#Dark Side of Influencer Marketing

[du-hjarta-skulblaka]

I was watching Hunger Games (mainly bc I was bored but like. The books and the first movie honestly slap) and it struck hard how Locked Tomb honestly has the potential to be the next Big YA Thing. Frankly the only reason it's not already is probably because every bit of marketing slapped on it emphasises that it's queer

Which. That's what we need. Tazmuir could fucking topple Joanne and piss on her bones! If only more people read these fucking books!

[lamamasjamas]

To Serve or Indulge

Summary: Your sensitivity to darkness leads you to a path of vices.

A/n: Saw a tweet that said that Sith should seduce Jedi to the dark side with lust and I thought that was so true. Canon isn’t real to me so reader is a Jedi Sentinel who specializes in being a shadow agent. 🤗

Warnings: Allusion to dubcon smut, freaky foreplay dreams, JediShadow!Reader, a slice of what’s to come… 🤫

Tah’Nuhna. Cold, peaceful, neutral. The order kept a close eye on the Tah’Nuhnans. You were lured there for a reason.

Neutrality meant they never picked sides. It also meant it was a safe haven, for light and dark alike. The darkness was pungent as you wandered the streets of the crystallized city.

The penetrating reflections of the structures shine onto you and make you wince in irritation as you were led to your temporary quarters

The same darkness you’ve tracked has kept you up at night for months. It infiltrates your dreams. It would envelope you every night, making your heart pump, your skin dew in anticipation.

A red flame would catch your eye and before you knew it a heat was upon your neck like a bolt.

You’d wake up with fear and your hands would tremble to your side instinctively. You’d forget that your blade was stored at your bedside.

A shadow can only make itself known with light. Some of your companions would question the existence of your sect. You would question their own devotion to the light.

It was a necessity to act ruthlessly in order to snuff them out. Amulets, talismans, and artifacts of the Sith were still passed and traded throughout the galaxy.

Less so after a millennia of Jedi intervention. But the danger of Sith influence was always a concern to the council.

Despite what they might discuss with others.

Oftentimes, extreme measures were taken to disrupt the spread of Sith knowledge and teachings. Some would die to keep their secrets and you weren’t one to deny them that wish.

Trained to be sensitive to darkness seemed counterintuitive. It threatened to envelope you and shroud the light at times. It was dangerous to be so close.

The exposure of temptations, of power, fear, and anger, some would say, would make you a hazard among your peers.

A spy is what they call you, with their lips pursed and eyes narrowed in slight disdain. You didn't wear the same golden robes they did; you often mimicked the attire of an old Sith.

Dark muted colors served to deter attention, but the saber at your hip was a reminder to those keen enough to look you over that you were part of the order spread over the republic to maintain peace.

A puff of condensation escapes past your lips, the market was full despite the deep chill that morning. Your robes didn't help from the cold shivers passing through your body.

But you had a feeling the discomfort was more than the frigid temperature.

The dark lured you in. Your efficiency in identifying depended on the innate attraction to it. You could feel the air shift.

You stop mid-step, a deep burning dug into your ribs, your cheeks pinched and your skin puckered. It was calling to you. The crowd around you grumbled as you blocked the middle of the path.

Your hand braced against your saber as a hooded figure roughly bumped past you. So rough your shoulders twisted you out of your stoic composition. Their fingers had skimmed right over the clip of your handle tauntingly.

You pause as they look back, revealing the face of a man with a teasing smile, his hair parted along the sides of his face messily. His eyes roamed over your form, analyzing you for a moment before pursing his lips in contemplation.

He turned and rushed away.

It was then that you realized, as he turned the corner. Your heart sunk to your stomach and your lungs stopped mid breath.

He was coated in it, plunged and dripping. But he was looking for something. He was lured by the same darkness you've been sensing the second you landed.

This was a new challenge. You had to find the Sith remnant first.

…

It should start off the same. You wake up inside the temple of Coruscant, soft footsteps litter outside your door. Low whisperings pass by. The room smells of paper, ink and linen.

It was simple, a window, a desk, and a bunk. There was enough space in your drawers to have changes of robes and civilian clothes.

Nothing unnecessary. You reach beside you disoriented, already knowing where the dream was going to lead.

The tips of your fingers barely reach the familiar metal of the handle of your saber. Your relief was cut short.

Your head pounds. In a blink of an eye the room darkens, it was raining, and your window howled as if the water burned its frames.

The tunic and loose pants that you wore plastered against the front of your body, your arm moves to block the stabbing droplets of cold rain from your face.

Then a flash of red blurs your vision, the corner of your eye catching it briefly before you wince heavily from the heat of it.

You feel it at your throat, your eyes are closed in anticipation of the threat of the blade's proximity.

You tremble and stand frozen as firm muscle snakes up your waist and torso, holding your stomach in place against a broad chest.

It has never gotten this far. You always wake up as soon as the heat creeped up your shoulder and to your neck. Another heat creeps up beside your head, it leans against your temple and rests there.

Strands of dark hair fall beside your face and you shiver. It was him.

He smells like fresh wet dirt, green cuttings and a hint of metal. You can feel the exhale of his breaths warm the top of your cheek.

The buzz of the saber taunts you, unmoving.

“Inspiring. Isn’t it?”

You open your eyes to find yourself in a cavern surrounded by stored relics and antiques. All Sith memorabilia. Your mouth is dry as you speak. You were in a daze of confusion and sleep. Even as you dread to admit it, you were struck with fear.

Your mind could barely catch up.

“What?-”

“Show me where this is,” his voice echoed throughout the stone walls, it made you squirm against his chest.

Your eyes widened, your mind was clearing, and you recognized where you stood. A select few knew where shadow agent's findings were kept.

You stiffened and he could feel you prepare yourself to disarm him. He didn’t want that.

His hold on your stomach tightened, the fabric of your tunic twisting in his grip. His temple pushes against yours and his lips skim past the shell of your ear, shushing gently.

Your heart races, something curls in your stomach as he tsks at your weak attempts at escape. You blame it on exhilaration, not…

You close your eyes tightly and shake your head with a thick swallow. He was clouding your mind somehow. All you could feel was the beat of his heart, the strength of his hand rising underneath your shirt and touching the skin of your belly.

You were surrounded by darkness, locked in and trapped like a loth cat sinking in tar. You had to resist and yet you didn't have the strength to.

He puts his weapon away, his other hand glides atop your arm until he reaches your hand, turning it upright until he could cup it in his palm.

You felt… weak. You can feel him smile against you. The same smile he had in the market.

“You feel it too, don’t you?”

Your ears ring, his lips graze over the soft skin of your neck.

“Let it win," he mutters as he nuzzles against your skin. Your eyes flutter and you exhale shakily.

His hips press against the small of your back. He sucks, you whimper as you shake your head pitifully. You can feel him smile, a hum making your skin erupt in tingling bumps.

He was enjoying watching you squirm weakly, so wavering, so conflicted.

His mouth continues downwards, lightly pecking over the swell of your breasts, returning to their ferocity along your collarbones.

This was only a dream, you repeated in your own thoughts. The hand creeping down your hips, the dark locks you thread your fingers in with acceptance of the pleasure he was giving you.

It had to be a dream.

Fingers slipped underneath the cotton band of your pants. His palm cupped you and flexed. The deep groan of satisfaction he gave, finding you aroused and wet, rumbled through your chest.

His head lifts, his nose bumps into yours and his eyes flicker to your lips. For a few seconds your eyes connect, he smiles playfully.

“I’ll find you.”

The bed springs creaked loudly as you sat up quickly. Your hand went up to your throat, the area feeling sore.

Your skin was tingling, alight by the visions in your dream. With a wince you stand, feeling an ache on your hips from where you were held.

The door to the quarter's restroom slid open loudly enough to make you jump. As you felt around your chest, you could feel more tender spots.

The memory of the mysterious man’s hands flash through your mind. You could almost feel the heat of his mouth, the intention of his touch again.

Shame fills you, these types of interactions were frowned upon, much less with someone so far gone into a path of chaos.

You splash water over your face, the towel feeling rough on your skin. Refreshing. You take deep breaths in, your mind was finally calming.

You almost chuckle from how absurd your night was, you finally look up above the sink.

The reflection on the mirror made your heart stop. Small splotches of raised red and purple were scattered along your neck, your collarbones and over your breasts.

Succumbing to the floor you place your hands over your mouth, trying and failing to will the image of his grin out of your head.

…

A/n update: Reblogs and comments keep authors going, por si no supieran! Please support fics and authors you want to see more of! 🫶❤️

[justwinginglife]

I have had this on my mind for a while now. Fem reader was a cruel villain in her previous life and was reincarnated to the Kn8 universe and met Soshiro and well... In love :3

Go crazy my friend.

Forgive me, this could've been a whole ass series, and I was too lazy to make it one LOL. Also I changed up the prompt slightly so that reader has always been in the KN8 universe, just reincarnating through the years.

Of All The Ways To Die

You were dying and they’d cursed you.

The audacity.

For the crime of being a witch, you’d been bound, gagged, and condemned to be burned alive. As the flames devoured your flesh, as the heat ravaged your body, as the smoke filled your lungs, you thought you glimpsed the gates of Hell in your last moments. They were flung open wide for you, and the tortured souls of your past were waiting to claim you, impatient for your penance. If that wasn’t nightmare enough, the Hoshinas had the audacity to send you to your damnation with a final parting gift- they placed a curse on you. 

In this life and the next, in heaven and in hell, in purgatory and in limbo, in the span of every universe that could ever or would ever exist, your soul was cursed to an eternity bound to their clan. There was no world in which you could run or hide, there was only their infinite retribution. 

It was a cruel punishment to be shackled to the souls of your murderers, to have every life you could ever live ended at their hands, but you didn’t intend to go quietly. You intended to make this curse as torturous for them as it was for you. If they were going to sabotage you at every turn, you’d just have to make your death worth it. If they were the protectors of peace, you were the bringer of chaos. And you planned to make such a mess of this world that even a Hoshina couldn’t put it back together. 

If they were the heroes of this never ending saga, you were the perfect villain.

“I’ll see you on the other side of eternity.” 

Your malicious grin was the last thing they saw before the flames enveloped you. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You kept your promise in every life.

Even with no memories of your previous reincarnations, even with no knowledge of this everlasting curse, you left mayhem and madness in your wake. It was almost as though you couldn’t help yourself, as though evil were your second nature. 

And when another Hoshina arrived at your door, when they claimed yet another one of your lives, you found some satisfaction in your death, knowing you’d caused so much devastation as to warrant their intervention. 

As you succumbed to your fate, letting the darkness take hold of you once again, you wondered what trouble you could get up to in the next life. 

You found your answer in the form of the black market. 

In this technologically advanced age you’d now found yourself in, there was no room for witchcraft, for medieval villainy, there was simply give and take. And you took everything.

Before you knew it, you were the ruler over the black market. Every deal that was made, every secret that was whispered, every resource that was extracted, everything was yours to use as you pleased. In the span of a decade, you’d amassed an enormous empire. 

And Soshiro had no idea.

In every life you’d ever lived, one Hoshina or another would always find you at your most heinous, at the peak of your degeneracy. And then your life would end. 

But in this life, as though Fate had grown tired of this game, as though eternity was much too infinite for their liking, you grew up right next door to the Hoshinas. And Soshiro became your best friend.

For a while, his good influence was enough to corral most of your immorality on most days, but no one could help your greed or your ambition or your cunning. 

When he ran off to join the Defense Force, your competing ambitions pulled the two of you apart. You weren’t as pure as he was, you wouldn’t dare waste your energy on such a ridiculous profession; it was a noble one but still ridiculous in your eyes. Meanwhile he couldn’t think of anything better. Though his endless optimism should’ve infuriated you, it only made you love him more. He saw the world for how cruel it was and still chose to hope for better. And some part of you couldn’t help but wonder if he could see the same in you. But the allure of the underworld held more appeal than your one sided love and before you knew it, you were too focused on your schemes to spend time nursing your pining heart. 

When you did meet up with him on the occasion you were both free, he’d always tell you to do something with your life. He’d tell you to join him. He knew how strong you were, how smart you were, how driven you were. But he didn’t know that you’d already used those gifts to force every business and every back alley, every port and every parlor, into submission. Japan was a puppet and you were its master.

But every villain had their weakness, and it became harder and harder to ignore that he was yours. Looking back, you’d always had a soft spot for him. 

When you were kids, someone made fun of Soshiro’s hair and you shaved half their head off in return. 

When you were teens, he caught some teenager stealing from an old lady and when he ran after them to retrieve her purse, like the kind-hearted boy that he was, they punched him in the face. Before he could react, you broke their arm, like the cruel-hearted girl that you were. 

And it didn’t matter how old or young your opponent was- you were undaunted and unwavering in your punishments. Once, a teacher had failed Soshiro due to a personal grudge they’d held against his father, and you took a sledgehammer to their car. When the teacher threatened to involve the authorities, you simply smiled at him and dared him to call the cops, saying that the second you saw a siren, you’d release photos of his infidelity to the entire country of Japan. 

Even now, with all the power that you wielded, you’d use your influence to anonymously send supplies to the Third Division, to send food, to send weapons, to send armor. If you couldn’t be by his side, you could at least support him from afar. He didn’t have to know, he just had to stay safe.

When he messaged you, wanting to meet up again, you felt this was the perfect opportunity to make sure he’d been getting your gifts. You treated him to dinner at your favorite restaurant.

“How’s my favorite little entrepreneur?” He scooped you up in a hug. 

You slightly winced, remembering the lie you’d told him about opening up your own shop to get him to stop trying to convince you to join the Defense Force. You comforted yourself with the thought that, technically, you owned lots of shops. If lots of shops meant the entirety of Japan. You bet you could even buy the JAKDF if you ever felt the desire to. It was a tempting thought now that you were faced with one of their most promising soldiers, and if buying the JAKDF meant more time with him, you’d have to look into it. You’d forgotten how much you missed him. How soft you got when he was around. 

“I’m better now that you’re here.” You sighed into his shoulder.

He laughed. “Buttering me up, huh? Don’t tell me it’s cuz you’re tryna convince me to change jobs again.”

You pouted. “And what if I was?”

He ruffled your hair. “Then you’d have a hell of a time with it, because you know I’m not leaving the Defense Force.”

You crossed your arms and sulked. “You mean the shitty Defense Force that’s making you fight with nothing more than sticks and stones?”

He leaned forward, “Actually, we got this huge shipment the other day of brand new equipment. The very latest in Izumo tech. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that,” He tucked a hair behind your ear, “Would you?”

How was it that you owned thousands of casinos and still couldn’t manage a poker face to save your life?

He laughed, letting you off the hook for now. “Shall we order dinner?”

You grumbled to yourself about him being a tease and then buried your face in the menu. He smiled to himself on his side of the table. 

When you had a couple more drinks in you, he pushed the subject again. “So. It seems you got my text the other day.”

You took another sip from your cup. “Which text? You text me a lot.”

He grinned. “Touche. The one about my suit overheating.”

You raised an eyebrow, unsure where he was going with this. “Yeah, I read that. What of it?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Oh nothing. I’m just assuming that’s why I got a new suit delivered to me the very same day, one that can withstand my combat power for longer periods of time.”

You choked on your drink. “Well that’s convenient, good for you.”

He laughed. “Cmon. How long are we going to keep doing this?”

You cleared your throat. “Doing what?”

He poked your nose. “Pretending like you’re not the one sending me these things.”

You laughed awkwardly. “I’m not so rich that I can get my hands on the latest Izumo tech, Soshiro. You overestimate me.”

“Mmhm. Sure. Okay. Well, if you ever find out who is leaving me all these gifts, thank them for me, yeah?” He finished his food and got up to leave, “And give them a big kiss for me, would you?” He smirked as he walked out the door. 

What?

What did he just say?

Bastard.

“Soshiro! You asshole, you can’t just leave me hanging like that!” You dumped a couple large bills on the table, not even caring that you’d just tipped more than the meal was worth, and you ran after him.

He was laughing to himself down the street when you finally caught up to him. “So I guess business is doing good then?”

