#I know only two things for certain and one is the presence of this colour red...

[blackwaxidol]

A strange statue in the Leprosarium. It seems like you can place something inside of its chest cavity.

[reversedpineapple]

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── 𝕐𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕖 ℙ𝕣𝕠𝕗𝕚𝕝𝕖: 𝔻𝕣. ℝ𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠 ── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Here to spread my Dr. Ratio propaganda. (≖⩊≖) This is beta read but I also wrote and looked over this in the middle of the night.

∘•·····•∘ Yan! Dr. Ratio x Nameless! Reader ∘•·····•∘

(Reader is not Trailblazer)

TWs: Stalking, obsessive behaviour, toxic relationship, manipulation, delusional behaviour

Comments, likes and reblogs are always appreciated. :D

ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ Word count: 1.4k ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬

By continuing to read beyond this point, you have agreed to the trigger warnings and to be at least of the age of 18. The author does not hold any responsibility whatsoever for your actions.

This man is a menace and you don’t even know about it most of the time.

Since you are a Nameless, he can’t just do with you whatever he wants. Your name is far too well known in the universe for his actions to not have unnecessary repercussions.

To his luck (and your demise) are the adventures of the Trailblaze highly sought after, the media reporting on what your group had been up to if there is even a hint of action from you. So imagine the surprise of Veritas colleagues when they see him listening to a gossip channel on the radio. One time, another professor approached him just to catch the esteemed Doctor Ratio reading an article of a boulevard magazine. There was no reason at all why he was even more adamant to wear that plaster head for the rest of the day (if that was even possible). No reason at all!

Everything you do, even if you are on the other side of the universe, is catalogued by the Doctor, a carefully cultivated timeline decorating his bedroom walls. In that regard, he is a complete hypocrite. Veritas claims that the first necessity to overcome idiocy is to know thyself, yet he doesn’t even realise his own unhealthy behavior. To him, this is no different than someone painting their wall in a colour. His favorite just happens to be you. And he is so careful with it too. Don’t even dare to imagine hurriedly scribbled notes with a pencil, by the Archons, no. He paints the whole thing carefully like how an artist would paint their muse with acrylic paint.

Veritas has a plaster head of you. Of course he has, what did you expect? But he does not dare to wear it. Instead, it’s presented in a glass case and to ensure it does not feel lonely he also has a perfect marble replica of you. Veritas also has the nasty little habit of talking to them like you were actually standing in the room, telling it about a certain student not doing as well as they could if they would only focus.

This man knows your likes and dislikes in and out. How? Remember him reading magazines and listening to entertainment he would deem as waste if they were not reporting about the latest gossip about you? Yes, that. He rewatches even the smallest snippets he sees about you in visible media. There was that one time you tried a dish on the Xianzhou and despite you smiling, he could tell by subtle body language you were lying. By the way, that clip was three seconds long.

If he meets you in person though? He behaves totally normal. Well, as normal as the Doctor Ratio usually behaves. However, he talks slightly less down on you than he does to others. Don’t misunderstand him though, he still sees himself as the superior one between the two of you. His behaviour stems less from a position of equality and more like how a human views a small kitten. Don’t get him wrong, he thinks you are unlike most not stupid, dare I say he respects you even a little bit but in the end, his view on humans is a spectrum. On one side, there are idiots who he oh so desperately tries to educate and on the other, there are geniuses (which are in his opinion sadly way too rare). You sit right in the middle between the two of them.

Congratulations, most don’t even come close to the halfway point of the middle.

The plaster head is glued on in your presence. Reason for that is the heat blooming across his face. Ratio is your most avid fan, your most loyal cheerleader. To him, you are someone with great potential. Veritas also has hope in his students but what he feels for you isn’t just hope, he knows you have the making of someone of true intellect and he would be damned if he were to not attentively take note of that.

If you want to see the good doctor flustered, do small acts of services. Prepare him a dinner, ask him how his day was, arrange his clothing back into place should they ever fall out of place. Veritas is often seen as someone untouchable, a perfect cold statue so the human part of him gets often forgotten. This does not bother him one bit but you acting like this strokes some part of him that would make him, if he had less self control, squeal like a schoolgirl and roll on the ground… metaphorically speaking.

Should you ever express romantic interest in him though… oh boy. The plaster head would still stay for a while. Ratio needs to practice. Like an athlete prepares themselves for a tournament day after day, he himself prepares himself for your affection. If he is sure he won’t turn into a solanum lycopersicum, he will start to remove it more often around you. No, Veritas Ratio isn’t all suave and cool headed like he presents himself, he is just way too prepared for everything in this relationship. If he messes up, it’s on purpose. You dislike that? Then he will do this better the next time. Of course he knew that beforehand but everyone would get suspicious if their relationship was nothing but smooth sailing.

On those rare occasions you stay over, he will prepare. The plaster head and statue will be moved to his bedroom. The man is most likely rich enough to own a place with a guest bedroom he will present as his own. Ratio understands very well that you seeing this would be the end of your relationship, especially if you are still in the earlier stages. Like already mentioned, he does not see how toxic his behavior is because he thinks that everything he feels and thinks about himself is undeniably true. It usually is and because he is wrong in this one instance, he is unable to see the problem with his actions. He is, in simpler terms, acting like someone who says their opinion on something but deep down disagrees with it without realising that.

If you are in a relationship and currently traveling, he will miss you and he will catch himself spacing out from time to time. Such a thing was unthinkable for him before all of this. Veritas is not against that, though. He understands that humans have such reactions to emotions and suppressing those would lead to negative consequences. He does try to keep it under control whilst being in public though. On the other hand, one thing he is ashamed about is the shirt he stole from you. It’s not a smell thing, he would never let used, dirty laundry get close to him but rather a thing of possession. It just hangs neatly in his dresser, waiting for the owner to return. The best assumption he can make about his own actions is, that he just likes to have something materialistic from you. He also has a lock of your hair hidden somewhere on his person. Where though is a mystery only he knows the answer to.

Somewhere along the relationship he has gifted you a headpiece like his own. In his eyes it’s a lot less glaringly obvious than a ring. You don’t have the heart to tell him that it is indeed a lot more obvious so you just wear it happily. What you don’t know though is that every time your partner sees you wearing it, whether that be on a photo or a video, there is a part of himself satisfied that he has laid claim to you. If you let him do as he wants, you might as well soon look like you are from Amphoreus and believe me when I tell you, you do not want that.

If you don’t draw clear lines, Ratio will make you emotionally dependent on him. He knows how humans work, he knows how to manipulate you just right so you still have your dazzling personality, yet can’t go on without him for too long. The good news is, your partner is a patient man. You can drag this on for a very long time. The bad news, it is not a question if but rather when this happens. When you finally learn about all the unsavoury things Veritas does, it is already way too late. By then you are dependent on him and nevermind the questions. Ratio also is a well known person so should you even think about distancing yourself, you will have to answer to a horde of reporters and I don’t think I need to tell you about how intense they can get when they think they got a scoop.

Do not copy, translate or use my work without my permission. All rights belong to the author.

[j2hoes]

Foreign Exchanges. (Anthony Vaughn x Reader.)

Summary: Moving school in the middle of the year is never easy. Let alone from an entirely different country. Despite Y/N trying to garner the least amount of attention possible, she still manages to catch the eye of a certain brunette.

Word Count: 1.5k

Gif Not Mine . Requests are open!

Warnings: Mature language.

A/N: My first Ant fic and I’m debating making this a series but you’ll have to let me know what you think! Anyway just a short one to start us off but there’ll be more soon. Don’t forget requests are open!

“I’d like you all to offer a warm welcome to our new student Y/N Y/L/N, she’s moved here all the way from the UK! So let’s show her some of that Hartley spirit.” The teacher, who introduced herself as Jojo, announces to the class. All of them staring at me with blank stares. “Go ahead and say a few words.”

