#A bit of a rant but not really

[ohmygillygoshoppler]

I gotta see some Secret Saturdays content from you because I haven't even though about that show until I read your bio there. I used to looooove that show, I was obsessed with cryptids and paranormal pseudoscience and all that fun stuff, and when the Secret Saturdays first aired I was so pumped! Please tell me you have something to say about that showw? Do you miss it? Did you make and killer OCs for it like you do everything?!

I loved this show sooooooooooo much, it made me look stupid. I think it was like 2008 when the show started and I had never heard of a cryptid until I watched that show. The whole Science Family protecting monster creature dudes and even adopting them screams found family, you know I'm drawn to that like a moth to a flame. Plus, I loved how Zak and Fisk we just sweet little dudes that were brothers and got into trouble, like I loved them, They're my fave character out of the whole cast. Komodo and Zon are cool, don't get me wrong, but my boys are my boys, I'm sorry, I don't make the rule. (I totally make the rules)

But I will not let y'all catch me slippin on Doc and Drew, the were couples goals. They're still couples goals. I love how they have their little disagreements and their banter and witty flirting and still be badass like crimefighters??? Because shiiiit, they're like canonically badass, like black belts and ray guns and hand-to-hand combat, hello??? I loved that. AND THEY SPAR TOGETHER?!?! BABE, SAY LESS. (also Doc is so fine, I know, Gilly has a type, boo boo booooo-)

I realy liked when they interduce Doyle, too. Like woah, wtf okay, Zak's Mom Trauma Hour, she lost her parents in the Himalayas and then was separated from her baby brother in a blizzard- wooooooah, didn't expect that but it made me feel so hard for Drew. He ultimately became such a cool and sweet Uncle to Zak through, so everything worked out in the end.

And Argost. My man V.V. Argost was such a campy villian, I adored him. His theatrical vibes, his hamminess, his autistic ass stance. And his gay little spiderman henchman, too. Yeah he might have tried to groom a child (yeeesh) but he was funny as shit about it, and he ended up being a yeti???!?! Okay, jumpscare, but that was dope! I loved it!

I don't know why they had to kill off Van Rook though, but his voice was super annoying, so I'm glad he died. :)

I would love to see a reeboot or spinoff or something, like I wanna write a fic about Zak growing out of his old friend group and slowly wedging himself into a new one over Visit of the Week fics. Maybe go into some stuff regarding Zak's relationship with his family, how the family copes with him not being around as often, new school, new life, no cryptid powers, maybe new differnet powers. Fuck it, I'll throw in a warewolf if it makes things interesting. I just really like these characters and this universe, and It'd be cool to see it expand and change.

Also Ben 10 and the Secret Saturdays canonically share the same universe, and I never even knew there was a crossover episode.

[pianokantzart]

"He's afraid of everything. He's a little awkward, every so often he gets a little aggressive... he's very complicated."

Hearing Matthew Fogel describe Luigi like that, plus some of the expressions in the concept art, has me hoping that at some point (in a very reasonable set of situations) Luigi's going to snap Charlie Kelley style.

[crowleys-hips]

nghhh ok so. imagine you and your bestie have this cool idea and you make up a story together for shits and giggles, and then it goes viral and becomes super popular. then, because life is a bitch, your bestie gets sick and before they die they tell you "hey you know that story we did? it's be super cool if you could write the ending, i wanna see that happen" and then they die. so you're left with this and so ofc you go and start writing the rest of the story, but now more people are invested. and they didn't like the middle part you wrote and are threatening to drop a grand piano on your head if you don't give them what they want and you're like ??? "this isn't for you, this is for my friend." but they keep shouting at you and demanding stuff from you anyway.

yea. that? don't do that. it's fine to have emotional reactions to stories and characters you're passionate about, but if you don't like something, you're free to make your own stuff. the story isn't for you. we get to enjoy it too, and that's awesome, but this isn't about you.

i really wouldn't ever wish for anyone to know the kind of pain that losing a best friend feels like, it's world shattering. but if you've ever lost anyone close, you'd probably understand. but even if you haven't, it's no excuse to act so entitled to something that's not yours.

please for the love of Somebody, learn some respect.

[featheredadora]

[shima-draws]

Episode 825 did you mean the episode where Luffy kissed Sanji ever so tenderly in the rain and told him he loved him

[quijotine]

friends i am deep in the dandadan brainrot and it just occurred to me (i have not read the manga yet so idk but ok):

so. Okarun doesn't actually know why Momo calls him Okarun, right?

And I was thinking about this whole thing about the names. How the names they choose to call each other is the reflection of how much they accept the love they have for each other, which is all nice and cute but.

What if Okarun thinks the reason Momo doesn't call him Ken/Ken Takakura is that she thinks it's SO INCREDIBLY EMBARASSING that he is named after an old famous actor?

and it would be so true to form that they hold onto this misconception and that they get confused by it once they get to talk about the love confession (yes THAT love confession)

like imagine Momo grills him for never calling her by her name and Okarun argues back like "well you're no one to talk! MISS AYASE. you're so embarrassed of my name being the same as some dumb actor that you had to give me a nickname!"

"come again??? :D ..."

"You're embarrassed that my name is like that one actor Ken Takakura! >:( why else would you never want me to say my name! >:'((("

and then momo is stuck with the mortifying ordeal of explaining that she has this HUGE crush on beloved 20th century actor ken takakura like "nonono you got it all wrong okar—sorry hnnggg k e n. i. had a crush. on ken takakura :l "

"????? I'm Ken Takakura."

"i know :l so is Ken Takakura."

"so. you. you have a crush. on Ken Takakura. the actor. You couldn’t say my name because you had the hots for Ken Takakura."

"I do. I do have the hots for Ken Takakura."

"the actor."

"no. The real one."

"so the actor? "

"no :l Ken Takakura. the other one"

"ah. I see, the other one."

WAIT. DBDHWSHDBDBDB I'M THE OTHER ONE?!?!!?!?!?!!!@@!!!!!!!

and once okarun's brain restarts and momo asks him why he'd never call her by her name either, he just goes like "i have a crush on momo ayase. 💀 i am an awkward fellow after all 💀"

[madbard]

There’s something to be said about how Stanley Pines was treated his entire life as a lesser echo of his brother.

Stan was the failure. He had no value. He was never told he could thrive on his own, so he never tried. He balanced the weight of his dreams on remaining at Ford’s side, and when Ford revealed he had other plans, he spiraled. He lost his home, tried desperately to make a name for himself while spinning from identity to identity, losing more and more of himself as time went on. After years of running, his brother finally reached out to him again and Stan grabbed onto that lifeline, only to realize Ford didn’t want him to stay. Ford wanted Stan to do something for him. That was all.

Stan would never be anything without Ford. He would never be anything more than Ford. He took his brother’s identity while sacrificing decades of his life, but it wasn’t much of a life anyway, so what was there to lose?

Ford returned, and didn’t even thank him.

Stan had done all of that for nothing. His brother looked him in the eye and (from Stan’s perspective) decided he deserved nothing.

Stanley Pines deserved nothing because Stanley Pines was nothing.

And yet, at the end of everything, when everything else was lost, the world was saved.

