards. "I'm right here. No need to panic anymore."

After several minutes of vigorous cuddling, Raf finally settles a little when you continue scratching soothingly down his side, leaning into it like he's finally allowing himself to believe you're really in front of him now.

You sigh quietly through your nose, carding gentle fingers through his furry head as his rumbling squeaks resumes again within his chest.

"Yes, you were so brave. I promise you we won't do this ever again. You're amazing for making it this far and sticking with me the whole way. Good boy."

He flops against you bonelessly as if finally feeling safe enough to let his guard down now that you're both aboard together and seemingly alone for now. With no witnesses around to react negatively or try touching him without your approval first, he relaxes more and lets his eyelids droop, his snoring soft and pleasant.

"God, you're silly. Look at this... you think I've forgotten about you stealing my stuff? Oh no, honey, not today."

Raf sighs gustily, nudging your cheek with his nose in halfhearted protest.

You stare fondly down at him and consider what the hell you're supposed to do now. He can't remain here like he would be able to back home -- his home. Wildlife restoration would undoubtedly send someone to relocate him immediately if they got wind of it, and there's also the risk of getting cornered by animal control services who would come and take him away for fear he might bite or attack people if provoked. Not to mention the dangers of either being hunted or caught in a fishing net while being too tired to swim to freedom... The thought of either happening fills you with dread.

No, Raf can't stay here, this place isn't made for him.

It's good that he's currently in the ferry. Dad can take him back on board, since he'll have to turn around anyway to go home; surely, the crew won't mind another passenger along with them back across the channel.

"I'm sorry I made you push yourself," you say, even though it's just you and him and an empty, humming hallway. "And I'm sorry for not telling you goodbye properly. That wasn't fair of me. I was just so. So..." You shake your head, throat pinching dangerously. "I don't know why it didn't occur to me that leaving wouldn't be something like just going next door and I could come out and spend time with you when I wasn't so angry anymore. How could I think I'd see you everyday still?"

He offers only silence, save for the faint whistling in and out of his nostrils. His warmth steadies you, despite everything. Like standing knee-deep in an ocean that hasn’t decided yet which way to shift.

"This has to be animal abuse, right," you blurt, scrubbing roughly at your face.

He chuffs at you impatiently, bumping your elbow with his nose. When you look down, you catch the flash of one black eye gleaming in the low light of the ferry's hallways while the other is buried in the shadow of your coat. If he understands or not, you can never quite tell. But the look he gives you is oddly patient — tender, almost, the same gentleness that draws seabirds to follow ships, the instinctual tug of home and kin.

His chest puffs like he's inhaling a great lungful of something, then sags again, sputtering. It's impossible to tell whether he means to answer or just exhale noisily to distract you, but it does draw your attention nonetheless.

“Yeah, okay, thank you, heard loud and clear,” you continue, falling silent for a while. “You gotta leave though, Raf, you can’t stay here.”

He wiggles as if refusing, and you double down. “You can’t. You saw outside, people don't—it's not like home, there are more people living on this city than on the rest of the archipelago combined. And most of them haven’t seen animals like you doing what you did today before, and certainly not so closely... If word gets out, people might try to capture you, take photos of you, stuff you away inside a glass case... And it's gonna happen no matter where you go here because they don't have any wildlife landmarks like we have at home. At least there you're in open space. Here, if anyone catches you, you'd be taken away from me one way or the other."

He goes very still. Still like water before a wave breaks. There is a hush to him. A quality to his attention you recognize now — focus, not fear. Attentiveness, not alarm.

He's so smart. Impossibly perceptive and sharp. Clever as he comes. An animal with the intelligence of a human child twice their age. He looks up at you now as if trying to convey that he understands perfectly what you mean with the threat of danger inseparable from your explanation, and isn’t pleased by this.

"That’s why you have to be a good boy and let Mom and Dad drop you off back home, okay? You just need to stay where you are and let the ferry carry you away, okay? You'll be safe and sound. And I—"

Raf lets out an agitated squeal and begins pawing frantically at you, startling you badly as his flippers smack repeatedly at your sides. He scrabbles onto your lap with his awkward gait until you give him your hands and then, using them as a grip, squeezes your forearms urgently. There are sounds you don’t understand but recognize — indignant clicks, low croaks, mournful huffs. They thrum through his body as if through a flute. The noises vibrate somewhere between anger and distress, each one higher than the last.

“I’m not leaving you forever,” you breathe. Your voice is torn silk. “I’m not.”

He digs his claws harder into your forearms like an admonishing kitten, making insistent warbling calls back at you. He's upset, afraid; his vocalizations grow frantic, almost desperate, seeking reassurance.

"You can trust me on this one," you say, petting him gently, soothingly. "I'll come back. Promise. Okay?"

He whines pitifully against you, sounding unconvinced by the notion.

"For breaks and holidays, yeah, plus visits too. Just because I won't be around as much doesn't mean I've disappeared completely or abandoned you. I'll just be a little farther away for awhile and there will be more time between the trips to see each other."

And when Raf merely grumbles louder rather than showing any sign of having understood, you pull him closer into you, tucking his head under your chin protectively and hold him tight for as long as you dare, ignoring the ache beginning to blossom in your knees from squatting here on the cold floor, letting your pulse slow and fall in time with his own steady breathing. You run your hand down his smooth pelt one final time, savoring the sensation and imprinting it deep within your memory.

"I love you, you know that right?" You mumble into his silky fur, knowing he likely couldn't actually understand or process what that particular phrase meant aside from recognizing it as something he's heard countless times before and which calms you significantly every time it passes your lips, yet perhaps he does, or maybe there's the barest hint of comprehension from whatever he takes away from the emotional subtext rather than the literal meaning of your words. "I won't go ahead and forget you that easily. Never could."

In response, Raf shifts just enough so he can meet your stare, eyes like glossy ink drops blinking up at you slowly. Then he licks your cheek very firmly in an approximation of affection, prompting you to wipe your saliva stained skin with your sleeve.

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mariacallous · 8 months ago

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The first thing to say about the hate and scorn currently directed at the mainstream US media is that they worked hard to earn it. They’ve done so by failing, repeatedly, determinedly, spectacularly to do their job, which is to maintain their independence, inform the electorate, and speak truth to power. While the left has long had reasons to dismiss centrist media, and the right has loathed it most when it did do its job well, the moderates who are furious at it now seem to be something new – and a host of former editors, media experts and independent journalists have been going after them hard this summer.

Longtime journalist James Fallows declares that three institutions – the Republican party, the supreme court, and the mainstream political press – “have catastrophically failed to ‘meet the moment’ under pressure of [the] Trump era”. Centrist political reformer and columnist Norm Ornstein states that these news institutions “have had no reflection, no willingness to think through how irresponsible and reckless so much of our mainstream press and so many of our journalists have been and continue to be”.

Most voters, he says, “have no clue what a second Trump term would actually be like. Instead, we get the same insipid focus on the horse race and the polls, while normalizing abnormal behavior and treating this like a typical presidential election, not one that is an existential threat to democracy.”

Lamenting the state of the media recently on X, Jeff Jarvis, another former editor and newspaper columnist, said: “What ‘press’? The broken and vindictive Times? The newly Murdochian Post? Hedge-fund newspaper husks? Rudderless CNN or NPR? Murdoch’s fascist media?”

These critics are responding to how the behemoths of the industry seem intent on bending the facts to fit their frameworks and agendas. In pursuit of clickbait content centered on conflicts and personalities, they follow each other into informational stampedes and confirmation bubbles.

They pursue the appearance of fairness and balance by treating the true and the false, the normal and the outrageous, as equally valid and by normalizing Republicans, especially Donald Trump, whose gibberish gets translated into English and whose past crimes and present-day lies and threats get glossed over. They neglect, again and again, important stories with real consequences. This is not entirely new – in a scathing analysis of 2016 election coverage, the Columbia Journalism Review noted that “in just six days, The New York Times ran as many cover stories about Hillary Clinton’s emails as they did about all policy issues combined in the 69 days leading up to the election” – but it’s gotten worse, and a lot of insiders have gotten sick of it.

In July, ordinary people on social media decided to share information about the rightwing Project 2025 and did a superb job of raising public awareness about it, while the press obsessed about Joe Biden’s age and health. NBC did report on this grassroots education effort, but did so using the “both sides are equally valid” framework often deployed by mainstream media, saying the agenda is “championed by some creators as a guide to less government oversight and slammed by others as a road map to an authoritarian takeover of America”. There is no valid case it brings less government oversight.

In an even more outrageous case, the New York Times ran a story comparing the Democratic and Republican plans to increase the housing supply – which treated Trump’s plans for mass deportation of undocumented immigrants as just another housing-supply strategy that might work or might not. (That it would create massive human rights violations and likely lead to huge civil disturbances was one overlooked factor, though the fact that some of these immigrants are key to the building trades was mentioned.)

Other stories of pressing concern are either picked up and dropped or just neglected overall, as with Trump’s threats to dismantle a huge portion of the climate legislation that is both the Biden administration’s signal achievement and crucial for the fate of the planet. The Washington Post editorial board did offer this risibly feeble critique on 17 August: “It would no doubt be better for the climate if the US president acknowledged the reality of global warming – rather than calling it a scam, as Mr Trump has.”

While the press blamed Biden for failing to communicate his achievements, which is part of his job, it’s their whole job to do so. The Climate Jobs National Resource Center reports that the Inflation Reduction Act has created “a combined potential of over $2tn in investment, 1,091,966 megawatts of clean power, and approximately 3,947,670 jobs”, but few Americans have any sense of what the bill has achieved or even that the economy is by many measures strong.

Last winter, the New York Times columnist Paul Krugman, who has a Nobel prize in economics, told Greg Sargent on the latter’s Daily Blast podcast that when he writes positive pieces about the Biden economy, his editor asks “don’t you want to qualify” it; “aren’t people upset by X, Y and Z and shouldn’t you be acknowledging that?”

Meanwhile in an accusatory piece about Kamala Harris headlined When your opponent calls you ‘communist,’ maybe don’t propose price controls?, a Washington Post columnist declares in another case of bothsiderism: “Voters want to blame someone for high grocery bills, and the presidential candidates have apparently decided the choices are either the Biden administration or corporate greed. Harris has chosen the latter.” The evidence that corporations have jacked up prices and are reaping huge profits is easy to find, but facts don’t matter much in this kind of opining.

It’s hard to gloat over the decline of these dinosaurs of American media, when a free press and a well-informed electorate are both crucial to democracy. The alternatives to the major news outlets simply don’t reach enough readers and listeners, though the non-profit investigative outfit ProPublica and progressive magazines such as the New Republic and Mother Jones, are doing a lot of the best reporting and commentary.

Earlier this year, when Alabama senator Katie Britt gave her loopy rebuttal to Biden’s State of the Union address, it was an independent journalist, Jonathan Katz, who broke the story on TikTok that her claims about a victim of sex trafficking contained significant falsehoods. The big news outlets picked up the scoop from him, making me wonder what their staffs of hundreds were doing that night.

A host of brilliant journalists young and old, have started independent newsletters, covering tech, the state of the media, politics, climate, reproductive rights and virtually everything else, but their reach is too modest to make them a replacement for the big newspapers and networks. The great exception might be historian Heather Cox Richardson, whose newsletter and Facebook followers give her a readership not much smaller than that of the Washington Post. The tremendous success of her sober, historically grounded (and footnoted!) news summaries and reflections bespeaks a hunger for real news.

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good-beans · 8 months ago

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@lemonpocalypse @kyanako5972 @adipostsstuff Thank you all for your wisdom 🙏 You are all so so correct and I am THINKING now...

Hmm you should all reblog with your Fuuta thoughts... Been an annoying brain day but I wanna think about my boy... 👀🔥

#he is so doomed!!!!!!#in so many ways!!!! by everything!!!#his story doesnt *feel* tragic in the way that like haruka or shidous does but every prisoner is the center of their own tragedy #it makes me insane knowing that regardless of the verdicts he would have gotten worse #hes going to be so much worse next trial and then maybe die and it was always going to be like that #*lays down and cries*#and mmmm ive thought a lot about fuuta-haruka parallels -- its easy to overlook with their different vibes but fuuta very much just wants #attention and love in the same way haruka wants it. some could argue he wants a mothers love specifically too #but i never considered muu and amane being counterparts as well.... i really love that.........#a figure that saved them but in a way that isnt actually saving -- just welcoming them into their own mindset and giving them attention #neither one maliciously but that doesnt make it any less harmful #and OMG ive figured that fuuta knew some memes/swears in english from being online but that makes so much sense - he would have seen other #media and kept up with certain things #and im thinking of that timeline/minigram with kotoko where hes talking about how good norway(?) has it #he would be a westaboo and im going insane ASDFSADF thank you for this new realization #also ive been running with the canon fact that yuno can speak english and now that i know they have a shared secret language to talk shit #about the others in.... incredible.......#milgram #fuuta kajiyama

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charliemwrites · 1 year ago

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As promised some time ago: Gaz!

The new house is… well, you don’t dislike it. It’s beautiful, already renovated while you were busy selling the old house. Just new, unfamiliar. You’re unaccustomed to the noises it makes, the shadows it casts, the echoes off the walls.

You’re not too proud to admit (to yourself and your dogs) that you’re a bit of a chicken the first couple weeks. Too many nights watching spooky media about people living in walls or stalking new tenants — despite Skipper’s best efforts. So you keep one or more of the dogs with you at all times, fingers in their fur and lights on as you go. Ghost has been especially tolerant, leaning against your leg when the sun goes down and the house feels too strange.

You’ve always been grateful for the peace of mind that four huge wolf-dogs brings, but never more than now. With several sets of teeth surrounding your bed and guarding your locked doors, they’ve made the transition so much easier on your nerves.