You glared at him. “And so maybe it is. What, I’m not allowed to send my best friend presents?”

He smirked. “Ah, so you admit you’re my secret admirer.” He bent down to whisper in your ear, “Or do you just want that kiss that badly?”

Before you could answer (you’re not even sure what you would’ve answered), he pulls you against him and presses his lips to yours. 

After completely devouring all your oxygen, he pulls away and murmurs, “Thanks. For everything.”

You’re so breathless you think you might choke on your own lungs.

When he takes your hand and whispers in your ear, “Now it’s my turn to treat you,” and then leads you to a ballroom that he’d completely bought out just so he could slow dance with you, you think you might cough up the heart that’s beating so rapidly in your chest. 

But of all the ways to die, you’ve decided this is the best way to go- in Soshiro’s arms.

[kyuuumie]

random sfw beetlebabes headcanons ( ◕▽◕)

headcanons below the cut (๑◕◡◕๑)

🪲 - beetlejuice often doesn’t understand normal relationship conventions (like boundaries), but lydia takes it in stride and teaches him gently.

🕷️ - when lydia feels down or lonely, beetlejuice often reminds her that he’ll always be there, “literally forever,” in his own darkly humorous way.

🪲 - beetlejuice takes lydia on spontaneous “dates” exploring strange corners of the neitherworld, like haunted graveyards or surreal ghost markets.

🕷️ - lydia loves beetlejuice's morbid jokes, and she matches his wit with her own deadpan sarcasm. they thrive on snarky banter. lydia's sharp, clever remarks keep beetlejuice on his toes, and he loves that she can match his energy.

🪲 - beetlejuice is fiercely protective of lydia. he may be insane normally, but he’ll go to extremes if anyone tries to hurt or upset her.

🕷️ - lydia has a strange ability to calm beetlejuice down when he gets too wild, sometimes by just giving him a deadpan look or a quiet word.

🪲 - beetlejuice is obsessed with lydia’s dark, gothic style and often compliments her on how “dead” she looks.

🕷️ - the maitlands constantly worry about lydia’s relationship with beetlejuice, but they can see how much she brightens up when he’s around.

🪲 - beetlejuice can be possessive of lydia, but she’s quick to remind him that she doesn’t belong to anyone, and he grudgingly respects that.

🕷️ - they bond over their love for the strange and unusual, collecting creepy trinkets and weird objects for lydia's room and beetlejuice’s lair.

🪲 - beetlejuice encourages lydia to embrace her wild side and break rules, while she occasionally tries to keep him from going too far.

🕷️ - lydia’s already gothic wardrobe takes on a new twist with beetlejuice's influence. she incorporates his black-and-white stripes into her outfits, and he occasionally wears accessories she picks out, like a black lace cravat.

🪲 - beetlejuice loves showing off for lydia, whether it’s by pulling pranks on other ghosts or creating over-the-top visual spectacles just to see her smile.

🕷️ - lydia is the voice of reason in their relationship, reminding beetlejuice when to dial back the mayhem (though she doesn’t mind some chaos).

🪲 - beetlejuice writes lydia strange, ghostly love letters that appear in her journal or on her walls, written in creepy fonts or made of shadow. she keeps them all in a secret journal.

🕷️ - they bicker all the time, but it’s in good fun. lydia rolls her eyes at beetlejuice’s over-the-top antics, and he loves how unimpressed she can be.

🪲 - beetlejuice attempts to woo lydia with morbid gifts, like a bouquet of dead roses or skull-shaped candies, which lydia finds oddly sweet.

🕷️ - lydia’s calm, introspective nature has a positive influence on beetlejuice. while he’s still mischievous, he sometimes finds himself considering her feelings before acting.

🪲 - though he’s loud and brash, beetlejuice has a soft spot for lydia, and when they’re alone, he sometimes drops his over-the-top persona and lets himself be vulnerable with her.

🕷️ - they both thrive in the dark, often staying up all night together, discussing strange topics or watching the moonlight over the cemetery.

🪲 - when the mood strikes, they’ll have impromptu dances under the moonlight or in spooky, abandoned places, often to eerie, old-fashioned music that beetlejuice conjures up.

🕷️ - while lydia knows beetlejuice is far from perfect, she won’t tolerate anyone else badmouthing him. if anyone insults him, she’ll immediately come to his defense.

🪲 - beetlejuice can get ridiculously jealous, even of inanimate objects that take up lydia’s attention—he might grumble if she spends too much time with her photography or reading instead of him.

🕷️ - while lydia enjoys quiet, solitary activities like photography and art, beetlejuice constantly interrupts, bored, and drags her into wild ghostly antics. she indulges him just to get some peace later.

🪲 - their relationship is filled with playful pranks on each other, like beetlejuice turning into a shadowy figure to scare lydia, only for her to casually throw salt at him, unimpressed.

[shesnake]

sorry to talk about star wars on main but

Leslye Headland is truly the funniest person alive for saying on record that oshamir was inspired by reylo. like it's the most transparent marketing line to simply tell you that they're "enemies to lovers" (pending) and to bait the reylos (who are arguably the strongest voice in the disney era fandom... like look what they achieved [derogratory]) into caring about non-white characters because yeah The Acolyte Does need the numbers.

and sure this is bringing people into the show for the wrong reasons and also deterring people from the show for the wrong reasons but it's a TRAP lol ms Headland has a comically large shovel-shaped lightsaber and is digging a hole in the ground right in front of us all. and I am DIVING IN HEAD FIRST before she's even sprinkled leaves over it. because oshamir is nothing like reylo, because The Acolyte is nothing like disney era star wars!

The Acolyte is critical of the jedi order and the absolutism of the dark side. it's not about Anakin but it does Understand Anakin and what went down in the prequels (unlike the kenobi series which essentially nullified his whole corruption arc...) and the jedi order's unique form of oppression through repression. up until this point we've only seen our protagonists being lured to the dark side through grooming and sabotage by a sith actively turning them away from the jedi.

but in the acolyte, our protagonist Osha has already been fucked over by the jedi without the influence of any sith! they killed her family, they killed her PEOPLE/RELIGION, they left her sister Mae to die (after they already decided she had terrible vibes), and they abandoned her as a "failure" because after all they did to cut her away from her life THEY DIDN'T WANT HER because she was affected by the trauma THEY CAUSED.

and they did say to Sol from the start that she was too old to be recruited. how many other padawans must they have done this to while they were too young for that trauma to grow and could still be groomed to believe in the force in the way the jedi order do. Sol is horrified at Qimir/The Stranger for killing a child and he just shrugs and says "you brought her here" because it really is on him.

but yeah Osha at this point in the story with her lived experiences is an adult who cannot be manipulated like that, by a jedi OR a sith. and so what other approach can Qimir really make to lure Osha over to the dark side except to... talk to her? sure there's a seductive subtext to it, but this is the first time we've seen someone with the force, sith or jedi, have to present their case like an adult To an adult.

and as the no.1 jedi order hater this is SO compelling to me because everything Qimir has to say is SO true and yeah manny is hot and amandla is hot and when you think about it he did kind of give her a knife lightsaber because he wants someone on that same level of enlightenment with him which does expose him to creating someone who could very well destroy him but he's taking that risk with her because he does Know her already from what he sees of himself and he's just going to get to know her better and they're both just going to keep talking it through and developing that set of beliefs together in That Beautiful Separation They Felt and she'll learn more about him and his particular history his real name and the scars on his back and also there's what he represents as a minority in the world and Headland's connection to him as a lesbian and how it feels like they don't want you to exist and let's not forget the colonial metaphors the manifest destiny of the way the jedi operate she'll see how alike they are and she'll be able to come into herself as an empowered user of the force and that'll be thanks to him and the journey will be Glorious!

but none of that is going to change the fact that before he made this intellectual/civilised/human/seductive approach with her as an adult HE STILL GROOMED HER SISTER and Osha is NEVER going to forget that because if she and Mae are the same person she's the only one left to remember he did that to her/them and I cannot fucking WAIT to see her lightsaber turn green when she finally runs it through his chest god bless 🥰

[humanpurposes]

It Will Come Back

Chapter 3, Broken Bonds

Two sides of a family fight for their own claims to the Targaryen inheritance. Amongst the endless infighting, forced pleasantries and PR scandals, Jaya Velaryon finds herself face to face with a demon of her past, namely Aemond Targaryen. Love and hate are not emotions easily unlearned.

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen x Jaya Velaryon (OFC)

Warnings: 18+, dark elements, targcest (uncle x niece relationship) toxic family dynamics, angst, mentions of violence and trauma

Words: 7.4k

A/n: Also available to read on AO3, if you're that way inclined.

Now…

The heat is relentless this summer. Light bleeds through the stained glass windows of the Red Keep in beams of red, green, blue and gold, only to be lost to the dark wood floors, furniture and panelled walls. It is Aemond’s least favourite time of year, when the weather makes him irritable and the harsh light gives him a headache, when business tends to be busy and everyone is preoccupied with holidays and garden parties. He’s less inclined to distract himself with frivolity. 

His sleeves are rolled up, his long silver hair pulled into a ponytail, sweat starting to pool underneath the eyepatch over the left side of his face. He’s leaning over Aegon, one hand on the back of his chair, staring down at a laptop screen as they check over some details for next week’s event.

It’s not often Aemond finds himself in his brother’s office. Technically Aegon is his superior, ‘deputy operations manager’ according to the golden plaque on the door. This is more of a courtesy title because he couldn’t get a respectable job anywhere else, and it would be far worse for their father’s image to have a layabout son.

That’s the funny thing about the family business. It’s no secret that Viserys Targaryen didn’t want his sons involved in Dragon Bank, but his influence is not as all encompassing as he would like to believe, not since the Hightowers got a foot in the door thirty or so years ago… then another… then another. Viserys can make his demands and shout when he’s angry enough, but there is one truth he cannot deny; he needs them. He needs Otto. He needs Alicent. He needs Helaena and Daeron to stay perfect. He needs Aegon to not be a fuck up and that’s enough. And he needs Aemond because he’s good at his job. No one has an eye for detail like him, no one can make sense out of figures or persuade clients and investors like he can.

Why their grandfather wants him to look over PR and marketing nonsense is understandable, but irritating nonetheless.

Their father has been planning this event for years, Dragon Bank’s fifth centenary gala, with all the pomp and grandeur of a bygone era, held at their ancestral seat of Dragonstone Castle, just outside the city. Five hundred years since one of their ancestors forged a throne for himself in King’s Landing, building an empire that still has most of the country under their family’s thumb. Viserys intends to use the occasion as a reminder to the rest of Westeros that they cannot compare to the might of the Targaryens. So there can be no oversights. Everything has to be perfect.

Aemond’s eye scans over the diagram on the screen, circles surrounded boxes with names; the seating plan for the main ballroom.

Then a name catches his eye and it makes his heart stop. He doesn’t want to believe what he sees but there it is on the screen, in Times New fucking Roman: Jaya Velaryon.

He’s hardly heard that name, read it, or heard it in six years. He can already feel a dull ache creeping into his skull, which he knows will catch like kindling and soon become a burning, blinding pain behind the space where his eye should be.

Aegon, completely oblivious, huffs a little laugh to himself. “Shit, yeah, I meant to say there was an update with the seating. So this could turn out to be quite interesting– fuck, are you alright?” 

“Fine!” Aemond snaps, staggering back from the chair. His head feels like it’s been run through with a knife and his fingers fumble to get his eyepatch off. “Fine– fuck! I’m fine.”

“Sit,” Aegon orders, quickly standing and guiding Aemond over to one of the leather sofas on the other side of the room, where the sunlight isn’t so direct.

The pain is often like this, striking suddenly, spreading quickly like a forest fire, eating away at him like a disease. He has no choice but to endure it.

He feels the eyepatch slip from his face before something cold presses against the worst of his scar. He reaches up to clasp his hands around it. A glass water bottle, one Aegon is holding. His brother is useless most of the time but he does have his moments.

“Fuck it’s all red,” Aegon mutters. “Have you got meds with you?”

When Aemond opens his mouth to speak his jaw is trembling. “Office,” he says, gritting his teeth together, trying to control his breath and the extent of the pain. “It’s in my office.” He can see where the packet is in the first draw under his desk.

“I can go and get you some–”

“No,” Aemond says, grabbing Aegon’s arm so he won’t move. 

He can handle this. Every time this kind of pain flares up he thinks of how much it hurt that night, how terrified he was as he felt the blood gushing from the gash in his eye, slipping through his fingers. The pain had been so great he thought it might kill him. If he can get through that night, the first few hours in the hospital, the months of recovery or the years since, then he can get through a fucking headache. 

He closes his eye and breathes in counts of three. In through the nose, hold, and out. Between that and the bottle against his face, the pain starts to feel a little duller and the room doesn’t feel so close.

“Is it… you know,”

Did seeing Jaya’s name shock him so severely that his body went into meltdown? Is his heart still pounding in his chest at the thought of reading her name and the possibility of seeing her again? 

Aemond exhales irritably against the back of his throat, defeated, but always stubborn.

“I thought you knew,” Aegon says. “Mum said she was going to talk to you.”

“Evidently that conversation is yet to happen.” Maybe it was meant to happen tonight. It’s a Friday which means Aemond will go to his mother’s apartments in the Keep for dinner after work.

It’s a struggle but he breathes through the worst of it, and blinks a tear from his eye. The pain hasn’t quite faded but something else burns hotter through his blood. He clenches his jaw and his fists. “How long have you known?”

Aegon makes a startled stuttering noise. “I– well–”

Aemond glares at him.

“A few days. The note came from Rhaenyra’s office on Monday or Tuesday, I can’t really remember–”

“Grandfather knew,” Aemond says, a question, but he can guess the answer. If it involves Dragon Bank or a member of the Targaryen family, Otto Hightower will know.

“Of course he knew. He said it was a last minute decision, one that Viserys was insisting we all bend over backwards to accommodate.”

Of course he would, anything for the precious daughter of his favourite child, the girl who slashed Aemond’s eye out with a broken bottle. 

He hates her for it. He hates every burst of pain, like an echo of that moment pulsing through his head. He hates every person he catches staring at him, he hates the way his reflection looks with her cruelty carved into his flesh. Most of all he hates that it reminds him of her. In a way he is grateful too. Time helped to heal the wound and eventually he realised how he had been changed by that night, how it made him the person he is now. 

But for the first time in a long time he does not find any pride in it, cowering in his brother’s office like a child at the mere mention of her name. 

“I can’t go,” Aemond says, hating how quiet his own voice is.

“That’s alright,” Aegon says, “you can sit here for as long as you need.”

“I meant the party.”

“Oh right, sorry.”

“I can’t go, not if she’s going to be there.”

There’s a long silence, filled only by the hum of the AC and the distant sounds of the city far below the keep, car horns, engines, sirens, the occasional cry of a seagull.

“Why don’t you talk it through with mum?”

“Aegon,”

“She’ll want you to go. She’ll be upset if you don’t.”

“I can’t,”

“I know you two were close, but, you know, I’m sure you both regret how things happened,” 

“Aegon, for fuck’s sake,”

“She cut out your eye, you said you’d cut out hers if you ever saw her again, we were all caught up in the moment.”

Aemond pushes up from the sofa and tosses the water bottle at Aegon’s head, not stopping to see if he caught it or not, before he’s yanking open the door and marching into the hallway.

The Red Keep is older than Dragon Bank itself, a red brick holdfast that has loomed proudly over King’s Landing for centuries, even as the skyline of the city has come to meet over time. It’s easy to get lost here, with its grand hallways, winding staircases and hidden passages, if old rumours are to be believed. He knows this place like he knows his own mind. He walks to his office through empty stairwells and forgotten corridors.

When he finally makes it to his own office he closes the door and lets his back fall against it.

He takes a slow breath, holds it, pouts his lips and exhales steadily. 

Who else knows? Viserys would have sent the invitation, Rhaenyra and the rest of her little runts will know. Otto knows, clearly his mother and Aegon both know, and he couldn’t have kept that secret, he would have told Helaena or Daeron, most likely both.