Not because Stan pretended to be Ford, fulfilling his role as echo and shadow and double.

No.

Because, in that moment, Bill made a deal with Stanley Pines. The conman, the grunkle, the failure. The defender.

Stanley Pines, who would always protect his family, even if it meant sacrificing himself.

Stanley Pines, who was so very valuable, after all.

[j-k-writes]

The Bronze Targaryen - 5

Summary - Two and a half moons after (Y/N)'s arrival in Kingslanding he must grapple with his new title as a dragonlord, wedding festivites, his grandsire's sudden illness, and his relationship with his father. The prince tries to balance all of this as the royal wedding looms over him.

Warnings - minor injuries, general HOTD warnings, drinking, canon character death, consummation scene (its minor and a fade to black)

I have decided to mold the lore to my own desires because there is almost next to nothing on House Royce during this time period. Also was going to break this into two parts because its so long but wanted all the wedding festvites to take place during one chapter.

(Y/N) winced as the maester prodded at his nose, the maester made humming noises as he examined the prince’s injuries. He applied a few plaster’s to (Y/N)’s nose, before wrapping it in soaked wool. 

“His nose shall heal fine, my prince.” 

Daemon nodded, “Thank you, you may go.” 

The maester bowed to the two princes, gathering his supplies and leaving (Y/N) alone with his father. Daemon watched as the man left the room, and waited until the doors were shut before turning on his son. He crossed his arms leaning back against a chair, and (Y/N) braced himself for a lecture. 

“How are you feeling?” 

(Y/N) blinked, “What?” 

Daemon pushed himself off the chair, making his way over toward (Y/N). He slowly reache

d his hand out, gently tracing the scratches and bruises on (Y/N)’s face, and (Y/N) was too shocked at his father’s actions to react. “Are you in pain?” 

“I’m fine,” (Y/N) said, looking up at his father. “I’ve had worse.” 

Daemon frowned, and (Y/N) wondered how much his mother had told him of his childhood mishaps. “What were you doing so far off Rosby Road?” 

(Y/N) flushed, “I- uh, snuck out.” 

“You snuck out?” His father’s face lit up, and he took a step back laughing and shaking his head. “How did your uncle react?” 

“Well he doubled my guard for one.” (Y/N) said, remembering his Uncle’s fury when (Y/N) showed up the next morning, face covered in blood and dirt. He had some choice words for the young heir, and (Y/N) was confident Daemon had heard his brother’s opinion on the matter as soon as he stepped foot into the keep. “But he was more interested in the dragon than my misbehavior.” 

“Ah,” Daemon smirked. “Yes, it must have been quite a shock.” 

(Y/N) rolled his eyes at his father, “I know you did something.” 

“What did I do, (Y/N)?” Daemon asked, raising an eyebrow at his son. “I did not drag Vermithor to you, or you to him for that matter. Vermithor made his choice.” 

“And it’s just a coincidence that as soon as you leave for Dragonstone, Vermithor leaves and seeks me out randomly.” 

“Perhaps it was fate.” Daemon shrugged. 

“You don’t expect me to believe that.” 

Daemon approached (Y/N), placed his hands on his shoulders. “It does not matter what you believe, all that matters are the facts. And the facts are that you have claimed Vermithor, you should be proud.” 

“I did not wish to claim a dragon, I never have.” (Y/N) said, and his father’s face hardened. 

“You are my son.” Daemon said, and (Y/N) hissed as his grip on his shoulder tightened. “You are a dragon, you cannot escape that.” 

His father’s face softened at (Y/N)’s expression. He released the boy, and seemed to hesitate before smoothing his hair back out of his face, “You should rest, you have had quite the number of shocks these past few days.” 

(Y/N) watched as father turned on his heel, and exited the chambers gently shutting the doors behind him.

“Lykirī.” (Y/N) smiled, as Vermithor pushed his snout into his chest. He pet the dragon with a gloved hand, laughing as the dragon continued to push him. “You must relax if you wish to fly.” 

(Y/N) had spent almost a week avoiding Vermithor after the dragon chased him down in the woods. Hoping that if he ignored him long enough the dragon would take the hint and leave, but eventually the Dragonkeepers sought him out, telling him that Vermithor had been untamable since he’d arrived in the Dragonpit. So (Y/N) resigned himself to the life of a dragonrider. He’d spent every day since then with the dragon, slowly but surely adjusting to his presence, and Vermithor had calmed drastically with (Y/N)’s visits. 

(Y/N) had taken to flying easily, much to his father’s delight and, as much as he hid it, his own. Although he had felt sick at the idea of claiming a dragon at first, he had come to find pride in the quick developments in his relationship with Vermithor. 

Rhaenyra too found delight in her betrothed’s new life. 

Anytime (Y/N) was free Rhaenyra was dragging him to the dragonpit, insisting Vermithor and Syrax go flying together. Viserys, at first happy to have another dragon in the family, soon grew inpatient with the two teens. Irritated at their constant absence from court, but (Y/N) paid him little mind. (Y/N) had no real place in his court, and he had not yet raised Rhaenyra, his heir, from the role of cupbearer. 

(Y/N) saddled Vermithor, leaning down to whisper to the dragon, “Sōvēs” 

The wind was cool against his face, blowing the strands of hair that had escaped his bun around in his face. (Y/N) had been wishing for clean and open air since he’d arrived in Kingslanding, this just isn’t how he expected to find it. Vermithor rumbled under him, and he laughed, leaning down so that he could rub the dragon’s neck. 

“I know,” (Y/N) spoke, almost shouting to be heard against the wind. “I am sorry I was late.” 

He’d been stuck in court all day, listening to his father and uncle bicker over details of the upcoming royal wedding. His uncle, ever the peacekeeper, had wanted Rhaenyra and (Y/N) to be married in the faith of the seven, as he was to Aemma and later Alicent, his father had other ideas however. 

“I do not worship the New Gods, uncle.” (Y/N) pointed out. 

“It is the tradition of the royal family.” The Grand Maester spoke up, as the other lords of the chamber had gone silent as soon as the tensions started to rise, seemingly fearful of angering any member of the royal family. Not that (Y/N) could blame them, he’d heard stories of his father’s infamous fits of anger. 

“(Y/N) follows the Old Gods like his mother,” His father looked pained to speak the words, but (Y/N) gave him an appreciative nod all the same. “And I have not known Rhaenyra to spend her days in the sept. We are Targaryens, they should marry in the tradition of Old Valyria.” 

“The faith-” 

“Fuck the faith.” Daemon spat. “I will not ask my son to forsake his gods so that some fat septon is comfortable, and we cannot bring a weirwood here so this is the only equitable compromise I see.” 

His uncle and the members of his council had grumbled at the idea, but eventually they conceded knowing this was an argument they could not win without insulting someone. His uncle dismissed them all, brows pinched in frustration. (Y/N) had caught his father’s arm on the way out, stopping him from walking away. 

“Thank you.” He did not meet his father’s eyes. “I know faith is not important to you, but it is to me so- just- thank you.” 