The new forest behind the house is also some cause for concern. The first day you brought them home, you went out by yourself for quick inspection of the yard and immediate area. Sharp-eyed looking for glass, metal, or anything else dubious.

You came back to four extremely grumpy pups and were basically bullied out of leaving them alone again. Skipper was especially huffy that night.

But things feel like they’re beginning to settle. You’ve gotten a bigger couch, bigger floor cushions. There’s a second story to this new house — or more of a half-floor really. A loft? It consists of the master bedroom, master bathroom, and a sort of open-spaced landing that you’re using as a satellite collection zone for toys.

Sometimes, when you’re on the couch, you’ll catch a bit of movement and get spooked by one of the boys staring from the railing that overlooks the den. Have fussed at wagging Johnny twice now for it.

Still, the transition to your new home has been as smooth as you could ask for with four giant, protective dogs. You miss the old place a bit; have the irrational fear that you’re going to miss another displaced dog in need of a home, but you try not to think about it.

Maybe you should have thought about it a little more.

One evening, you let the boys out for their pre-bed potty. There’s a cup of chamomile tea in your hand, a blanket wrapped tight around your shoulders. Winter will be setting in soon. It’s already cold enough to set your teeth on edge. Never mind that it’s been raining all day, only just letting up to light patter at sunset.

Commotion at the edge of the (much larger) yard catches your attention. All of your boys seem to be gathered around something. They’re not barking or growling, and from the dim porch light, you don’t see hackles raised but still. Anything that catches their attention is worth investigating.

Cursing under your breath, you set your mug aside, slip into some shoes, and snatch up your phone for the flashlight. It’s only when you’re halfway there that you remember to pray that it’s not something dead. Or dying. Or creepy.

“Please don’t let this be a spooky doll or something,” you whisper to yourself.

Skipper must hear you, because his head pops up. He doesn’t… look concerned. But he’s a dog, how would he know that something in the yard is of human concern?

He trots away from their little congregation to meet you, almost like he’s escorting you to whatever they’re gathered around. You realize why when the flashlight illuminates a ball of soaked fur.

“Oh,” you breathe, “oh no…”

You gently nudge Konig aside to kneel down, a dry sob bubbling up in the back of your throat when you hear a quiet, miserable mew. A pair of brilliant green eyes squint and shy from the light, wide and sad.

“Oh, baby,” you coo. “Please come here. C’mon.”

You slowly, carefully extend a hand. Palm up, just a couple fingers. You’re not as familiar with cats anymore, but you remember enough to know that there‘ll be no scooping it up, even if it needs help. It’ll have to come to you of its own accord.

Relief floods you when you get the briefest cursory sniffle, and then the kitty is bumping its head against your hand for a scritch. You take a moment to pet what you can, heart breaking a bit with each shiver in the cold.

You keep coaxing it closer, gentle words and patient petting, getting bolder with your touch. When it’s finally close enough, the faintest purr rattling in its chest, you decide to try.

Apart from a nervous glance, the cat remarkably tolerant about letting you wrap your now-wet blanket around it, then scooping it up.

“Oof, you’re a big kid, huh?” You mutter, pausing to get a better hold. The darkness and hunkering down to preserve body heat was deceptive. This cat feels huge. “That’s alright, I’m used to it.”

You breathe a huge sigh when you enter the house again. It’s toasty inside — or at least it feels that way after sitting in the cold rain for fifteen minutes.

The boys files in after you, politely shaking off at the door before stepping into the mudroom. (Another upgrade you’ve been extremely grateful for.

You pause, try to get your bearings. You’ve got four soaked dogs, one possibly hypothermic cat, and you.

Christ, sometimes you wish you had an extra pair of hands.

“Okay. Let’s get the heater first.”

It’s already going, so you just turn it up a bit more, warm enough to start drying everyone. Then you go to the cupboard, sparing an arm from your oversized bundle to extract a towel.

You cross back to the heater and sit down, gently nestling your cat-burrito into the well of your legs.

The same big green eyes blink up at you, another mewl comes from it.

“Hi,” you croon, “isn’t that better already? Much warmer in here.”

You present the towel for inspection, let it sniff and decide it’s non-threatening before gently wiping it along the clumped fur. The dogs, to your surprise, don’t crowd to investigate. Skipper stops by to give the cat a sniff, before ultimately flopping down against your hip. But the other three arrange themselves around you, watching, but giving you and the kitty some space.

Remarkably thoughtful of them, and you tell them as much, praising their good behavior. The kitty, in the meantime, just… stares. It’s been a long time since you interacted with one, but you don’t remember your grandma’s tabby being so…

“Can I help you, little one?” You ask, grinning when it blinks at you slowly. You brush a finger under its chin, grinning when its eyes go half-lidded and nearly cross. “You’re worse than my Johnny boy with the staring.”

You receive a huff for that and laugh softly, making kissy noises at him until his tail thumps against the absorbent floor mat.

The cat is back to staring, though, ears up. You hum and keep up the half-scratching, half-drying technique until its fur starts to fluff up and you can take proper stock of the animal you’ve just rescued.

You weren’t kidding about it being big. Biggest cat you’ve ever seen — you’d almost think it was wild if not for the sweet face. You’re sure you might have seen the breed somewhere before…

Maine coon, maybe? Or… Siberian something or other? It’s fluffy, that’s for sure. But even without all the fluff that’s beginning to poof out like a dirty cotton ball, it’s a big cat. Big enough to be an average dog.

You huff in amusement that more it dries out.

“You look like a little storm cloud,” you giggle. “Well, little being relative.”

You receive a more normal-sounding meow for that. It thrills you that it’s already sounding better. Less sad, for sure.

The purring even start up again, developing into a deep hum like a running motor. It’s instantly soothing, the same way listening to the dogs’ breathing is. It lulls you until you’re nearly dozing sitting up. Only the wet nose of Skipper against your cheek rousing you.

“Jesus, right,” you say, jolting. Take a drowsy look around. All the boys seem dry or mostly dry. The only damp spot left on your new feline friend seems to be the feet, which won’t take much longer. “Let’s get inside proper.”

You lock up the mudroom and turn the heater low again, then urge everyone into the den. The cat doesn’t even hesitate, threading cleverly between your moving legs as you shuffle to the kitchen.

You prep an extra bowl of food and leave it up for the cat where the dogs can’t get it. Give it one last stroke from head to tail before trudging for the bathroom.

Normally, you’d be more concerned about leaving a cat in a house full of dogs. But the boys proved already that they have no interest in hurting the cat, despite the earlier crowding. Figure there are plenty of places to hide if they do make the kitty uncomfortable regardless.

The hot shower only serves to thicken the drowsiness blanketing you, leaving you heavy-lidded and sluggish. You pull the curtain aside to the usual audience of huge eyes, a new pair among them — the cat perched on the bathroom sink.

When you lean to grab your towel, they stick their face close for a sniff and you pause, always patient for curious creatures. When the little nose gets too close to your mouth, you twist and drop a quick peck to its snout before leaning back. The flabbergasted look makes you laugh as you begin toweling off.

“What a funny little thing you are,” you coo. “Would you like to be mind.”

“Mrrrow!”

“Yeah, I made a good first showing, huh?”

You have absolutely zero supplies for a cat, but that’s a problem for tomorrow. Right now, you just want to climb into bed and conk out. Home-making and animal-saving takes a lot out of you.

As always, the furry procession to your room leaves you warm and happy. Johnny always the first to hop into bed, licking your shoulder when you climb in beside him. Konig takes your other side, much more willing to snuggle now that you have the California King mattress to accommodate your pack. Ghost licks at Skipper’s chin in the doorway, then jumps up to lie by your hip, cuddling Johnny.

Skipper comes up last, padding over to receive one last kiss from you before lying by your feet, on the side closest to the door. You’re less concerned about kicking him now with the extra room, and enjoy the heat for your toes.

You almost startle at the soft thump next to your head. Turn and blink to see big green eyes blinking down at you, a purr nearly rattling your brain.

“Oh, hi,” you murmur, “make yourself at home.”

The cat does just that, curling himself onto a pillow and pressing his forehead into your neck. You nearly melt as you flick off the light. It’s warm and quiet and dark, just the breathing of warm bodies and soft tap of rain.

“I love you all so much,” you whisper, fingers threading into Konig’s coat. “My loves.”

The house’s new echoes are still unfamiliar, so it’s just a product of being half-asleep that makes you think you hear voices in the middle of the night.

Main Story | Price pt. 2

Masterlist

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #1fur1 #dog john mactavish #dog john price #dog konig #dog simon Riley #cat Kyle Garrick #woof woof au

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gladiatorcunt · 1 year ago

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Feral feral Anakin fucking you every second of the day because he can’t get enough of you and is overly obsessed

send me coryo, luke castellan, or anakin asks (this is a threat)

implied canon compliant prequels and childhood friend afab royalty reader (basically in padme's place) based on an upcoming fic

This is canon Anakin behavior actually, he's like a big dog with his favorite chew toy. The dog obviously loves the toy a lot but it's because of his love that the toy becomes well used. No matter how tattered it becomes, the dog will still curl around it and spend its days licking the hell out of it until it withers away.

I think that because of how he grew up, just a little boy on some ball of sand whose life really didn't belong to him, as soon as he's free from that he just unravels. I love Anakin being written as more unhinged or even slightly like an eldritch horror, because suddenly he has this big destiny laid out in front of him and the tethers holding his soul together inevitably come unhooked. I think that he's wired like that from the beginning, very passionate but without a means to express it.

So, when he meets you, little royal heir with all the stars of the galaxy in your eyes, he tells a familiar story about an angel and from then on, it's over for him. Every moment of his life orbits around the sun in his solar system, you.

The first think he thinks when he sees you again, is how your moans would echo off the windows when he eats you out on one of the couches. Then he imagines your perfectly manicured hands clawing delicious ribbons down his back while he rabidly pounds your sopping wet pussy against the wall of your huge walk-in closet in your apartment. He'd have to hold a hand over your mouth, but he wouldn't do a thing to clean up the slicks that drips out of your pussy onto the floor. You'd pout as you'd rush to get ready before Obi-Wan came back, and all he'd be able to do in response is hook his chin over your shoulder and smile.

"No, it's because I'm so in love with you."

You're leaning against a balcony overlooking a lake in Naboo and all he can think about as he strokes a shy finger down your back is hiking your dress up and bending you over it. You're chained to a pillar in between him and Obi-Wan, and when all is said and done, he wishes he killed everybody that was relishing in your suffering in that arena and fucked you with their blood coating his body. He could go on forever until the last grain of sand on Tatooine flies away. He'd have gotten you barefoot and pregnant immediately if the leash around his neck was any looser.

No matter the fantasy or the moment, you always have at least one mark on you. He's not patient enough for hickies and his fingers move too quickly for any serious bruises to form on your body. He favors bite marks, near perfect impressions of his teeth etched in your soft skin. He doesn't bite to tear, just does his repeated 'chomp!'s without a single thought in his head; your thighs bear the brunt of it. Anakin likes when drops of blood bead at the surface of the bites, because then he can lick the bites soothingly. You usually have to run your fingers through his hair to get him to come back to himself when he starts doing it on autopilot with his eyes rolled back.

"Yes, yes, yessssss.... love fucking my cunt, missed making love to my sloppy pussy. Taking my dick so well, keep breathing with me, my love. That's it, just like that."

His way of saying good morning is languid strokes deep in your guts. His way of saying good night is crazed thrusts that have him putting it back it when his frenzied pace causes his length to slip out. He has is so hard sometimes, determined to carry the entire galaxy on his shoulders with you on top of it. You can the rising anger that builds within him when everything he does to prove himself goes unrecognized. The best way he has to ignore all of that outside responsibility is knocking your sweaty body up the bed while you're clutching the headboard for dear life.

Anakin's emotions bleed from him so openly, and all you have to do is drink them in. Because even though he wasn't free when he met you, you owned him them with his gift around your neck. You own him now, your cervix kissing his mushroom tip in its own display of affection. He is supposed to live his life with the intention to be the force's son, but he is burning to ash faster than he is fulfilling his destiny; at least he can keep you and your future children warm.

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fantasydreamland · 1 month ago

Text

Bound To You

aemond targaryen x fem reader

Summary: You visit King’s Landing with your family and after an unexpected reunion with Aemond everything changes. What happens when your family finally discovers you are bound to their enemy?

Notes: 18+ ONLY!!! Smuttt, LOTS of angst, fluff, enemies to lovers kinda, forbidden love, loss of virginity, p in v, oral (m&f), targcest, violence/abuse, abusive father, pregnancy, pregnant sx, child birth, birth complications, mentions of death, definite show spoilers, some script from the show, the negativity towards team black is purely for the story, happy ending.

Word count: 10.2k (i need therapy)

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You arrive with your family in Kings Landing after your journey from Dragonstone. You could tell your stepmother Rhaenerya was annoyed that the queen herself had not come to welcome you all.

You were the daughter of Daemon and Rhea, his first wife. Your father and mother despised eachother and you knew deep down he was somehow responsible for her death. A skilled rider like her does not just have accidents like that. Your father always felt extremely distant from you, he probably loathed the fact that you were even born from that loveless hateful marriage. On top of that, you felt cursed to have gotten his golden hair and not your mother’s brown hair. It made you look even more like your father and also stand out even more next to your dark haired stepbrothers. You had been forced to move around with your father between his marriages with Laena and now Rhaenyra. Although Rhaenyra has been fairly kind to you, you have always felt like the outsider of the family, an unwanted child, an ever lasting reminder of Daemon’s first wife.

Daemon and Rhaenyra part with you to visit the king in his chambers so you follow your stepbrothers to the training grounds where you find Aemond sparring with Ser Criston Cole. You watch as Jace and Luke exchanged worried glances. You may not have been around for most of it but you remember the rivalry that has always been there between your brothers and Aemond. Luke had been the one to take Aemond’s eye, accident or no, that is not something easily forgiven or forgotten. You would never say it in front of your family but you never thought badly of Aemond for hating your stepbrothers, it felt well deserved.