She nudges my shoulder gently before I can decline the offer. Encouraging smile on her face. There are no smiles from my classmates however, only bored faces who couldn’t be less interested in my arrival. For which I’m grateful. I’d seen this school on the news prior to my enrolment, I know these students are brutal. I mean, a sex map? Dad wasn’t too happy about sending me here though he didn’t really have a choice, no other schools were admitting students this late into the term.

“Um hi, I’m Y/N. It’s good to be here I guess.”

“Does anybody have any questions for Y/N?” Jojo offers, attempting to find a way for the class to get to me.

Numerous hands raise and I let out a groan internally. It’s bad enough that I’m stood at the front of the classroom like a new shiny toy but to now be subject to whatever ridiculous questions these teens can come up with is a new form of torture. One that I am really not looking forward to.

Jojo points to her first student, allowing them to be the first to ask. “Why don’t you have a proper British accent?” The girl seems genuinely curious, eyes focused on me as she combs her fingers through her orange hair. Stickers adorn her face along with colourful eyeshadow to match her bright outfit. She has a gentle aura surrounding her, which makes me relieved as I realise her question wasn’t meant in malice and more so pure interest. Maybe these kids won’t be so bad?

“Um, I think the accent you’re think of is the Queen’s English. There isn’t many people that talk like that really, maybe a few down south but I grew up in the North East. None of us talk posh.” I tell her, watching as she seems to take notes as I speak.

“Thank you Quinni, Spider what about you?” Jojo asks, pointing to the tall blonde that is hunched over at the back of the class.

His eyes flicker up to me, giving me the once over though he doesn’t seem too impressed by my presence.

“Yeah, what is it with you and all the other poms having bad teeth?” The boy pipes up, I notice the two boys next to him laugh. Though the one in the baggy outfit makes eye contact with me and a flash of guilt appears on his face.

“I don’t have bad teeth actually. Nobody I know does and to be perfectly honest, that stereotype is deeply rooted in classism and while the UK faces a major cost of living and wealth gap crisis, I don’t think it’s funny to joke about things like that. Do you?” I retort, causing h the pink haired girl and her friend to applaud my mini speech. Both offering cheers.

“Okay any more questions that aren’t going to cause arguments?” Jojo asks, a few hands lowering as they don’t want to get in trouble. “Yes, Amerie?”

“Do you miss home?”

“Yeah, yeah I really miss it.” I start, thinking of everything that I had to leave behind. I know this was the best decision for my family, but I do hold a slight resentment towards being here. “Don’t get me wrong, Sydney’s great and all, but I miss my friends, my house, my pets, I even miss the shitty pub from down the street.”

“Thank you Y/N, I feel like we’ve got to know you a little bit more now, so feel free to take a seat and we’ll get started.”

The only open seat is next to the girl that Jojo called Amerie. Smiling as I take my place, I open my notebook and begin to doodle swirls and other patterns across the page. Focusing on that rather than the subject being taught. It’s some form of sex education by the sounds of it. However, it seems very outdated and heteronormative. Nothing worth listening to anyway.

Upon hearing the bell ring, I begin to pack away my things and watch as a few students mutter things towards Amerie. “Map bitch.” “Cunt.” and “Crazy bitch.” Just to name a few. I realise that may be the reason she had nobody sat next to her and figure it may be best to avoid her if I want to stay under everybody’s radar.

Finding my locker, I begin to turn the lock with great difficulty. Back home, the numbers simply connect and the door clicks open, that doesn’t seem to be the case here though. Fiddling with the dial, I hear the bell signal the beginning of the next class and I huff, annoyed that I’m having this much trouble with a stupid locker.

As the hallways clears out, I continue to twist and pull at the lock. Bag dumped on the floor as I try with all my strength to pry the door open. With no such luck, I throw a quick kick to the locker beneath mine, leaving a dent in the door slightly. Slumping with my back again the metal, I find myself face to face with the boy in the baggy outfit.

Not previously noticing how cute he was, dark hair hidden beneath a beanie, a couple of curls escaping. Boyish grin plastered across his face and piercing brown eyes staring directly at me. I won’t even try to deny that Australia has one up on the Uk in terms of boys, they’re just so much cuter over here.

“What did the locker do to you?” He jokes, taking the slip of paper with the locker code out of my hand.

“Bloody thing won’t open.” I mumble, stepping out of the way as he demonstrates how to open it with ease. My cheeks tinged pink as I fear my outburst may have been unnecessary.

“I thought you Brits were supposed to be good at containing your emotions anyway.” He leans against the locker beside mine, watching me as I stuff countless books into the small space. Normally this would make me uncomfortable, yet there’s there’s something about him that makes me feel warm and calm.

“Nah we love our fair share of violence.” I tell him, smiling as I do so, remembering the amount of fights that used to take place on my estate daily. Providing free entertainment for all the neighbours. “We’re polite, but piss us off and we’ll knock you into next week.”

He laughs, folding his arms across his chest as I close the locker door. His eyes gaze over me as I turn to face him properly. Noticing the small cross necklace hanging from his neck, I can’t help but imagine what it would look like against his bare skin.

“You religious?” I ask, nodding towards the chain.

“Nah, I’m Ant.” He brushes off my question and tucks the necklace beneath his shirt. Clearly a touchy subject that perhaps I shouldn’t have brought up. So instead I attempt to lighten the mood.

“Ant?” The word escapes my mouth as a slight giggle, unable to hide the amusement his name brings. “And your mate’s called Spider?”

“Yeah, stupid right?” He chuckles, playing with the straps of his bag. Almost as if he’s nervous. “We’ve been best mates our entire lives. My real name’s Anthony but nobody calls me that. Same with Spider, his name’s Spencer. Kids started to call us Ant and Spider when we were like six, guess it just stuck.”

“That’s cute.”

Picking up my bag, I throw it over my shoulder. Figuring I should probably head to my next class despite being extremely late already.

“Hey, about Spider.” Ant reaches for my arm, clearly sensing that I’m about to leave. “I just wanted to apologise, he can be a bit of a dick but he’s a nice guy deep down.”

My arm tingles where he’s touching it, feeling the slightest of move of his fingers. As though my nerves are on fire. Suddenly hypersensitive to any little movement he makes. I know I shouldn’t be feeling things this intensely, hell, I’ve just met the guy. Yet he sparks an excitement in me that I haven’t felt in a while.

“Honestly it’s sound. You don’t need to apologise.” I assure him, offering a smile, I see his shoulders relax. “I can handle a prick like him any day.”

“Yeah you certainly shot him down quick.”

As he removes his hand from my arm, I’m quick to begin walking away. Cheesy grin on my face as I recall the interaction in my head despite it only happening seconds ago. I feel dizzy with excitement, my feet feel like they’re walking on clouds and I almost miss the shout from behind me as I go to turn the corner.

“Hey, do you wanna get high?”

[capseycartwright]

just kiss me slowly

tommy does this thing, when he kisses buck. to quote myself, i underestimated your rizz, tommy kinard. the two finger chin pull has been playing on my mind since the episode aired, and this pointless bit of fluff was born. buck and tommy are running circles in my head.

ao3 link

Tommy does this thing, when he kisses Buck. Buck has kissed Tommy enough times in the past couple of weeks to know its a thing, and not just a fluke. He hasn't kissed Tommy enough that he's lost count (27 kisses - he's been counting because it still doesn't feel real, and every time he can add another kiss to the growing list of moments he lets himself linger in as he lies in bed at night, or sits in traffic on the way to work, is another reminder that this is real: that Tommy is real) but he's beginning to learn more about the way Tommy kisses, has begun to map the surface of Tommy's lips with his tongue.