His father gently cupped his cheek, bringing (Y/N)’s eyes up to meet his. His father smiled at him, “You do not have to thank me. It is no secret that I hold no love for your mother’s house, but you do, and you are my blood. I will always defend you.” 

His father’s words still hung over his head by the time (Y/N) and Vermithor had returned to the Dragonpit. 

Rhaenyra was waiting for him as he dismounted, accompanied by a slew of Kingsguard and a royal carriage. The Kingsguard watched Vermithor warily as he grumbled, huffing as though he could sense (Y/N)’s apprehension at the sight laid out before him. 

 “Lykirī.” (Y/N) whispered, urging the bronze beast to return to the Dragonpit. Vermithor huffed one last time at the men, causing (Y/N) to chuckle, before returning. (Y/N) walked over to Rhaenyra, untying his hair and letting it tumble down to his shoulders. “That is quite the party, Nyra.” 

She sighed, “Our presence is required at the keep. We must be readied to greet the lords arriving at the court.” 

A Kingsguard opened the door of the carriage, and (Y/N) offered his hand for Rhaenyra to take. She took his hand, using it as leverage to step into the carriage and (Y/N) followed suit, taking the seat across from her. 

“What troubles you?” 

Rhaenyra blinked at (Y/N), “I am not troubled.” 

“Rhaenyra,” (Y/N) said, smiling slightly, “I can tell something is troubling you. Is it tonight?” 

“No,” She shook her head, leaning forward and placing her hand on (Y/N)’s knee. “No, it’s not tonight, it is this morning. My father is still blind to the schemes of some of those present in his court, they seek to undermine our family in favor of the Hightower children.” 

“Your father will not claim Aegon over you. You are his heir, you will be Queen and no scheming lord can change that.” 

Rhaenyra smiled, squeezing his knee slightly before releasing him and sitting back. (Y/N) turned to look out of the carriage, leaning back into the cushions and closing his eyes. He heard Rhaenyra chuckle softly, before the exhaustion of the day overtook him and he slipped away to sleep.

“You seem nervous.” (Y/N) turned, coming face to face with his cousin. He gave his best attempt at a smile, he fiddled with the collar of his shirt, and Gerold stepped forward. He adjusted the leather jerkin, allowing (Y/N) to breathe easier. “It is odd to see you in such formal attire.” 

(Y/N) laughed, “At least they don’t have dragons on them.” 

“No? I have heard a rumor that you’ve become quite the dragonlord in your absence.” 

(Y/N) reddened, ducking his head slightly, “It was an accident.” 

His cousin laughed, patting him on the shoulder, “There is no need to be nervous, cousin.” 

His cousin smiled at him one last time before joining his other cousin in the precession line. (Y/N) frowned at the sight of Gunthor, he’d been informed when his family and their court had arrived that his grandsire had fallen ill not long after (Y/N) departed, and in his heirs absence his cousin Gunthor, second in line, had taken his place as regent. His grandsire had been too ill to make the journey to Kingslanding, sending (Y/N) his well wishes and Gunthor in his place. 

A sudden hand on his shoulder startled him out of his thoughts. He turned his head to catch his father smiling, he squeezed his shoulder. “The tailors did well, you look like a prince.” 

“I am a prince.” (Y/N) said, and his father’s smile widened. 

“Yes, you are. Remember that, as there are those that would hope you forget.” His father nodded in the direction of Gunthor, and (Y/N)’s expression soured. 

“I do not trust him, I cannot say why but-” (Y/N) frowned, staring at his cousin’s interactions with the Valemen around him. “He did not write to me to tell me of my grandsire’s illness. I am the heir, I should be regent, not him, and yet in my absence he swooped in.” 

His father nodded, “Good. You must recognize the snakes before they strike.” 

His father stepped in front of him, blocking his view of the Valemen. “I am aware that we do not have the best relationship-” 

(Y/N) snorted, and Daemon laughed rolling his eyes. “Yes I know, but you are my son, my blood. And I would like to be not just your sire, but your father as well. I was not there in your youth, let me be there now.” 

(Y/N) frowned, hesitating. He swallowed before finally speaking, “May we speak of this after the feast?” 

“Of course,” His father lightly touched his cheek, “Come we should join the others.” 

He and his father took their places at the front of the party, Gunthor to (Y/N)’s left and Daemon to his right. (Y/N) took a deep breath as the doors opened, keeping his gaze on the two banners bearing the sigils of House Targaryen and House Royce hung in the back of the Great Hall as his family entered. 

“Ser Gunthor of House Royce. Acting Lord of Runestone, Keeper of the Gates of the Moon. And Prince Daemon Targaryen. And his son and heir to Runestone Prince (Y/N) Targaryen the future King Consort.” 

The guests of the hall stood, clapping as they walked down to the high table. The amount of eyes on him made (Y/N) uneasy, but he kept his head high, posture exuding the confidence expected of one of his station. (Y/N) made eye contact with Rhaenyra at the end of the hall who offered him a comforting smile, he nodded to her. 

They paused at the beginning of the steps, bowing to the King, before Rhaenyra stepped around the table making her way toward the crowd. (Y/N) stepped forward, meeting her halfway, he took her hand as his father had instructed him when going over the etiquette required of him at the feast. 

“You must act every bit the king you will one day be, no matter how unused to these events you may be.” His father had told him. (Y/N) scoffed at the advice, he was raised to be the Lord of Runestone, he knew how to act at a feast. 

As (Y/N) pressed a chaste kiss to Rhaenyra’s hand, and claps echoed around the hall, he cursed himself for not taking his father’s advice seriously. He had never known a feast quite like this, hosting the most important lords of the whole of Westeros. Lords he’d never met before like the Lannisters, Hightowers, and Velaryons. He took his place by Rhaenyra’s side at the table, his father and cousin taking the seats by his left. 

He let out a breath as he sat down, scanning the crowd as his uncle started to speak. Rhaenyra grabbed his hand under the table, squeezing it in reassurance, it was only then that he allowed himself to relax, if only slightly. 

"Be welcome,” His uncle smiled out at the crowd, “As we join together in celebration. Tonight is only its beginning. We honor one of Westeros' oldest houses, and a fierce ally to the crown, House Royce. Just as House Targaryen reaches back to the blood of Old Valyria, House Royce reaches back to the blood of the first men. With House Targaryen and H-"

Viserys paused, and everyone averted their gaze to where his lingered. (Y/N) tensed once more as Queen Alicent Hightower made her entrance into the hall. The color of her dress a clear statement to anyone who knew any of the histories. Reluctantly (Y/N) made his way to his feet with the rest of the guests, he shot an amused glance to his side where his father still sat, eyes narrowed at the young queen. 

Alicent addressed Rhaenyra, “Congratulations, step-daughter. What a blessing this is for you.” 

Rhaenyra gave no indication of thanks, and Alicent kissed Viserys on the cheek before taking her seat beside him. 

He’d not yet had any real interactions with the young queen, only knowing things told to him by Rhaenyra and Daemon. He had taken them with a grain of salt, wanting to make his own judgment of the girl, but with the blatant display she’d just shown to the lord’s of Westeros, (Y/N) decided that maybe Rhaenyra and Daemon had been right in their worries. Perhaps the Hightowers did have their own intentions with the crown. 