Everyone knows. Jaya is coming back home to King’s Landing, and everyone knows but him.

His mother told him everything when she thought he was ready to hear it. The bandages had been removed from his face and the cannula had been taken out of his hand. The doctors wanted him to stay in the hospital for a few more days so all the drugs could wear off and he could start getting used to the disorientation of losing half his vision. Alicent wanted him home, in his own bed. So he left the dry air and the white overhead lights of his room in the hospital, back to Dragonstone.

She told him that while he’d been on his knees with his hand over his face, trying to stop the blood and the remains of his eye from spilling onto the ground, Viserys had barked out his orders. He didn’t want ambulances or sirens because it would cause a scene in front of the guests. The shame, the damage it would do to the family’s image. Otto had persuaded him away from such a nonsensical idea and convinced Viserys to get the guests inside the house so Aemond and Jace’s injuries could be seen to.

He remembered shouting and sirens, blue lights and his mother’s hand clinging onto his before he blacked out. He had gone in for surgery almost immediately and woken the following evening surrounded by white walls, his mother and Criston Cole at his side.

Aegon, Helaena and Daeron all stayed at Dragonstone while he was there. They said once he and Jace had been taken away, Viserys had gathered the entire family inside the house. With their faces all still red from crying and Jaya’s pretty white dress still coated in blood, he demanded to know the truth. 

They all knew what the truth was. Jace didn’t know his limits and Aegon didn’t care about his.

He could see it all happening in his head, walking towards the orchard with Jaya and Baela, catching Jaya when she tripped over a stone, her tipsy smile as she looked up at him, the pearl and the sapphire pendant settled against her chest.

Who knows what started the argument between Jace and Aegon, but suddenly Aemond had found himself between them.

“There he is,” Jace had sneered, but his voice quickly raised into a shout, “‘perfect’ Aemond Targaryen, fucking mummy’s boy, thinking he’s some kind of fucking diplomat!”

Aegon tried to shout back, “more of a man than you’ll ever be,” Aemond couldn’t make out everything through the way his voice slurred.

“Not so fucking perfect though, are you? You’re no worse than Aegon– no! You’re so much worse, aren’t you? Aren’t you!?

He’d watched Jace’s expression darken, his lips sneering into a sickening smile.

“You’ve got my sister wrapped around your fucking finger, fucking creep.”

He told himself Jace was just drunk. It didn’t matter what he thought… only it did. Jace could tell Rhaenyra or Viserys. Worse, he could talk to Jaya. She had always been devoted to her twin. She had picked Jace over Aemond before, in petty arguments when they were children. 

“You want her, don’t you? Don’t you!? She’s too good for you though, and you know it. You want her but you’ll never fucking have her!”

When Aemond’s fist collided with Jace’s jaw it was on pure instinct. He was sober enough to stop himself but he didn’t. He just kept going.

According to Aegon, when Viserys came to Jaya, she said that it was Aemond who had started the argument. Jace was in the orchard with the others, when Aemond had come from nowhere and threw the first punch. She had seen it, so had Baela, so had Luke and Joffrey. It was their word against Aegon and Daeron’s.

The official story was that it had been a tragic accident, one in which Rhaenyra’s children were certainly blameless.

She called him the night he got to Dragonstone but he let the phone ring. A week later she appeared in the doorway to his bedroom. She was hazy, or he was still delirious from sleep, his mother hovering over her shoulder, reluctant to leave them alone together.

He doesn’t remember most of the conversation now. He doesn’t want to remember it. He knows it ended with tears streaming down her cheeks, but her face was completely still. She didn’t flinch, didn’t distort her face, scrunch her nose or make an ugly shape with her mouth. She looked utterly beautiful and cried effortlessly. It wasn’t fair when he still had stitches sewn into his flesh to keep the left half of his face in place.

At one point she approached the bed and tried to touch his hand. He snatched it out of her grasp. When she tried again he pushed her away.

“Why did you do it?” she said. “You attacked Jace, why? Why? Why? Why?”

Because Jace could have taken away the one thing he thought was his, by right, by love. Instead he gave some bullshit excuse– Jace had threatened Aegon, insulted Daeron, insulted him. And what did it matter anyway? Viserys believed her. 

He needed her. He needed her and she pushed him away and cradled her coward of a brother in her arms. He needed her and she’d thrown it all back in his face with a slash of a broken bottle. He needed her, but she had made her decision.

“Liar,” he hissed. “You’re a fucking liar.”

He saw it in her face then, her desire to fight melting away. To Aemond that had always meant that she knew he was right.

“Show up here again, utter so much as a word to me again, and I’ll tear yours out as payment for mine.”

Some weeks later Aegon mentioned that she had abandoned her plans to go to KLU and instead found a place at the University of Pentos. She never tried to call after that and neither did he.

A layer of sweat clings to his skin and makes him shiver. He shrugs it off as he sits down at his desk, and spots a handwritten note sitting beside the keyboard of his laptop. Investment figures for Seasnake Shipping back to me by 7pm at the latest. Knowing Otto Hightower, that means an hour before the specified time.

In for three, hold for three, out for three. It always amazes him how well that trick works, he thinks as he takes out a packet from the top drawer of his desk and pushes out two tablets, the one good thing he’d gotten out of his year of therapy. He swallows the medication dry, suddenly regretting throwing away the bottle of water.

It’s nearly 6pm when Aemond has everything his grandfather wants, the names of Seasnake’s investors, the other companies they’re attached to, numbers and details he’s found buried in endless spreadsheets and pages of paperwork. He shouldn’t be able to see most of them but he has his ways. The Velaryons have been in business with the Targaryens for centuries and there are always trails to follow. 

A few familiar names appear, Rhaenyra Tagrayren, Daemon Targayren, married to each of Corlys’ children. Aemond was only a year old when his sister married Laenor, but he’s always known how sceptical his mother and grandfather were of the match. It wasn’t something Rhaenyra had to do. She wasn’t going to inherit Seasnake, that had been promised to Laena, the elder sibling, and she was already Viserys’ chosen heir, so what did she think she was going to get out of it? Not a loving husband, surely.

Other investors and partners include the names Stark and Arryn, both wealthy and well established families. He also sees the names Celtigar, Massey, Bar Emmon, old names, though not as respected as they once were.

He leaves a note for his grandfather at the top of the document: Seasnake is being directed by a man who built his wealth to match his own pride, supported by opportunists with more money than sense.

With that task done he opens a new email to inform his father’s office that he’ll be absent from the event. He types it quickly and reads over it once before he can talk himself out of pressing send. He doesn’t give a reason why; Viserys should know why.

This leaves him just enough time to pack up and get ready for dinner.

The Red Keep has a series of apartments separated from the offices, where Aemond spent most of his childhood. The building is known as the Holdfast, with its own gatehouse leading into the city and gardens surrounded by high red brick walls. Historically it was built to house the extensive members of House Targaryen, but it is mostly empty now. His mother has had her own apartment for a few years, since Daeron moved out. The only one of his siblings to still live here now is Aegon, at Alicent’s insistence. 

Walking from his office to the Holdfast brings him through courtyards and underneath old battlements, until he comes to a facade with towers, tall windows and an unsuspecting wooden door, save for the armed guards standing either side of it. His mother’s apartments are on the first floor, along a gallery and up the grand staircase, past portraits and tapestries. The hallways get smaller the further in you go and soon he comes to the private rooms.

Alicent often dismisses the staff on quiet Friday evenings. The minute he’s in the door he is met with the sound of one of her 80s playlists, the scent of spices and her favourite lemon and lavender candles. He finds her in the kitchen, dark blue jeans, a white shirt, black pumps and her auburn curls pulled into a bun to show off her pearl earrings, stirring two pots on the stove. 

“Criston’s got me learning another one of his recipes,” she says, only looking at him for a moment, “I’ve got rice on too, so I hope you’re hungry.”

Aemond approaches her to kiss her on the cheek and takes a look inside the pots, one filled with chickpeas, the other with black lentils. “Is Aegon here?” he says.

“He’s in the lounge, tell him to set the table.”

Aemond watches her, entirely absorbed in the notebook on the counter next to the stove, with handwritten instructions. Nothing seems to be especially bothering her, even though the centenary event has had her on edge for over a month. She looks no different from the last time he saw her, before he knew about Jaya, when she was supposed to talk to him, supposedly.

“I want a drink first,” he says, whisky with no ice. He pours it for himself slowly while his mother hums along to Tears for Fears. “Do you know why grandfather wanted that information on Seasnake’s investors?” 

“Hmm? Oh he’s probably doing one of his checks, you know what he’s like. Good to keep an eye on everyone,” she says. She has a glass of red wine next to the notebook, though by the looks of it she’s hardly touched it. “He said something interesting about Rickon Stark recently, his son Cregan is in King’s Landing.”

Aemond pulls his glass away from his lips, the sweet sting of alcohol slipping down his throat. “Shouldn’t be too unusual, they’re attending next week.” Staying at Dragonstone no less, some of Viserys’ most honoured guests.

“He’s staying at Queen’s Lodge.”

That takes him by surprise. “Hmm,” he says, bringing the glass to his lips again.

“He and Jacaerys are quite close, Aegon tells me.”

The Starks had visited Dragonstone once or twice as summer guests, back when they were all kids. Cregan was always talkative and effortlessly charming, but it was obvious to Aemond that his warmth was far more calculated than anyone else believed. He made sure Jaya kept her distance, but Jace followed him around like a lost puppy for the weeks he’d stay with their family.

They would have studied together at White Harbour, though Cregan was a few years older than Jace. They could have met again and reconnected. Aemond doesn’t interact with his nephew outside of necessity.

“And what would Aegon know about it?” he says.

“More than you,” a voice calls from the doorway. Aegon has ditched his suit for brown cargos and a comically baggy sports shirt, leaning against the frame. “Ran into them last weekend,” he says, grinning coldly and running his tongue over his teeth. “The Starks are making some close personal connections with our sister’s family.”

“Don’t be vulgar,” Alicent sighs.

Aegon scoffs and makes a dismissive gesture. While their mother is still distracted, he looks at Aemond and raises his eyebrows. 

“Set the table, Aegon,” Aemond grumbles.

His brother does as he’s told. Aemond helps Alicent bring the dishes in. She sits at the head of the table, Aemond to her right, Aegon opposite him, to her left. She says a quick prayer to the Seven, as she always does. She asks the Mother to protect her children and asks the Crone for wisdom, for a light in dark and uncertain times. 

“Speaking of close personal connections,” Aegon says, already having wolfed down half of his plate. Aemond already hates the tone of this conversation. “We’ll finally get to meet Daeron’s new bit,”

“Do you have to say it like that?” Aemond says.

Aegon ignores him. “Are you excited to meet Nettles, mother?”

Daeron talks about her constantly. They met in Oldtwon while they were both studying. Now he’s working for the Citadel Institute, she’s some kind of journalist, and they live together in a perfect little flat that looks out over the Honeywine river. Perfect, perfect, perfect.

“That can’t actually be her name, surely?” Alicent says.

“Perhaps it’s short for something,” Aemond says, prodding his food now to find himself with no appetite. He thinks about the drive he’ll have to make through the city, back to the empty house waiting for him on Silverwing Square.

“Nettles,” Aegon says, eyes on the ceiling like he’s trying to decipher a hidden meaning. “Nettles, like stinging nettles?”

“Oh, Aemond,” Alicent says, looking down at the uneaten food on his plate, “what happened with Maris Baratheon, why is she not on the final guest list?”

Aegon smiles, folding his elbows on the table and leaning forward, eager to hear an explanation like he hasn’t already coaxed it out of Aemond over too many bottles of wine at a steak restaurant on Conquest Street.

“Things didn’t work out with Maris,” Aemond says shortly. An understatement. The thought of their last conversation makes him nauseous.

“Aemond, sometimes I feel like you don’t love me.”

“I don’t think I do,” which felt untruthful, because he knew from the start that he never would. There were lots of things he liked about Maris. He liked that she was interested in him, he liked that she was blunt and unrelentingly honest, he liked that she had dark hair, and that she liked being fucked from behind and would let him press her face down into the pillow to muffle her moans. Soon the things he liked about her only felt like another reminder.

“Maris is old news, mother,” Aegon says.

“What a shame,” Alicent says, reaching for her wine again. “Oh well, I don’t think Viserys particularly likes her father anyway.”

“Well you know Aemond, always striving for perfection.”

Aemond’s eye meets Aegon’s over the table. His brother is trying not to grin, violet eyes bright from the light of the candelabra between them. Shadows catch on the hollow parts of his face, it makes him look tired but vicious. 

Then he looks to his mother. She eats slowly with small mouthfuls, not making eye contact with either of her sons. It’s not often he finds himself upset or angry with his mother, not since he was old enough to understand just how hard she has worked, or know what she’s had to put up with as the wife of Viserys Targaryen. Aemond knows she trusts him in a way that does not always extend to his siblings. 

But now all he can think is that she knows about Jaya. She knows, and she won’t even look at him.

Jaya could be in King’s Landing this very moment, lounging around Queen’s Lodge, looking out over the orchard she watered with Aemond’s blood while her mother fawns over her only daughter’s return.

He just needs to say it. He won’t go to Dragonstone if Jaya is there, he won’t stand to be in the same room as her, or breathe the same air as her. The thought already sends a feeling like flames licking up his spine that makes him restless with rage, with hurt and betrayal.

Aegon is still watching him and gives him a small nod. 

Aemond takes a soft breath through parted lips–

Until a sound comes from the hallway that makes them all freeze, the sound of the front door unlocking, opening, then slamming with an ear splitting bang!

Aemond feels his face harden, brows straining with every footstep that marches against the hardwood floors towards the dining room. 

Viserys appears in the threshold, dressed in one of his red and black suits, his face one of stone cold fury. He doesn’t look at Alicent, or Aegon, his eyes are fixed on Aemond.

He steps slowly into the room, placing one hand on the back of the chair closest to him at the head of the table, miles away from the rest of his family. His voice is quiet and clear through the stunned silence. “What the fuck are you playing at?”

Alicent makes a stuttering, scoffing noise. “Viserys–”

He holds up a finger to silence her, his eyes widening in warning. “Aemond,” he says, “you will answer me.”

Aemond keeps his jaw clenched at first. He can feel his teeth wanting to chatter, anger aching in every part of his body. He cannot afford to show any sign of weakness or remorse, not in front of his father. But why does it feel so difficult to speak? He swallows through a dry feeling in his throat. “I thought I’d worded it all very simply–”

“Look at me when I speak to you, boy.”

He hadn’t realised his gaze had fallen to the table. He looks up with an expression that is as passive as he can manage. “I would have thought it would be obvious why I can’t go, with the recent addition to the guestlist.”

His head is turned completely so that Viserys is in his line of vision, but he hears his mother make a small sighing sound. “Aemond, I was going to–”

“ALICENT!” Viserys roars.

Aemond feels himself flinch but his gaze is unwavering. Why does he think he has any right to barge in here, to ask anything of them? 

If Aemond were to stand he’d be taller than his father, but he finds himself unable to move.

“That’s all you have to say for yourself?” Viserys says to him. “This could be the single most important night for the family for centuries and you’re still holding onto childish grudges?”

Childish grudges. He was mutilated and forced to carry the blame because of a lie, but of course his father expects him to let go, to forgive and forget. 

He feels the leather of the eyepatch digging uncomfortably into his forehead and wishes more than anything he could just tear it off.

There are some things Aemond can argue with Viserys about, but they tend to be logical arguments, work related. The longer he looks at his father the more he remembers that no amount of sense could ever compare to the blind devotion Viserys has for his eldest child. There’s nothing Aemond can appeal to, not love or loyalty, not even sympathy.

“This is not about you, Aemond. This is about the bank, this is about the Targaryen name, our legacy, does that all mean nothing to you?”

“Of course it does,” Aemond says. He’s worked for nothing else his whole life, Dragon Bank, his heritage as a Targaryen, what is he without all of that? 

Viserys’ face softens a little, as if he thinks he’s made some kind of progress. “I’ve never known you to be selfish, it’s not in your nature.”