You watch the way Aemond moves, dancing around Ser Criston as he tries to strike him. Aemond pulls a final perfect move that ends with his sword against Cole’s throat.

“Well done, my prince.” Ser Criston says to Aemond. “You will be winning tourneys in no time.”

“I don’t give a shit about tourneys.” Aemond responds. “Nephews, have you come to train?” His intense stare falls to Jace and Luke before landing on you. Your brothers just roll their eyes at him before leaving the grounds, earning a cocky smirk from Aemond. You follow behind them off the training pitch before parting ways and heading to the balcony overlooking the grounds.

You hang around as Aemond continues training, trying not to seem too obvious as you watch him. His movements were smooth and mesmerizing, he looked like a dancer with his golden hair swaying gracefully with each of his strikes. It was hard to take your eyes off him. Once you notice him putting his weapons away you decide to go and find your chambers.

“(Y/n)!” You hear Aemond call your name from down the hallway you were exiting.

You turn as he catches up to you. Once you’re standing in front of him you realize just how tall he has gotten. He smelled so good, how can he smell so good right after all that training and sweating? His natural scent was intoxicating. He smiles down at you so you smile back up at him. Gods, he has gotten so handsome.

“Yes, my prince?” You ask.

“Did you enjoy watching me train?” He smirks.

“I- I was watching everyone train.” Your cheeks turn red.

“Sure.” His smirk grows, making you blush more.

“You train well.” You say to break the brief silence.

“Thank you, princess. May I just say… you have really grown up.” He looks you up and down, taking in your womanly curves and full breasts.

Your heart suddenly races and you feel an unfamiliar feeling in your stomach, but lower.

“Thank you, my prince. As have you.” You say as you try not to stare at his sharp jawline or strong looking arms. Wondering what those arms would feel like around you.

You felt increasingly shy by the minute talking to Aemond, which was very odd for you because you were much like your mother, who was bold and headstrong. But Aemond made your strong head feel like a million butterflies were fluttering around up there as well as inside your stomach.

“I have to go and rejoin my family but I will see you later?” You say as you begin to turn to leave.

“I look forward to it, princess.” Aemond bows to you with a smile.

Truthfully, you had all the free time in the world at the moment. Your father and stepmother busy visiting the king and the gods only know where Jace and Luke wandered off to. But you needed to leave Aemond’s presence right away because the overwhelming sexual tension between you was becoming very dangerous.

Your head is completely in the clouds thinking of Aemond, causing you to nearly crash right into your stepbrother.

“Jace! Sorry, please forgive me.”

“What was that all about?” He asks.

“What are you talking about?” You raise a brow at him.

“I saw you speaking with Aemond.” He says firmly.

“So?” You scowl.

“So? It looked like a pretty friendly conversation, I have never seen Aemond smile at anyone like that.” He rambles in an angry tone. “And I have never seen you look at anyone like that, sister. So, as I said… what was that all about?”

“We were just talking Jace, calm down. You’re blowing this way out of proportion.” Annoyed, you shrug him off and continue down the hallway.

**********

With your family busy with their own things you become increasingly bored in your room. You decide to find a book from the small bookshelf in your chambers and make your way to the gardens. You curl up to the large tree and become deeply invested in your book, so much so that you don’t notice someone walking towards you until you look up to see Aemond towering over you.

“Aemond!” You startle as you make your way to stand.

“Forgive me for interrupting you, princess.” He gestures his eye to your book.

“Not at all.” You smile. “It was either find something to read or die of boredom before supper.”

He chuckles at your joke and you smile shyly in response.

“What are you reading?” He asks.

“Oh, um, nothing really.” You blush.

You tuck the book behind you and he arches his brow in question.

“Ugh, alright... It’s just a silly romance story.” You sigh as you pull the book out from behind your back.

“A romance, hmm?” He smirks. “So you enjoy that sort of thing?”

“Yes, I suppose… like most woman do.” Your blush deepens.

“And have you…” He hesitates. “…had any of your own romance stories?”

Your loud laugh catches him off guard and you quickly change to a serious expression.

“Forgive me, my prince. Um, no. I have not had anything of the sort.” You admit.

“Why not? It seems like something you clearly want. And I am almost certain there must have been plenty of suitors who have thrown themselves at you…” He says as he looks you up and down seductively.

“Of course it is something I want. And I have had a few interested suitors in the past. I just… have not found a man worthy enough of me.” You shrug.

“I see.” He says, his smirk remaining.

Aemond walks you back to your chambers and the conversation between you was surprisingly comfortable the entire walk. You bond over both being the family outcast or the “black sheep”, you both had much harder childhoods than your siblings. The sparks between you were undeniable. You realized your stepbrother was right, you have never looked at anyone like this, or felt like this towards anyone. But Aemond was off limits, not only was he family but you knew your parents, especially your stepmother, greatly disliked Aemond because of the history with him and her own sons. Even just thinking of him that way feels forbidden.

**********

The entire royal family all join together for supper, the tension in the room high. King Viserys joins the room and gives you all a heartfelt speech about your family rivalries.

“It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table. The faces most dear to me in all the world. Yet grown so distant from eachother, in the years past.” Viserys begins.

He removes the gold plated mask on his face that had been covering the horrible effects of his illness.

“My own face is no longer a handsome one, if indeed it ever was… But tonight I wish you to see me as I am. Not just a king, but your father, your brother, your husband, and your grandsire, who may not it seems… walk for much longer among you.

Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts. The crown cannot stand strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided. Set aside your grievances. If not for the sake of the crown, then for the sake of this old man who loves you all, so dearly.” He says passionately, choking back tears.

His speech triggers heart warming and emotional toasts from Rhaenyra to Alicent, and Alicent to Rhaenyra, stating she will make a fine queen. The tension between them begins to fade and the mood of the entire room begins to lift as everyone drinks to the toasts.

Until there is some added tension when Aegon gets up and walks over to pour more wine into his glass, muttering something to Baela, Jace’s newly betrothed. Knowing Aegon you assume it was something vulgar. Especially when your stepbrother Jacaerys slams his fist on the table and stands. He composes himself and suddenly Aemond also stands. The room stills for a long moment as they eye eachother down. Jace proceeds to make a polite yet cocky toast to your uncles, Aegon and Aemond.

“Well done, my boy.” King Viserys says to Jace.

Aemond sighs and sits back down, you could feel the anger radiating from him. Your brothers always seem to enjoy getting him riled up. You had to resist the strong urge to place your hand on his. Instead, you offer him a sweet smile and his lips curl up for only a brief moment before his hard exterior was painted on his face again.

Music plays and you all enjoy the beginning of supper, everyone happy and laughing with eachother. You chatted mostly to Aemond who didn’t speak much but seemed content to listen to you. It did not go unnoticed by your brother Jace but he chose to ignore it. The air in the room feels lighter as all of the tension fades away. After a short time, King Viserys is brought back to bed due to his pain flaring up.

The music continues and more food is brought to the table. You watch as a roast pig is placed directly in front of Aemond, your eyes shoot to your brother Luke who is already smirking and chuckling at Aemond. Before you even have a second to think, Aemond’s fist slams onto the table and startles you.

“Final tribute.” Aemond says as he stands holding up his cup, the music stopping and the tension suddenly filing the air again. “To the health of my nephews… Jace… Luke… and Joffrey.”

He looks to your stepbrothers who are glaring at him in return.

“Each of them handsome, wise…” Aemond pauses.

You try to meet his eye with your desperate pleading ones, knowing exactly what he was about to say.

“…Strong.” Aemond states.

“Aemond-“ Alicent tries.

“Come!” Aemond talks over her. “Let us drain our cups to these three strong boys.”

“I dare you to say that again.” Jacaerys challenges.

“Why? Twas only a compliment.” Aemond walks up to Jace. “Do you not think yourself strong?”

It all happens in a flash, Jacaerys throwing his fist at Aemond, Aemond taking the punch to the face with a smirk before shoving Jace to the floor. Aegon starts his own fight with Luke. Now everyone is standing, including yourself, as the guards pull back your brothers.

“Why would you say such a thing before these people?” Alicent demands to Aemond.

“I was merely expressing how proud of my family mother.” He says, yanking his arm out of her grasp. “Mm, though it seems my nephews aren’t quite as proud of theirs.”

Jacaerys tries to charge at Aemond again before Daemon intervenes and Jace steps back.

“Go to your quarters.” Rhaenyra orders the younger people, including yourself. “All of you go, now.”

You are last to leave as you watch your father and Aemond stare eachother down.

**********

With everything going on no one even notices you leave the group as you rush to Aemond’s chambers. Once you reach his door you knock loudly.

“Leave me be!” You hear Aemond call on the other side of the door.

“Aemond, it’s me. (Y/n).” You call through the door.

You hear nothing but silence for a long moment and get a sinking feeling thinking he is just as mad at you as everyone else. Until the door opens and he slowly peers out from behind it.

“What do you want?” He says dryly, causing a strange ache in your chest.

“I wanted to check you were alright.”

“Why?”

“I- uh, because Aemond… my brothers were horrible and I am so sorry for the way they behave sometimes. They can be so bloody… arrogant.”

You see a faint smile cross his face at that and it brings you a heavy sense of relief.

“Do you want to come in? I don’t think we should discuss such things out here.” He says as he opens the door more for you.

“Sure, yes. You are probably right.” You say nervously as you make your way into his bedroom.

The air feels instantly tense when the door shuts behind you both, suddenly completely alone.

“They have ruined the entire visit.” You vent to Aemond. “I know everyone is looking at you for tonight, because of what you said, but I saw Luke too… They have always loved to antagonize you, and then you get blamed when you react!”

Aemond simply stares at you, feeling truly seen for the first time in his entire life. You were unlike anyone he had ever met, the only person he did not feel as if you saw him as a monster or a burden.

“Yes, well. Your brothers are bastards.” Aemond says with a mix of anger and humour.

“I disagree…” You say with a serious face before smirking. “They are not my brothers.”

Aemond smirks in response when he catches onto what you meant. It was so rare to find someone who agreed with him, who truly understood him. He suddenly realized he did not want to lose you.

“Will you have to return to Dragonstone with them?” Aemond asks.

“I expect I will, yes.” You say sadly.

“Do you want to go?”

“No, certainly not.” Your eyes meet his. “But it never matters what I want.” You advert your gaze to the floor.

“What do you want (y/n)?” He asks as he steps closer to you until he is nearly a breath away.

“It does not matter…” You say in a whisper.

“It matters to me…” He says lowly, glancing to your lips. “What is it that you really want (y/n)?”

“You…” The whisper of the word escapes your lips before you can think, your brain panics for a moment when you realize what you said out loud.

The panic is quickly replaced by surprise when Aemond cups your cheeks and brings your lips to his. You hesitate for a moment, thinking of your family, before your restraint snaps and you throw all caution to the wind and kiss him back passionately. You blindly follow along in the dance your tongues begin to do before you pull away briefly.

“I want you, Aemond.” You breathe. “All of you.”

“You know your family would not like this…” He whispers as his lips move down to your neck.

“I do not care.” You moan.

“This would ruin you for any man to come.” He mumbles as he continues kissing and nipping along your neck, his other hand coming up to grasp your breast. The feeling sending sparks throughout your body.

“Good.” You breathe. “I do not want anyone else, Aemond. Only you.”

“Good.” He says, pulling back to gaze into your eyes. “Because I do not wish to ever share you with anyone else. I do not care of our family rivalry… you are mine now.”

You simply nod eagerly and bring your lips back to his. You both make your way towards Aemond’s bed, lips never parting.

“Are you sure this is what you want, (y/n)?” He asks in a breathy voice as his fingers play with the strings on the back your dress.

“I am certain you are what I want, Aemond.” You say to him with heat in your eyes.

A small smirk forms on his lips as you turn around and he finishes pulling the laces of your gown. After a few moments the dress falls to the floor, leaving you in your thin shift. You turn back to face him and begin removing his shirt, eyes staying intensely connected to his as you do. His shirt falls to the floor and your eyes greedily take in his perfectly toned chest.

He helps as you pull your shift over your head, leaving you completely bare before him. Aemond quietly gulps as he takes in your naked form. He had seen naked women before at the brothel his brother had dragged him to, but you were something else entirely. A heavenly sight that the gods guarded from the world, a sight he had been blessed enough to see.

You reach to pull at the laces of his pants and he helps quickly get them off as they join the pile of discarded clothes. You reach to Aemond’s eye patch, he flinches hesitantly, causing you to abruptly stop. He gently grabs your wrist to lift your hand again, encouraging you. You reach up and slowly pull off his eye patch, revealing a beautiful blue sapphire. You lightly brush your thumb along his scar and he lets out a heavy breath. You both stand there for a moment, drinking in the sight of eachother in all your glory. You look down taking in the sight of his length and worry about how that would possibly fit inside you. Aemond moves towards you slowly, this time bringing your lips to his for a gentle, slow kiss. So many feelings spoken in this short kiss.

“Shall we get into bed then?” You say lowly.

He nods with a smirk as you both crawl into bed, Aemond hovering overtop of you as your lips connect once again, his hardness pressing against your stomach and your breasts pressed tightly against his chest. He takes his time kissing you like this before he kisses along your jaw, down your neck, moving lower until his mouth finds your nipple and sucks hard, causing you to gasp.

Aemond would have loved to continue his journey lower and provide you with even more pleasure, but he knew he was pressed for time because any moment your family could come searching for you to leave, they were likely looking for you right now. Besides, his patience began to run thin when you reach down and wrap your soft fingers around his aching member. The groan that escapes him sends a jolt right to your core.