“Please be seated.” 

(Y/N) traced the rim of his empty goblet as his uncle stood silently, only picking his eyes up from the table when he started to speak. 

"With House Targaryen and House Royce united, once again, I hope to herald in a second Age of Dawn and Dragons in Westeros.” Viserys spoke, and the hall erupted into applause.

“And after tonight’s small affair,” Laughter sounded through the halls, and (Y/N) had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. “Seven days of tournament and feasting! And at the end of it all, a royal wedding. Between my daughter, my heir, your future queen. And Prince (Y/N) Targaryen, heir to Runestone.” 

As Viserys sat, and everyone else followed suit, Rhaenyra and (Y/N) rose from theirs. They approached the middle of the aisle, and began their dance. (Y/N) had never been much of a dancer, and suffered through the lessons given to both he and Rhaenyra. 

“I feel like a fool.” (Y/N) whispered as Rhaenyra and he side stepped each other. 

“You are doing wonderfully.” Rhaenyra whispered back, taking her place back to back with him. “Ignore everyone, pretend it is just you and me.” 

When they finished, bowing to one another the halls once again erupted in applause. (Y/N) took Rhaenyra’s hands in his, kissing them softly as she gave him a knowing smile. As the rest of the courtiers took their places on the dance floor, (Y/N) tried to escape back to the high table, longing for a cup of wine. He was stopped before he could reach the table much to his dismay. 

“My Prince.” The lady, who (Y/N) did not recognize, blushed, bowing to him. “May I have this dance?” 

(Y/N) gaped at her, before remembering who and where he was. “Yes, yes of course Lady-” 

“Reyne.” 

“Lady Reyne. (Y/N) smiled, mourning his cup of wine. He gestured toward the lords and lady’s dancing, “Lead the way.” 

He had to dance with five young ladies before he finally found his escape. He flopped, very unprince-like into his seat, immediately grabbing the cup of wine laid out in front of him. His father laughed, waving over a servant to refill the cup once (Y/N) had finished. 

“Not a fan of dancing?” Daemon smirked, “Or is it the ladies asking you to dance you are not fond of?” 

“Both.” (Y/N) spoke over the rim of his cup, “They only wish to dance with me because I am to marry Rhaenyra, if I were just the heir to Runestone they’d pay me little mind.” 

“I don’t know about that,” Daemon said, “You are a comely young man.” 

(Y/N) smirked, “Ladies don’t wish to dance with comely young men.” 

“Neither do lords.” His father raised his eyebrows, humor sparkling in his eyes. 

(Y/N) shrugged, smiling at his father’s tone, “You have been talking to Rhaenyra.” 

Daemon leaned close, patting his son on the leg, “I am just glad you two have made this match work for the both of you.” 

“We are not married yet, father.” (Y/N) reminded, “Things may yet just fall apart.” 

Before his father could speak, another lady made her way to the table. She bowed to both (Y/N) and Daemon. “Prince (Y/N), may I have this dance?” 

Daemon snickered, taking (Y/N)’s cup out of his hand. “Well go on, dance.” 

His father had disappeared from the table when (Y/N) had finished, and his cousins were wrapped up in conversation with a lord (Y/N) did not recognize. He made his way to the sidelines, stealing a full cup of wine, and pressing his back against the wall to avoid being spotted. 

He spied his father in the middle of the dancing, twirling Laena Velayron around, and (Y/N) frowned. His father’s wife, (Y/N)’s own mother, had died only three moons ago, and as far as (Y/N) knew Laena Velayron was engaged to some Brasvosi. 

“You would never know this feast was in your honor the way you frown.” 

(Y/N) turned to face the owner of the voice, smiling as Ser Harwin took a place next to him. “Ser Harwin.” 

“Are you not enjoying the feast, my prince?” Harwin smiled, leaning closer to the prince. 

“I am enjoying the wine, some of the company less so.” (Y/N) said, and Harwin laughed. 

“I understand the sentiment.” 

(Y/N) brought the cup up to his lips, smiling around its rim. Harwin grabbed an empty cup, flagging down a servant who filled both of their cups. (Y/N) watched as his father continued to dance with Laena, and Rhaenyra moved through the crowd, followed closely by Ser Laenor. 

Harwin raised his cup up, and (Y/N) followed suit, “To your marriage.” 

“My marriage.” (Y/N) and Harwin laughed as their cups met. 

(Y/N) spent the rest of the feast by Harwin’s side. Harwin had stopped drinking by his fourth cup, watching in amusement as the prince got drunker and drunker with each cup of wine. As the feast died down, and the lords and ladies took their leave, Harwin had found (Y/N) a seat, and was watching him ramble fondly. 

“I do not care for this court, Harwin.” (Y/N) sighed, leaning his head back. “It was simpler on Runestone, but here, here there are too many lords I do not know. I do not trust them.” 

Harwin laughed, patting the prince’s leg, “Perhaps a hall filled with those lords is not the place to have this conversation, my prince.” 

“(Y/N).” (Y/N) said, straightening. He looked Harwin in the eye, placing his hand on top of the knights. “Please call me (Y/N).” 

Harwin’s eyes softened, “Of course, (Y/N).” 

(Y/N) smiled at the knight, keeping his hand where it was before two twin coughs behind him startled him. (Y/N) jumped, spilling his cup of wine onto himself. Harwin laughed as (Y/N) turned to look at the people behind him. Daemon and Rhaenyra stood above him, both with twin amused smiles on their faces. They had never looked more related, (Y/N) mused. 

“Having fun?” Rhaenyra asked. 

“I was informed that this feast was for me, and that I should try to have some fun.” 

Daemon laughed at his son's words, grabbing his shoulders and pushing him up out of the seat. “I think it’s time you take your leave.” 

Harwin stood, grabbing (Y/N) to help Daemon keep the prince upright. Rhaenyra sighed, a smile still gracing her face. 

“I am glad you enjoyed yourself, (Y/N).” Rhaenyra said. “But perhaps next time you can entertain yourself with less wine.” 

(Y/N) stepped forward, stumbling slightly and both Harwin and Daemon’s eyes widened as he moved. Freeing himself from the men’s grasps, (Y/N) approached Rhaenyra pressing a kiss to her cheek. 

“I am sorry that I left you on your lonesome.” (Y/N) said, letting his hand rest on her arm. Rhaenyra smiled, at his words or his drunkenness (Y/N) could not tell. 

She pressed her palm to his cheek, “You are fine. I enjoyed myself plenty.” 

(Y/N) nodded. “Good, because this is for both of us. So we should both enjoy ourselves.” 

“(Y/N),” Rhaenyra laughed, shaking her head. “Let us get you to your chambers.” 

Daemon and Harwin grabbed one of his arms, ignoring (Y/N)’s protests that he could walk by himself. Rhaenyra followed the three men, laughing at (Y/N)’s attempts to break free from the two men, and his drunken rambles to all three of the people accompanying him. When they finally reached the room, with some incident much to Harwin and Daemon’s dismay and Rhaenyra’s delight, Daemon turned to Harwin. 

“I have him from here, Ser Harwin will you please make sure the princess makes it back to her room.” 