“Well then you clearly know nothing about me,” Aemond says, glaring up at him.

Viserys frowns. “You will be there, and I want to hear no more of it. You will be polite. You will grin and fucking bear it because that’s what the rest of us have to do.”

He’s delusional, he’s fucking delusional.

Aemond looks to his brother, slumped in his chair, his eyes even darker now. He has his hand around the stem of a wine glass. He’s been staring at the crimson liquid since their father walked in. He might have been expecting to be the target of Viserys’ anger tonight; he usually is. 

Aegon looks across at him, furious, exhausted, eager for this exchange to be over. He tilts his head in a questioning motion, though his lips stay firmly sealed.

All the years he spent trying to be the best that he could, how hard he pushed himself to get through that final year at KLU while recovering from his injury, all the hours he’s devoted to the family business, all the times he’s kept his mouth shut and his head held high, is this the hill Aemond is going to die on?

He won’t try to look at his mother, but he can guess she would have a similar reasoning. 

A fearsome wind from the Narrow Sea howls against the windows of Aemond’s black Jag. The road to Dragonstone is a desolate one, leading through a forest that might as well be nothingness in the dark. The headlights beam against the tarmac which turns and rises and falls, so he can never see what’s ahead of him.

There’s a burst of light as he approaches the gates. He hasn’t seen the gatehouse for years and remembers that he used to be scared of the stone dragon heads that stand open mouthed and teeth bared on either side, at the base of the turrets. Some hired security guard comes to his window, his demeanour changing completely when Aemond glares at him through a single eye. 

Cars line the acres of grass before the house, the driveway lined with lanterns and more statuettes of dragons. Dragonstone lies ahead in its full glory, lights on in every window, moonlight shining upon its ancient walls so the castle looms in shadows and silver. 

He must be one of the last people to arrive, the last of the important people, slotting the Jag next to a golden Dodge Charger he recognises as Aegon’s. The rest of the Targaryens all drive black cars.

He checks his reflection in the rearview mirror for as long as he can stand to look at himself, glaring at the blunt edges of the sapphire in his left socket, dull and dark in the low light. The flesh around his eyelids are twisted and red, the scar itself deep but clean. His mother had suggested they could get it looked at, to make his eye seem less severe, but that’s what the eyepatch is for, to cover up the worst of his injury, for the comfort of others and not his.

He slips the leather patch over his head and secures it in place, careful not to mess up his hair in the process. 

One day he’ll make her look at it, the sapphire and the scar, maybe then she’ll understand what she put him through. Not tonight, no, tonight he intends to play it safe.

He effortlessly exits the car, checking his cuffs as he walks up to the front doors. A server offers him a glass of champagne when he steps into the entrance hall which he takes a small sip from, parched after his drive from King’s Landing. He knows his way through the opulent halls that have stayed the same for as long as he can remember, towards the hum of at least a hundred voices. 

The ballroom glimmers with reflected light, mirrors, gold accents, crystal chandeliers, champagne glasses. The guests are all in their finery, tuxedos and floor length gowns, either in black or the colours of their houses. Some have started to take their seats around the circular tables, but many are still mingling.

Any head of silver hair stands out rather obviously, and the first he sees is his father standing in the centre of the ballroom, a smile on his face and his arm around his wife’s waist. Alicent is radiant in a gold gown that catches the warmth of the candles dotted about the room. She looks less than pleased being made to talk to Rhaenyra and Laenor– now there’s a surprise, he doesn’t usually make a habit of appearing at family events. Rhaenyra is in black, as is her husband, with a waistcoat embroidered with swirling gold patterns, like waves on the sea.

His eye continues to scour the room. He sees Helaena and Daeron with the girl he assumes is Nettles. He sees Aegon getting friendly with the Martell siblings. He sees Corlys and Rhaenys with Laena and Daemon. He sees Jacaerys standing with the Starks, closer than is friendly to Cregan. He sees those with the surnames Tyrell, Tully, Lannister, Arryn, all the others, and keeps searching.

She’s not where she’s meant to be, at the table closest to the high table where Viserys will sit with the board members. She’s not with her parents, she’s not at the bar, she’s not at the doors to the gardens. Each moment he does not find her fuels some kind of fire within him, adrenaline pumping through his blood, like he’s chasing something just out of his reach. 

A flash of loose, dark hair steals his attention. He doesn’t see her face at first but he notices when she nudges his shoulder as she passes him on his blind side, very nearly ending up with champagne down her silky, off white gown or spilled across the string of pearls sitting on her bare collar.

He apologises on instinct, reaching for a handkerchief in his pocket that has only ever been intended as decorative.

“No harm done,” the woman insists. “It’s good stuff, I would have been mortified to waste any of it.”

He recognises her face, the slanted nose, the sharpness of her cheeks, her bright green eyes and unsettlingly perfect smile. He’s seen her at press events, some kind of relation to the Strongs, but not close enough that she’d ever be invited to any personal occasions.

“Alys Rivers,” she says, holding out a hand for him to shake. “Deputy editor for Seven.” He’s heard of it, a high society gossip magazine, they often run stories about his family, Daemon and Aegon mostly, the rest of them clearly aren’t newsworthy.

“You used to work for the Harrenhal Observer, didn’t you?” he says.

“I did,” she says, “between you and me though, I think cousin Larys felt a little threatened.”

“Threatened?” Aemond says, noticing a pair of girls who are oddly familiar to him. He can’t place their names but he thinks they might be old friend’s of Jaya’s. They approach Jace, turning their heads around frequently like they’re looking for something. “How so?”

“He thought I was too opinionated,” Alys says, keeping her eyes on his.

“I didn’t think there could be such a thing,” Aemond says, though now he thinks he recognises the girls from one of the parties at Maegor’s Square, from years ago. One of them meets his gaze and quickly looks away. 

“The Observer is supposedly a neutral publication after all, I had a few things to say about the working conditions at the Casterly Rock mines which caused quite a stir.”

That’s where he recognises her name from. Viserys wasn’t happy with the article given their ties to the Lannisters and their gold. It sets off a silent alarm in his head, suddenly her gaze is a little too scrutinising for his liking and he’s aware of every breath he takes, shallow or deep, soft or sharp, she could use anything against him.

“I heard a rumour you weren’t going to be attending tonight’s event,” she says.

“It’s Dragon Bank’s fifth centenary,” he says, “I’m incredibly proud of all the work my family has put into the last five hundred years.”

“You say that like you’re expecting this conversation to go to print.”

“That’s why you approached me, is it not?”

She hums a gentle laugh to herself as her gaze roams over his suit, black, simple and perfectly fitted. She looks back to his face, he sees the way her eyes flicker to his left side. She smiles lazily in a way that makes him wonder if she’s trying to flirt, and places a hand on his shoulder, leaning in closer until he can smell the classic, musky scent of her perfume. He lets her do it, lets her lips get closer to his ear.

“I only wanted to see if you had something interesting to say,” Alys whispers over the noise of the party.

He glances up, towards the grand fireplace at the end of the room. Gold plated engravings of dragons intertwine and spread their wings, framing the fire that burns within.

She’s standing there, a glass of champagne in one hand, in an emerald green dress suited for summer, loose fabric, exposing her arms, her hair pulled up into a style that’s effortlessly elegant.

Their eyes meet. It’s like electricity strikes his heart.

Six years fades into oblivion, she looks different and exactly the same. He can almost believe he’s never known a life without her, but she’s always been there, hasn’t she? An unspoken secret, living in the lightest and the darkest parts of his mind. 

He can see the moment of recognition, when her expression goes from passive and proud to alert, eyes widening, lips falling, her hand lowering the glass to the nearest surface.

It’s dangerous how quickly he can already feel himself start to slip. He’s had seven days to prepare and part of him is still in disbelief that Jaya is a living, breathing person and not just a memory. Another part of him is calm and unsurprised, like he’s always known she was going to come back. To King’s Landing, to the family business, to him.

He doesn’t feel any pain, not in his head or his chest, but he feels empty, starved to the point of ravenous. 

Jaya starts to move through the crowd, towards the glass doors that lead to an outlook over the gardens and the sea. It only sparks excitement for Aemond, imagining all the thoughts that could be swimming through her head, anger, pride, fear. By the Seven he hopes one of those is fear.

“It’s been some time, hasn’t it?”

“What?” he says, looking back to Alys.

“I thought I’d refresh my memory a little before I came here tonight. It’s been six years since Jaya Velaryon was in King’s Landing. The two of you were close, weren’t you?”

Close. 

Close like the way Jaya used to hug him when they were children. She’d wrap her little arms so tightly around his chest or his neck that he could hardly breathe. He’d tell her to stop, shove her away, but then she’d only cry, and he could never say no to her after that. 

Close like their minds worked in the same way, when they only needed to look at each other a certain way to know what they were both thinking.

Close like the air of his bedroom the first night they kissed, feeling the shared warmth, her body against his, the softness of her skin, when she tasted like wine and smelled like smoke.

Close was never close enough, but what difference did it make?

“Then there was that accident at Queen’s Lodge. The press release was so vague, it only said you and Jacaerys were recovering from minor injuries…”

Aemond glares at her, the same look that would usually silence Aegon, but Alys Rivers is not afraid of his warning.

She makes a gesture to his eye. “I mean, clearly one injury was more severe than the other. Curious that Jaya left for Pentos so soon after that when she was due to start at KLU that year. Why did she leave, do you know?”

Aemond pushes past her without another word, towards the glass doors that only Jaya has passed through in the last minute or so. The other guests are starting to take their places at the tables now. He sees Rhaenyra and Laenor looking around the room, having gathered their other three brats. His own mother tries to capture his attention but his mind can only think of one thing. He walks towards the doors as calmly as he can, even though it feels as if his life depends on reaching them, on reaching her.

The doors lead out to a patio, seemingly empty right up to the balustrade. He walks to the edge, the noise of the party lost to the roar of the wind and the waves in his ears, no doubt his hair will be blown into a mess but he doesn’t care.

Everything below him is black, out of reach from the lights of the castle. Then he spots something, a flicker of flame far below him, down a series of steps, out of view, down at an outlook over the sea. She shields it with her hand, lighting a cigarette by the look of it, until the end glows with a red ember.

He walks slowly, savouring the sound of every step his shoes make against the paving stones. He keeps his hands in his pockets, single eye fixated on the shape of her shoulders, the curve of her spine and her waist through the dress.

He tries to guess the moment she realises when she’s not alone. She angles her head slightly as he reaches the bottom of the steps, still a good distance away from her. He watches her take one drag from the cigarette before she lowers it, resting her hand against the stone balcony.

He comes close enough to realise she’s shaking, jaw clenched, looking almost determinedly out across the sea. The wind cuts across his cheeks like it’s burning his skin, so how she can stand to be out here with nothing to protect herself from the cold is almost admirable. It is also foolish of her.

Goosebumps bloom over her skin, skin he could reach out and touch if he wanted to.

And she won’t look at him.

She won’t look at him.

Tags (comment to be added to either)

General taglist: @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya @dreamsofoldvalyria

Series taglist: @aemondsbabygirl @persephonerinyes @sirenangelroyal @qyburnsghost @adragonprinceswhore @boundlessfantasy @asumofwords @summerposie @thedamewithabook @ammo23 @valyrianflower @jiminie-08 @magnificentdelusionr @hiddencurator

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

Vesuvia Weekly: Baby Fever

Taking into account everything except what's in my personal space, it's a fairly normal afternoon in the Center Marketplace. Selasi's humming a popular song as he shovels another batch of rolls into his oven, the regular shoppers are bustling between the merchant's stalls, and the steam from my cup is wafting as gracefully as ever into the bright blue sky.

Oh, shoot that's a burning hazard isn't it, patronsdangit -

"Language!"

And the cheeky greeting from the magician appearing suddenly in front of me isn't helping.

"Fudge you, I'm trying not to be a bad influence."

"You? A bad influence? On who - oh, hello."

I glance down again just in time to move my cup away from the dimpled, chubby hand grasping for its boiling contents. The one-year-old in my lap looks up at me and grins. I look back at Asra with a smile. "I don't want to be a bad influence on this one."

They're already taking a spot at the low table, putting themself and their bag between the baby and the walkway to the stairs. As responsibility-averse as he is, it doesn't stop him from lending the toddler a steady hand as they wobble out of my lap. While the other steals my pumpkin rolls -

"What's their name?"

"This is Nasha." The tot gives me a gurgling giggle, grasping at the edge of the low table while they bounce on their feet. I brush a stray dark curl out of their face. "Their parents needed an afternoon out and know I used to babysit, so they called in a favor. I hope you plan on replenishing those."

"He already ordered a second batch." Selasi approaches with a basket for the table, steam rising through the cloth from the rolls underneath. "Hello, little one. And what are you old enough to eat? May I hold you?"

The tot looks up from where they're digging through Asra's bag, Faust nudging the no-so-baby-friendly contents out of reach and dodging their grabs at her tail. They stare wide-eyed at the burly baker before lighting up the market corner with a drool-filled smile. I hoist them up by the armpits and hold them out in Selasi's direction.

"They turned one last week. Do you know how to hold them safely?"

"Oh, Selasi knows all about how to hold the small ones, yes he does." He takes the toddler on one arm, cooing and rocking them back and forth. This is a side of him I haven't seen before. "Look at how many teeth you've grown, my tiny friend! If I remember right, you're old enough to be eating honey now, aren't you? Selasi's brought you a little dish and spoon for a nice treat, if your decaying-mind-friend says it's alright."

I groan at the nickname. "Not you too - and yes, their parents said they can eat honey now. Just be careful about -"

And I'm interrupted by an excited screech from several booths away.

"Is that a baby with brainrot?! Hi baby!!"

Portia sails into view, her brother dragged behind her by the coat and away from the newly-established leech stall where he was probably about to sink half his savings. Julian stops struggling and straightens up as soon as he spots the baby on Selasi's arm. "My my my, what do we have here -"

"Awwww, can I hold them? Please?!"

Portia's curls are going to stand on end if she tries to contain herself any longer. I nod, but Selasi seems hesitant to let go of his new friend. "You should be careful, they've just eaten some -"

"Fear not! I shall rescue you, small one!"

It's like watching a train wreck in slow motion as Julian uses his long arms to reach over Portia's head, plucking Nasha from the baker's grasp and seating them on his arm. The baby looks at the newcomer in surprise and decides to introduce themself by smearing their honey-covered sticky fingers down the doctor's cheek.

"Well, aren't you a - hrck - nnghck!"

Determined to explore further, the wide-eyed tot sticks their full hand into Julian's mouth mid-sentence. What follows are a series of chokes and gags as they reach deeper, giggling at the funny noises the doctor makes as he tries his best not to bite them. Portia adds injury to insult, yanking him down close enough to take the baby by tugging at his ear.

"Hey, you little cutie, what's your name?" She cradles them on her hip, cooing sweetly at them while her brother hacks and coughs behind her.

Julian straightens with a wince. "I think they went for my uvula -"

"His what-a-wha?"

The loud question behind them makes Julian jump, Portia eye-roll, and Asra grimace. I lean to peek around my visitors at the ex-count fast approaching us. "Hey, Lucio. It's a 'uvula', the hangy-down thing at the back of your mouth."

"And this little stinker tried to grab it? HAH!" He cackles, the loud noise making Nasha begin to curl in on themself. Portia tightens her hold on them, reconsiders, and then shoves them into the arms of the large shadow that's been lurking in the background for the last five minutes.

"Don't you call them that! That's brainrot's baby!"

Lucio freezes, face blue-screening as his eyes jump wildly between me and the baby nestled in Muriel's frozen hold. Asra snorts into their hand. Julian gives me an oddly thoughtful look. "Technically speaking, he is old enough and has the anatomy to have one safely, and he does seem, ah, quite comfortable holding one ..." Portia slowly nods along, taking a long look at me.

I ignore his mumbles and her stare and address the sputtering journeyman. "Nasha isn't my baby, they're my friend's baby, and I'm taking care of them for the day." I turn to where Muriel's adjusting his hold on the one-year-old. "You good?"