He lines himself up to your entrance and his eye meets yours for permission. You nod quickly and he pushes into you slowly, both your mouths dropping open and panting at the feeling. Aemond stops when he feels the barrier. You try and control your heavy breathing.

“This is going to hurt for a moment.” He whispers and you nod again.

He pushes through your maidenhead and you cry out in pain, your fingers digging hard into his strong biceps. Aemond stills inside you and kisses you hungrily, the feeling of you squeezing tightly around him made his head completely spin. You whimper into his mouth as he slowly slides out of you before pushing back in. The pain slowly begins to fade as he tries to keep you distracted with his lips.

“More, Aemond… please…” You breathe after a few moments, wrapping your legs around him to pull him closer.

Aemond does not hesitate to quicken his speed, causing you to throw your head back as moans poured from your mouth. Neither of you cared if someone heard even knowing you would be in deep trouble. You almost hoped to be caught so you would have to be bound to each other.

Every sweet sound he dragged from you quickly pushes Aemond closer to the edge. He reaches down to rub on your pleasure point, hoping to push you over the edge before he loses control.

“Oh gods! Aemond!” You cry out as you come undone around him.

Intense shocks of pleasure shoot through your entire body and you see stars. Aemond watches the beautiful sight below him as you ride out your orgasm. He thrusts into you hard as his own peak crashes into him, groaning out in pleasure as he comes deep inside of you.

He remains inside you for a minute as you both pant, trying to catch your breath and your thoughts. He smiles and kisses your cheek before rolling off of you. You cuddle up to him and he hugs you tighter. You let out a content sigh before your smile turns into a frown, reality coming back to you.

“I do not wish to leave… to leave you…” You say quietly.

“I do not wish for you to leave either… so don’t.” Aemond says as you turn your head to meet his gaze.

You sigh and lay your head back on his chest, soaking up every minute you have with him.

**********

“What on earth are you talking about?” Daemon demands.

“I just do not understand why I have to leave too. We have only just arrived. I also was not even remotely involved in the fight at dinner, and Rhaenyra will be returning here anyway.” You try to reason with your father.

“What reason could you possibly have to want to remain here alone?” He asks.

“I- I suppose I do not have one…”

You could not tell your father the true reason you wanted to stay, he surely would drag you away if he knew. No other excuses come to mind.

“Good. You will leave tonight with all of us.” He says firmly.

**********

The ship ride back to Dragonstone was absolutely nauseating. You had never been so sea sick, throwing up every morning. The anxiety of leaving Aemond without being able to say goodbye just made you feel even worse. You had no idea how he was feeling, if he was upset, angry, or hardly cared at all. You prayed that some day you would have a chance to return to King’s Landing, to return to Aemond.

**********

So much had happened since your return to Dragonstone. King Viserys had died the same night of your departure and the throne usurped by Aegon. Your morning sea sickness did not go away and the most random smells would make you sick. Certain foods made you throw up just from the scent, while others smelt like heaven, even some of your favourite flowers had you reeling with nausea. The maester eventually confirmed your greatest fear… you were with child. Thank the gods for the maester’s discretion.

It was utterly impossible to tell your family the news with every horrible thing that was happening. The worst of it all… the death of your stepbrother Luke at the hands of none other than Aemond Targaryen, the father of your child. You knew there had to be more to the story, but your family in Dragonstone obviously found the greens completely unforgivable now. You truly did feel heartbroken for Rhaenyra, it also made you feel more protective of your own child growing inside your belly. But your dream to reunite with Aemond seemed to fade farther and farther out of your reach.

You had your dresses fitted looser as your belly began to swell, blaming it on over eating, which you were doing a lot of anyway as you now dealt with an appetite for two. You were not sure how much longer you could hide this, but each time you attempt to tell your father you cannot get the words out. The more chaos that ensued and the more your father cursed the greens and the harder it became to admit.

**********

Your father and stepmother had called for you and you quickly made your way to them. Your heart was racing and palms sweating as you join them.

“You wished to see me, father?” You say once you enter the room.

“Yes, (y/n). I have great news.” Daemon says. “We have found you a worthy husband.”

“W-what?” Your jaw drops, you were not expecting this at all.

“You are to marry Cregan Stark. The Starks have already pledged their fealty but this is the best way to solidify that relationship.” Your father explains.

“Father… I cannot marry Cregan Stark…” You say.

Daemon scoffs at you.

“You can, and you will. It is not up for discussion.” He says firmly.

“There is something I must tell you both…” You say quietly, worried.

You were officially out of time, you had to tell them and you had to do it now. Daemon and Rhaenyra give you their full attention as you refuse to meet their eyes.

“I am with child.” You state quietly, your fists clenched at your sides in nervousness.

“That’s not possible.” Your father scoffs with a chuckle, as if trying to convince himself.

“The maester has already confirmed it…” You continue to speak quietly. “I am quite far along…”

“Who is the father?” Rhaenyra asks.

You meet her gaze but remain silent.

“Dammit young lady! Who on earth did you sleep with?” Daemon yells at you, making you jump.

He stomps towards you and grabs you by the throat briefly before letting go. Although it was only for a second you stumble backward with your hand on your sore throat as your eyes meet his in fear.

“If you are already this angry… I am far too afraid to tell you who the father is.” You say with a shaky voice, holding back tears.

“We are not going to harm him, child.” Rhaenyra reassures you but your father rolls his eyes as if to disagree.

“That is not my greatest concern… My concern is more to do with who it is...”

“Who in seven hells is it?!” Your father snaps and steps towards you again, you step back as he does until your back hits the wall.

“He…” You try to get the words out, your father stops and they both stare at you impatiently. “The father is… Aemond Targaryen.”

You feel as if you are going to puke or possibly faint as you watch the absolute horror spread across their faces.

“I’m sorry…” Your father chuckles in disbelief. “I must have misheard you. Did you say… Aemond fucking Targaryen?”

You look to your feet and nod.

“You’re fucking with me… Please tell me you are fucking with me.” Daemon says, your silence in response answers his question.

Rhaenyra is still standing there speechless in shock.

“This was before…” You look directly to Rhaenyra. “…everything.” Your eyes shift back to your feet.

“Do you have any idea what you have done?” Daemon says angrily, rubbing his temples in frustration. “What in seven hells are we supposed to do now?!”

“I… I do not know…” You say in nearly a whisper. “I am truly sorry father… it just… happened.”

“Have you even asked the maester if your condition is treatable at this stage?” Daemon asks.

“Treatable? What do you mean?”

“Is there no way they can rid you of that thing?”

“Is that really what you are considering be done, father?” You scoff in offence.

“Dear daughter, I am considering throwing you down a flight of stairs or stabbing you in the stomach to rid you of that thing if necessary.” He snarls.

Even Rhaenyra shoots him daggers at that statement, having recently lost their own babe during childbirth.

“Stop calling it that! It is a child, my child, and I will not let you harm me nor my baby.”

“I refuse to let you birth the spawn of that monster. Go to your chambers while I go speak to the maesters about what can be done.”

“Father-“

“I said get out of my sight!” His voice booms, causing the room to go still.

You stare at him as if you were to say something else but then turn to run out of the room crying. As soon as you reach your chambers you slam the door and lock it. You desperately reach for your chamber pot before vomiting into it. After, you try and steady your heavy panting as you think of what to do.

Your mind races as you stand up and throw a travel bag onto your bed before quickly packing your things, whatever you could fit. The hour was already late, you thought, so there was no need to wait until nightfall to escape. Surely you could sneak off to the stables unnoticed and flee on your horse, find a ship somewhere on Dragonstone before you were caught. You take a deep breath and look around your bedroom, the life you would be leaving behind, the family. But screw them! You have never felt a true part of either of your father’s families. You rubbed your stomach tenderly, thinking about the future of a true family, your family. With that in mind you throw open your bedroom door only to stop suddenly as you see your father standing on the other side. He looks to the bag in your hand.

“Going somewhere, daughter?” He asks slyly.

“I- I cannot stay here…” Your voice trembles.

“I forbid you to leave this castle until we have decided what to do with you.” He says sternly. “You will not leave your room, we will have breakfast brought to you in the morning.”

Before you can argue he slams the door in your face and locks you inside. You shake and pound at the door. Beating your fists on it as hard as you can.

“You cannot do this to me! Please father! Please!” You cry and beg from the other side.

You fall to the ground staring at your trembling red hands, aching from banging on the door. Anger boils within you until you are back on your feet throwing things around the room, the sound of screaming and breaking glass echoing into the hallways. Eventually you tire yourself out and collapse onto your bed, crying yourself to sleep.

**********

The next morning you hear a knock at the door.

“Come!” You call.

One of your chamber maids opens the door with a tray of breakfast food.

“Good morrow, princess.” She says politely, concern crossing her face as she notices the state of the room. “Shall I send in someone to clean?”

You shake your head before peering behind her and seeing no one else around.

“I need something else from you.” You say quietly to her.

“Of course, princess. What can I do for you?” She says.

“I need you to deliver a note to my guardsman. You know the one I speak of, he is the only one I can trust.” You say as you move to grab parchment and ink, throwing them down on the small dining table which your breakfast now sat.

“I- Forgive me, princess. I do not think can… Your father-“ She says timidly.

“Please! Please, I am with child and I do not know what he is going to do to me. He is trying to kill my baby, he may even kill me to do so if he must. Please, I am begging you.” You grab her hands as you plead with tears in your eyes.

She peers behind her shoulder to the hallway before looking back to you and nodding, making you sigh in relief. You had no idea if you could fully trust her, for all you know she will take this note straight to your father, but you had no other option right now.

“But quickly, princess.” She whispers, continuing to peak into the hallway for anyone coming this way.

You quickly scribble a letter to your only fully trusted person in this land. The only guardsman that had followed you from Runestone to each place you moved. He was loyal to your mother and you knew he always had distaste for your father. It was still extremely risky but he was your one chance at getting out of here. You hand her the folded up letter which she tucks into her dress and you whisper endless thank yous.

“Princess.” She says with a curtsy before departing.

All you could do now was wait…

**********

There is another knock at your door not long after the maid leaves. You open it eagerly and are surprised to see your stepbrother Jacaerys standing on the other side.

“What do you want?” You ask.

“I wanted to know if it was true…” He says flatly.

“That depends on what my father has told you… That I am a deceitful traitor? That I am a whore? That I am growing a demon spawn inside me?” Your say as your blood begins to boil.

“He said you were with child. With Aemond’s child.” He says, pure anger in his tone. “So same thing really…” He shrugs.

“Fuck you, Jacaerys.” You snap.

You are nearly as shocked as he is at the bold statement, but you had no care left in the world about how your family thought of you now. They have already decided in their minds to hate you for being with the child of their greatest enemy. Nevermind the fact that the act of it happened before all of that. If things had not turned out in the horribly tragic ways they did, and the whole of the royal family had remained civil with eachother, you knew your family would still have been displeased but they would have ultimately accepted your bond to Aemond.

“Wow, (y/n)… I knew there was something between you two when we visited King’s Landing. But I thought after everything he has done, everything the rest of them have done to our family…” His voice raises. “I have no more words for what you have done…” He says in almost a whisper, shaking his head in disappointment.

“Well, if you have no more words then I bid you a good day, brother.” You say sharply before closing the door in his face.

You feel like you could spit fire with how angry and hurt you were. You wish Jace’s words did not phase you but they pierced into you like daggers.

**********

Your lunch and supper had been brought to your chambers. You could not help but worry when you saw it was a different maid than this morning. You prayed to the gods nothing happened to the other one due to your actions.

It was the hour of the owl when someone knocked at your door again. Despite the late hour you were wide awake, unable to sleep at all. You cautiously open the door and nearly cry of relief when you see your guardsman standing outside the door.

“We must hurry, princess.” He whispers to you. “Pack what belongings you need.”

You throw on your cloak before grabbing the travel bag you previously packed and threw it over your shoulder before giving him a nod. He holds his hand out to you and you grab it as he leads you out of your chambers and through the dark hallways. He was careful to avoid other guards, occasionally ducking you both behind another wall as one passed by. He leads you down another hallway you had never seen, leading you right out of the castle through a hidden door.

“This way princess.” The guard says.

You follow him to the shore where there lies a small boat. You give him a questioning look, there was no way you could make it all the way to Kings Landing in that.

“There is a ship waiting for us princess with a handful of men I trust. It had to remain out of sight.” He explains.

You nod and get into the boat before he paddles away into the darkness. The small light of Dragonstone begins to fade into the distance just before the dim lighting of a small ship comes into view. He assists you up the rope ladder and onto the ship. You could see no more than five other men on the ship along with your guardsman. They quickly begin working the sails and get the ship moving.

“I cannot thank you enough, Ser. You have truly saved our lives.” You say to the guard as you rub your stomach.

“I was sworn to protect you and your mother. I may have failed your mother but I will not fail you, princess.” He says.

You give him a sympathetic smile of gratitude before looking out into the dark waters of the sea. Thinking of all that is yet to come.

**********

A few days later, you watch as King’s Landing comes into view. Your heart begins to race and your stomach twists into knots. You were the daughter of their enemies, you had no idea how they would react to your arrival. If they would even listen to what you have to say.

You arrive to the gates with your guardsman, the rest of the crew having begun to sail the ship back.

“Who goes there?” A kingsguard asks.

“Princess (y/n) Targaryen. We are here as allies and bring important news.” Your guard speaks for you.

The kingsguard is silent for a moment, contemplating. Your heart pounds in your chest with worry they will simply refuse you and you will have nowhere else to go.

“Very well.” They open the gate and lead you in.

“The king is available to see you right now.” The kingsguard says.

“Oh. I was actually hoping to speak with Prince Aemond first.” You say timidly.

“The prince is with the king, you may see them both now.” He explains.