He knows its a thing, is the point.

The first time Tommy had kissed him, he'd tugged Buck closer, two fingers pulling on Buck's chin as he'd pressed that chaste first kiss to Buck's lips. Buck had assumed that had been a heat of the moment sort of thing, Tommy tugging Buck closer so he could get his point across, but then it had happened again.

Tommy had come to pick Buck up, for their date. "Old fashioned," Buck had teased. Tommy had simply rolled his eyes in response, catching Buck's chin between his thumb and forefinger, pressing a brief kiss to Buck's surprised lips. "I didn't want to wait until after dinner to kiss you again," he had said, by way of explanation, and Buck had been in a haze the whole drive to the Italian place Tommy had suggested they grab dinner at. No one - no one had ever kissed him like that, pulling Buck closer with a gentle grasp, as though they didn't want to give him a chance to turn his head away.

Tommy liked to kiss Buck. Buck was learning that too. It was all so new for him, but Tommy was confident, a reassuring presence to - quite literally - lean on as he navigated his newfound bisexuality. Tommy had been thirty-one when he'd come out, he'd explained to Buck - so he understood. Understood why Buck had played their dinner off as a friendly thing, understood why Buck hadn't told Eddie yet, understood why Buck hadn't told anyone, yet, only his sister, and Hen. Understood why Buck was more at ease here, in the warmth of Tommy's apartment, than he was at a bar - for now, at least. Buck wasn't ashamed, he was just learning how to lean into this new part of himself.

Buck couldn't help but flush as he remembered the genuine look of pride on Tommy's face when he'd leaned into the other man's space that afternoon at the farmers market, listening intently as Tommy explained the benefits of using a certain kind of tomato to make pasta sauce - the way his mother had taught him to, growing up in New York. Buck had leaned against Tommy, enjoying the way colour rose in Tommy's cheeks as he'd done so.

He'd earned a reward for it too, Tommy using two gentle fingers to redirect Buck's face toward his own as they'd loaded the groceries in the trunk of Buck's jeep, pressing a brief kiss to Buck's waiting lips.

That was the thing, Tommy did - he touched Buck so gently, always redirecting Buck's mouth to exactly where he wanted it to be, and it made Buck melt right down into his sneakers. He'd - he'd just never had someone kiss him so reverently, before.

"If you think any harder, you'll give yourself a headache," Tommy murmured, glancing up from the sauce he was stirring. This version of Tommy was new to Buck - the version of Tommy in his own apartment, relaxed, shoes kicked off by the door, an unfamiliar jazz album playing over the record player in the living room - because of course Tommy had an actual fucking record player. Buck liked this version of Tommy. He was realising he liked all versions of Tommy, actually.

Buck could tell him. He could tell Tommy that the way he grabbed Buck so gently by the chin so often when he was going in for a kiss made his insides turn to goo. He could tell Tommy how good it felt to have someone want him like that, want to initiate kisses. He could tell Tommy that he had spent years of his life chasing other people's lips, desperate for the affection Tommy was already so freely offering him, a mere three and a half weeks into dating.

He could tell him all that, and Tommy probably wouldn't mind - but Buck wanted to keep the thought to himself, a little while longer. This thing with Tommy was so new, and it was good, but it still felt delicate, and Buck didn't want Tommy to stop the way he kissed Buck.

"I'm admiring you hard at work," Buck tilted his head slightly. It was still strange, to hear himself flirt so openly with another man, but he was getting used to it. He had to, really, when Tommy always responded to his flirting with a delighted grin, or laugh.

Tonight, Buck got both.

"C'mere," Tommy murmured, hand gentle on Buck's face as he caught Buck's chin between his thumb and forefinger, pressing a lingering kiss (28) and then a second (29) to Buck's mouth. "Just wait until you try the sauce. Then you're really going to want to kiss you."

As if Buck didn't spend every second of every day fantasising about kissing Tommy, like he was a horny teenage boy again. "Promises, promises."

Tommy rolled his eyes. "Make yourself useful and set the table," he pretended to order, but he wasn't moving, nose brushing against Buck's. He kissed him again (30) and then kissed the corner of Buck's mouth, right where Buck's grin was splitting his face in two, his delight so overwhelming he couldn't contain it.

Buck leaned into the embrace, cheek scruffy where he pressed it against the palm of Tommy's hand. "I'm glad we're doing this," he admitted. Kissing, dinner - dating. All of the above. Tommy could decide which one Buck had meant.

Tommy's grin was liquid fucking gold. "Me too, Evan."

[lisbeth-kk]

Easter Egg Prompts (2025) Day 4

A peculiar request from Rosie, causes John to momentarily panic.

Sacred or Divine (it's both, actually)

Although John and Mary were married in a church, and Rosie had been christened, John was not particularly religious. It had more to do with tradition; what was expected by society at large. 

Sherlock, of course, didn’t bother with such tedious nonsense, his presence at the forementioned wedding and christening notwithstanding. 

So, it takes both men by surprise when their daughter wants to visit one of Siena’s churches when they visit the city this Easter, just a week after Rosie’s ninth birthday. 

“Any particular reason?” John asks.

“I want to light a candle,” is the answer.

John grips Sherlock’s hand hard. They never talk much about Rosie’s mother, for good reasons, which perhaps has been an oversight. Could it be that their precious girl wants to light a candle for a woman she never knew. There’s no way John will deny her, but it feels awkward and a bit eerie.

“John?”

Sherlock’s worried voice is like balm to John’s nerves. He squeezes his husband’s hand reassuringly.

“Nothing. I’ll tell you later,” he whispers.

“You thought of Mary,” the detective states quietly.

John sighs, both relieved and exasperated. He’s never successful at hiding things from Sherlock.

“Yeah,” he admits. 

Before they enter the church, Rosie has picked, San Clemente in Santa Maria dei Servi, she discloses who she wants to honour.

“You know Chiara, right?”

They both nod. The girl is one of Rosie’s closest friends and has visited Baker Street on numerous occasions.

“Well, today is her grandmother’s birthday. She died when Chiara was two, so she doesn’t remember her. Her Nonna was Italian and apparently quite religious. So, Chiara asked if I would light a candle for her if I was near a church today. Which of course was a ludicrous reservation. Italy has churches everywhere.”

The two men have to try really hard to keep serious when Rosie rolls her eyes in a similar way as her Papa. They’re about to enter a sacred building after all. It’s one thing to giggle at a crime scene; doing the same inside a church – well, it’s considered a bit not good, isn’t it.

They wander around to admire the stunning architecture and the décor. The exterior of the church is quite mundane, but its interior is a wonder of craftsmanship. It’s spacious, calm, and that particular atmosphere churches have, is ubiquitous.

“Take a picture when I light the candle,” Rosie demands. “I want to send Chiara proof that I actually did what she asked of me.”

Sherlock fishes out his mobile and immortalises the image of his daughter in the beguiling light from dozens of flickering candles. John places his hand on the small of Sherlock’s back for a brief moment. They are after all in a catholic church, and although the current pope advocates for the LGBTQ+ community, not everyone shares his views. Certain looks from other tourists and locals, have not been lost on either of them.

***

Sherlock tells them about a previous visit to Siena as they walk the steep streets of the city.

“It was July 2 and the Palio had the place topsy-turvey.”

“What’s the Palio?” Rosie asks.

“A horse race held twice a year. Ten riders representing the city wards, riding bareback. There are actually seventeen contrade as they’re called. Why they’re only ten that participate, I have no idea. Perhaps it was the original number. It started in 1633, after all. They all wear the appropriate colours of their contrade, and each part of the city is decorated in the correct colours as well. Onlookers wear scarfs, showing which district is theirs, and there’s some good-humoured bickering among them. People gather at Piazza del Campo hours before the race to get the best seats. The race itself only lasts approximately 90 seconds, and quite often riders are thrown off their horse due to the speed and sharp curves. If the horse finishes the three rounds on its own, it wins anyway.”