Harwin nodded, and Rhaenyra pressed a kiss to (Y/N)’s cheek. “I will see you tomorrow at the tourney.” 

“Goodnight, (Y/N), Prince Daemon.” 

(Y/N) and Daemon bid the both of them goodnight, before the guards at (Y/N)’s door open the doors to his chamber and Daemon practically dragged his son into the room. Daemon instructe (Y/N) to lift his arms, and when he did he undid the jerkin and brought the tunic over his head, tossing it to the side. 

“Undo your boots.” 

(Y/N) complied, and when he was done Daemon led him toward the bed. When (Y/N) was seated on the bed, Daemon turned to leave, but (Y/N) grabbed his arm and stopped him in his tracks. “We have not had our conversation.” 

Daemon smiled, “Rest, we will have it tomorrow I promise.” 

(Y/N) nodded, “Alright.” 

Daemon pressed him down into the bed slowly, pushing the blankets back so that (Y/N) could get underneath them. He brushed (Y/N)’s sweaty hair out of his face, smoothing it down not unlike his mother used to do when he was ill. (Y/N) leaned into the touch, and Daemon smiled. 

“Sleep.” 

(Y/N) closed his eyes, slipping quickly into rest. But not before he felt the ghost of lips pressed against his forehead.

(Y/N) hated himself the next morning. 

He closed his eyes as he bathed, letting the warm water alleviate some of his migraine. He dressed slowly, groaning as a loud knock sounded throughout the room. 

“Come in.” 

Daemon strolled into the room, taking a look at his son’s appearance before chuckling. “How are you feeling?” (Y/N) just glared at him, causing Daemon to laugh again. He held his hands up in mock surrender. “Sorry.” 

Daemon placed a small vile in front of him, and (Y/N) raised an eyebrow. 

“It’s watered down dreamwine,” Daemon said, “For your head.” 

“Oh,” (Y/N) took the vial, opened it and sniffed it a bit before downing it. “Thank you.” 

Daemon nodded, turning to leave. 

“Are you not here to continue our conversation?” (Y/N) called out, and Daemon turned back to face him. 

“I just wanted to see if you were well.” 

“I am.” (Y/N) smiled, “I just have a headache, I will live.” 

Daemon nodded, taking a seat across from (Y/N). He looked nervous at the thought of continuing their conversation from before the feast, it endeared (Y/N) to see his father’s usual tough exterior come crumbling down at the idea of a conversation. 

Giving his father some respite, (Y/N) changed the topic of conversation, “I saw you dancing with Laena Velayron last night. Is she not already betrothed?” 

“A man cannot dance with a lady?” Daemon asked, although his expression gave him away. 

“Not when that man is you, father.” (Y/N) said. “Do you wish to get remarried? You have no real need for any more heirs.” 

Daemon shrugged, “Perhaps I wish for company.” 

“You are lonely?” (Y/N) almost laughed at the thought. He could not imagine the so-called Lord of Flea Bottom wanting for the comforts of a lady. 

“Well my only son prefers to spend his time at Runestone pretending I don’t exist.” 

(Y/N)’s mood soured, and he frowned. He turned away from his father, crossing his arms like he wasn’t a man of seven and ten and instead a boy of nine. “You did not give me a choice. I was just saving myself from the pain I would feel when you inevitably wouldn’t arrive.” 

“I know.” Daemon ran his hand down his face. “I did not mean that I apologize.” 

“You know you have missed my last ten name days.” (Y/N) whispered. 

“I know.” Daemon said. “I sent you presents but I know that does not make up for my absence.” 

“I never received any gifts.” 

Daemon looked up in confusion, his expression contorted before he let out a bitter laugh. “No, of course you didn’t. Your mother probably never gave them to you. She never held any love for me.” 

“I remember you did not hold much for her either.” (Y/N) spat. “She told me that you fled Runestone the night after I was born, and did not return until my first name day only to flee that night as well.” 

“I was a boy, no older than you are now.” 

“That is no excuse!” 

“No it’s not and I have regretted my decisions every day! I was scared, (Y/N)!” Daemon stood. “When I found out your mother was pregnant I was terrified. We held no love toward each other, and I feared that our hatred toward each other would impact you. I was an idiot boy so I fled. Then you were born, and I was still just this boy, and you were so pure and I could not corrupt that with my hatred so I feld again. I fled again and again, because I was scared I could not be a good father to you, as I could not be a good husband to your mother and she could not be a good wife to me. When I finally realized what an imbecile I had been it was too late, you had no idea who I was.” 

(Y/N) remembered the day of his fourth name day vaguely. 

“(Y/N),” His mother gestured to a skinny man with pale hair and eyes like (Y/N). “Your father is here to see you.” 

The man approached him, and (Y/N) stepped back, placing his mother between him and this stranger. The man’s face fell, and he stumbled back. 

“Perhaps it would be best if I left.” 

“Daemon-” 

“It’s fine.” The man handed a wrapped package to his mother. “Give this to him.”

"You're running? Again?"

"Look at him Rhea-"

"No, run. Like you always do."

The man opened his mouth to speak, but he seemed to think better of it. He turned on his heel and left, and (Y/N)'s mother scoffed.

He had seen his father only a few times after that day, and their meetings had always been brief and curt. His mother had certainly not helped (Y/N)’s view of his father, only ever nodding and staying silent when (Y/N) would complain. He had once asked her why Daemon did not stay for more than a night, and his mother had replied that his father hated the Vale and many of those who resided there. It had crushed (Y/N) to hear, but after learning of the gifts his father had sent that he had not received he could only wonder how much of his own hatred for his father was just what he learned to feel from his mother. 

“I am sorry for my absence.” Daemon said. “I can never make up those lost years, and I know my youth and stubbornness is no excuse but-” 

His father took a deep breath, “(Y/N), I wish- if you would allow, for us to start again. I know I cannot ask you to forget the years I was not there for you, but allow me to start again.” 

“I understand.” (Y/N) said, “I cannot forgive-” 

“-I wouldn’t ask you to-” 

“-but I understand. I understand more than I did at the very least.” (Y/N) said, and the tension in his father’s shoulders eased. (Y/N) smiled, it was probably a bit pained, (Y/N)’s head throbbing even more with the revelations of the morning. “We can try to start again. I make no promises, but we can try.” 

His father smiled, a genuine smile that (Y/N) had never seen across his father’s face before. “Thank you.”

“You are not participating, (Y/N)?” 

(Y/N) looked at the queen from where he was seated next to Rhaenyra, shaking his head politely. “I am not a knight, Queen Alicent.” 

Alicent looked him up and down, the motion making him squirm a bit. She did not respond but she nodded, turning her gaze back to the tourney fields. 

His father was not participating in the tourney either, instead taking a seat in the stands. Ser Harwin was participating though, much to Rhaenyra’s delight. (Y/N) did not find much delight in tourney’s, bloodshed was not a game to be played. 

In all honesty, (Y/N) was bored watching the tourney. Ser Criston had won, wearing Alicent’s favor which (Y/N) could tell irritated Rhaenyra. By the time the melee rolled around the next day (Y/N) was dreading spending the hot day in the stands of the tourney grounds. 