You nod and take a deep shakey breath before slightly lifting your dress to walk up the stairs. You are led into throne room, following behind the kingsguard and your guardsman.

Your eyes find Aemond first, standing diligently next to his mother. His eye meet yours instantly quickly flickering to your large stomach and you see his eye widen as the rest of his face remains expressionless. You take another deep breath as you continue walking, focusing hard on putting one foot in front of the other until you reach where Aegon sat on the iron throne.

“Princess (y/n)! To what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit? Has your traitor family finally decided to bend the knee?” Aegon speaks to you arrogantly.

“No, your grace. I am not here on their behalf, I am here on mine. They had no knowledge of my travels here… I would bend the knee to you now if I were able, my king.” You say, rubbing your stomach. “I am with child…”

Your gaze darts to Aemond for a short second who has not taken his eye off you since you entered the room.

“I can see that.” Aegon chuckles. “I am glad to hear you are pledging your fealty to me, but I do not understand what your being with child has to do with me?”

“It… It does not have to do with you, your grace.”

You look to Aemond again, this time Aegon follows your gaze.

“Well then!” Aegon laughs loudly. “It seems my brother had been very busy during your last visit to King’s Landing.”

Yours and Aemond’s silence was answer and confirmation enough. Alicent stands beside Aemond in a silent shock as she stares at your round stomach.

“You must be exhausted. My guards will escort you to your chambers.” Aegon says. “We shall see you at supper. I believe you two have much to discuss.” He grins, looking to Aemond who glares back at him.

“Thank you, your grace.” You give a small curtsy, unable to bend too low.

You and Aemond watch eachother as you are led out of the room and to your new chambers, your own guardsman following until you are left alone in the room. As soon as the door is shut tears quickly fall from your face, Aemond looked so angry. What if this entire thing was a huge mistake? You had not fully considered Aemond may not even want to have anything to do with you or this child. Who knows what they might do with you now, what if it’s worse than what your father would have done?

You don’t have long to dwell on the thoughts swirling in your mind before there is a firm knock at the door. You quickly wipe your tears from your face.

“Come!” You call.

The door opens and your heart stops when you see Aemond enter, closing the door behind him.

“Aemond!” You say in surprise.

“Is it my child?” He asks forwardly.

“I- yes… I am so sorry…” Your voice breaks as you fight back tears and look to the floor.

“Sorry?” He says softly as he steps closer to you and gently lifts your chin to meet his gaze. “You have no reason to be sorry, (y/n).”

“But I thought…” You start to say.

“If anything, I am sorry this happened without my being there afterward, without being there to protect you.”

“You could not have known…” You say in a whisper.

“Well, I know now.” He says as he takes both of your hands in his. “I will care for you both, you have my word.”

You smile up at him and the tears you held back fall down your face, Aemond takes his thumb and wipes some away.

“I am bound to you, all of me.” He says intensely, as he cups your cheek and stares into your eyes.

“But… are you not only bound to me because I happen to be with child?” You frown.

“I have been bound to you the moment our lips first touched, (y/n).” He gives you the warmest smile you have ever seen on him.

With that said, he touches his lips to yours in a soft tender kiss. The kiss ever so slowly builds and builds until you’re a whimpering mess and chasing eachothers tongues. Aemond pulls away to look at you, pure fire behind his eyes.

“Does being with child stop you from wanting… from being able to…” Aemond couldn’t get the words out but you knew what he was referring to.

“No, no, not at all.” You say with a smile. “Quite the opposite actually…”

Aemond gives you a questioning look.

“If anything, I need you even more now.” You explain before pressing your lips back to his.

He begins pulling the strings of your dress as the kiss continues. You reach your hands in between you and remove his shirt before pulling at the ties of his trousers. Once your dress falls to the ground you feel instantly self conscious, your body having changed a considerable amount since he last saw you. But the way Aemond looks at you was like a wild animal about to pounce on its prey. The sight of your naked body, swollen his child, was the most heavenly sight he could ever see.

You get into bed, kissing in between every movement, like your lips could not stand to be apart for longer than a few seconds. Aemond’s lips soon move to your neck before kissing his way down your chest. His warm mouth wraps around your nipple before sucking hard, causing you to gasp, your nipples being even more sensitive from the pregnancy. He kisses all over your stomach lovingly as one hand rubs across it gently. He looks up and smiles at you as you smile back at him, pure happiness on his face.

“I have been dreaming about this…” He says lowly before licking a strip up your core.

You whimper and squirm as his tongue teases you with gentle licks before he wraps his strong arms around your legs to hold you still as he begins to eat you out ravenously. Your hand shoots to your mouth to cover the loud moans pouring from you as your other hand finds its way down to his head and your fingers bury into his silky white hair. You tug his hair lightly as you’re overcome with pleasure and he groans in response, the feeling of it against your core bringing you closer to the edge.

Your entire body feels like it’s on fire as he works you with his tongue, the intensity only increasing as he slips two of his long slender fingers inside you. It’s not long after that until you come undone, clenching around his fingers and bucking against his face as you cry out. Aemond doesn’t relent until your legs are shaking and you’re pulling away from the overstimulation.

He moves back up the bed, wiping his face, and you pull him into a hungry kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue.

“I need you inside me right now.” You beg, the need for him only increased by your release.

He practically growls at your words as he pulls his loose pants fully off and tosses them to the ground. He wastes no time plunging himself into you, causing you both to moan out in tandem. You bask in the full feeling of him inside you again, you felt so empty without him all these months and now you were finally reconnected.

The angle is awkward due to your protruding belly in between you, your eyes meet as unspoken thoughts pass through you. Without a word you reposition so Aemond is laying on the bed and you’re climbing on top of him. After straddling him you shove him back inside you, watching as his jaw drops open at the feeling. With your limited mobility Aemond still takes the lead and begins pounding into you from below. You cling to his shoulders to keep yourself upright as your tits bounce in his face with each thrust and your moans now fall shamelessly from your mouth. You don’t see him observing every facial expression and sound you make while you ride him. The sight and feel of you had him barreling towards release.

“My love, I-“ Aemond chokes out. “Fuck, (y/n), I’m going to…”

“Me too.” You pant as your second orgasm creeps up on you, the sound of your name on Aemond lips only increasing it.

“Gods!” Aemond groans out as the last of his restraint snaps and he spills into you.

His release brings you to your own, the feeling of him pulsing inside you has you seeing stars as you moan loudly, no longer caring if someone heard you.

You fall onto the bed beside him, both panting heavily. After a minute Aemond turns to his side to look down at you, your eyes meet his and you both smile warmly at eachother, nothing but love passing between you.

“I love you, (y/n).” Aemond says as he brushes your cheek with his thumb.

“I love you, Aemond.” You say back, your hand gently covering his still on your cheek.

He leans down and places a firm kiss to your lips before pulling back to admire you again.

“So what now?” You ask.

“Now?” He raises a brow before smiling again. “Now, we marry. Have our child, and live happily ever after.”

“I like the sound of that.” You smile.

**********

The wedding was very small and private, only the main royal family of King’s Landing in attendance. You would have loved to have a large wedding and a grand feast but with your, condition, it had to remain quiet to the people. You still enjoyed every minute of the day, saying your vows with the love of your life and enjoying a lovely dinner with music.

Every minute spent in your wedding chamber was also well enjoyed. You had obviously already consummated the marriage but you could not keep your hands off eachother. The night was passionate and intense.

“I want to taste you husband…” You say lowly.

“Who am I to deny you, little wife.” He smirks.

‘Little wife’, gods, the need for Aemond quickly pooled between your legs at the sound of that.

He leads you over to sit at the edge of the bed and stands in between your thighs. Seeing the way you stare up at him, your face only inches away from where he needed you most, it made his aching member press harder against his trousers.

“Take it out, little wife.” He says.

That name lit a fire inside you. You pull at the laces of his trousers and Aemond hisses when your soft hand wraps around his hardness to pull it out. Your eyes meet his and he watches you with heavy eyes as you begin slow sensual licks around his tip, he shudders when your tongue brushes over the hole. Just as Aemond is about to beg you for more, you shove him as far as you can into your mouth and he groans loudly. You continue to work him with your hands and mouth, testing and finding out what he likes.

“Fuck, I’m-“ Aemond barely chokes out the words before he’s spilling into your mouth with another loud groan.

After that Aemond took his sweet time with you. Kissing, licking, stroking, and worshipping every single inch of your body. You moaned as your hands buried into his hair, his face between your legs eating you like a man starved. One of his hands reaching up, interlocking with yours as he uses his other hand to slide his slender fingers inside you, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Come for me, little wife.” Those words had you instantly soaking his face and moaning so loud you knew that the guards in the hallway were likely feeling awkward, but you could not care less.

You lost count of the amount of orgasms he coaxed from you that night. If you were not already with child, you definitely would have been after your eventful wedding night. You both felt like you could never get enough of this intimacy, this love.

The months following were extremely stressful, with the inevitable war being planned out, and Aemond being highly involved. He did his best to give you as much of his time as possible. The smile on Aemond’s face when he first felt the baby kick, was the happiest you have ever seen him. He also made sure you were well taken care of by the maids and maesters throughout the entire pregnancy.

**********

Aemond returns to bed well past the hour of the owl after a long dreadful meeting with the small council. To his surprise you were wide awake reading a book in bed with a candle lit beside you. You smile warmly when you notice him.

“What are you doing awake, little wife?”

“Sleep has been difficult lately.” You say as you rub your round belly. “The babe is going to come any day now.”

The tension releases from Aemond, thinking how grateful and lucky he was to have such a beautiful wife and a child on the way.

“What are you doing up so late, husband?” You ask.

Some of the tension returns to him as he sits down on the bed beside you with a heavy sigh.

“The small council meeting dragged on and on… my brother’s ignorance is going to lose us this war.” He sighed in annoyance.

“You should be king.” You say, a hand coming to rest on top of his.

“What?” He agreed with you of course, but it was a bold statement coming from someone else.

“You should be king, my love.” You look deeply into his eye. “Tis you who studies history and philosophy, it is you who trains with the sword, who rides the largest dragon in the world, it is you who should be king.”

His heart raced at your words, his deepest darkest thoughts he would never say aloud you were saying directly to him. He leans in and places a firm kiss to your lips to show his agreement.

“You are so perfect.” He says to you in a whisper, the words making your heart swell.

He kisses you again, this time with more intent, his tongue dancing against yours. His eye meets yours for permission to continue and you nod, biting your lip. He continues kissing you as you pull up the skirts of your night dress and he undoes his trousers and throws them to the floor. He lays behind you, reaching his arm around to lightly rub your stomach as he kisses down your arm. You both sigh in pleasure as he so very slowly enters you. The sex is slow, intentional, gentle, loving. Savouring every little moment and feeling of one another.

“Stop stop, something is wrong.” You suddenly say as a strange feeling passes through your body.

Aemond immediately stops and pulls away from you and you noticed the bed sheets are soaked.

“I think my water just broke…” You look to him.

Your panicked faces quickly turn excited and he quickly throws his pants back on before calling on the maester and servants. The babe was finally coming!

**********

Aemond paced back and forth outside the birthing chamber for hours, freezing in horror every time he heard a painful scream or cry coming from inside. You had been in there for so long, and none of it sounded good. He knew childbirth was hard and there would be a lot of pain, and he did not know how a normal birth is supposed to sound, or how long it’s supposed to take… but when Alicent came to checkup on him he could see the extreme worry on her face when he told her you were still in there and they both heard another scream of pain from the other side of the door.

More time passes, far too much time, before the chamber door finally opens and the maester came outside, shutting the door behind him.

“Well?” Aemond demands.

“My prince… I am afraid the babe refuses to come.” He explains hesitantly. “We are left now with the difficult choice to attempt saving the child… but at the cost of the mother’s life.” He explains.

Aemond freezes, his heart suddenly racing and palms sweating, his worst fear being brought to life right before him.

“Absolutely not.” He says, his voice shakey. “There must be another way.”

“I’m afraid if she cannot birth the babe naturally… there are no other options, my prince. Otherwise we may very well lose them both”

“Let me see her.” Aemond demands.

“Of course, my prince.” The maester timidly agrees and leads Aemond into the room.

Aemond enters the room to see you on the birthing bed which was drenched in blood, your face covered in sweat and exhaustion. He felt a wave of terror wash over his body at the sight. A grateful smile crosses your tired face when you see your husband.

“My love…” You sigh with a soft smile.

“Everyone out.” Aemond demands the room full of midwives and the maester.

“But my prince…” The maester says, hesitant about leaving you at this stage of the birth.

“I need a moment alone with my wife, I will call you all back in a minute. Wait outside. Now.” Aemond demands, leaving no room for argument.

The maester bows his head and everyone scrambles out of the room. The second the door shuts Aemond is on you, grabbing onto your hand as his other brushes the damp hair from your forehead.

“My love…” He looks at you with pure sadness and worry in his eyes.

“What did the maester tell you?” You mumble, barely having the strength to speak.

“They said if the babe will not come they will have to…” He tries to explain, voice trembling.

“Please... Please, do not let them cut me open. I am not ready to die Aemond…” You pant the words in a panic, tears falling down your face.

“No, you will not die my love. You cannot die…” He says, kissing your forehead and hugging you close as he fights off his own tears. “But in order to live, to remain here with me, to remain here with our child…” Aemond takes your face in his hands. “You have to push.”

“I can’t…” You burst into tears. “I have tried Aemond I really am trying. I can’t… I can’t…”

“Yes you can.” He says reassuringly as he still holds your face. “I am here now, I am not going anywhere. You can do this, (y/n). You must…” His voice breaks at the last words and a tear falls down his face.

You sniffle and nod your head in agreement.

“Alright, come!” Aemond calls to the door.