Rosie’s eyes are wide with excitement, and she makes her fathers promise to take them back to witness the spectacle.

Later, when they eat lunch, the same girl commits a crime.

“This tiramisu is divine! Even better than Angelo’s.”

“The audacity,” John whispers in Sherlock’s ear.

“Outrageous! We can’t eat there with here ever again. If Angelo gets wind of this, I fear the consequences.”

“Surely, he’ll understand. She’s just a kid,” John protests.

“Oh, I’m not afraid for her. She’s got him wrapped tightly around her pinkie. It’s myself I worry for. He will want me to pay for our next meal, John!”

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Also available on AO3 (the first chapter for now)

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[rems-writing]

AUD: Discovering the Virus

》 Pairing: dancer!Wooyoung x afab!reader (for the most part)

》 Genre: smut

》 Wordcount: 3,463 words

》 Rating: mature

》Type: series

Nets: @mirohs-aurora-society @othersideoutlawsnetwork @illusionnet

A/N: ok so there's only like one smut scene in here. i just needed an excuse to write big dick!Wooyoung and include him flashing his abs lol this chapter will be different from the rest

"And I don't wanna be the one you forget. So guess, say yes." - Lucky Daye

“This scenario is quite simple. You and Wooyoung are the top two students in an elite dance class. You have a typical rivalry. However, do not stray far from the path due to the simplicity of his domain. Instead, tread carefully.” - Maddox

---------------------------------------------------

“When the hell did you get a haircut and why are you pink?”

MITO laughed as you tilted your head curiously. He had gotten a new haircut, leaving you to mourn his long dark locks internally. Not only was his hair short, but it was also a rose coloured pink. He still looked good regardless. Matz and SanSang stared at his new hair in awe. As you entered the dance studio, you looked around and took in the vastness of the ceiling lights, the brick walls, and the huge mirrors plastered on one of those said brick walls. Students were strewn about in athletic clothing and were either stretching, hydrating, or gossiping. You went to your corner and set down your dufflebag before pulling out your sneakers. As you placed your slippers inside your bag, you felt a presence loom over you before taking its place next to you. An arm wrapped around your shoulders and pulled you closer. You turned your head to see your supposed rival with a cheeky grin on his face. 

Jung Wooyoung. 

You couldn’t find it in you to hate him so you mustered your best acting skills to at least give off a non-chalant vibe. You greeted him politely before turning your head so you could fetch your water bottle. You heard a quiet whine from behind you and the next thing you know, you were pulled back to him. 

“Come on, Natasha! Talk to me~”

Wooyoung’s whines and noises of complaint were endearing to you. You didn’t understand why a lot of people here found it annoying. You’d rather have him be ‘annoying’ and light up the atmosphere with his cheerful energy than be in survival mode as you went about your day in dance class. 

“Calm down, Woo. I’m just fetching my water bottle.”

“Ah! Ok then. That’s fine. The last thing I need is for a certain cutie to pass out from dehydration. It would make the rivalry a bit boring. Don’t you think?!”

“You’re weird.”

“But you love it~”

He pushed himself further into your personal space and smushed your cheeks together whilst keeping your body close to his. His veiny arms were wrapped tightly around your waist and you could smell the faint ocean scent from the cologne he spritzed on. He was really cute, but you couldn’t let him distract you from the mission. You pried his arms off of you so you could get up. You saw the pout on his face and rolled your eyes before extending your hand. 

“Come on. We have to get to our spots before professor Hwang rips us a new one.”

With a dramatic sigh of defeat, Wooyoung took his hand in your hand and followed you closely behind. 

---------------------------------------------------

“Jesus!”

Wooyoung laughed (well… more like cackled like a witch since his laugh was that high pitched) loudly as you collapsed on the floor, breathing heavily and sweating profusely. You did work out in your spare time, but running around at your bartending job proved to be enough exercise for you. Or so you thought. Wooyoung extended a hand towards you and you took it before being pulled up by him. 

“Aww! Couldn’t keep up today?”

You smacked his hand away as he teased you. He then leaned in closer and whispered in your ear huskily. 

“Or are you still a bit… sore? You know… from last night’s session?”

Oh. Right. 

Maddox forgot to inform you that you and Wooyoung occasionally fucked when given the chance. You made a mental note to beat his ass later. 

“Man, shut up.”

Wooyoung smirked mischieviously at your flustered expression before patting your head and skipping to the other side of the studio so he could retrieve his water bottle and hydrate. You sighed to yourself and wiped the sweat off your brow with a small towel before making the tragic mistake of glancing upwards.

Wooyoung was using his shirt to wipe the sweat off his brow, exposing his abs to everyone, including you. 

“I see you like the view.”

You flinched as you heard professor Hwang’s voice in your ear. You turned your head to look at the practically bald and very young dance professor. He had a smirk on his face and you grew even more flustered. 

What is it with this simulation and its affinity for fine ass men?

“Do you need something, professor?”

“Please. Call me Hyunjin.”

His voice then lowered to a dangerous tone. 

“Let’s cut to the chase… Y/N.”

Shit…

“I am here to warn you.”

“Warn me? About what?”

Even though you were far from everyone else, especially Wooyoung, you lowered your voice just in case. Hyunjin let out a shaky breath as he looked around the room before getting closer to you so he could give you the warning. 

“The virus is onto you. It knows that you freed four pirate kings so far and are in the process of freeing him. Be very careful.”

You gulped nervously before speaking. 

“Are you protecting Wooyoung?”

“Technically yes and also no at the same time. I’m filling in for Seo Changbin. He’s the sole protector of Wooyoung. However, the virus found out and incapacitated him temporarily, leaving me to take over for now.”

“Incapacitate? How?”

Despite the calm tone in your voice, you couldn’t deny that you felt fear when Hyunjin told you about the virus. Hyunjin hesitated for a moment before speaking once again. 

“Trust me. Even though Changbin’s ok and very much alive, you don’t want to know.”

You gulped nervously and looked at Wooyoung, who was chatting amongst his peers with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. You assumed that those peers were talking bad right in front of him, but you’d worry about that later. You looked back at Hyunjin and asked for more information. 

“I can’t tell you much about the virus, but just know this. It’s a man. A man with sharp fox-like eyes. Similar to Wooyoung.”

You nodded and thanked Hyunjin for the bit of info before walking away from him so you could get Wooyoung away from his peers. It wasn’t much, but at least you had an idea and can clearly picture the virus’s face. You stepped in between Wooyoung and the bad mouthing peers with a glare on your face. 

“I suggest you leave him alone. We’re not bothering you so why are you bothering him?”

“Ugh! Leave us alone, Natasha! It’s not like you like him either. You probably think he’s a nuisance, just like the rest of us.”

You felt Wooyoung flinch at the word ‘nuisance’ and you couldn’t control your anger anymore. The stress of the virus coming onto you was weighing you down and it didn’t help that these bitches were bad mouthing someone you considered a friend. You grabbed the collar of the girl’s shirt and pulled her forward so you were nose to nose with her. 

“Listen here, ya snake. I don’t need this shit right now. If you don’t got something to say, then shut ya mouth.”

“Oh yeah? And what are you going to do about it, bitch?”

You chuckled lowly before shoving her back into her group of friends. You gathered your things and grabbed Wooyoung’s hand. 

“Next time, consider keeping ya mouth shut. Or else I’ll clock your ass.”