Nasha looks up and meets his eyes, pinning him with a four-toothed, honey covered smile. I swear I can see him melt. "... yeah."

"Since when do you take care of babies? I thought you were a writer. Let me see it -"

I brush Lucio away as respectfully as possible. "They're not an it, they're a baby, and your arm is way too sharp to hold them with that gauntlet on it."

"As to why he takes care of babies, he used to be an au pair, if I'm remembering correctly. You must be quite fond of children."

I didn't see Nadia approach with all the ruckus, but now she's standing between Lucio and Muriel and trying to give the baby in question her signature gentle smile. She's a little too stiff to pull it off. I can see Muriel's comfort levels disappearing with the growing crowd and reach over to relieve him of his charge. Nasha curls up in my lap, visibly relieved to be held by someone they know, and nestles against my shirt with a quiet sigh.

"Kids? Nobody likes kids, they're terrible at parties - OW! That hurt, Noddy!"

Nadia's smile is genuine now as she turns back to me, visibly curious about my answer. "Well?"

I chuckle, giving the tot my tattooed arm to poke and prod so they stop trying to snatch and eat Asra's shiny blue stone necklace. "I like them." Nasha leans back in my hold, eyelids drooping and squirming sleepily as I clean the honey off their hands and mouth with a spare cloth. It's hard to hold back the smile when they snuggle further into my arms.

"I've always wanted to have kids of my own. You get to cherish this tiny person through all their ups and downs, and teach them what unconditional love looks like while they figure out who they are and come into their own. And then one day, they're able to go out into the world and build their own life, while you cheer them on and watch them flourish."

I can feel myself flushing from the impromptu sappy speech. "Not to say that everyone should want kids! They're a lot of work and time and a serious commitment so I totally get why others wouldn't want -to - uhm -"

The six misty gazes I'm met with when I look up at my visitors makes me falter. Julian and Nadia look like they've seen a miraculous revelation. Portia and Lucio are hungrily eyeing the way Nasha dozes against my neck. Asra and Muriel are watching me reflectively, lost in thought and smiling quietly at the way I tuck the toddler's blanket around them.

I back up against the wall and make a show of snapping my knees shut, curling myself protectively around my charge. "I didn't say that I wanted to start having babies now, I'm a trans man, that shi- that stuff's complicated and I don't have the money!"

"Mpreg -" Portia coughs into her elbow, and I send her an annoyed look.

"Gee, thanks for the reminder of how taboo I'll be, Portia, let's hope I don't turn into someone's personal fetish or ick."

"Hey," Lucio cuts in with a slight pout, "Why didn't we have any kids, Noddy?"

Nadia fixes him with a stone-cold stare while everyone else looks at him in horror.

"Oh, you know why."

[theladyofbloodshed]

Featuring Nesta Archeron as the beautiful, but witchy leading lady and Eris Vanserra as the tall, quirky investigator.

Chapter 1 of 6

In the bosom of a spacious cove, which indented the eastern shore of the Hudson, lay a small market-town or rural port, which by some is called Greensburgh, but it is more generally and properly known by the name of Tarry Town. Not far from this village, perhaps about two miles, there was a little valley, or rather lap of land, amongst high hills. It was one of the quietest places in the whole world. A small brook glided through it, with just a murmur enough to lull one to repose; and the occasional whistle of a quail, or tapping of a woodpecker, was almost the only sounds that ever broke in upon the uniform tranquillity.

Along one side of the valley was a grove of tall walnut-trees. If one ever wished for a retreat, to steal from the world and its distractions or to dream quietly away the remnant of a troubled life, no land was more promising than the little value. From its listless repose and the peculiar nature of its inhabitants, the sequestered glen was long known by the name of Sleepy Hollow.

A drowsy, dreamy influence seemed to hang over the land and to pervade the very atmosphere. Some say the land was bewitched by an ancient settler. The place held a spell over the minds of the good people, causing them to walk in a continual reverie.

Others held the view that the land was cursed.

It was on the first Monday of the tenth month that Eris Crane was called upon to attend matters in Sleepy Hollow from the constabulary department of New York City. Three murders, most vile, had occurred. A father, a son, and a widow, all murdered. Such crimes occurred regularly, as was the state of the world, but three murders within a week in the small glen of Sleepy Hollow was unheard of.

Eris turned the missive over in his hands as the carriage rattled over uneven stones.

Three bodies. Decapitation. No blood loss. Heads not recovered.  

The decapitation did not move him, however the missing heads did. A lack of blood loss did not marry together with arterial bleeding either.

Eris Crane would solve this mystery, for all unexplained situations were merely waiting to be unravelled.

When his carriage stopped, the dark had settled into the peaceful village. A chill was in the air of Sleepy Hollow. Tendrils of mist stroked the hard earth as he pressed a coin into the hand of the driver then proceeded towards the home of the town’s lord and lady – Rhysand and Feyre Van Tassel.

A party was being had. Lights lit up all of the downstairs windows and music seeped towards him. Eris was not a man who revelled. The arts were a waste of an education. He would make his greetings then depart to his room using the excuse of a long day of travel to escape.

A circle had formed where a young woman was blindfolded. A tall, strapping male with an arrogant gloat about him held her by the shoulders to spin her five times before releasing her into the centre with a low laugh.

‘The pickety witch,’ she said. ‘The pickety witch. Who’s got a kiss for the pickety witch?’

As she spoke, she made lunges for people who dodged her with a giggle. Eris, whom the game was unknown to, remained rooted to the floor as she grasped his waistcoat.

‘Aha. Who do I have?’

Her cold, delicate hands roved over his face while the circle fell silent. Even with the blindfold on, Eris could make out the scrunch of her forehead.

A child cried, ‘A kiss! A kiss!’

‘She has to guess first,’ replies a woman, with pleated curls and dark eyes.

Reverently, the woman caresses his face one more time. It was most unusual for Eris who had not been touched with any sort of warmth since the day he entered an orphanage in the heart of the city.

‘Is it Azriel?’

Laughter ripples about the circle.

‘Pardon, ma’am. I am only a stranger,’ replied Eris.

‘Then have a kiss on account.’

She cupped his face again then tipped up onto her toes to press a chaste kiss to his lips. When the woman released him, she peeled away the blindfold. She was the most beautiful woman Eris had ever seen. Her eyes swirled with a silver glow. Her fair hair reminded him of the luminescence of the moon. It was braided neatly into a coronet to highlight the elegant angles of her face. His eyes traced her skin, followed the downward curve of her neck towards-

Eris swallowed and tore his eyes away from the pale blue gown and ample chest.

She did not smile or laugh as the others did, but regarded Eris as one might an opponent.

‘I am searching for Rhysand Van Tassel.’

‘I am his wife’s sister, Nesta Van Tassel. Upon their marriage, he took our family name.’

‘Most unusual,’ Eris concluded.

‘Quite,’ she agreed.

The male who had spun Nesta stepped forwards. A hand settled on her waist. ‘And who are you, friend? We have not heard your name yet.’

‘I have not said it.’

‘You need some manners.’

Nesta removed the hand from her waist. ‘Enough, Cassian.’

She escorted him through the party-goers to her brother. Where Eris had been expecting a man of stout figure who had indulged himself through many years of gluttony, he found a slim – remarkably young – Lord of Sleepy Hollow. Dark hair was slicked back and matched the sable clothing he wore. Beside him, drinking a glass of wine and speaking to others was his wife, Eris could deduce due to the exceptional resemblance to her sister.

‘Lord and Lady Van Tassel.’

‘Even if you are selling something, you are most welcome here.’

Eris straightened his tie and stood a little taller. ‘I am constable Eris Crane sent to you from New York with the authority to investigate murder in Sleepy Hollow.’

A silence fell across the room.

‘Thank God you’re here to arrest the culprit,’ Cassian called which was met with a smattering of laughter.

‘What good will a constable do?’ Another voice asked.

‘I am quite certain this case will be unravelled,’ he replied, directing his attention to the Lord and Lady of Sleepy Hollow. ‘I daresay the day of travel has been ill and I should prefer to retire rather than enjoy the festivities.’

‘I shall see Constable Crane to his rooms,’ Nesta swiftly said, cutting in before the others.

The house had a second floor followed by a conversion of the attic into a living quarter for receiving guests. Nesta swept through the room to ensure all was up to standards whilst her lips remained pursed together. She stared from the window towards the mist-covered forests that encompassed the village, bar the single road, then promptly drew the curtains closed.

‘Miss Van Tassel,’ Eris said, halting her before her departure. ‘If I may confirm details with you: Three persons murdered. Atwell Van Garrett and his son, Tamlin Van Garrett, both of them strong, capable men. They were found together. Decapitated. A week later, the Widow Briar. Their heads were unable to be located.’

Nesta’s grey eyes sought the closed curtains again then flitted back to his, a wariness settling in. ‘Their heads were not found because their heads were taken, Mister Crane.’

‘Taken?’

‘Taken by the Headless Horseman. Taken back to Hell.’

Surely a woman of sound mind and education would not be taken in by ghost stories.

‘There is a scientific explanation for everything, Miss Van Tassel.’

Nesta squared her shoulders. ‘I assure you that in any other regard I would agree with your sentiments. But not in this. The Headless Horseman is real.’

There had been laughter when Eris had spoken of apprehending the suspect.

‘Indulge me,’ he said.

‘The Horseman was a mercenary, sent to our shores during the war. But unlike his compatriots who came for money, the Horseman came... for love of carnage... and he was not like the others...’ She shook her head. ‘His name was Jurian. He rode a giant black steed. He was infamous for taking his horse hard into battle... chopping off heads at full gallop.  To look upon him made your blood run cold, for he had filed down his teeth to sharp points to add to the ferocity of his appearance.’

She told the story in such a way that Eris could not stop himself from being lured in by her voice. It was a siren’s call. He forced his hands into his pocket to keep from reaching for her.

‘This butcher would not finally meet his end till the winter of seventy-nine not far from here in our Western Woods. He had lured a general, Clythia, into his tent and tore her to pieces. He paraded her head through an enemy encampment then they captured him. They cut off Jurian’s head with his own sword, Clythia’s sister among them. To this day, the Western Woods is still a haunted place where none will dare venture for what was planted there was a seed of evil.’ Nesta spread out her hands. ‘And so it has been for twenty years. But now Jurian wakes -- he is on the rampage, cutting off heads where he finds them.’

If it were not for the austerity in her voice, Eris might have scoffed at the tale.

‘Miss Van Tassel, you cannot believe in such stories.’

‘It is no story,’ she vowed.

Eris shook his head. ‘We have murders in New York without the benefit of ghouls and goblins.’

‘You are a long way from New York, sir,’ she said, sweeping her head into a bow.

‘I shall discover the motive of the murders, Miss Van Tassel. This mystery will not resist investigation by a rational man.’

Eris moved to lean against the table, in a display of casualness, but the table wobbled on its uneven legs. The empty glass she had placed there for him juddered onto its side and rolled off the table. He winced as it fell, but – mercifully – it did not shatter.

‘You may be as rational as you like. The Reverend Helion will even press a Bible into your hands so that God may be the salvation in this horror. I speak of what I have heard from the lips of those who have seen. Those whose word I trust.’

‘Then, pray, tell me what others have seen.’

‘Rhysand has set a watch since the first murders. Cassian circles the village night after night on duty. He saw the Horseman galloping away on the night the Widow Briar was found murdered.’

‘I had believed you to be a rational woman rather than one in league with the brute from downstairs.’

Nesta stepped back, appraising him with a scowl. ‘You cast a judgement on the first night of our meeting.’

Bashfully, Eris dipped his head. ‘Please excuse my manners. I am not used to-’

‘Female company?’

Blood burned in his cheeks. ‘Society.’

‘How can you avoid society in New York? How I should love the opera - and theatres - to go dancing... Is it wonderful?’

‘I have never been.’

‘But there is an art museum? A concert hall?’

‘I don’t know.’

She gave a disappointed sigh. ‘Then you have nothing to teach me.’

At once, Eris wanted to take back his words. Or to offer Nesta the opportunity to visit museums and concert halls where they could dance. He would learn for her.

‘Nesta, you cannot truly believe it is the Horseman.’

‘Not everyone does believe.’

‘Good,’ he replied, relief flooding him.

‘Some say it is the witch of the woods who made a pact with Lucifer.’

Eris closed his eyes as he sucked in a breath. ‘There are no witches or galloping ghosts. Is everyone in this village in thrall with superstition?’

‘Why are you so frightened of magic, Eris? Not all of it is wicked. There are ancient truths in these woods which have been forgotten in your city parks.’

‘If they are truths, they are not magic – and if magic, not truth.’

She threw up her hands, anger brimming in her gaze. ‘You are foolish. When there is fever in the house, it is well known that willow-herb roots and a crow's foot must be boiled in the milk of a pure white goat with special charms uttered over the fire then the fever abates.’

‘Next time, try the herb without the rest. And now I must ask you to leave.’

‘Gladly,’ Nesta replied. ‘I should not have interrupted our town’s saviour from his contemplation. Goodnight. And as for the brute you mentioned, he has proposed to me.’

How could it be? Although Eris did not know the pair, they were already at odds in his mind. She was fair and lovely to look upon. He was big and burly with a rough tongue and rougher hands.

‘I, I, I,’ he stuttered. ‘I am happy that…’

‘He proposed to me several times.’

She gave a faint smile after her ambiguous words then departed with a slam of the door.

[wc-confessions]

Honestly? Surprised no one has done anything with an AU where Mapleshade and Appledusk are an evil villain couple together.

Maybe after Mapleshade’s kits died, Appledusk took her side and after Mapleshade was turned away, he was exiled too, and swore that he and Mapleshade would get revenge together.

Maybe Mapleshade and her kits were exiled, but all due to a plan that she and Appledusk made where she would pull a Moth Flight and put Patchkit in ThunderClan, Petalkit in ShadowClan, and Larchkit in WindClan, and then once she and Appledusk are killed by someone, they influence their kits to take over the Clans.

Does this make them toxic and harmful to each other and the people around them? Yes. But honestly. Who cares? I want to see more villain couples, not just in Warrior Cats but in general media. I know, I know, Hawk x Ash or Sol x Blackstar. Whatever.

But what about Mapleshade x Appledusk? Tigerstar 1 x Goldenflower? Thistleclaw x Snowfur? That third one may be a stretch, but I want less marketable and more heinous villains, including villain couples. Get out of here with sad boy Ashfur confiding in hot hot Hawkfrost, I wanna see Tigerstar 1 and Goldenflower murdering innocents and being the king and queen of the Dark Forest.

Oh, and one more confession: I like Hawkfrost x Leafpool. Watch Squirrelflight combust from that reveal.

.

[detectivestucks]

A Jealous Hokage V

18+ content, Minors do NOT interact

Pairing: Kakashi x F!Reader x Obito

Summary: You make a decision as the Gala approaches, Kakashi drives you wild when you attend the event before he and Obito make a spectacle in front of the entire international community

Warnings: NSFW, Slight degradation, Oral, Unprotected Sex, Toy Usage, Violence

Word Count: 6k

Part 4

New here? Check out Part 1

You wake up the next day feeling heavy. It felt like Kakashi was forcing you to choose between him and your career. Years of studying, hard work, and climbing the ladder all to be thrown away over a boy. You worked so hard to get assigned to high profile projects, you spent so many long nights proving your worth to become team lead of your division, you’re about to meet with the board for a promotion that you’ve been anticipating for two months. Your career is finally taking off and Kakashi wants to come in like a wrecking ball and discredit everything your hard work achieved. 

You love how everyone views you as the exceedingly smart and dependable linguist. You dread the idea of being viewed as nothing more than the Hokage’s girlfriend, using her boyfriend’s influence to get the job she wants. Not to mention the target that will be on your back from all the jealous fangirls who dream of dating him. Scores of women will try to sabotage you or harm your work all for the sake of stealing your relationship away from you. He acted like this was no big deal but publicly becoming the Copy Ninja’s girlfriend was actually a very big adjustment and one that you were not mentally braced for. He was right though; you can’t ask him to wait till he steps down as Hokage. If you are serious about maintaining your relationship, you will have to face the music eventually. 