“May I have your favor, princess.” 

Rhaenyra laughed, giving Harwin a small piece of cloth. He tucked it into his armor, turning to (Y/N) who smiled. 

“I don’t have a favor,” (Y/N) said, and Harwin smiled, cheeks reddening slightly. “But I wish you luck.” 

“Thank you, (Y/N).” 

Their luck and favors did Harwin no favors in the melee. Rhaenyra had shrieked when Cristion’s morningstar made contact with Harwin’s collarbone, shattering it and his elbow. But the worst injury of the day had been to Ser Joffrey, and (Y/N) could not get Laenor’s cries out of his mind even as he fell asleep that night. 

There were no more tourney’s after that as a solemn mood had fallen over the royal court. Ser Harwin would live (Y/N) and Rhaenyra discovered, but Ser Joffrey was not likely to. And as it happened six days later, Joffrey passed, and Ser Laenor was inconsolable. Rhaenyra and (Y/N) both tried, even if (Y/N) was not as close with his cousin as Rhaenyra was, but in the end the knight took his leave back to Driftmark before the wedding even happened. 

(Y/N) spent the night before the wedding with his father. His father told him the story of his wedding with (Y/N)’s mother, describing how (Y/N)’s grandfather, Baelon, had to drag Daemon to Runestone. 

“If it is any comfort,” (Y/N) mused. “You had to drag me to Kingslanding.” 

Daemon laughed, “I did. But you will have a much happier marriage than your mother and I.” 

(Y/N) lifted his cup, “One can hope.” 

The wedding itself snuck up on (Y/N), the events of the week leading up to it not allowing him to worry about the ceremony. It was only now that he was dressed in red and gold Valyrian robes, standing atop Rhaenys’ hill, surrounded by the lords and ladies of Westeros, that the nerves started to reach him. 

He could hear the distant roars of the dragon’s in the dragon pit as the priest spoke. (Y/N) lifted the dragonglass blade, handed to him by the priest. He made quick eye contact with his father, who only nodded, before slicing Rhaenyra’s bottom lip. He gathered the blood from the cut, dragging his thumb down her forehead. Rhaenyra took her own blade, repeating the action on (Y/N) before slicing her palm.(Y/N) dragged the blade against his palm, taking Rhaenyra’s hand in his. They joined their blood as the priest spoke. 

(Y/N) took the cup handed to him, drinking from it, before handing it to Rhaenyra who did the same. The priest finished his rites, and (Y/N) cupped Rhaenyra’s cheek, he could taste the blood as he brought her lips to meet his. (Y/N) rested his forehead against Rhaenyra’s as cheers were sounded around them. When they pulled away and faced the crowd, he could see his father and uncle smiling. 

Their hands were wrapped by the priest, covering the open wounds, and they descended down the hill. Rhaenyra did not let go of his hand as they went, smiling at him as he helped her into the carriage waiting for them. “Thank you, valzȳrys.”

Both he and Rhaenyra were dressed in their small clothes separately. He’d been offered food and wine before he was brought over to Rhaenyra’s chambers, but he turned them down. He did not wish to spend his wedding night addled by wine. 

Viserys had insisted on a bedding ceremony, and Daemon had no qualms with the idea. But both (Y/N) and Rhaenyra protested. The meeting had ended unsuccessfully, but (Y/N) suspected Rhaenyra had private words with her father, as by the next meeting the topic had been dropped completely and it was agreed there would be no such ceremony. 

The doors to Rhaenyra’s chambers were opened by the guards, and (Y/N) stepped into the room. Rhaenyra was sitting by the vanity, brushing her hair in a velvet dress that hung loosely from her body. (Y/N) felt like a hedge knight in his plain cloth clothing. 

She smiled at him, placing the brush down on the vanity. She glided across the room, coming to stand in front of him. “Valzȳrys.” 

“Ābrazȳrys” 

Rhaenyra gently grasped the laces of his tunic, undoing them slowly. She kept eye contact with (Y/N) as she did so, letting his tongue wet her lower lip as the laces were fully loosened. (Y/N) grabbed the bottom of his tunic, bringing it up over his head, and placing it on a chair next to him. 

Rhaenyra took a deep breath as she watched (Y/N), she brought her hand up and gingerly traced the contours of his abdomen. (Y/N) took her hand in his, bringing it up to his mouth and pressing a kiss to the back of it. 

“Turn around.” (Y/N) said, and Rhaenyra complied. 

He stepped forward, brushing her hair to her front so that he could see the back of her dress. She shivered as his breath touched the back of her neck. He undid the laces of her dress with careful precision, causing her to laugh and joke. 

“Done this before?” 

Instead of responding, (Y/N) let the dress fall down her shoulders, leaving her bare. She stiffened as he pressed a kiss to her shoulder, before relaxing as he moved his mouth up her neck. She turned around and (Y/N)’s mouth went dry at the sight of her bare in front of him. She grabbed his neck, leaning up and connecting their lips. She grasped the laces of his trousers, undoing them in haste and shoving them down his legs. (Y/N) stepped out of them, groaning into Rhaenyra’s lip as she grasped him. He could feel her smile against his lips, and he pulled away bringing his mouth to her chest, eliciting a gasp from the princess. 

“(Y/N),” She gasped, and he kissed up her chest to her collarbone and back up to her lips, swallowing her next words. 

He pulled her close to him, lifting her so that she could wrap her legs around his waist and carried her to the bed. He gently set her down, and she smiled up at him. He returned the smile, before reconnecting their lips. Rhaenyra gasped as (Y/N) pulled away to mouth at her neck, she tangled her fingers in his hair pulling him up from where there would inevitably be a mark on her skin the next morning. 

“Stop teasing.” 

“Hen rhinka, ñuha ābrazȳrys.”

---

Translations -

Lykirī - be calm

Sōvēs - fly

Valzȳrys - husband

Ābrazȳrys - wife

Hen rhinka, ñuha ābrazȳrys - of course, my wife

[leconcombrerit]

This thing had been rotting in my files for a year (minus three weeks but that's basically a year). It was a redraw of one of my first ever pieces for this fandom, and I still find it quite okay if a little stiff in places, so I thought I might as well share it since I don't draw that much anymore.

And then I had second thoughts, which obviously led to me posting it anyway, as you can see, but I realized I've almost made it a point not to draw anything related to Sasi anymore. As in at all. I can't, and I don't want to, and even sharing old art feels a bit 'meh'. It's too directly linked to my long going art block.

What I mean by that is that if I took all the followers I have out there and asked them what they know me or initially followed me for, you might have a fair amount of Lis 2 and the occasional Desert Bluffs afficionados, but you'd get an overwhelming majority of Sanders Sides. Sanders Sides fashion posts even. I was by no means famous for it or anything, but at my small artist scale, it was the biggest success I had.

And it makes it much harder to go back to it at all now. One, because I don't give a damn about the show anymore. Two, because I haven't been properly obsessing over anything in a while (there was a series early this year but given the actual emotional distress I get thinking about it I'm ruling it out). I haven't had real engagement from my own brain, nor real engagement from a broad audience -which makes sense, I'm not posting for anything that will reach a broad audience. But it takes its toll regardless.