You pulled Wooyoung out of the dance studio and marched off back to your apartment with him in tow. You were glad you lived close by. As you barged through the front door, you let go of him, threw your stuff on the couch, and paced back and forth in your fit of seething rage. Wooyoung kept his head down and you noticed it, suddenly feeling bad for your outburst. You also mentally cursed yourself for the way you spoke. It was the same way you spoke when you chewed out the bartender for not eying San’s drugged drink before serving it to him. You saw Wooyoung walk closer to you and the apologies start spilling from your mouth. 

“Wooyoung, I’m sorry! I just… hate it when bitches bad mouth you for no reason. I consider you a good friend even though our rivalry stands in the way. If I fucked up in any way, just let me know and I’ll fix it right away -”

Wooyoung interrupted you by closing the distance and crashing his lips onto yours. 

‘Am I supposed to kiss back?’

‘He’d probably be more upset if you don’t.’

‘Fuck it we ball’

You kissed him back, tangling your fingers in his long black hair while his hands gripped your waist tightly. The kiss was messy, desperate, and had a hint of passion and perhaps love in it. He walked you backwards and laid you down on the couch, his lips never leaving yours once. In the midst of this heated make out session, he slid off his shirt and cradled your face with one hand while the other held your own hand. He soon flipped you over so you were on top this time. You were straddling him and pulled away so you both could catch your breath. You let go of his hand and slid your palms down his body slowly, taking in every inch and curve of his chest and those abs that he flashed back in dance class. As soon as your fingers reached the hem of his gym shorts, you looked at him, silently asking for permission to remove them. 

“Please…”

The breathiness of his plea was his answer and you swiftly removed them, eyes widening at the sight of his dick slapping against his stomach, the tip barely touching his abs. 

‘Holy shit! He’s fucking thick!’

‘Not as thick as San’s though!’

‘It doesn’t matter! Ride it into the sunset!’

“Can I ride you, Woo?”

Wooyoung nodded and you quickly removed your own clothing, which consisted of a sports bra and yoga pants. After straddling him again, you grabbed the base of his cock and teasingly dragged the top along your folds, causing the man to whine. You didn’t waste anymore time. You needed to let out all the frustration you felt today. You slowly sank down onto his cock, hissing and moaning quietly upon feeling every inch enter you. Wooyoung was no better. He resisted heavily on simply grabbing you and slamming you down on his dick until he bottomed out. Once it was fully in, you took a minute to adjust to his size before slowly lifting your hips so only the tip remained inside. Then, you slammed yourself back down on it, causing loud moans to be elicited from the both of you. 

“You feel so good! Mommy, please! Please keep going~”

The nickname ignited a fire within you and you adjusted yourself so your hands were on his shoulders and you could continue bouncing up and down on his cock. Every swipe of his tip against your g-spot had you moaning and whimpering louder and louder by the second. 

“We really shouldn’t eavesdrop on this shit.”

“You guys eavesdropped on me when I fucked Y/N. What makes this any different?”

“Seonghwa, get your hand out of your pants!”

Hongjoong’s words fell deaf on Seonghwa’s ears as the eldest pirate king shamefully stroked himself whilst keeping his ear pressed to the door of your apartment. San was pinching the bridge of his nose while MITO strayed far away from the group, shouting someone’s name in the halls. 

“YEOSANG, WHERE ARE YOU?! FUCK! COME ON, MAN!”

Yeosang heard the bounty hunter shout for him, but he held his breath. His face was pale, his fists were clenched, and he was visibly shaking. Behind him, a hooded figure pointed a dagger into his back. 

“Not a single word…”

Yeosang gulped nervously as the figure circled itself around him. It looked him up and down before a snarl left its lips. It disappeared in a cloud of smoke and when it cleared, MITO approached him. Yeosang let out a cry of relief and threw himself into the tatted man’s arms. 

“M-MITO…”

“Are you ok?”

Yeosang shook his head and MITO sighed in frustration before throwing a protective arm around his shoulders. Yeosang relaxed a bit, but he was still a bit shaken up. As the pair walked back to Matz and San, MITO couldn’t help but rack his brain on who spooked Yeosang like that. 

“Fuck that was good!”

Wooyoung breathed out in satisfaction as you got off him and laid beside him. His arm was around you and he kissed the top of your head before looking down at you affectionately. 

“It’s probably weird of me to say this since we just finished fucking, but… thanks for standing up for me earlier. Even though your accent was weird, I can’t deny that it’s sexy.” 

You blushed at his compliment and giggled when he started peppering kisses all over your face. 

“I’ll be right back. I need to fetch some clothes for us.”

Wooyoung whined but reluctantly let you go so you could retrieve a fresh set of clothing for both you and him. When you entered your room, you felt a slight chill in the air yet you ignored it, thinking it was just a draft and you left the windows open by accident. After putting on a shirt and sweats, you rummaged through your wardrobe to find something for Wooyoung. 

“I see you had fun with him.”

You flinched at the sound of a strange voice and turned around to see a hooded figure staring you down. Hyunjin was next to the figure, battered and bruised. He had a dagger to his throat and your eyes widened upon seeing the sight. You opened your mouth to call for Wooyoung, but the figure interrupted you. 

“Scream for him and he dies.”

You closed your mouth and glared at the figure instead. You had a feeling on who it was, but you had to ask just in case the simulation was playing tricks on you. 

“You’re the virus. The one that corrupted the simulation. Am I right?”

The figure laughed wickedly and shoved Hyunjin to the side before approaching you slowly. You watched Hyunjin fall onto your bed before returning your eyes to the figure. It circled you and looked you up and down before stopping in front of you once more. A gloved hand reached out and touched your chin before lifting your head so you could properly stare at it. A shiver went down your spine as you vaguely felt the touch to be familiar. 

“Go ahead. Pull down the hood. See the face behind the virus.”

You shakily reached your hand out and let your fingertips touch the hem of the hood, afraid it might just be tricking you and will kill you right on the spot. When you looked down to see the dagger remaining unmoved, you fully grasped the hood and counted to three before yanking it back. 

You wanted to vomit after seeing his face. 

“YOU?!”

“Hey, my jasmine.”

Out of all the possibilities of who the virus might be, he was the last person on your mind. Hyunjin’s words rang in your ears and you felt a pit forming in your stomach.

‘Sharp fox-like eyes. Similar to Wooyoung.’

You might regret it, but you had to make sure that it wasn’t a nightmare come true. The same hand that yanked the hood back slightly cupped his cheek. Your knees almost gave out when he leaned into your touch easily. You retracted your hand, feeling disgusted as you stared the man down. 

“You’re the virus, Dabin?!”

He laughed wickedly as he sheathed the dagger and caged you in between his arms. That laugh was once music to your ears. Now? It was something you needed to cleanse your ears of. You noticed the black veins protruding from his neck and saw his eyes glow green briefly before reverting back to its familiar brown color. 

“So what if I am? What are you going to do about it?”

“Hey! Asshole!”

The two of you looked over to see Wooyoung wide awake and fully clothed. But he looked different. He was wearing an all black fit with the sleeves rolled up, a white shirt underneath the jacket with a hug opening around the collar and the sleeves rolled up as well, and a silver chain dangling off his neck and glinting in the moonlight. The eyeliner made the sharpness of his eyes looking more alluring and the thorny rose tattoo on his left forearm was revealed. What caught your eye though was his hair. The long strands of his black hair weren’t there anymore. Instead, it was short and a fiery shade of red. 

“When I tell you to run, run.”

Dabin grew annoyed and turned to face Wooyoung, dagger at the ready. Before he could strike, Hyunjin grabbed his arms from behind and Wooyoung pried the dagger from his gloved hands. 

“RUN!”

You sprinted out of the room, hearing the struggle between the three men. You threw the door open and your face rammed into a hard chest. You looked up to see a bewildered MITO staring down at you. 