The maester and midwives quickly file back into the room, finding their positions again. The maester looks to Aemond for an answer to his earlier suggestion.

“We are going to try pushing once more.” Aemond states.

The maester looks concerned and hesitant in the idea, but does not try to argue any further with Aemond. With your husband by your side, your hand in his, you attempt on pushing again. You scream in pain as you push and push and push, the babe refusing to move an inch.

“I can’t do it… I can’t do it…” You sob.

“You must…” Aemond whispers the gentle reminder in your ear. “Please…”

You must do it, you must live... Aemond could not even consider what he would do if you did not.

You begin to push again, putting every ounce of strength you have into it, you scream as your body feels like it’s being torn open, squeezing Aemond’s hand so hard you wouldn’t be surprised if you broke the bones. You take one quick breath before continuing to push and push, fighting through the blinding pain. Finally, you feel a huge wave of relief wash over your body and the sound of crying assures you that it’s all over. Your heavy eyes refuse to open and your body begins to feel even weaker.

“What is happening?” You hear Aemond ask in a panic.

“She has lost far too much blood.” The maester responds.

That is the last thing you hear before you completely lose consciousness. You don’t see or hear them basically shoving Aemond out of the room despite his protests, or the tears in his terrified eye as he stares at your limp body laying still in the bed.

**********

When you come to, you are still laying in bed but the sheets are now clean and your night dress had been changed. You see Aemond standing on the other side of the room, facing the window.

“Aemond?” You call out weakly.

His head quickly shoots to your direction before he walks over, holding a bundle in his arms.

“My love, how are you feeling?”

“Fine.” You give a soft weak smile. “Is this our child?”

“Our son.” Aemond smiles widely, a genuine rare purely happy smile.

“Our son…” You repeat lovingly as he places the babe in your arms.

You look at your beautiful baby boy with his silver gold hair and your heart soars, even more so when you glance back to your husband who’s now sitting beside you on the bed. Your heart felt so full in this moment. Everything you had been through to get to this very moment, was all worth it.

**********

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bread-crum206 · 4 months ago

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A Game of Hearts

Chapter 16: A Moment of Vulnerability

Summary: Y/N’s father is a VIP for the games, he makes a deal with the Frontman that if he marries his only daughter that he will continue to sponsor the games. However, Y/N is not fond of this decision as she loathes the games and in turn, loathes the Frontman as well. Will she grow to love him? Will he let his walls down?

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The hum of the television filled the room, but it felt distant now, muted by the weight of the silence that hung between you and In-ho. The usual tension between you had softened, though not gone—something unspoken shifted between you, a quiet understanding that seemed to stretch the air around you. Neither of you spoke, and for a fleeting moment, the world beyond the four walls of this office seemed to disappear. It was just the two of you, in this quiet space, trying to find some balance.

You glanced at In-ho, his eyes fixed on the screen, but his posture had changed. He wasn’t just the cold, calculated man who orchestrated everything from behind the scenes. He was something else in this moment—something human, something raw. The wall that usually kept everyone at arm’s length was, for the first time, starting to crack.

There was still so much you didn’t know about him, but somehow, in this quiet moment, it didn’t seem so important. What mattered was the way he had spoken—how he’d opened up just a little. You could sense the weight of everything he was carrying, and it tugged at something inside you, a need to reach out, to do something, anything, to ease the burden he bore alone.

In-ho had been speaking about the past—how he had gotten involved with the games, about his wife and child—and there was a heaviness in his voice that made the room feel impossibly still. His words seemed to carry more than just a story; they carried the soul-crushing grief of a man who had lost everything.

“I went to her after I won,” he said quietly, his eyes not meeting yours as he continued. “I thought… I thought I could save her. But when I got there, she was gone. She and the baby… both dead.”

His voice was flat, like he had said it a hundred times, but you could hear the breaking in the words. The raw, bleeding pain he had buried deep down for so long was now seeping through the cracks of his carefully maintained mask. You could almost feel the grief in the room, the weight of his loss pressing in around you.

You couldn’t just sit there anymore, couldn’t pretend to be a passive observer to his pain. You didn’t know what to say. How could you say anything? So, instead, you moved closer, without thinking. You reached out, your hand hovering for a brief second before you gently placed it over his. His hand, clenched tightly in his lap, relaxed at your touch, as though your presence had broken through some invisible barrier.

In-ho’s eyes flicked to you, but he didn’t pull away. He didn’t speak either. His hand was warm beneath yours, and in that small moment of contact, you both seemed to share something that no words could express. It was a simple gesture—one that could have been easily overlooked—but it was everything in that moment. A connection. A silent offering.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. It was all you could offer, but the words felt inadequate, meaningless in the face of the depth of his pain. Yet, it felt important to say. To acknowledge the suffering he had carried for so long.

In-ho didn’t pull his hand away, but he didn’t respond either. He just let it sit there, the warmth of your hand grounding him in a way that, perhaps, nothing else had in years. The silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t as suffocating as before. There was a soft kind of understanding in it now.

“The games,” he said, his voice almost a whisper, “they were never about the money. Not really. I… I did it to survive. But I thought… I thought I could change things. That I could make it right. But there’s no going back. There’s nothing left.”

The pain in his voice was palpable, raw. You could see it in the way his fingers curled slightly beneath yours, as if he was trying to hold onto something—anything—that could anchor him to this world.

You didn’t know what to say next, or if anything could make it better. But you stayed there, your hand on his, offering what little comfort you could. You had no answers, no way to fix the mess of his life, but in this small moment of connection, maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe the only thing that mattered was that he wasn’t alone in it.

In-ho’s gaze flickered to yours again, just for a second. His expression was unreadable, but the look in his eyes… it was different now. Less guarded, less distant.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he said quietly, almost as though he were speaking to himself. “I’m used to it.”

The words stung, but you could see the truth in them. He had been living with this weight for so long, he had forgotten what it felt like to have it acknowledged by someone else. To be seen, even for just a moment, for the man that he was and not the figure he projected to the world.

“I’m here,” you said softly, your hand still resting on his. “You don’t have to carry this alone.”

In-ho’s hand twitched beneath yours, and for a heartbeat, he seemed to consider something. Then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, his fingers shifted, curling gently around yours, locking into place. The touch was tentative, almost fragile, but it was there.

For the briefest of moments, it felt like the whole world stopped—like the weight of everything that had come before was suspended in the air, and for once, there was nothing but this connection between you both.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes still fixed on your joined hands. “I don’t know how to let anyone in.”

You didn’t know how to answer that, but you didn’t have to. Instead, you squeezed his hand gently, offering him what little reassurance you could. You didn’t need to fix him. You didn’t need to have the answers. All you needed to do was be here, in this moment, with him.

And for the first time, you didn’t feel like you were just a pawn in the game. You were something else. Something real.

The room grew quieter as the two of you sat in silence, the weight of everything unspoken between you, but this time, the silence wasn’t suffocating. It was different. It was a kind of understanding. A fragile, quiet truce.

And in that moment, it was enough.

———————

Chapter 16!! Sorry for posting so late! :(( I’ve been super busy with work and school lol.. anyways, as always lemme know what you think and thank you! :)

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jaydenism · 4 months ago

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been thinking about this bug a lot recently...

i want a big kanade arc pls pls pls 🙏 its her turn to go through the horrors ♡

long kanade ramble ahead!!

i think that savior complex of hers is gonna send her crashing down. hard.

we haven't gotten any huge kanade focus events yet, or anything that really progresses her story or builds her character in a significant way, but im really looking forward to see what they have in store for her character arc. im hoping kana5 will stir the pot a bit and get the plot moving.

i feel like overall shes been really mysterious and strangely without much going on, and at first i thought she was a little boring even... but i think that's by design. she doesn't open up about herself much, and generally appears to be pretty put together, maybe aside from her poor self-care. she doesn't talk about many of her own problems, because she doesn't want to have the others worry for her, when her problems are "insignificant" compared to the others, as she says. i think the lack of progression in her story also fools the audience into believing she has her shit together. ena has had her fair share of struggles. mafuyu had her big arc, but shes also been trying to find herself since the beginning. mizuki just went through hell and finally fell apart after the long-lasting growing tension in her story. but kanade? she's been stagnant. unchanging. it makes it easy for her to be overlooked. but that's exactly what she wants-- to not weigh the others down, and to be their support. but she can't keep that up forever. so yes, i admit i wasn't super interested in her character before, but I've now realized that's because they've hardly even started her story yet. as one of my oomfs said, she was always going to be the last wall to fall.

when reading the story at first, kanade has a lot of warning signs you might glance over. ive only recently started to see them more, like just in passing comments here and there that are REALLY concerning and unhealthy. i mean the most obvious sign is that she barely gives herself time to eat or sleep of course, but the more you pay attention to the subtle things, the more apparent it becomes that she's got some serious shit she needs to unpack, or she may just end up crumpling under the weight of it all. i think her undoing has the potential to be huge. catastrophic even. i really wonder what the writers are planning for her, but all this waiting leads me to believe they could have something big planned. like okay, looking back to the card i drew from, the bloomfes kanade card, shes got some wild shit going on... there is nothing normal about that !!!

i also posted abt this on bluesky, but reiterating it here, i felt like her newest card for her mixed focus event kinda seemed like foreshadowing... specifically because of the niigo colored star charms. mizuki and ena's charms are together, facing each other (yippeeeee), but mafuyu's charm faces kanade's, who's charm is not facing hers. mizuenas charms also seem to glow in the light, while kanamafus dont reflect as much light. could just be coincidence, but i know they love hinting and foreshadowing with card details like this. and overall, kanade's expression is unreadable, like a still, empty doll. the card has a bit of a melancholic feel, to me at least. im not sure how soon the next niigo event will be, but it's gotta be a kanade focus, unless they pull a saki. i dont think its the biggest leap to suggest this could be some foreshadowing for the next event.

but anyway, i think kana5 will start building up the tension at least, maybe entering a kanade arc even. i need to see her snap pls pls pls pls pls

if you read all that,,, wow thanks, u get a star ☆ :)) also lemme know ur thoughts and if im off base about anything

#kanades bloomfes card is incredibly fascinating to me #like damn shes fighting some crazy demons holy shit #kanade crashout pls pls pls #project sekai #proseka #pjsk #prsk #pjsk fanart #prsk fa #nightcord at 25:00 #25 ji nightcord de #n25 #niigo #yoisaki kanade #kanade yoisaki

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automatic-midnight · 4 months ago

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Everyone likes to laugh about Lawrence/Lomelis objectively hilarious way he avoids the temptation of woman by never thinking about them and pretending they don’t exist, but I also think this is actually kind of sad and worthy of critique?

By completely avoiding woman as a way to avoid sexual temptation he’s also inadvertently made himself unable to interact with woman in ANY context! Multiple times throughout the story when Lawrence has to interact with woman he’s obviously uncomfortable, and every time it’s entirely in a non-sexual context, but he still struggles because of how he’s only ever treated woman as a mere object of desire he must avoid.

A striking example is in the book during Adeyemi’s nighttime confrontation with Sister Shanumi. Lawrence hears the confrontation but he chooses to remain in his room, to stay ignorant, because he was uncomfortable with the notion of barging in on the possible scene between them. He even tells himself after the fact that he should have gotten up and confronted Adeyemi then and there! But because of what he’s drilled into his brain about woman he’s unable to make the right choice and it prolongs the suffering of everyone. Even when he takes Sister Shanumis confession he notes that the intimacy of their knees almost touching is uncomfortable to him. Even in this very serious situation he’s still unable to handle the intimacy of interacting with a woman, which is frankly laughable to how Sister Shanumi must have felt when sharing her horrible situation with him, the amount of bravery she needed to have compared to him.

I would not be surprised if Lawrence’s thought process around woman is the reason he too, like most cardinals, treated the sisters taking care of the cardinals like they were invisible. He doesn’t recognize this within himself until far into the conclave either. Who would guess that treating woman like they’re invisible would mean that he would overlook their work and effort?

My last observation is that Vincent contrasts Lawrence starkly in this regard. While Thomas struggles to interact with woman Vincent does not. He’s worked with woman all over the world in terrible situations and conditions, they have never been invisible to him, and because of that he’s able to do immense good for them and WITH them. It’s why he’s the only man who recognizes the work the sisters did for lunch and includes them in his prayer. He’s a foil to Lawrence, an example of how much less hindered a man is when he is able to view woman as simply human beings, not on a pedestal of temptation or an invisible helper.

My goal here is not to call Lawrence a sexist, because he’s not, and despite how much his thoughts have shaped his skewed views on woman he is still able to do immense good despite the fear, despite of how uncomfortable he is, and that is worthy of praise nonetheless. I merely want to illustrate how his mantra has made things more difficult for him and how it is not infallible.

#conclave #conclave 2024 #conclave book #thomas lawrence #sister shanumi

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secretmellowblog · 8 months ago

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Jean Valjean's Canon Toxic Unhealthiness around Romantic Love

( alternate titles: “Does Jean Valjean is Gay?”, or “Does Jean Valjean is Asexual?” Or: “Why is it so difficult to slap an identity/sexuality label onto Jean Valjean?” Or “LGBTPTSD+”)

I was looking at the responses to this poll about whether people interpret Jean Valjean as gay/asexual/straight or something else….and it got me thinking again about Jean Valjean’s canonical intense, complex, awful, toxic, and overwrought emotions around identity/ romantic love. I want to talk about that for a bit because I think it often gets overlooked in fandom!

I've noticed that Les Mis fandom/analysis often tends to interpret Jean Valjean as being far more content, more "at peace with himself," and more "comfortable in his own skin" than he ever is within the novel. This is also a common change in adaptations. The musical's version of Jean Valjean is great-- but he also seems a lot more self-actualized, more like he's gotten himself completely "figured out" by the end of the story. Other, bad, Les Mis adaptations — the adaptations that generally portray Jean Valjean a worse more violent person — also usually make Jean Valjean more confident in himself, more confident in his own feelings/desires, more certain that he’s entitled to certain things, and more willing to demand or take what he wants.