Even when I finally finished writing a long fic, I couldn't help but feel 'all this for what ? Ten people or so and two hundreds have dropped it ?'. Which is a bad way to think about stuff you write for your own enjoyment but, you know, the brain gets happy with external validation even if you pretend really hard you don't care.

And so it feels tempting to go back to the golden goose just the time to get the creative juice pumping back, and I try, and I always end up frustrated and angry and feeling even less like making art that before. I'm not having fun with Sasi. Like an old friend you have nothing to say to and yet you have so much to say otherwise, so you get a bit frustrated, you know ? Not sure I'm making much sense, but that's how it feels. I want to have something like that again, but it won't be with Sanders Sides, and I somehow just want if off my radar.

It was left hanging, then lost its spark, and then I stopped caring altogether and I most likely won't even watch the finale when it does come out. I'm over it. I wish I wasn't though, because it does feel like the artistic spark won't come back all on its own this time, and the buzzing community made it so much easier to bounce back and do shit when your brain got wired all wrong.

It sounds like I'm just bawling after love and likes and stuff, and I guess that's part of it, in a way ? Like I'm in no place to do things for myself, and seeing the one thing I used to use to get back in the flow giving me a bored sense of dread doesn't feel too great.

Yet this drawing is still good ! I find it good ! I don't remember everything, but I can tell from the looks of it that I spent a while on it ! It's nice ! I should celebrate that. So I'm sharing it. I think it will be the last piece of Sasi I ever share, though. I'm not watching the finale when it comes out. I don't care about it. I'll just keep doodling my OCs and characters from cool books every once in a while. I'll write little things.

I just really, really need to stop trying to go back to it when it's clearly not working and not even for good reasons. It was a fun ride though ! So yeah. Basically. A whole ass rant for a one year old piece of art. I'm in my bi-annual depresso mood, nothing too surprising there.

[sob3rdeath]

mdni, please! +18 content ahead. ♡

cw: face sitting + fyodor cums untouched bc he's pathetic :(

face sitting with fedya. he's so lazy :( but that's great for him! he can just sit there and do nothing. but oh, his tongue is moving so deliciously inside of your tight heat and his stupidly pretty nose is bumping against your clit in a way that's driving you insane, making you grind against him like your life depends on it.

he mumbles something against your cunt and you can't really understand what he's speaking because his mouth is too occupied with other things, but you swear you can hear a moan falling from his lips. it vibrates on your cunt and you feel even closer to the edge, letting your fingers hold his dark locks tightly. fyodor is such a depraved lover that he moans even harder when you pull his hair, his cock hurts from how hard it is against his slacks.

and he cums untouched when you cum, staining his boxers with his seed on the exact same time you're coming undone on his mouth, letting him have a taste of your sweetness. he starts to mumble thank you's and praises against your cunt like you just gave him the whole world, he's pussy drunk only from this? so pathetic.

by the time you get off of him, he's cheeks are pink and he has a dazed look, like he just went to another universe and came back. your juices are dripping from his chin and he doesn't even remembers to clean himself, he's just trying to take off his pants and get inside you as quickly as possible.

dividers by aquazero.

[fatedroses]

And some days, I just wish you wouldn't look at me at all.

[lazy-sixteen]

'Unconditional Love' - Jayce's feelings towards his partner

Thinking today about what made Jayce' and Viktor's relationship so extreme, Romantic, so oh-shit these two nearly ended the world with their Divorce Arc, and from Jayce's end I would say it is that he took the concept of "Unconditional Love" and really cranked it to the high-setting then welded the dial there.

Let's start at the end.

ii. Love

Jayce loves Viktor. No one (at least in these more enlightened days of post-Season 2) is arguing this. He's drawing the guy in his diary/research journal, he's loudly proclaiming Viktor the co-inventor of his life's work, he's throwing a city founder and respected mentor off the Council, and simultaneously making both Orpheus and Dr. Frankenstein look like pussies with his resurrection antics. There is so much great meta and analysis that points out how much he loves Viktor, and the more details you examine in the show the more evidence you find.

I think the only point I'd like to add here, is that is really is genuinely love motivating him. He's not obsessed with his imagined idea of a perfect partner nor dependent on Viktor as the more confident half of their partnership, it's all love.

The obvious example of not just wanting a 'perfect' or easy version of Viktor is Jayce's speech about always respecting/admiring him with his imperfections their mind meld at end, but I think the bridge scene also counts. While they do argue about it, Jayce never wants to change who Viktor is. When they fight at the bridge about Zaun, Jayce apologizes for saying something classist/insensitive immediately instead of trying some bullshit 'well, you aren't like the rest of them'. He's not perfect about it, but he'd chose to learn and grow as a person over trying to erase where Viktor came from because he loves his partner as a whole person, not just the parts that are easy for him to understand/love.

Additionally, when Viktor leaves him (after Jayce basically vomits up his heart on a rambling silver platter, lol), Jayce is so obviously emotionally devastated - but he does respect Viktor's decision and is able to continue functioning. For the first point, Jayce doesn't try to physically stop Viktor from leaving or follow him after Viktor makes clear he wants space. Afterwards, while Jayce is obviously an emotional wreck (sleeping in the lab), the second Heimmerdinger and Ekko turn up he's able to pull himself together enough to Problem Solve and muster the emotional energy to genuinely care that the Hexgates might be polluting a community in Zaun. Jayce is definitely a wreck after Viktor leaves, but he respects Viktor's decision about leaving and is able to function independently.

( Of course of note, Jayce didn't respect his promise to destroy the Hexcore - so you could say that the respecting Viktor's decision to leave now is either a case of Jayce trying to learn his lesson and grow in regards to respecting his partner's choices, or a you could say the situation wasn't equivalent since Viktor asked him to promise something that would lead to his partner's death while Viktor was obviously very emotionally compromised after Skye's death and Jayce had just stopped him from committing suicide - i.e., Jayce didn't honor that promise bc to him, it appeared to be an extension of Viktor's suicidal intention.)

Anyway, the point is, it is about Love for Viktor as he is, not just that he's important to Jayce's success or caring about the easy parts like his intelligence. Jayce just totally and completely just loves his partner. Onto...

i. Unconditional

And, here's where Jayce gets absolutely freakishly, unhealthy do-not-try-this-at-home with it, there is absolutely nothing Viktor can do to himself, to other people, or to Jayce that will make Jayce love him any less. It is beyond 'would you love me if I was a worm' and hits 'would you love me if I killed everyone you loved, desecrated their corpses, then killed you?"

(Jayce, said 'Yes, obviously. Also if you did that more than once and let me be tortured for several months. Anything for you, baby.")

On the first point (nothing Viktor can do to himself) in Season 1, it was remarked upon by Singed that Viktor using very illegal drugs and trying to alter his body with an unstable dangerous magical artifact might freak Jayce out/make him leave. Viktor verbally disagrees with this sentiment, but he also hides what is doing from Jayce. While some of that could be to protect Jayce if his experimentation gets discovered (see, very illegal drugs obtained from exiled mad chemist who worked/works for a drug lord), part of it is likely intended to represent hesitancy or fear that Jayce might be disgusted at what Viktor is doing.