“Love, what’s going -”

“No talk! We’ve been compromised! The virus found us, but Wooyoung is awake! We got to go! NOW!”

You sprinted past MITO, who quickly ran behind you. Matz and SanSang saw you running. They didn’t ask you what was going on. Instead, they ran alongside you, shielding you as best as they could from any possible danger that loomed over their heads. Your lungs burned and your legs ached yet you didn’t stop until you fully evaded the danger that was your ex-husband, aka the virus. 

“The door’s right there!”

You saw Wooyoung running alongside you and the short relief of seeing him again gave you the energy boost you need to reach the door. You swung it open and ran through, accidentally tripping in the process. A groan left your lips as the door closed behind you and you felt two pairs of hands lift you up by your arms. You looked around to see if everyone was present. MITO was there. 

So was Hongjoong

Seonghwa

Yeosang

San

And…

“Wooyoung!”

You threw your arms around him and let out a sob of relief while Wooyoung, albeit out of breath and a bit disoriented from waking up from the simulation, hugged you back. He let go and kissed your forehead before turning to the bounty hunter and his fellow pirate kings.

“SANGIE! SANNIE!”

An excited squeal escaped Wooyoung as he hugged his best friend and his soulmate. He then hugged the captain and the first mate before turning towards the bounty hunter and hugging him as well. 

“How long was I out?”

“Far too long. Luckily, Y/N here saved you.”

Wooyoung turned to you and grinned when he saw you shyly wave at him. He pulled you into a hug and repeatedly kissed your cheek, expressing his gratitude in between each kiss. He was soon dragged away by Yeosang and immediately latched onto him. While he was distracted by his best friend, MITO approached you. 

“Hey. You ok?”

“No…”

“I know the virus seems scary, but I promise you that we’ll protect you -”

“I know him.”

All five of the pirate kings swiveled their heads towards you while MITO furrowed his brows in confusion. You sighed shakily and tried your best to explain everything without stuttering. 

“Before you ask, I honestly didn’t know that he was the virus. I simply just know him as my ex-husband. It was an arranged marriage yet we fell in love a few weeks later. One day, he disappeared out of nowhere. Witness statements claim that they saw him go into the woods and a bright red light shone over him before disappearing. Then poof! He was gone. I assumed he ran away with his mistress and I signed the divorce papers. His parents thought the same thing and signed the papers for him.”

A tear fell down your face and all six men felt their hearts ache for you. 

“Now that I know that he’s behind all this, I… don’t know what I should do.”

Hongjoong approached you and placed a hand on your shoulder, wiping the tear away from your face. 

“The most we can do for now is rescue the last three members of our crew. We will figure it out together.”

With a final nod, you followed them closely behind. 

“Who’s next?”

[professional-yapper]

Proximity pt. 3

Neteyam x Olangi! Reader

Warnings: awkwardness, more denial, pretending certain things didn't happen, Neteyam is STRESSED, reader is homesick and anxious af, Omaticaya girls hating on her cause they want Neteyam (who could blame them), Lo'ak is Lo'ak

Neteyam didn't know what he'd done wrong. He'd been pacing the floor of the hut you two were supposed to share, to live in together forever in less than a week, vaguely aware of the fact that he was probably going to wear a hole in the floor if he kept this up but decided he had bigger problems to worry about.

Like how you hadn't spoken to him beyond a few words, ducking your head, letting your braids cover your face every time so he couldn't see your expression, since he'd kissed you.

Had you not liked it? You'd said you didn't mind, but... maybe he'd misread the whole thing. Maybe he'd scared you off for good by kissing you after barely a few days of knowing you.

He couldn't help himself. You'd just looked so good, standing there with the sunlight bringing a warmth to you that he'd never seen before, with that starry look in your eyes like all your worries about the impending union had been wiped away. By him.

Or, at least, the home he'd built for you.

Even if you hadn't spoken to him in what felt like weeks, the hut was still rich with your presence in sweet, subtle ways.

Neteyam searched for them now, eyes flicking about the room like a child scrambling for a security toy. He found himself doing this often, in the same order, whenever he was stressed. It had been subconscious at first, then grew into an unshakeable habit.

First, your cloak, hung neatly on a peg near the entrance, smelling even now, albeit faintly, of dry grass and direhorse.

Secondly, a few small pots of paint. You'd use it for your ceremonial paint for the union. But for now it remained untouched, sitting on one of the shelves. Waiting.

The wind chimes. Your wind chimes, now, really. They'd confused you at first, but even on days without wind, now, you'd set them going with a simple brush of the fingers as they passed by.

A half-carved direhorse. You'd been making wooden animals for Tuk lately, possessing a talent for woodcarving even Jake or Neytiri couldn't rival. But you hadn't finished this one for some reason, and so there it sits on the window sill, as it has for weeks now.

Your knife sheath. Tough, practical, like everything else you owned.

Not that you had a lot of things. The Olangi were so minimalistic, which, to Neteyam, seemed something of a miserable existence.

The Omaticaya adored beautiful things, surrounded themselves with them. Pretty trinkets, sparkling stones, colourful, intricate clothes...

Neteyam wanted to share all of that with you. He didn't even know if you wanted anything to do with the Omaticaya culture and way of life, but he knew he wanted to share it with you. Badly.

But you wouldn't even look at him.

Neteyam sighed, stepping in the middle of the hut, clasping his hands over the back of his neck as he looked at your few belongings, wondering if he'd rushed things, ruined it all, ruined what could have been a perfectly good union.

Meanwhile, across the village, you were having your own problems. Well, you didn't have a problem. But the slender, rich blue Omaticaya girls adorned in pretty, delicate clothes approaching you seemed to.

"You're the Olangi, right?" the girl at the forefront asked with a smile.

"Yes," you said, brow furrowing in confusion as they drew nearer, though they seemed a little wary of your direhorse, your precious Akicita, who was quite a bit bigger than the Omaticaya direhorses and nowhere near as gentle.

Well, he behaved for you, but you'd been with him from almost his birth. You were all he knew, and now more than ever, since you'd brought him to this strange place with no familiarity to it whatsoever.

"Did you need something?" you began, turning from Akicita to face them fully. "Only I'm busy, I-"

You were busy. You knew brushing them off probably wouldn't endear yourself to the Omaticaya further, but you were.

With bomb-proofing Akicita, that is.

There were a lot of new distractions and things to scare or startle him. You didn't want any accidents, so you spent your morning walking and riding him alternately around camp, introducing him to everything.

"Neteyam will never love you," the same girl said, interrupting you, her words punctuated by her friends' laughter.

You kept your expression carefully impassive, and turned back to Akicita, stroking his shoulder to calm him as he stamped his hoof, shaking his big head unhappily as he felt the hurt strike through you. "I know," you said, voice taut with the effort of not snapping at them for having the audacity to even speak to you about such things. "What is it to you? You have an even lesser chance of winning his affections than I do."

She looked like she'd been slapped.

You'd only spoken the truth, so you couldn't even begin to imagine why she then hissed at you, causing Akicita to whinny, trying to bully his way between you and them.

"You are nothing to him, just a-" she began in a voice that was unsteady with false brightness, only to be cut off.

"Just a what?" a familiar voice piped up, and the equally familiar form of Lo'ak entered your vision as he ducked under Akicita's head to stand next to you, nudging the direhorse out of the way fearlessly.

Lo'ak and Akicita had taken a liking to each other for reasons you couldn't decipher. Neteyam said it was because they were both troublemakers.

Damn. You'd been trying not to think of him. After the kiss and everything... You'd barely been able to look him in the eye. What kind of Olangi were you, to throw yourself so shamelessly at him like that? You were a disgrace, plain and simple. He'd been the one to kiss you, but you didn't have to be so pathetic about it.

It made you dizzy just thinking about it.