But one major aspect of book Jean Valjean's personality is that he does not have a healthy relationship with anything about himself. He has a tortured broken relationship with his own identity. He repeatedly thinks about “Jean Valjean” as a person outside of himself, a person who he finds frightening, repulsive, savage, and horrible— like a wild animal he needs to sedate, or beat into submission. He is obsessed with self-denial and self-repression. He is fixated on the idea that he is subhuman, that he is not allowed to want things or to pursue having any kinds of relationships with other people-- and that the most heroic thing he can do is "grab himself by the collar” and violently force himself to stay away from the things he wants. He is desperate to be loved and fixated on being unworthy of love and on denying himself love. He is absolutely not at peace with his identity: to paraphrase Jean Valjean in one of the later chapters, he believes he can only gain inner peace by “eviscerating his own entrails.”

He is never truly content with who he is, what he wants, or what kind of love he wants— and he never learns to be. The novel ends with him cutting himself off from his only family, breaking ties with the only person who loves him, and essentially slowly killing himself out of self-loathing.

There are other characters in Les Mis who seem very content with who they are and what they want. Enjolras is self-assured in his identity, and doesn’t appear to feel like there is any kind of love that is missing from his life. Whether you interpret him as gay or ace or trans or w/e, book!Enjolras is written as someone who is extremely self-assured and has a loving support system that is enough to keep him happy. But I don’t think that’s true for Jean Valjean at all XD.

And that’s why it's hard to apply labels like “aromantic” or “ace” or gay/straight/etc to Jean Valjean, when talking about his canon characterization. Those labels imply the person has a basic level of comfort with acknowledging their own desires/lack of desire/identity. And Jean Valjean never achieves that level of comfort. What “label” do you give to someone whose relationship with their identity is “I do not belong in a family, I have no right to want things, I have no right to be happy, I am outside of life, and I will never be at peace until I eviscerate my own entrails?” Is there a “self-disembowelment" pride flag? XD I've seen a lot of interpretations that go "Jean Valjean never expresses any interest in romance, he's perfectly content just to have his relationship with his daughter" but I honestly don't think that's true. Jean Valjean tries to content himself with having only Cosette. But part of why everything explodes so catastrophically in the end of the novel is because he needs more than just a paternal relationship. He doesn’t try to have a “normal” father-daughter relationship with Cosette, he tries to force his relationship with Cosette to be literally everything and everyone to him, for her to be his entire world: and it doesn’t work.

There’s a passage in the novel that talks about how all the love Valjean is capable of ends up being suppressed/sublimated into his relationship with Cosette. The love of a brother, of a friend, of a father, of a husband, the love of everything he is capable of, gets repressed so that he can throw every part of himself into being a father. There are Bad les mis adaptations that incorrectly misinterpret that passage to mean that Jean Valjean is incestuous/grooming Cosette. But in context, that’s not what the passage means at all.

The passage specifies very explicitly that Jean Valjean “did not love Cosette otherwise than as a father,” that “no marriage was possible between them,” that his feelings for her are absolutely paternal. But the passage does show how Jean Valjean is doing a very different unhealthy thing: he’s relying on Cosette to fill every single emotional void in his life.

He’s relying on parenthood to fill the grief/emptiness left behind by all the other kinds of love that he has wanted, but never been given.

To quote a bit of that passage:

Jean Valjean did not love Cosette otherwise than as a father (…) Let the reader recall the situation of heart which we have already indicated. No marriage was possible between them; not even that of souls; and yet, it is certain that their destinies were wedded. With the exception of Cosette, that is to say, with the exception of a childhood, Jean Valjean had never, in the whole of his long life, known anything of that which may be loved. The passions and loves which succeed each other had not produced in him those successive green growths, tender green or dark green, which can be seen in foliage which passes through the winter and in men who pass fifty. In short, and we have insisted on it more than once, all this interior fusion, all this whole, of which the sum total was a lofty virtue, ended in rendering Jean Valjean a father to Cosette. A strange father, forged from the grandfather, the son, the brother, and the husband, that existed in Jean Valjean; a father in whom there was included even a mother; a father who loved Cosette and adored her, and who held that child as his light, his home, his family, his country, his paradise.

Jean Valjean reminds me of a Failmode I’ve seen in a lot of different real-life parents? There are parents who cope with their own hard lives by telling themselves that parenthood is their sole reason for being alive, and who obsess over their child’s success as their only source of purpose, meaning, love, happiness, community, and validation. But it’s a bad idea to rely on one child to provide the emotional support that should be shared by friends, parents, siblings, every possible loved one, etc etc—- One child can’t actually heal you from your trauma, be a replacement for your broken relationships, pull you out of your grief, save you from your adult loneliness, etc etc etc etc.

When I see the common interpretation that Jean Valjean is perfectly content just to be the father of Cosette, I think of this line:

Thus when he saw that the end had absolutely come, that she was escaping from him, that she was slipping from his hands, that she was gliding from him, like a cloud, like water, when he had before his eyes this crushing proof: “another is the goal of her heart, another is the wish of her life; there is a dearest one, I am no longer anything but her father, I no longer exist”; when he could no longer doubt, when he said to himself: “She is going away from me!” the grief which he felt surpassed the bounds of possibility. To have done all that he had done for the purpose of ending like this! And the very idea of being nothing!

On one hand, the terrible Les mis adaptations that portray Valjean as Incest Creep are incorrect and wrong. On the other hand, though, Jean Valjean IS unhealthy about Cosette— just in a different and actually sympathetic way.

He has made fatherhood his only purpose, to replace every other purpose he could have in life. So he can’t be “just Cosette’s father.” He can’t imagine her becoming an adult and leaving the nest, like children do. What does he have if he’s not taking care of her? What is his purpose in life if she doesn’t need him to be her parent? He's not just being her father, he's relying on her to be his entire reason to exist. He hasn't been allowing himself to have things outside of her.

And speaking of things outside of Cosette: segue time. This post was supposed to be about Jean Valjean and romance, so let's switch gears and talk about his canon 'romantic experiences' more:

We’re told that in his youth he “never had a sweetheart” because he “never had time to be in love.” There is no indication that Jean Valjean never wanted to be in love. The opposite is implied. Hugo frames it as a tragedy that Jean Valjean’s does not experience young love; it’s the horror of poverty taking yet another thing from him.

Within prison, Valjean is “gloomy” and “chaste;” when he traumadumps to Montparnasse about it, he talks about women looking on galley slaves with horror and disgust. Romance, at least “normal” heterosexual romance, is no longer something that is permitted for him. Jean Valjean knows very little about romance/love/sex and it repeatedly messes up his life. He spends 19 years in the all-male environment of prison, then about a decade in the almost-all-female environment of the convent. He has very little experience with how men and women are supposed to interact. The oppression Fantine faces as a sex worker, and Cosette's relationship with Marius, are both two big 'blind spots' that he struggles with.

At one point romantic love is described as “The only misery Jean Valjean had not yet experienced, and the only one that is sweet.”

In his massive confession to Marius, he agonizes over how he is not allowed to be part of a family, and is incapable of being part of a home. He compares himself to someone sick and diseased, that poisons good and normal people with his presence, and cannot be allowed to make himself part of their families.

So Jean Valjean doesn’t frame Romance as “a thing he doesn’t want:” it’s a thing “he is not allowed to want,” it is one of the many things he is banned from wanting. It's impossible to tell what kind of things he would want, if he were allowed to want them.

One of the most interesting things to me, however, is his general attitude towards Marius/Cosette.

Obviously his first reaction to Marius snooping around is fear and resentment— he doesn’t know to interact with romance, having never experienced it, and immediately begins catastrophizing. He views Marius as a privileged booby ruining his life for something as frivolous as a love affair: it reads to me as partially envy, envy of the fact that Marius lives the kind of safe comfortable life that allows him to experience young love.

Jean Valjean added: “What does he want? A love affair! A love affair! And I? What! I have been first, the most wretched of men, and then the most unhappy, and I have traversed sixty years of life on my knees, I have suffered everything that man can suffer, I have grown old without having been young, I have lived without a family, without relatives, without friends, without life, without children, I have left my blood on every stone, on every bramble, on every mile-post, along every wall, I have been gentle, though others have been hard to me, and kind, although others have been malicious, I have become an honest man once more, in spite of everything, I have repented of the evil that I have done and have forgiven the evil that has been done to me, and at the moment when I receive my recompense, at the moment when it is all over, at the moment when I am just touching the goal, at the moment when I have what I desire, it is well, it is good, I have paid, I have earned it, all this is to take flight, all this will vanish, and I shall lose Cosette, and I shall lose my life, my joy, my soul, because it has pleased a great booby to come and lounge at the Luxembourg.”

But, even though Jean Valjean views romance as something he isn’t allowed or have or to want, views it as a threat and catastrophizes over how it will ruin his life……he seems to also put heterosexual romance on a pedestal.

The way Jean Valjean idealizes marriage is one of his weirdest character notes for me.

He views marriage as Cosette’s “happy ending.” It’s her “happily ever after” point where she won’t need him anymore, where she won’t need anyone outside of her husband. A Man And a Woman Are Meant to Get Married, It's Fate, and It Means They Will Live Happily Together Forever. Marius is “the goal of her heart, the wish of her life; her dearest one.” Nothing outside of that matters anymore.

He treats her marriage as if romantic love is inherently always more important than any kind of platonic relationships, and always takes priority over them. He later dismisses the unconventional family structure he has with Cosette, saying that despite his love for her he was only a "passerby" and was not actually her real father, because they were not biologically related.

There's a moment where Jean Valjean is described as someone whose ideal is to be angel on the inside and a bourgeois on the outside. Jean Valjean's worship of bourgeois social norms, norms he can never truly be a part of, is one of his character flaws. He has a similar "guard dog" energy as Eponine does when she defends Rue Plumet from her parents.....Eponine and Jean Valjean both become the guard dogs of a kind of romantic relationship they believe they are banned from having. Jean Valjean believes that getting Happily Straight Married in a Middle-Class Home with a Picket Fence(tm) is the ideal path for life....but believes himself broken/incapable of ever following that path. And so he instead throws his entire life into securing that future for Marius and Cosette.

In what manner was Jean Valjean to behave in relation to the happiness of Cosette and Marius? It was he who had willed that happiness, it was he who had brought it about; he had, himself, buried it in his entrails, and at that moment, when he reflected on it, he was able to enjoy the sort of satisfaction which an armorer would experience on recognizing his factory mark on a knife, on withdrawing it, all smoking, from his own breast. Cosette had Marius, Marius possessed Cosette. They had everything, even riches. And this was his doing.

TL: DR:

Jean Valjean's gender/sexuality label is “idk but he’s super fucked up about it.”

#les mis #jean valjean #les mis letters #because i BRIEFLY tied it into Eponine #my idea for a self disembowelment pride flag #is that its like. prometheus and the eagle #but prometheus is into it #not sure how coherent this essay is but I am POasting it

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tonguetiedraven · 5 months ago

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Yukio requires a lot of critical reading from the get go

And if you're only starting that critical reading once Satan bums a ride in his eye, you're much too late.

He also requires a willingness to acknowledge that sometimes the character that annoys you has reasons even if you don't like them, and sometimes you're too biased about your favorite character and boy oh boy has Rin gotten caught up in this lack of critical engagement to. The story is more complex than victim and abuser and that simplification robs the story and Rin and Yukio of their richness and complexity.

This is going to be several parts and will be taking deep dives into some of the most important Yukio interactions that explain his story and character and beats that I think get often overlooked or misunderstood entirely. It will be entirely manga based because the animes take a fairly anti-yukio stance in several instances and seem to intentionally pick paths to mangle his character. The first anime mostly. But man did it do that to a lot of characters. None so badly as Yukio though.

It's fine to dislike the character, but darn it he deserves you at least disliking the real him.

Yukio Okumura is one of the most misunderstood and mischaracterized people in Kato's world (if not the most misunderstood, though sometimes I think Rin should get that slot because man people will just not read any of his flaws or short comings.) By both sides of the arguments, typically.

He is an immensely complex character who is messy, depressed, armed to the teeth, suicidal, brilliant, exhausted, livid, abused, abusive, eternally rocking a customer service smile, aware of the world in a way most of his peers simply aren't, and not always sympathetic. He is a teenager who has to act like an adult, the twin brother (but more often babysitter) of Rin, and the boy who doesn't fit in anywhere.

Probably the most frequently disliked character in the anime/manga as well, which is amazing with the cast of vile human-experimentation committers we've got, and when Ernst Egin is just walking around in the anime sullying Yuri's last name and being an awful character.

In my last essay on Blue Exorcist, I stated that most people's characters misconceptions started with the Kyoto arc, but for Yukio, we're going to have to go back a bit further. We have to go back to chapter two.

Chapter two is Rin, who has figured out he's Satan's son and has sworn to become the greatest of exorcists to defeat Satan and knows nothing about exorcisms or defeating Satan or even Satan at this point, who hasn't figured out that Mephisto is a demon or that Yukio is an exorcist, has been told to hide his flames and to either hide the tail, ears, and fangs, or make up some kind of story about them that doesn't involve Satan and his flames, is trying to sit through the orientation and is only kind of going along with it at all because Rin, our main pov character, has the attention span of a caffeinated squirrel and the impulse control of one as well at this point of the story. It makes him a great character to read from because he kind of skips over any lore drops that would be dull and lets us, the reader who is clueless about this world, find out things as they're important.

We were introduced to Yukio in the previous chapter and found out that he was Rin's younger and more successful twin. That he wants to be a doctor and was heading to True Cross.