Contrary to Viktor's/Singed's predictions, Jayce simply does not seem to care. We never seem him react specifically to the metal arm/leg, but given that he used Viktor's research notes (Which would include fun, savory details like 'carving runes into his flesh' and 'injecting Shimmer') to resurrect him into a completely purple, metal, magic immortal creature and then reacted to Viktor's horrified "What am I?" with a adoring, love-sick "You are alive." complete with half-naked hug and nuzzling - we can safely assume he would not have loved Viktor any less for the purple-metal arm+leg.

This continues on, Jayce is fully willing to kneel/try the power of love confession at the fully metal and horrifying split-face looking Machine Herald. In fact, I think his speech at end works so well because it is given to someone metal and removed from humanity - he loves and respects Viktor both as he was with his disabilities and on the other end, as someone who had removed every weakness from his body to the point of becoming closer to a machine-god than a human.

Okay at this point, we can say that Jayce's affection is still sweet (and parts of it are good, touching, and healthy - if you love someone you Should be willing to grow as a person and try to correct your biases, you Should accept their disabilities and care for them as part of what makes up your loved one's life), but moving us closer to off the rails - there also doesn't seem to be anything that Viktor can do morally / do to other people/ do to Jayce himself that matters either.

This is best shown in the Hell Dimension - Jayce spends several months in a Saw Trap slowly going insane, in severe pain and desperate loneliness (seriously that level of 'no human contact' is enough to qualify as torture on its on). He see the world absolutely ruined, everyone either dead or transformed into creepy porcelain dolls (dead and having their corpses corrupted/puppeted/used). He climbs to the top of the former Hexgate, corrupted into a monument to his failures, sees his future corpse kneeling in defeat, and looming over it the Mage, who saved him as a child but also set him on the path to magic, made him in integral piece of the mechanism the ended the world, and is furious!! He's angry and accusing, and looks like he's about to start screaming or trying to fight!!

Until the mage, pulls back his hood and reveals he's older Viktor - then, oops never mind, Jayce instantly is no longer mad - just amazed and happy. To me at least, it is parallel to Viktor waking up transformed out of the magic goo and Jayce instantly hugging and exclaiming happily he's alive! Jayce meets Viktor's eyes over his own corpse in the middle of a world-wide graveyard, and instantly his mood switches from fury to joyful recognition. The next scene we see (chronologically, not story-wise) is him willingly kneeling and Old Mage's Viktor's feet like a warrior being knighted, taking the hammer from his own corpse, and promising to save younger Viktor.

(And to me at least, that is implicitly Jayce's and Old Mage Viktor's priority here based on how they phrase it, - not to save the world from Viktor, but to save Viktor from having to suffer the loneliness and guilt of ending the world).

Like holy shit, Jayce not only loves Viktor so, so much, this is an 'in all times lines, and all possibilities' he loves him. He loves Viktor so much it is a universal constant - with no limitations or boundaries (including such healthy ones as, maybe I should take a step back from a relationship I know is 99% likely to kill me).

AND, and!! This makes me especially insane - this is not a problem Jayce has in his other relationships. He is perfectly capable of loving and caring for other people while still maintaining boundaries, or pulling away from relationships that hurt him. This is 100% a Viktor-only thing.

We see Jayce pull-away and stop confiding in his mother after she hurts him by declaring him insane in front of the counsel (we never see them really talk one-on-one after that scene in his bedroom). He break-ups with Mel in the Counsel Room over both her using Jayce as an investment/puppet ruler (which she was, part of Mel's character arc is learning that conquering through manipulation/politics is still conquering) and his own survivor's guilt that she saved them and not the rest of the Counsel (not her fault, she did in instinctively with a power she didn't know she had). And he maintains that distance, he's comforts her a bit later when she reaches out about feeling used, but generally remains physically and emotionally closed off.

(Sidenote rant about how I actually really love Mel and Jayce's tragic, doomed bi4bi romance cut for time)

Like Jayce has limits, he can love people genuinely but pull away when he feels they are hurting him or he's hurt by what they've done. Just, only for other people.

In conclusion, Jayce loves Viktor unconditionally, in all timelines and all possibilities: whether he's his human and dying lab partner or an eldritch magic-machine god, whether he's saving Jayce life or killing him - that love is truly unconditional

[ghostfilesbitchhh]

I think Violet's feeling in Iron Flame are fully understandable and I think one of the reasons she stayed mad at Xaden for so long is because he was her only outlet. He was the only person she could have these feelings with.

Almost everyone in her life has completely betrayed and lied to her at this point. Everything she has been taught is potentially a lie and the people who have fed her these lies are the ones who have been closest to her. Her mother, her mentor, Dain's father. She cannot trust any of them anymore and her whole world has changed because of it.

And there is no one she can be angry at without exposing what she knows and getting herself killed. Except for Xaden.

He was there for her when she killed Jack, he was there when she got overwhelmed with her connection with Tairn, and he has been there for her consistently.

Even when they were on 'opposite' sides in the beginning, he was the one that taught her to fight. She has been pissy and angry and disrespectful towards him, and he's still here.

So ofcourse she stays angry at him, he is the only place she can feel whatever she needs to feel and still be safe and know that he won't walk away from her.

She can allow herself to be vulnerable with him

[letthesunshinein]

I love Adam Parrish in almost every form but I can’t stand classically handsome blond angelic curly haired Adam?? Like Adam is beautiful and uncanny and delicate and has high cheekbones but also dusty and a little weird looking? Like yes, he is blondish but dusty! dirty! There’s no way this boy can afford a good haircut or product!! I can deal with some wave or even some curls if it’s messy. And yes he would want to look Presentable at all costs when he’s at school but there is only so much one can do when you get four hours of sleep and cut your hair yourself? And yes he is strong from boyds and from being a teenage dude but also this child is malnourished!

So anyways the football bro bone structure and build with the square jaw and the blessed angel golden blond curls need to stop…

[thesmegalodon]

idk how many people have seen this going around on instagram and i have a lot of thoughts that i don't feel like posting on personal socials cause ive been nonstop yapping there anyways.

it's great to see this many shares of support, don't get me wrong. but there's something so hollow and cynical about a sanitized, ai generated, literal mile high view of some neat rows of refugee tents when there is real footage of people burning alive. there are probably more "tents" in that picture than there are people left in rafah.

there is real art, real pictures, real video, real stories coming out of palestine, and yet this is what people decide to share. this puts no eyes on rafah. this does nothing except placate people into feeling like they've done enough, and to not search for any real direct action. it's just fuckin frustrating man

[draconic-lesbian]

Bottom species dysphoria is so exhausting sometimes. Like, for the longest time I figured I just had standard bottom dysphoria, which I do have to some degree, but recently I realized that a lot of it ties to being otherkin and that a lot of the dysphoria coming from having the wrong shape(?) is probably the best way of putting it. And like, sure now that I know what’s bothering me, there’s a lot more I can do to minimize that (I want a bad dragon strap so bad), but at the same time it’s one of those things that feels worse now that I know what it is, if that makes sense. Being able to put it in quantifiable terms made it a lot more prevalent in my head.