"Go on," Lo'ak encouraged, bouncing on the balls of his feet, eyes bright as he stared at the girls. "My brother's future mate is just a what?"

She hissed at him too, but her friends withdrew, melting back into the village like they'd never been there, clearly not wanting to square up to the second son of Toruk Makto. She had no choice but to go too, casting you a nasty look over her shoulder.

Lo'ak shrugged, then turned and gave you a lopsided smile. "They're bitches."

You repeated the unfamiliar word back to him, though it felt clumsy in your mouth. It must be English. Neteyam had told you their father had taught them a little. Damn. You had to stop thinking of him.

It did nobody any good, not you or him. You'd made a silly mistake, blinded by the allure of your first kiss and him, and you shouldn't have kissed him. You were supposed to wait.

Not that that was the way of all Olangi, but you were the youngest child of the olo'eyktan. You couldn't just go around kissing people like that.

"Hey," Lo'ak said, giving your shoulder a shake. "You okay? Breathe, bro. You look like you're about to pass out."

"I'm fine," you managed, shaking your head.

He shrugged again. "If you say so." He seemed uncomfortable for a second, looking at you intently. Then he spoke again. "I don't actually like you all that much, y'know?"

You blinked slowly, absorbing that. Then you mimicked his shrug. "No one seems to around here." You turned back to Akicita, feeling like crying, which you hadn't for years. How could you, when you had been so happy?

You missed your home. No one had ever insulted you there. You were with people you loved and who loved you.

"Hey, no, wait, I'm not done," Lo'ak rushed out, following after you as you took ahold of Akicita, leading him away. "I don't like you, but my brother does. So why have you been ignoring him? He's really upset about it."

You raised your eyes skyward, asking the Great Mother for patience. "We kissed," you said bluntly, slowing your walk to let Lo'ak catch up.

His eyes went wide. "Wow! Really?"

"I have brought shame upon myself and my family by throwing myself at him so shamelessly," you continued in a monotone.

The way Lo'ak tilted your head told you he had no clue what was so shameful about it.

"We must be joined before the eyes of the Great Mother before we can... kiss," you explained, curling your lip and baring your fangs at him in exasperation. "And everything else."

"Dumb," Lo'ak announced loudly, clasping his hands behind his back as he walked alongside you. "We don't do that. You can kiss him if you want. You don't have to be mates to kiss someone."

"You have to where I'm from," you sighed. "And I did want to kiss him. I still want to."

Lo'ak's nose scrunched, brow furrowing. "Ew. You can keep that to yourself."

You rolled your eyes and shoved him. "Are you trying to help or trying to make things worse?"

"I'm not making it worse. You're making it worse by not talking to anyone except your giant fuckin' horse," he pointed out.

He was right, and you hated that. "How was I supposed to know the cultural differences ran so deep? I thought Neteyam would be ashamed too! That he would not want to see me!"

"Eywa, you're stupid. He's giving you space," Lo'ak huffed at you, tail lashing out and hitting you smartly on the back. "Just talk to him. Please. He's so depressed. It's driving everyone crazy."

"You are truly annoying," you said, hitting him back across the leg with the flat of your tail. "Fine. I will talk to him. And then we will kiss." The last part was just to annoy Lo'ak more, and he wrinkled his nose again, shoving you.

"Bro, shut up!" he laughed.

Taglist: @luvv4j4ybe11 @ikeyniofthetayrangi

@ikeyniofthetayrangi @rivatar @lunamochii

@mochamochimoch1015 @oakbuggy

some people who wanted to see part 3 too I couldn't tag, sorry if I missed you 🥺 let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

Also rip to everyone who wanted more fluff, I couldn't resist 👍

Part Four >

[downbadumu]

For a moment, I was heavenstruck

༄𓏸ଳ˚࿔⋆ content summary: hurt no comfort, reader is not MC, set in a vague au in a vague timeline because i just want to write and not think about other things, they match each other’s freaks but caleb is playing (he loves MC), not beta read because I'm tired hehe

༄𓏸ଳ˚࿔⋆ word count: 910

༄𓏸ଳ˚࿔⋆ shanna's notes: i need to stop writing at ass o clock in the middle of the night., anyways <3 I'm taking requests because why not!!

You lay in your bed that was too warm for your liking, staring up at the ceiling, mulling over the start of this week. It wasn’t even a month ago that a certain handsome colleague was laying next to you, warm heavy hand on top of your stomach.

“You have her eyes,” you’ve once heard him say under his breath while he was sipping on his drink.

Perhaps you appeared less perceptive than he thought, or maybe he just had a bad habit of mumbling to himself. But it clicked then what the both of you were heading towards. You had pretended then that you didn’t hear him, flashing him your sweetest, most innocent but flirty smile before calculatedly mentioning about something or the other that you knew he’d be interested in.

You thought you’d be ok with this arrangement. You were a consenting adult after all. Even if he didn’t know you knew. And yet, here you were, staring blankly at your pale blue ceiling. Maybe it’s because it was casting a purple-ish tone?

Fuck you, colour theory.

So, you let yourself be strung along; Caleb was hot, tall, sweet, kind, and had a vibe to him that your recognised as being a little too into someone. The whole package! You followed along willingly wanting companionship, craving the smiles that doesn’t reach his empty eyes, needing to see where it’ll head despite knowing. You rolled out of your bed and onto the floor, you have to get away from the heat.

It was a good two weeks while it lasted. Your sigh was heavy with pleasure and pain once you felt the chill of your bedroom floor. Your thoughts of Caleb rode your blanket down to where you were, everything you do doesn’t help.

You’ve never really crossed paths with Caleb before, you sort of know each other, nothing more than work colleagues. But it just happened one day, you grinning at him about something you can’t remember now and him returning your gesture with a joke of his own. Everything from then on was 0 to a 100 in 0.956 seconds.

Anyone else would’ve been overwhelmed by his presence and friendliness, everyone else wouldn’t have gotten his attention and affection. Caleb compliments you and touches you with ease, like it was natural for him. You accepted his actions with enthusiasm because you were so starved for stimulation in your life, which encouraged him more. It almost hit the point where you two became inseparable.

He never crossed that line though, because for everything he showered you with there was a vacancy that accompanied it. You closed your eyes, rolling over again now that the floor became warm. You think it’s better if you stayed here forever.

There was a knock on your door, followed by a soft call of your name. You were wanted at a meeting, it wasn’t urgent but they couldn’t hold it if your presence wasn’t there, you vaguely remember reading something like that at some point. The floor truly is great because there wouldn’t have been possible to hear something like that in your bed.

Or was it because it was Caleb’s voice that you’ve so finetuned yourself to seek out?

“I’m coming in.”

You moved but only because where you were lying on was warm again. With your eyes still closed, you savoured the sounds and vibrations of his heavy footsteps. “Hi,” he greeted you with so much warmth you both almost believe it’s real.

“They’ve been holding out on that meeting for four days; they’d appreciate it if you’d swing by for a few minutes for it.”

You turned your head so you were looking at his meticulously shined shoes. “Ok,” you thought in your head. It was enough for Caleb to understand.

“I’ll see you there then,” he said walking away. “I left coffee on your counter.”

“Ok,” you thought.

A burst of energy rushes through you once you heard the click of your door being shut. You get up and quickly get dressed then rushed to the coffee that Caleb brought for you. You cradled the cold metal container; it was the most precious thing in your apartment right now. The coffee was still hot, so you knew it was raining outside since Caleb got you hot drinks whenever there was a downpour. “You’ll get cold and start shivering and then complain it’s too cold.”

You walked over to your fridge and added ice.

You stayed ‘til the end of the meeting and then some because you didn’t plan on showing up to any meetings for the rest of the month. Not like anyone could do anything about it. You made it out from a chat with the head just in time to round a corner and see sweet Caleb ending a video call with someone.