You couldn’t help but think about how much easier all this would be if you had never started seeing Kakashi and had met Obito first. The feelings were there. That you couldn’t deny. You were relatively sure that he already loved you and you could see yourself grow to love him in the same way. No one would care if you were to date a regular Jonin. Everyone at the office would keep praising your work ethic and intelligence and Obito would stand by your side and celebrate your success rather than detract from it. Plus if his genjutsu was even a little accurate, he was a good fuck too. 

You begin to shake your head. Stop thinking about that. It wasn’t real. I chose Kakashi.

Wrought with indecision you decide to go dress shopping to distract yourself. You needed something for the Gala in a few weeks and you would possibly need some alterations done before the night of the party. Not wanting to go alone, you swing by your officemate’s home to see if she could come with. 

“Absolutely! I’m sure my husband would be much happier if I go with you instead of him.” 

You both giggle at the sentiment and head to the market. 

“You doing okay, Y/N? You seem a little down today.”

“Oh, ah, it’s nothing. Just some personal issues.”

“Uh-oh, does this have to do with mystery man?”

“A little. Well, a lot.”

“What happened? Or are you going to keep me in the dark like usual?”

“Well, he doesn’t want to be a mystery much longer.”

“Which is reasonable”

“But I really think it will impact my upcoming promotion.”

“Why? Are you dating one of the elders?” She says sarcastically

“Of course not.” You laugh “But you know how important my work is to me and I don’t want it ruined over some guy.”

“Well is it really ‘some guy’ when you’ve been seeing him for months?”

You think about this before you speak. “There’s…there’s also another guy.”

“Woah! Two guys at once? Is that why he’s a secret?”

“No! Nothing like that! He has just made it crystal clear that he’s interested in me. He seems great and well, being with him wouldn’t negatively impact my career. It would ‘be easy, the way it’s supposed to be.’ Or at least that’s what he says.”

“Want to know what I think?”

“Desperately” you say with sincerity

“I think that the first guy must mean a lot to you if you want to date him despite how it could hurt your career. I know how much your work means to you, so it tells me a lot about who he must be.”

You give a weak smile, relieved that your decision to stay with Kakashi was validated.

“But where does that leave me with the whole, going public thing?”

“Well, you have that meeting with the board coming up soon, right?”

“Yes, they assigned me that Class S project that’s due in 3 weeks and the board meeting is right after. They want to see if I can ‘handle the pressure of leading a team that interprets S Rank intel’.”

“They act like you’re not already doing that.” she laughs.

“Yeah really”

“But anyways, how about, you wait till after the board meeting? See if you get the position and then go public after you’ve had a few weeks to settle into the new job.”

“I don’t know…”

“I’m just saying, it gives him a date so he’s happy, and it gives you time to establish yourself as the boss before your lovelife becomes a factor in your professional life.”

“You know what Shiho, that is sage advice. Thank you. Now what advice can you give me about this dress?”

“It’s stunning. The jaw of every man, including mystery man, will be on the floor.”

You smile at yourself in the mirror. She was absolutely right. Kakashi would have to forgive you if he saw you in this. He wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off of you. 

****************************************************

Going into work the next Monday was painful. You had a meeting with Kakashi to discuss the status of your project and he was incredibly cold to you. You know it wasn’t cause he was mad at you, it was because he was hurt. It also probably didn’t help that the catalyst for your interaction was due to the very reason why you wouldn’t go public about your feelings for him. 

You needed to talk to him. Tell him your decision. Tell him about the timeline Shiho suggested. You tried to linger behind after the project briefing but new people kept coming into his office so you didn’t get the chance. 

At the end of the day Kakashi swung by your office. You were working late as usual. He stood there watching you while you were lost in thought. He sighed and walked away without saying hello.

Obito however also decided to come check on you, striding into your office like it was his own. 

“Oh come on Obito, now I can’t remember what I was just thinking.”

He leaned against your desk, “Don’t worry Princess, you’re smart, you’ll remember.”

You grimaced at him. “That’s not the point. I don’t like being interrupted when I’m working late. That’s the whole beauty of being in my office alone at night.”

“I thought the beauty of being in your office alone at night was so that I could bend you over your desk.” he says with a wink, getting close to you, seducing you with his sultry voice.

“Obito, we talked about this.” Though deep down you had to admit that does sound appealing.

“I’m sorry Princess. I just came to check on you.”

You look down embarrassed. You had a fight with your boyfriend and immediately cried in the arms of his romantic rival. You’re a terrible girlfriend. “Thank you Obito. I’ll be fine though.”

“Did you make a decision?”

“Ah, the real reason you came to see me.”

“Of course not Princess, but you know I had to ask. I do have a vested interest after all.”

“I’m still dating Kakashi.” you say with a look of exasperation “…if he’ll have me.”

“He will have you. He’d be a moron not to.” He says pulling you into a hug. 

You were starting to enjoy his hugs. They always made you feel better. You were sure they were just a way for him to touch you but you could tell it was also because he had grown to care for you. You take a deep breath while in his arms. Inhaling his musky scent. You relaxed completely in his arms as you exhaled. Feeling relief wash over you, you let go of him, ready to begin working again.

“Let me go make you some tea, and then I’ll leave you be.”

You give Obito a small smile as he leaves your office to head towards the break room. This would be a lot easier if he’d just be an asshole.

****************************************************

You tried for two weeks to get a hold of Kakashi before finally giving up on catching him at work. Instead you went straight to his home directly. You were just going to have to risk being seen if you wanted to speak with him. You give the door three quick knocks. Nerves getting the better of you. 

You could hear him get up to answer the door. “Angel” he smiles before letting you in.

Not thinking, you immediately rush to hug him, holding him tight. Butterflies are released the second you touch him. He hugs you back. “I’ve missed you Kashi”

“I’ve missed you too Angel”

Your heart ached upon seeing him again. You knew you missed him but just how much was unknown to you till this exact moment. You could’ve cried had you allowed yourself to. 

You swallow hard before clearing your throat. “I’ve come to negotiate with you.”

He cocks his head to the side, “Oh you have?”

“Yes, I have.”

He gave a smile, playing into your hand. “So what is it that you propose?”

“I propose that we keep our relationship private for another 6 weeks.”

“I propose that we go to the Gala together as a couple.”

“Kakashi, you know I have the board meeting coming up. That determines if I finally get the position as head of the department. Please allow me to get the position on my own, without you being a factor.”

“That meeting is in another week. Why do you wanna wait six?”

“I want time to establish myself in the position before the rumor mill goes wild with theories about our relationship”

“Fine, I will accept your terms.” He says seriously but with a twinkle of happiness in his eyes.

You beam up at him. “So are we good?”

“Yes Angel, we’re good” He pulls you in kissing your cheek as he pulls you over to the couch to lay with you. “You know, since I can’t go to the Gala this weekend as your date, I thought of a way you can make it up to me.”

Uh oh. You look up at him pensively. “What do you have in mind?”

“Oh not much, just a little toy I picked up for you.”

“A toy?”

“Yes, I think you’ll like it.” He gets up and goes to his room, coming back with a small pink pad with a bump in the middle. There was a wicked smile on his face. 

“What is it?” you say, standing up.

He pushes the pad between your legs so the bump in the middle kisses your clit. Pressing the remote he kept hidden in his hand, the pad began to vibrate. Immediately you locked your legs together and hitched forward, clawing at his shoulder for support as the vibrations knocked the wind out of you. Your moans bounced around the room as his eyes darkened with lust. He turned off the remote allowing you to return to standing. 

“I want you to wear this in your underwear to the Gala this weekend.”

“Kashi, people will notice.” you say with urgency.

“It’s up to you to make sure that they don’t.”

“What if they hear it?”

He turns it on again, making you groan, slick instantly puddling in your thong. “I don’t know about you, but all I can hear are you pretty little moans.” He pushes it into you harder before turning it off. 

You nod your head accepting your fate. “That’s a good Angel” he says with a masked kiss on your cheek. You take the toy and deposit it into your bag. 

“See you on Saturday” he coos in your ear.

“See you Saturday, Kashi” you say with your eyes closed. It felt like home to have him whisper in your ear once again. You left for home with your heart fluttering. Relieved that he was happy again and relieved that you had six weeks to get yourself ready for the shit storm that would hit you once you made your affair public.

****************************************************

The night of the Gala finally came. You were a little bit anxious about interacting and socializing with all your coworkers and so many important officials from other nations all at once. Not to mention the part where Kakashi would be tormenting your clit at any given moment. The pink silicone pad rested in your black satin thong, pressed into your heat by the elastic band.  The small ridge in the middle nestled snug up against your clit which throbbed with anticipation. You take a deep breath before you enter the room. Immediately by the door you see Obito who is talking to Genma, Kotetsu, and Izumo.

“Wow” he whispers audibly. 

You walk in wearing a slender, floor-length, glittering black dress. The bodice was snug against your chest, diving down in a deep V that showed your entire cleavage. The fabric gathered up at the slim straps that reached over your shoulders and criss crossed down your back to your waist. The skirt flowed down to the floor with a slit high up on your thigh, showing off your plush leg and dainty, strappy black heels. You wore the matching earrings that Kakashi gave you special for this occasion and around your neck draped the glittering stone necklace with the bright pendant resting between your breasts. Your hair was pinned up on one side with large waves cascading down past your shoulders. Since you loved to emphasize your natural grace, you chose light eye makeup with thick mascara and extra highlighter on your cheekbones. 

Upon your entrance many members in the crowd turned to gaze at you. The room began to quiet down as several of them gawked at your beauty. You felt incredibly shy by the room’s reaction and quickly sought out Shiho to go talk to. You bypass Obito, knowing nothing good would come from interacting with him, and looked straight ahead, doing your best not to see his reaction out of the corner of your eye.

“Yeah, she’s pretty to look at but she’s married to her job.” Genma says in response to Obito’s jaw falling to the floor.

“You don’t want a girl like that. She’d never give you the time of day unless you were one of her dusty scrolls.” Izumo piles on. Kotetsu laughed in agreement.

“You’re all idiots” Obito growls as he walks away searching for better company.

You meet up with Shiho and her husband. 

“Wow, you look stunning!”

“Thank you!” you say, casting your eyes down. You know that you’re beautiful but it still makes you bashful for people to be so forthcoming with compliments. 

“So, is mystery man here tonight?” 

“Shiho!” you say in an urgent whisper. “I don’t want anyone knowing anything till that day that we agreed upon at the dress shop.”

“So he went for it.”

“Yes, he went for it.”

“Well I’m happy for you.” 

You smile. You’re happy too, but soon you’re going to have to face your punishment for hurting Kakashi’s feelings and you’re dreading the moment that he enters the room.

The room dims and there is a man by the doorway. He comes out to begin announcing the important guests of the evening. They begin with the Feudal Lords of the other nations and their Kage, followed by their family members and invited guests. After the members of the other great nations enter the room, they announce the Feudal Lord of the Land of Fire and the Hokage.

Kakashi enters the room in his ceremonial robes and your heart throbs for him. As much as you want to see him in a suit, you feel so proud of him for the position that he earned. 

Soon after he enters the room your breath hitches. He turned on the vibrator.

Already?! Couldn’t wait a second, could you?

“Is something wrong?” Shiho asks

You laugh it off, “No, everything’s fine, just a cramp from my heels.” Kashi please turn it off.

“Okay” she says unconvinced.

Enjoying the company of other intellectuals, Shikamaru enters your circle right as Kakashi disabled the vibrator. 

“Good Evening Shikamaru”

“Good Evening, Y/N. How are you tonight?”

“I’m doing well!”

“How’s that project going? I hear you’re almost done”

“Yes, it’s going well.” 

Temari enters the conversation anxious to be near Shikamaru and at the same time Kakashi flips the switch back on.

“Y/N, this is Temari, she is the Kazekage’s older sister.”

“Nice to meet you!” you say through a pained smile. Kakashi, why?! This is too mean.

“So I hear you have a meeting with the board at the end of the project. Are you nervous?”

“Very much so” you say, your face turning red from embarrassment and arousal.

“Oh, what’s the meeting for?” Temari asks

“They’re thinking of making Y/N head of the department” One of the elders interjects as he joins the group for conversation. At that moment Kakashi raises the intensity of the vibrator. You feel you are going to collapse if he doesn’t stop. 

You desperately look around the room. He’s standing in the corner deep in conversation with Gaara and the Raikage but glances over in your direction. You know him well enough to be able to tell he is smiling a devilish grin under that mask when he sees the panic on your face. You silently plea for him to turn it off but instead he increases the speed out of spite. Kashiiiii! But as you shake hands with one of the retired jonin the elder just introduced you to, he finally turns it off again. 

You feel a wave of relief rush to your core as you catch your breath. 

It seems that everyone wants a chance to speak with you tonight and the circle of people around you is growing rather large. Kakashi is having boisterous fun turning the vibrator on and off all evening but eventually there are too many onlookers so you head over to find some refreshments, preferably some sake to desensitize your aching clit and relieve your embarrassment. 

 Finally alone for a moment you scan the room. You see Obito talking with his old classmates in the center of the hall. You noticed that he looked very handsome in a suit. The juxtaposition between the elegant fabric with clean lines against his battle-scarred face was erotic. He could have any woman in the room. Why did he always set his sights on you? You sigh wishing Obito would move on when Kakashi approaches you slipping off your earring as he whispers, “play along”

“Oh, Y/N, you seem to have a missing earring.”

“Oh no! It must’ve fallen out.” you exclaim looking at the ground.

“Do you need help looking for it?”

“That would be very appreciated, my Lord.”

“Let’s retrace your steps.” His hand glides to the small of your back as you walk back the way you came in search for a coat closet.

From across the room Obito spots you. His chest pangs as he sees you and Kakashi sneak off together knowing exactly what the two of you are actually up to.

You reach a secluded closet down the hall and he shoves you up against the wall. 

You smile as you look at him with those bedroom eyes he loves. You know you're gorgeous tonight and you know he wants to devour you. 

You playfully take his Hokage cap and wear it while pulling down his mask to kiss him. 

“Now this is a Hokage I would die for” he says as he lunges in to kiss you. You feverishly make out, pawing at each other’s faces, as the Hokage cap falls to the ground. You hadn’t been intimate for several weeks. Your pent up sexual frustration was boiling to the surface. 

Kakashi sucked and bit your lip till it was swollen and red making you look extra pouty. 

His inner wolf emerged as you played with his hair, mouth open, taunting him with your lips. 

He grabbed you tight, squeezing you with all his strength as he kissed you long and slow. Savoring your taste like he was discovering your lips for the first time. You slipped your tongue past his lips, licking the inside of his mouth. The two of you moaning together as your tongues danced in each other’s mouths, dry humping to the rhythm of your synchronized breathing. 

Eventually breaking apart, he stares at you, scanning you up and down. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look more beautiful than you do here tonight.”

You blush looking at the ground. “Well, I was trying to impress the Hokage. Have you seen him?” you look up innocently. A smile stretching across his face. 

“I can’t wait to see how beautiful you look on our wedding day.”

You gush at the idea and how ridiculous it is to be talking of marriage when you’re currently hiding your affair in a coat closet at an international event.

He grabs you forcefully by the shoulders pulling you in to kiss once more. You start to undress him, taking off his robes and his dress shirt underneath so that you can claw at his muscular chest and back. 

“That’s not fair Angel. I can’t mark you while you wear that dress but you can scratch me up all you want?”

“Shinobi know better than most that life’s not fair” you say, nuzzling your nose against his before sucking on his neck and collarbone that you know will be hidden under his mask.

Infuriated at the situation, Kakashi promptly pulls down the straps of your dress to mark your tits. All your previous markings had healed. There was no sign on your body that you were taken and belonged to him. It was time to remedy that. 

“Aaahh!” you sing as he overpowers you and starts biting down on the flesh of your breast. You missed the painful bliss of his ravenous teeth. He put his hand in his pocket and turned on the vibrator. 