This chapter, as Rin is sitting at the orientation, we find out that Yukio is smart.

Yukio is smart. He is the representative for the entire class, and we will find out that he managed to get that rank and position while maintaining a side job as an exorcist. He beat out every other student in this rich school while having a side job and awareness of a secret world that only a small percentage of people know about. He is a remarkable and driven student who is almost always thinking several steps ahead of Rin, the character we're mostly viewing this manga through.

That is the easiest thing to forget about Yukio. He is almost always aware of things Rin is not and almost always thinking of a bigger picture or a different picture than Rin is. That does not mean he is always correct, but he is almost always working off a dataset that Rin is not even aware of the existence of. He is playing 3d and sometimes (4D chest when Mephisto is involved) and Rin is still grappling with the regular 2D chess rules. He has always lived in the world of demons and by all likelihood known about who/what Rin and himself are since he was very little. We don't know the exact age he was told the story, but we know he has known it for a long time.

Another very important thing to take from this section, and the main reason I'm posting these particular panels is because it tells us how Rin sees his little brother at this point. His first thought when he see Yukio excelling is that his younger brother was always a crybaby who needs protection and couldn't stand up for himself or his dreams.

Rin is stuck in this false perception of his twin. Even though he can acknowledge that his twin is really smart, he struggles greatly with accepting that fact and even more with ever listening to his twin because for most of his life, Yukio was a cry baby that got bullied a lot and needed someone to stick up for him.

Yukio was those things, and we know from Yukio's own mouth much later in the manga that Yukio despised being that way and still fears that he is that way. That he is weak and pathetic and can't be strong.

Rin goes off from this orientation with the determination that his twin will graduate, become a doctor, and never have to find out about demons and the dark side of the world, and he runs into Mephisto who transforms into a dog in front of him, and God Bless Rin's heart, he just kind of assumes that's a thing some exorcists can do and does not clue into the fact that Mephisto is a demon and will not until Mephisto flat out tells him it.

Rin misses a lot of things. He is not that smart of a character. He is a great character, and he has a fantastic heart and a lot of wonderful character development, but picking up on details and critical thinking are not his strong suits, so we can't always trust his view point.

Rin can be wrong and often is.

Rin goes into cram school, meets the rest of his class who awkwardly stares at him as he takes a seat at the front of the class with dogphisto and they wait for the teacher who turns out to be none other than Yukio Okumura.

Yukio Okumura who does in fact know about the demonic world. In fact:

Yukio has been an exorcist since he was thirteen.

Rin makes a scene, because of course he did. His twin just flipped his entire world upside down and now not only did Rin's adoptive father know a whole lot of things that he never told Rin, Rin's twin did too.

It is important to remember that Mephisto has dictated how Rin's entire day has gone at this point. Yukio's story is heavily tied with Mephisto's manipulation, and that is often over looked by readers of this story, and I cannot stress enough that Mephisto is manipulative. He has pushed and controlled most of the characters in this story and he has done a lot of manipulation, both subtle and blatant, of Rin and Yukio. From the times they meet to the lessons they learn to the money they earn to the place they live, Mephisto's hand is in EVERYTHING.

He was the reason they had little to no time to talk before the school day started and absolutely the reason Rin didn't know Yukio was teaching this class until the entire class knew Yukio was their teacher. Yukio was given Shirou's class to teach by Mephisto, and he has already been given very specific orders on how to treat Rin and what specifically to do. Shirou has also given Yukio very specific instructions on what to do with Rin and how to take care of him.

Anyway, Rin makes a scene but the lesson forges forward with Mephisto and Yukio explaining things to the class, Rin, and us the reader. We learn about temptaints and that their classroom is a goblin nest and Rin holds his opinions and questions in for a few seconds but busts and once again makes a scene.

Yukio tells him plainly that he's seen demons since he could crawl which clues us the audience (and Rin) in on the fact that Yukio has always known about demons. We also learn that he has been training since he was SEVEN. Yukio has spent more of his life training and being an exorcist than he hasn't.

He tells Rin that the only one that didn't know about demons (and their parentage) is Rin. This is obviously shocking, and traumatizing, and a really blunt and honestly mean way to tell Rin this. There are reasons for that we'll get to in a minute.

(This has got to be the most awkward of classes for the other students. I'd be dying of second hand embarrassment xD)

Rin grabs Yukio, the vial is dropped, and goblins start popping out of the ceiling, walls, and just everywhere. The first-day students are immediately overwhelmed because half of them still can't even see the demons, and Yukio immediately springs into action. He takes out the hobgoblins that are the biggest danger and ushers the vulnerable and ill-prepared students outside the room so he can properly exorcise it, maturely takes blame for the entire thing (even though it is easily his and Rin's fault) but Rin won't go out because a BIG part of Rin's character is pushing for immediate conversations when he's frustrated or mad.

It's a positive and negative trait of his. He refuses to wait on conversations when he wants to have them, but he also refuses to have a conversation at all if he doesn't want to. He seldom takes the other person's pov into view on these until much later in the manga after a lot of development, and he's not great at hearing the other person he's conversing with. He makes a lot of assumptions and puts them on the other person until they clarify in some way, if they do. This means that we the readers can be left assuming incorrectly if we're not paying attention.

Mostly posting that moment because Rin getting chewed on is hilarious and cute but also to point out that Yukio is basically choosing the path to most irritate Rin here. He's refusing to engage the conversation and basically treating Rin as a nuisance who is in his way while he's trying to solve a problem.

As a side not, Rin is very much in the way here. Yukio could quickly clear this up without Rin being a talkative demonic chew toy.

This talk is a vital one to understand the twins and their dynamic until after the Kraken arc. It is, I would say, one of the three most important twin moments until the Kraken arc. It is also one a lot of people don't take time with because they're (understandably!) upset about what Yukio is saying and how he's saying it, and how heartless it feels at first glance.

This conversation is entirely about Rin. Rin asks how Yukio feels about him and doesn't ask how Yukio feels in general. (That's not how these twins operate.)

It is heavily implied that Yukio was told that if Rin were to be unsealed, Rin would no longer be Rin. That he would become someone, something far different and dangerous. He would be violent and wild and evil and he would have to be put down. It is heavily implied that Yukio was taught by Shirou to try and guard Rin and keep him sealed at whatever cost, and if he was unsealed for some reason, it would be on his shoulders to take Rin out if Shirou couldn't do it himself.

Yukio calls Rin a fool and asks why he wants to be an exorcist. Does he want revenge? Or does he want to atone? If he wants to atone, then he should turn himself in as the son of Satan or just die.

Rin hears all that and asks Yukio if Yukio thinks he's to blame for Shirou's death. Yukio asks if he'd be wrong if he did. We also get this wild lore drop that becomes a big deal much later on in the manga but we don't really fully grasp at this point

Yukio knows. Yukio knows that Shirou has been possessed by Satan before and has been fighting him for fifteen long years and has never stopped being targeted.

Also I have to point out that Yukio just never stops shooting and killing the hobgoblins in this entire scene and Rin is on fire and whacking a few with his bagged sword but not really doing anything about them at this point.

The talk culminates in this moment.

This is a shocking moment. It sounds very much like Yukio does blame Rin and possibly should blame Rin, and more than that, as Rin is drowning in guilt and grief he won't let himself confront over Shirou, Yukio aims his gun at Rin and calls him 'big brother.'

"You killed father Fujimoto!"

Yukio says that to Rin, and Rin gets mad that Yukio is pointing his gun at him (can't confront the grief and guilt yet and won't except in pieces at our most broken spots until much much later) and charges at Yukio shouting at him to shoot--

And Yukio--

Doesn't.

I am positive at this moment Yukio broke his script and was indeed supposed to shoot Rin. Whether or not he was meant to, he doesn't.

Rin destroys the hobgoblin behind Yukio that was gearing up to tear into his little brother, and turns to look back at Yukio.

"Don't insult me. I'd never fight my little brother." (I think there's a lot that could be said about Rin not fighting him but the demon being all gun ho for it but that's an entirely different discussion)

Rin declares that while looking like a demon. He has the sword drawn so the demonic features are entirely there. The fangs, the ears, the eyes, the flames, everything.

Yukio looks forward and down again (we learn Mephisto is still here, because of course he is. He's directing this scene.) Yukio asks how Shirou was at the end. (I hear: "Was he brave? Was he still our dad?" in that question. "Did he become something else? Did Satan win in the end?"

The answer is no. Satan destroyed his body, but Shirou won.)

This. This is such an important moment so oft glanced over. The amount of times both these boys long to be strong and hate themselves for being weak and see the strength in the other or completely miss it, the essays that could be written on that know no ends.

And Yukio?

He smiles, It's not much, and it's laced with a heavy kind of sadness, but it's there and it's relieved and accepting. He tells Rin a powerful truth, one Rin doesn't understand the weight of at all, and one we the readers also don't get at this point, but he tells Rin that he also became an Exorcist to be strong.

They both take a moment to notice that the schoolroom is just wrecked to hell. The hobgoblins did a number and Rin's flames finished that number.

Yukio is warning Rin. Rin never thinks things through. He is an impulsive puppy who gets himself in situations and keeps charging forward, trampling things in an attempt to solve them again. He speaks without ever thinking and he acts with his emotions, which are why his flames are so often out of control. Yukio is warning him about all of that and that the harsh words he spoke will follow Rin from everyone if he pursues this path.

"Think it through," he's saying, "be sure."

Rin says bring it on and grins and calls Yukio teach and it's a cute moment.

THEN WE GET TO THE MOST IMPORTANT SCENE THAT THE ANIME CUT OUT

And why they did it I don't know and it makes me want to scream because it has made so many people miss so much about Yukio and Mephisto and the manipulative bastard Mephisto is. (That is said fondly and exasperatedly. I'd punch the hell out of Mephisto if I knew him in real life and I thoroughly enjoy reading about the bastard.)

This was a test. Mephisto is putting both twins to the test. Yukio is to keep an eye on Rin and make sure he stays Rin. That he doesn't become a rampaging demon and doesn't turn into a second blue night. (We the readers don't actually know what Satan did that was so terrible outside of, you know, killing Shirou and trying to take Rin to Gehenna but we'll find out more and more and more as the manga goes. Yukio already knows and has since he was at least seven. He has slept in the same room as Rin and known his twin was temporarily sealed in Kurikara and that if the seal broke, Rin could become an utter monster.

No one knew what Rin would be when the seal was broken and he had his heart again. They knew at the very least that the Vatican would want him dead, and that if he wasn't a feral monster, they'd have to hide him.

(And I for one would not want that responsibility. I love Rin and think he's a great character but he cannot listen to orders and has no sense of danger and consequences and the thought of trying to keep those flames and his mouth contained would make me crumble under anxiety and dread.)

Anyway, Yukio and Mephisto have very clearly been in talks and we'll see a few chapters later during a certain reaper attack that Mephisto has given Yukio orders about protecting Rin and being ready to take Rin out if he's at risk.

Yukio remembers as he's talking to Mephisto, and we see the moment the little seven year old started his training, and he's so small it hurts.

Also woah on the lore drop. What do you mean, Shirou? WHAT DO YOU KNOW?????

Anywho, Yukio is told he could protect Rin, and of course the boy who has always been bullied and frightened by things that aren't just humans would jump at the chance to protect his fearless big brother.

And thus, Yukio's fate is sealed and Mephisto moves a piece forward on the board.

The chapter ends with Rin going to his new dorm room in the old and abandoned dorm, and Yukio is there too. Their now roommates.

Before this moment, Yukio had a room in the nice dorm with his fellow students. He was actually Ryuuji's roommate, or he was going to be. Before he became a full time teacher on top of a full time exorcist and the top student. Now he is all of that and a full time babysitter directly responsible for protecting Rin, which essentially means not letting Rin's secret get out.

Now most people who watch or read this chapter take the argument at face value and leave it with a deep rooted feeling that Yukio was cruel and unfair. I'd remind those readers that Yukio came home to Shirou very very dead and Rin very very demon, and that Mephisto separated them and told Yukio to take a teaching position his very newly dead dad was meant to have. That Yukio had moved out to his own space apart from Rin for the first time in his life the day of his father's death, and the day he was supposed to start forging his new identity not revolving around Rin, his identity and life became even more tied to Rin.

Yukio is a character who has never gotten a life to live that was his own and free and has always been seen by those around him (and himself) as weak. He despises that and fears himself to still be the small crying boy who was terrified of the dark and needed his brother to protect him. From the very get go Kato lets us know that Yukio is smart and he is the one with all the responsibilities, and he is in direct conversations with Mephisto. He is placed in a position of authority over Rin, but Rin is not told this and will never accept Yukio being in a position of authority over him. That on the first day of his high school life, he agrees to take on the role Shirou had in both teaching and guarding Rin.

He threatens his brother but does not shoot him. He calls him a demon and brother. He accuses him of killing their father and asks what their father was like at the end. He tells his brother that 'just die' will follow him wherever he goes but calls them the same at the same time. He tells Rin to get control of his flames and then treats him like the rest of the students.

He tells a lot of half truths, but shares a vital one in trusting Rin to know that Yukio too thought himself weak. (Still thinks himself weak.)

Yukio is not one thing. He is a multitude of complex things and at this point, the reader is only just starting their journey with him, and there are far more dramatic and horrifying things awaiting him.

But that's the next part. For now, I ask that you take a second look at chapters you think are familiar, and for the love of critical reading, ask yourself what the other characters who are not Rin know and are thinking. The story is so much richer when you look at them all.

To keep seeing my updates on this and my other aoex analysis/thoughts, check out my #raven ramble tag

#ao no exorcist #blue exorcist #yukio okumura #rin okumura #okumura twins #raven ramble #raven rant #yukio okumura analysis #okumura yukio #i really don't care if you dislike him #but for godssake can we please be accurate in our discourse

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