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh!” It was much more fun to play with when you were allowed to moan and sink into the pleasure. While your mind swims from the vibrations, Kakashi takes one breast in each hand and goes back and forth between the two, marking, kissing, sucking, and flicking your nipples with his tongue. You loved it so much that you had to muffle yourself with your hand so no one would open the closet door and catch you. 

When he was done he squeezed your tits extra hard in his large hands before moving the slit of your skirt aside so he could gain access to your cunt currently being massaged by his toy. He uses his hand to push it into you  while he reaches in his pocket to put the intensity on max. You wail pushing a second hand over your mouth. 

“Do you like that Angel?” he coos as he tries to take your hands away from  your mouth. It’s like he wants us to get caught. You think to yourself but the thought is quickly stolen from your brain as he pulls down your underwear and replaces the vibrator with his tongue swirling all over your bud.

Your knees give out from the pleasure and you fall to the closet floor. Kakashi instantly climbs on top of you, his crotch above your face. He spreads your legs clutching around your thighs diving in on your delicious sex. You whine and moan wiggling under him as he dines on everything your pussy has to offer. 

“You taste devine. Just as sweet as I remember.”

Lust consuming your actions, you undo the ties of his pants pulling out his length. Stroking him aggressively, lifting your head to swallow him while his face is buried between your legs. 

He sucks hard on your clit eliciting a moan that vibrates along his entire shaft currently stuffed between your lips. You hear a mischievous laugh from between your legs. You whine and wiggle in response. He continues lapping at your heat while you bob your head up and down on his cock. 

You feel him go rigid before he bites down on your bud. You yelp, his length still filling your mouth. Kakashi readjusts his weight and begins thrusting into your throat. Gagging and choking on his cock, spit dribbles out of your mouth and tears leak out of the corner of your eyes while your face reddens from oxygen deprivation. You are about to tap out when he finally rips his length out of your throat and you gasp for air. 

He gives you a small upside down kiss before maneuvering to align himself with your heat. His tip pressing into your entrance, the familiar feeling of fullness stretches you once more making you hiss in excitement. He pushes your wrists into the floor as he sets his pace between your legs. You let your head fall to the side as you close your eyes enjoying the sensation of having him inside your pussy once more. Walls sucking his length in deeper and deeper, Kakashi leans down to lightly kiss your neck. You hum, feeling your mind go blank with joy and pleasure. His sack lightly tapping between your cheeks with each thrust. 

He lifts up your legs over his shoulders to deepen his angle. Your strappy black heels on either side of his face. You begin to mewl and moan now that he is kissing your cervix. Feeling yourself begin to tetter on the edge, ready to topple over in orgasm. You reach up to him to bring him down closer to you. 

His eyes ignite and he presses your legs into you snapping his hips into your plush behind at a wicked pace. You begin to feel rug burn on your back as he thrusts with all his might, utilizing every muscle in his body. You lift up your hand to stop your head from banging into the wall of the closet while the other grabs a tight hold of his neck. You want to scream but instead you mutter his name along with various curses under your breath.

“That’s it Angel, take every inch”

“Fuck baby! Fuuuucccckkk”

“That’s a good little slut. Taking my dick on the floor of the coat closet.”

“Oh Gods Kashi, Fuck!”

“You think I didn’t notice you chose a dress with a slit in it, just like I wanted. You’d been planning this. You wanted to be my little closet cumslut.”

“Yes, my Lord. I want to be your little cumslut.”

“Does your tight little pussy want my cum?”

“Ye-e-e-e-s-s!” You barely say between thrusts.

Kakashi grunts as he thrusts even faster than he already was till he spills his spend inside of you, stroking it deeper inside of your walls. Taking great pride in the thought of you spending the rest of the Gala feeling his cum leaking out of your pussy into your underwear. 

The two of you lay together on the floor of the coat closet both half naked catching your breath. What a site it would be if someone were to open the door. 

You grab his hand and hold it. An involuntary smile stretches across his face. He so badly wants to walk back out into that room holding your hand. He wants the world to know you’re his. You belong to him, from your delicious body, to your marvelous mind, all the way down to your beautiful soul. For now he will have to just admire you from across the room. Those 6 weeks cannot go by quick enough. The first thing he is going to do is take you on a very public date. He already knows exactly where; he’s been planning it since the night you came to his house. 

You sit up, adjusting your skirt so that the slit is back to the side where it belongs, and lift your straps back over your shoulders covering up the love marks on your breasts and ribs. You wipe the runny mascara off your cheeks and smooth out your hair. There's not much that can be done about the rug burn on your back so Kakashi grabs one of the shawls that was hung up and gives it to you to drape over your shoulders. 

You fluff his hair and straighten his cap. Walking out of the closet together, beaming at the other. He gives you back the earring he took and pockets the pink toy, letting your clit rest for the remainder of the evening. Besides, now it was his cum that would be toying with you as it slides out into your thong and coats your inner thighs.

When you re enter the ceremony hall Kakashi takes a left and you take a right, headed over to the group your officemate is talking to. Obito happens to be in the conversation and it seems that you interrupted the group giving him a hard time about being single. Great, just the conversation I want to have around him. Ebisu suggests that Obito should date you, since you’re both single. You both exchange heated looks before your officemate speaks up and spills the beans that you have a secret boyfriend. You shoot Shiho a look of rage. Is she dumb or drunk?! Obito toys with you knowing you want them to change the subject.

“You have a secret boyfriend, eh?” He asks

“I’m too focused on work to date.”

“Oh really? Is that why I see flowers delivered to your desk?”

You glare at Obito. “Would you drop it already?” Your face becoming more flush as the heat spreads to your cheeks.

Kakashi, noticing how Obito was messing with you, approaches the group. Feeling jealousy creep into his heart, he can’t take it anymore. You’re his, no one else’s. He just wants Obito to shut up. He stands next to you and quietly grabs your hand, interlacing his fingers with yours, exposing your relationship to the entire Gala. 

“Holy shit” you hear your officemate whisper. 

“Wait, really?” someone else says

“Kakashi’s your secret boyfriend?” Ebisu practically yells to the whole room.

You see Obito’s devastated face before he leaves the Gala in a hurry. All you can do is look at the ground as the entire room breaks out into a whisper, all gossiping about your now public relationship.

“This isn’t what we talked about Kakashi” you whisper to him, eyes fixed to the floor, enraged by his action.

Shiho then says, “Yeah, I would’ve kept this one a secret too, Y/N. Had I known he was the guy you were talking about, I would’ve told you to never go public with him.” She looked up at Kakashi disapprovingly. Seeing his action for the selfish deed that it was. This was definitely going to impact your promotion and she knew it.

Feeling humiliated you leave the room and head for the door. All eyes were on you as you left, resisting the urge to cry in front of all the feudal lords and Kage of the five great nations. 

How could he do this to me? So publicly and in front of the entire international community! And with the board meeting in just 9 days!

Once your face meets the cool night air you begin to sob. Walking aimlessly in your heels, it didn’t matter where you went as long as it was far away from everyone at the Gala. 

Your vision clouded by tears, you didn’t notice Obito standing in front of you. You collided into him. He clearly had also been on the brink of tears. 

“Please Y/N, don’t be with Kakashi.” He begs, “You should be with me!” You knew he was serious; he called you by your name.

“Stop Obito! I can’t deal with this right now.”

“He doesn’t even respect you enough to obey your wishes! I KNOW you were not okay with what he did back there!”

“My relationship doesn’t concern you Obito!”

“Yes it does! I would never do that to you! You know that I would always respect you and your job.”

“Obito, you literally came to my place of work to ask me on a date!”

“But you weren’t secretly dating me.”

“No! But you knew I was in a relationship with someone else!”

“Princess…”

“No Obito! Don’t act like you’ve been a saint! You think I’ve forgotten how you ambushed me on my way home, how you always break into my apartment to see me, that you put me under genjutsu twice?!”

“Princess, I-I’m sorry, I-”

“YOU PUT HER UNDER GENJUTSU?!” Kakashi roared. 

He heard everything, having followed you after you left the Gala. He knew Obito was causing trouble but this was unforgivable. 

“Careful Kakashi, don’t start a fight you can’t win.”

“You’re a dead man.” He hissed. 

Usually the voice of reason, Kakashi only looked like the man you loved but he sounded and was behaving like a totally different person.

Chidori singing in his hand, Kakashi dove for Obito. Obito just stood there as Kakashi moved through him. 

What the hell? How did he do that?!

Kakashi tore off his Hokage robes and pulled out a kunai hidden in his pants. Obito did the same. Both men armed and ready for battle. 

What is happening right now?! 

You begin to panic as they lunge at each other in impressive hand to hand combat. Their tijutsu skills are unbelievable. They soar through the air as they kick each other, swinging their fists faster than you’ve ever seen anyone move. 

You finally collect your wits realizing you have to stop them. You can’t possibly step in, their skills far exceed your own. You yell for them to stop, begging and pleading with them but you are white noise in their ears. 

You run back to the Gala in your heels to get help. You see Shikamaru outside having a smoke with Temari. You grab him by the sleeve, dragging him with you, running over to where Kakashi and Obito are. Temari runs behind you. 

“Hey! What’s going on?!” Shikamaru yells in surprise.

“They’re gonna kill each other?!” you cry. He starts running with you. You round the corner and see that they have brought half the street to rubble in the midst of their battle. 

“Oh shit.” Shikamaru stops under the street light to use his shadow paralysis on the both of them, holding them hostage midswing. You can tell it took enormous strength on his part to hold these legendary shinobi at bay. 

“Calm down!” he shouts. “You’re creating a scene in front of the entire global community! Do you have any shame?!”

The both of them begin to sober up, their rage ebbing slightly. They calm down enough for Shikamaru to release them. 

“If I catch you sniffing around her one more time I’ll kill you.” Kakashi snarls. 

“Believe what you want Bakashi, but she loves me too and if I were the one she met first, it would be me who she’s with, not you.” 

The truth of his words stung, looming in the air between you. He was absolutely right, in another reality, you probably would have been with him. It shattered your heart to think about it. 

Obito marched off into the night while you looked up at Kakashi teary-eyed.

Kakashi regained his composure, collecting his ceremonial robes and cap from off the ground. “Let me take you home.” he says, sticking out his elbow. 

“Okay” you whisper, taking it. Leaving behind the spectacle you just made as Shikamaru and Temari watch you leave.

You didn’t want to think about the fight you just saw. You didn’t want to think about the fight you were about to have with Kakashi. You didn’t want to think about what people were saying back at the Gala. You didn’t want to think about how people were going to treat you on Monday. You wanted to run away but for now you would settle for turning your mind off and walking home on auto pilot in complete silence.

Part 6 Masterlist

[mariejordans]

limoreau au ideas that i crave

1. ballet au—i’m thinking something like marie as the new ballerina in a ballet company and jordan as one of the veteran principal dancers who always gets cast for supporting roles, but never main bc management/casting is never quite sure how to cast them bc of their gender identity (bc management and casting are cowards basically) even though they’re one of the best dancers in the company (and everyone knows it.) so they’re always put in side roles that are comedic or gender-neutral (such as puck in a midsummer night’s dream or mercutio in romeo and juliet) and they’re like, SO frustrated, bc they want to be THE star, not just a side character. and so the end jordan’s contract is coming to an end soon and they’re very unsure if they’ll get a renewal, while marie is on a one year contract, so it’s also up in the air whether hers will be renewed too.

and then one day jordan and marie are randomly paired together for pas de deux (maybe it’s for a rehearsal or class/warm-up) and everyone is just floored by the instant chemistry and they end up getting cast in a brand new contemporary ballet set to premiere the following season bc the choreographer (i’m thinking maybe victoria?) just happens to also witness them and is inspired so much that they end up largely influencing the choreography and roles end up being specifically made for them.

and management is like, kinda nervous to allow them to be cast bc marie is like this freshly new ballerina who was just hired and is pretty much a rookie in all aspects, and they’re still worried about jordan’s marketability and such, but victoria vouches for them and fights super hard, so basically they can’t fuck it up at all bc it might be their only chance to really prove themselves and get their contract renewal.

and like the company is also putting on this super classic ballet (very much the opposite of the contemporary, which is very intense and sensual and dark) starring their two most popular principal dancers (luke and cate probs) and its very much implied that this new ballet has to perform as well as, if not better, than the classic ballet in order to secure their contract renewals. and so they really have to work together and help each other out so that they can both prove themselves.

also marie and jordan kinda hate each other at first bc like, marie was actually a big fan of jordans pre-getting into the company and were super excited to meet them until she finds out that jordan almost cost her a spot in the company, bc they just so happened to have seen her audition and mentioned to brink (who was on the auditioning panel) that she seemed too inexperienced and “not ready” etc etc (he ended up getting outvoted anyway bc the rest of the panel liked her) and so they basically can’t stand each other, which only makes the chemistry THAT more intense and palpable.

2. camp counselors au—marie and jordan are camp counselors at a vought summer camp for supe children. they both know each other vaguely from god u, specifically from an end of semester party where the two hooked up and had a one night stand. and so they are both totally shocked to see that the other is also working at the summer camp and the tension is still off the charts, but here’s the catch: there’s no fraternization policy between counselors, and if you’re caught hooking up with another counselor, you’re basically sent home.

and so, neither jordan or marie can afford to be sent home, so they really try to be “just friends” at first, but they just can’t stay away from one another, so there’s a LOT of sneaking around, stolen kisses and secret hook-ups. they eventually get caught at some point but like they just get slap on the wrist and sent back to their stations (apparently so many other people have broken the no fraternization rule it happens so often and they can’t fire everyone.)

the entire gang is also there (emma, cate, and marie share a cabin while luke, andre, sam, and jordan share another.) marie is in charge of arts and crafts, while jordan is a lifeguard (lifeguard jordan does things to me omg)

(also this plot is very much inspired by wildfire by hannah grace)

3. royalty au—just, this entire thread. it’s so perfect.

4. gossip girl/rich kids au—marie as a transfer student on scholarship to this very exclusive fancy boarding school. she’s there for one reason, and one reason only: to study, make valedictorian, and get into her dream university, [insert ivy league school here.] she quickly encounters the richest kids in school, a clique made up of luke riordan, andre anderson, cate dunlap, and, of course, jordan li. luke, andre, and cate warm up to marie pretty quickly, but jordan is very cold towards marie for no reason, and she doesn’t know why. but it doesn’t even matter, bc soon she realizes her biggest competition for valedictorian is jordan themself, and the two have their little academic rivals to lovers arc.

also, emma is marie’s boarding school roommate who mostly stays on the outskirts of the social scene (she’s happy to observe) but also always know all the gossip and the drama happening. and if it’s a true gossip girl au, someone like sam ends up being gossip girl lmao.

5. childhood friends au—basically canon but if marie and jordan had been as childhood best friends. like they used to live in the same neighborhood and would often play together as children, their parents were all friends; they were basically inseparable. and then when they started school, they would ride the bus together, they would do homework together. and marie being the first person to know about jordan’s powers and was there when they manifested, and was the first person to fully accept not only just their powers, but their identity as well.

but then marie’s dad gets a job offer in a different city, a different state, and at twelve and fourteen years old, the two are ripped apart for the first time. they promise to email each other everyday, and they do for two years straight until marie stops emailing one day. and jordan keeps trying to contact her, emails her constantly, tries for about a year until they give up. and they’re So angry at marie, bc it’s like they’ve been abandoned yet again. they’re So deeply hurt and betrayed. they tell themselves they don’t need her and they should just forget about her and they almost succeed.

they’ve almost managed to completely forget the best friend they’ve ever had until her application shows up in the crime-fighting applications database thing (or whatever its called idk.) and they’re like, just stunned, because as far as they were aware, marie was not a supe, and she had pretty much ceased to exist outside of distant memories from their childhood. and even then, it’s still as if she doesn’t exist, with her non-existent social media presence, and no experience in crime-fighting whatsoever.

and so they reject her application, bc of her lack of qualifications, because they weren’t prepared for her to exist to them again. they had just gotten used to her absence, and it still hurt them so bad that she had forgotten them so quickly. and even though they would hardly admit it, a part of them was trying to protect her, though from what exactly, they couldn’t say.

meanwhile, marie had been forced to stop emailing once she arrived at red river. and to be honest, even if she could, she doesn’t think she could’ve continued to email jordan like everything was fine. and so she cut off contact completely, even though it hurt her so much.

around the age of 16/17, marie realized she needed a plan to get out of red river. getting adopted was so unlikely, and she couldn’t stomach the thought of elmira. and then she saw jordan’s face on a brochure for a godolkin university and a plan begins to form in her mind. and when she gets the email that she’s been offered a full ride to god u, she finally lets herself hope. not only for future where she’s successful and her sister forgives her, but also that maybe jordan still remembers her and maybe they’ll be able to pick up where they left off all those years ago.

and marie is so disappointed that she let herself hope for that when she finally comes face to face with her old best friend years later and finds that they want nothing to do with her.

[fushiglow]

Gojō Satoru and Ryōmen Sukuna: symbols of celebrity?

What does it say about Jujutsu Kaisen's influence and popularity that it could convince the two leading national newspapers in Japan — rivals and competitors — to run a joint marketing campaign where readers must buy both papers to complete the set?

The attention to detail is incredible, too! Asahi — Sukuna's paper — is one of the oldest in Japan. Meanwhile Yomiuri — Gojō's paper — has the largest newspaper circulation in the world. Such a brilliant way to illustrate "the strongest sorcerer in history vs the strongest sorcerer of today" in promotion of the new volume. Extra points for the fact that the two newspapers have opposing political leanings, too.

I'm really fascinated by this — so, some thoughts on celebrity and the fourth wall in Jujutsu Kaisen below the cut!

One of the things I love most about this series is how self-aware it is at times. I feel like Gege Akutami is quite purposeful is how he uses his characters to speak directly to the audience, especially in recent chapters. Along with the 'tickets' for Mei Mei's livestream and the promotional video that's reminiscent of a wrestling announcer bigging up the event, the entire campaign for the release of volume 25 feels like it's breaking the fourth wall in a way that's perfect for Jujutsu Kaisen.

It also makes me even more hopeful that 'The Battle of the Strongest' is going to be a film, if only for the meta effect of the audience 'purchasing tickets for the livestream'. Imagine if they market it so you feel like you're actually paying to watch this fight between two gods unfolding in real-time on the other side of the world? Considering how successful the first one was, I have no doubt the film would perform incredibly in the box office too, further adding to the meta effect.

The potential for hype is enormous and I actually feel like they won't disappoint, simply because Gojō is too much of a money-maker — look at the DVD sales drop off from the Hidden Inventory arc. I know I bang on about the chapter all the time, but this is spawning all kinds of additional thoughts to my analysis of Gojō in 236, especially regarding how he's written as this almost unknowable character.

I feel like Akutami's interest in the dark side of the entertainment industry actually shines through in Gojō the most out of all his characters, because he's practically a celebrity both in-universe and out — people made an actual shrine for this character when he died, as though he's the People's Princess or something!

Everyone knows who he is, but no one knows who he *really* is. He's beautiful and isolated and powerful and lonely, and it makes absolute sense that he sought understanding from Sukuna, because he's kind of like the blueprint for Gojō — a legend about whom everyone has a story, but no one really knows anything at all.

I promise I didn't make this post just to plug my fic, but it's a neat little coincidence that the precarious power dynamic between celebrities and the general public is a big theme in the most recent chapter of my idol fic, Over the Threshold. The reason I started writing a music AU in the first place is because this topic is something I have a personal and academic interest in, and the parallels between the 'strongest' and a music industry legend are simply too good to ignore.

Perhaps it's because it's on my mind as I'm writing the fic, but the marketing for the new volume got me thinking about the symbiotic relationship between artists and their fans, and I'm wondering if Gege is going to bring this into play somehow. Could it have something to do with the source of Sukuna's strength and therefore the key to beating him? Conversely, could it have something to do with the loss of Gojō's strength if he returns without it, making his death a symbolic death of celebrity instead?

I love the idea of the death of the 'strongest sorcerer' (the celebrity) bringing down the veil that separates him from the people around him (the public), allowing them to see Gojō Satoru for the very first time. No longer 'the strongest' or the Six Eyes or the one-man Gojō clan — not a symbol or a power ceiling or a weapon or anything like that — but simply a person, which is all he really is at the end of the day.

Am I coping by twisting myself into knots hoping that Jujutsu Kaisen is about the deconstruction of celebrity? Maybe, but at least I'm coping in a very smart and sexy way!

Just kidding, I'm still undecided about whether I think a Gojō comeback is likely. However, I completely disagree with people who say his character arc is finished or there's no space in the narrative for his return. I also disagree with those who say there's no evidence for it, because I think if it happened it would seem incredibly obvious in hindsight. It's a bit like Sukuna taking over Megumi — very few people saw it coming at the time, but when you look back, the clues were sprinkled all over the place.

Time will tell, but this story is really special to me whatever happens in the end. We all love to shit on Gege Akutami — and sure, he's not a perfect writer and I don't like a lot of his decisions — but when he gets it right, it's genius level stuff. Considering how overworked and commodified and exploited mangakas are, I think he deserves a lot more credit for the stories and characters he's weaving, and his art has never looked better if you ask me.

Anyway, I rambled a bit at the end, but here's my idol fic if you want to deconstruct Gojō as a celebrity some more. It's *so much* fun, I promise!! Did I make this post just to plug my fic after all? You can decide.

[shadowqueenjude]

Srry for sending so much asks but I just wanted to say too, sjm reader base is MOSTLY teens, since it's a YA romance and sci fi. I started reading sjm when I was 15-16 and I just turned 24, when I was a teen I thought rhysand was The DEFINITION of the perfect man, I mean I WANTED him, and when acosf dropped when I was 21 and I read the train wreck that he is, I realised that sjm's are like...really toxic? Like imagine teens reading that and WANTING someone like that, and probably most of them do and that's like really harmful to them and to the woman community as a whole because we have cassian from one side who uses sex as a coping mechanism and forcing nesta into practically wilderness therapy which is supposed to be SOOO hot, we have rhysand who SA'd the main character and hid the danger of her pregnancy from her, because its not like you can get pregnant again, no he has to loose feyre AND the baby. And we have azriel who doesn't even talk and when he does he objectifies women. Holy trinity right there yall💀. Like I'm genuinely scared for her younger audiences because like it or not teens are VERY influential, if you keep repeating the same shit to them it's gonna stick.

ALL OF THIS. MY BIGGEST PROBLEMS WITH THIS SHIT.

And you know what? Girls aren’t going to know better. Because it’s marketed as YA. It’s not marketed as dark romance. And SJM has started a trend in YA of glorifying relationships like this. Her romances are being touted as the standard. And teens ARE IMPRESSIONABLE. We are. It’s simply a fact.

And people who claim it’s just fiction don’t realize how literature influences people. WHY DO PEOPLE THINK LITERATURE IS SO LONG-LASTING??? BECAUSE IT MAKES AN IMPACT, OBJECTIVELY GOOD OR BAD.

[candiedspit]

Silly Bastard of The North Wang

The sun goes down like a slurring basketball through a slow hoop and is replaced by a sliver of fingernail.

I retire my coat on the floor; someone will pick it up got me. Whatever I want, people do it. I head to my booth where the hooligans await with their pink, fat smiles and cigars and tales of the market. How the market roared this morning. How the market quivers beneath my influence. How my influence glitters across the numbers.

Michigan greets me and orders me a martini as I sit down. He tells me about the girl he’s seeing. Some young, elastic twenty one year old studying tactical art at one of the local colleges.

Now, what is tactical art? He asks with a laugh.

I shake my head and laugh.

Must be some sort of gimmick.

Oh, but she’s wonderful. So curious about everything, poor thing. She asks me these questions at night when we’re laying down, right as I’m on the cusp of sleep. She goes, Daddy what do you love me for? And Daddy, how do you spell protection? I rub her head until she nods off.

Gotta get me a girl like that, Robert chimes in.

We talk and smoke throughout the night as the cabaret singers trail off into operatic blues and fall into ballads.

Saturday morning, the next morning. I like to sleep in and eat cherry tarts in bed and lean against the morning broadcast, minting for anything important I ought to know. In the afternoon, I eat rabbit and take a couple of pills and in the evening, I ease downtown where the kids only get smarter and smarter and the lights are all neon. I slip into a lounge and order something orange. As the night goes on, I go to the Club Fantastical, a smaller venue for smaller acts that might not get on the bill at other places. The freaks of song. One singer entrances me. It is not often I get entranced. But this little blue boy with a magnificent, scratched voice gets on stage and lets out this mournful love song. I keep my applause small and a couple hours later at the midnight intermission, I go backstage and look for him. Among the paper wings and dark glitters. One of the girls tries to get my attention but I dismiss her signals. I find him at the back, getting changed out of his outfit. He looks up at me.

Do I know you? He asks.

I saw your performance, I tell him. And I wanted to tell you I liked it very much. You were beautiful out there.

He looks at me again.

You’re not my crowd, he says.

I like to come here on the weekends.

I watch him put on a sweatshirt.

What’s your name? I ask.

Sam, he says.

Well, Sam. Do you want to have dinner with me?

He laughs again as if in disbelief and nods.

Sure. But take me somewhere nice.

I take him back to my apartment and have the cool make us a couple of lobsters and bring us out some wine.

What do you do? He asks, running his fingers over the painting in my bedroom.

Something hard to describe.

We eat in the dining room and I ask Sam what his life is like. He is twenty six and lives with his cousin in Harlem and works at a grocery store and sings on the side. As the sun comes back up like a bloodied maestro, Sam and I fuck in my bed. This is rare and I surprise myself. In the morning, I call Sam a cab and give him my number.

If you’re going to call during the week, call after five, I tell him.

A couple of weeks pass. Sam lives in my head like an insistent moth. He calls me at exactly five on a Friday afternoon. I tell him I was waiting for him to call. I’d like to see you again. Sam comes over that night and we fuck and I love him more than I did the first time. And again, a couple of weeks later until we’ve got a routine going; every couple of weeks, we spend the weekend together in my apartment like two blasted agoraphobes.

That winter I take him to Coney Island on his insistence. He wants to walk the boardwalk with me; we hold hands and it is thirty seven degrees. Sam never asks me anything about work. Instead, he asks about my childhood.

I could have stayed there in that grime and grossness, I tell him. Saving up for a nice drink. But by some lucky star I was able to meet the right people and make the right moves.

I want to give you a beautiful life, I tell Sam as we ride the cab back to Midtown. Anything you want for the rest of your life.

He thinks for a while as the city passes us in cold, whisked blurs.

All I want to do is sing, he says. I don’t mind the shit staircase and the weed smoke but if you want to do anything for me, I’d like to sing.

I keep this in mind. In the meantime, we spend our nights inside, fucking and falling asleep and watching television and eating well and sleeping again. Sometimes, Sam stomps into the penthouse screaming about his cousin. The fool. The fool. Sometimes, we don’t speak. And go straight for skin.

As summertime approaches in her hot veils, I meet my men again at the same booth as the other times before and order a drink. I listen to Michigan complain about his tax cut. All blabbermouths. And before long, there he is. Sam comes onstage and sings the song I picked out for him. That’s my tenderness. That’s my boy; my boy is a dove, a harp, an oasis for my tired, oil slick soul, my unhappiness, my grout.

And he takes the loving so well.

[dexterkronos]

Slime Rancher x TMA?

Okay but seriously, imagine if Jon and Martin commit MAG 200 and just end up on Slime Rancher's Far Far Range. What then?

(Welcome to your lecture on why my abilities to cook have been restrained by divine ordainment [irl responsibilities])

How It Would Work

Mistaken Identity as their alt selves or assuming the lives of their alt selves as they have completely replaced them

They both have separate farms on the Far, Far Range on opposite ends, and don't know where the other exactly is (they both think they're on distant islands to each other lol).

Martin becomes very adept with Slime wrangling in particular, but still remains an effective slime rancher in the ways of taking care of them. He adopts a particular Tabby (unbeknownst to him an escapee from Jon's ranch) and calls it 'Merry', and Merry stays by his side at all times.

Jon is very particular about only owning docile slimes like Pinks, Tabbies and Puddles, with a lot of his slimes being mixes with Tabbies because cats. He makes a sole exception for ONE Crystal-Tabby that he calls 'Calcite', who becomes a bit of a ranch defender Largo. It is so picky about what it eats or absorbs that there is zero risk for him to become a Tarr.

Jmart end up finding each other when Jon goes chasing after a Tabby-Phosphor with Calcite in an attempt to get it somewhere dark before daylight. Both are overjoyed to see each other obviously and immediately work together.

They have a teleporter between their ranches and help each other out with random tasks. They obvs can't combine ranches now, but they do lots of sleepovers at each other's ranches lmao,

Jon ends up going into Slime Sciences because duh of course he would lmao. He's the reason both farms have cannons to repel Tarr slimes.

They get therapy before even so much as thinking about advancing their relationship further because holy hell these dudes need it. (Therapy is already in swing at the start btw, I'm not delaying their roads to mental stability)

Other Info below the keep reading tag so we don't flood your feed lolol.

Relationships with Canon Slime Rancher Characters

Martin is the one who usually deals with Slime Market stuff because people like BOb exist.

Martin befriends Thora easier than anyone else due to her kindly nature. Let's give the man a nice older lady figure in his life to be a mentor.

Jon become notably friendly with Viktor Humphries, and they collaborate often since Jon has Martin and his own interest in slime collection to help him.

Both find Mochi a bit like Melanie at first, but warm up to her when they start to learn more about her (both can relate to strained relationships w/parental figures, especially Martin).

Both find BOb complexing and typically try to keep conversations curt lol.

Obvs because I'm not replacing Beatrix, they do meet her and are pretty neutral to her. Nothing extraordinary and nothing unextraordinary since Beatrix is more a proxy for the player so I can't gauge much on how she'd be without our interference.

Ogden & Hobson are also a neutral relationship but that's just because I can't think on how either of them and Jmart would work lol.

Likely Queries

Fears When?: No Fears in the Slime Rancher universe because I say so. The Fears just don't have influence here anymore haha. That means Jonah Magnus stays deceased.

How is Jon not like, barely sane or whatever (referencing the 'how much of me is the Eye stuff')?: Well, they did merge/overwrite their Slime universe counterpart so like... e.

Does Jmart retain Fear powers?: No. Maybe. I'm not sure tbh I think if anything it'd be subtle things. EG: Jon being able to identify certain things changed in an area or have a better grip on understanding body language. EG2: Martin being less noticeable when he wants to be or just having a bit of cold resistance.

Why can't they move in together?: Because I doubt the 7Zee Corp would be able to find a buyer for either ranch too quickly, but I could be wrong. Idk I like the idea of them having space of their own separate from the other since those dudes need therapy and time to work on themselves.

Do they look like themselves or their alternates?: Alts with the exception of MAG 200 injuries. The Alts just look like their S1 selves lmao.

SlimeRancher!Sasha, SlimeRancher!Georgie & SlimeRancher!Tim? Yes. None would properly notice a difference in Jon because he's more just their Jon with some weird ass baggage attached. Martin would DEFINITELY be something they'd note as 'unusual' but ultimately set it down to 'omg he's matured so fast having to deal with Jon lolol'. Sasha and Tim would be fellow Ranchers on another area nearby and Georgie either stayed on Earth or is a Tarr Wrangler with SlRa!Melanie.

What about the other Magnus people? Not sure, defs think SlRa!Melanie would exist as a Tarr Wrangler w/Georgie. SlRa!Elias would likely be on Earth still and just living his Pre-Eye life lolol. Sl!Ra Gertrude should be a rancher elsewhere that's just died but other than that idk.

Do any other Slime Rancher alts get their other worlds memories? Maybe Georgie and Melanie but only via 'oh wow that was a funky dream haha' since they were in the Panopticon. Elias doesn't count towards this since there was no more Elias by the time of the series' beginning (source: MAG 193).