You don’t greet him, feeling yourself lose that burst of energy already.

“No thanks for the coffee?” he teased.

Sluggishly, you turned to look at him, you’ve always loved to see how pristine his uniforms were. You quickly ran through some lines in your head to no avail.

“What if I was in love?”

There was so much coldness in his eyes when he hummed, confused. He tilted his head like a puppy, something you’ve said before to him that you liked. “What was that love?”

You smiled, eyes crinkling in the way you know he likes. “Fuck you, since I can’t have us.”

[nathabat]

Can you write about how Syzoth and the reader meet and eventually fall in love? Thank you!

oh my god YES ofc anon, this fills my brain w so many thoughts™,,,

✰ content: ## SFW , fluff with light angst (mention of Syzoth's previous family, his loss, Shang Tsung's bullshit no offense baby girl) , probably barely proofread. I speak more casually here because it's a lot of personal hcs LOL. GN!reader, you/your pronouns used.

Syzoth's romance would be THE definition of a slow burn. Meeting him with Cage and the others doesn't really speed that up, but he certainly learns to really appreciate you as a fixture of the group when you help him mourn and wrap his head around his loss. It's really abrupt, so he needs to take his time coping with the knowledge before he even thinks about taking someone else romantically. So he'd value someone with patience and boatloads of empathy. Even if you were a bit awkward when comforting him, he'd manage to find a bit of charm in your ramblings in attempt to soothe his troubled mind.

Of course it's not like you seek him out right off the bat either, so it's a lot of mutual pining as well when yours and his feelings come to light. Syzoth would feel a little guilty, like he's betraying the memory of his lost loved ones by seeking out a human of all things. I like to think Cage plays wingman- and his version of that is forcing as much proximity as possible. Like orchestrating plans just to ditch you two so you're alone for HOURS, and when he comes back he coughs really loudly to announce his presence.

"What? I didn't know what you two love birds would be getting up to while i was gone! Just had to make sure I wasn't walking in on anything scandalous-" (please hit him for me)

Jokes aside, he does really well at teaching Syzoth about "human courtship" and dating culture, and to boost the poor guys confidence. You're like a beacon of pure light and joy to Syzoth, you picked him up when he was down, how could he ever be worthy of you? How could he even repay your kindness at all???

Syzoth does his best at dropping hints after he realizes you've been oblivious to his courting and attempts at wooing you. Turns out, offering you a piece of his roasted swamp creature snack isn't the sweetest gesture- cut him some slack, he's still learning. He'll lay compliments on HEAVY, and he's surprisingly keen to most details of you as a person, but also generally of your appearance. Like if you trimmed an inch off your hair, he compliments how much shinier your hair is after the loss of your split ends. Ignoring the fact that it sounds slightly backhanded

New shirt? He wants to know why you got it. He thinks that certain colour brings out the hues of your eyes! (he thinks that with everything you wear. I think he's just in love with your eyes) New tattoo or piercing? He really wants to take a good long look at it, hear your thoughts and what drove you to such artistic choices, and gushes about how much he adores your self expression.

"It is a beautiful thing, how open you are I mean.. It's like you bare a piece of yourself to the world. I really like it."

He is always so incredibly sincere, flustering the second you also get embarrassed by his words. He isn't a poet, you just make him feel profound and beautiful things.

The first time he properly asks you out, he's nothing short of a nervous wreck. With his clammy hands and shifty eyes, quietly asking if you'd like to accompany him to an Outworld festival. The second he hears a yes from your lips, he's brightening like a star and thanking you. he's not sure why, but he just feels so grateful and lucky for such an opportunity!

Th evening is nothing short of perfect, Syzoth glued to your side like a protective force, his tension easing only when you grasp his hand and point excitedly at some merchant stand that's boasting the cutest trinkets ever. He's smiling wide under his mask as you tug him forward, squeezing your hand gently as his thumb rubs over your knuckles. His heart is melting in his chest when you make him try on a hair pin. His hair is much too short to hold it, and it almost clatters to the ground if you two didn't fumble to catch it- it's a pretty ornament, but he ends up getting you a gorgeous hand crafted necklace.

A beautiful white jade circular pendant held to the chain by a silver frame of koi fish. He thinks it's stunning, even more so as you bite your cheek to contain your excited ramblings as the cold metal grazes the skin of your neck, followed by the warmth of his careful hands as he fastens it in place <3

Maybe you don't kiss on the first date and that's more than okay, because the mere second you had kissed him for the first time, you swore he turned bright red and looked rather faint... It's probably best to ease him into such affectionate gestures.

☄. *. ⋆

[xialite]

Making a pin post why not(THIS IS NOT A MATURE CONTENT I DON’T KNOW WHY TUMBLR THINKS IT IS)

Hello! I see you’re stopping by my place, welcome!

This is a blog made by Xialite(me) dedicated to my own works about personification of many sorts, mainly countries and non-country landmasses, organisations, and I guess governmental bodies as well lol

A little summary of my personification AU

Its official name is MNUN(My Neighbour United Nations(yes, sounds a little corny I know, this AU was originally made with UN as the central focus)).

This is a personal project, it is not that serious and I’m merely doing this as a hobby.

Personifications are called “Representatives”(Repts for short); they are divided into two main categories:

Territorial Representatives(T-Repts), used to refer to countries and all non-country landmasses(ex. provinces, counties, states, etc).

Non-Territorial Representatives(NT-Repts), used to refer to organisations, corporations, companies, and other bodies that are not considered “territorial”.

T-Repts are made by “Nature”(not a deity nor extraterrestrial entity, but an omnipresent body circulating around Earth, ‘It’ has the ability to manifest entities to represent a certain territory), they’re semi immortal and can only be killed by their own kind.

T-Repts also have their own document describing all about how they work!

NT-Repts on the other hand, are created artificially, with the help of science and life magic, and also a bit of blood willingly given by T-Repts to inherit their semi-immortality. It is still unknown how Nature would feel about their existence.

This AU doesn’t just have personifications, it’s a complete world building project as a whole, as there are presence of magic system, mythical creatures, and generally just wonky stuffs.

There are aliens!! Big feathery aliens!!! They’re called Stellars, They’re looming around the cosmos but don’t seem to cause *direct* harm to Earth just yet, They have been recorded to broken camera lens and orbiting telescopes though. Folks on Earth have such an over exaggerated fear of those creatures.

Each of the Representatives have their own backstories, many are linked to one another, and certain NT-Repts have their own “family” that they belong to.

Common factors of my designs

Territorial Representatives

Most obvious factor is that they look just like normal humans, but plus the fact that they have some features inherited from other animals(usually based on national animals), the said other animals must have the following criteria:

Must be native to the respective regions

Must not be a domesticated animal

The extent of their animal features starts from a bit on their faces, arms, and back, and go full all the way down once it gets to their legs, so to speak, their legs are fully that of their respective animals

Another factor is that they have plants/flowers growing out of their body, those plants have to be native to the respective regions as well. And also, those plants grow roots into their body, and it’s not the most painless thing.

Nails!! Their nail colours usually follow the colour of their flags or colours not on their flags but are commonly associated with the regions themselves.

Non-Territorial Representatives

Overall they have less prominent animal features, or they may not have any animal traits at all.

Their anatomy is, ironically, stranger than Territorial Representatives, they may have additional factors added onto their body, some may not even be biologically possible at all.

Body marks! Those are a signature thing of this type of Representatives. Sure, T-Repts do have a bit of body marks, too, but NT-Repts have taken it to the next level. Those marks typically represent their preferences, aesthetics, and their purposes, some may come in gradients on parts of their body, some may look like tattoos. Oh and they’re also animated.

Certain NT-Repts have shared traits that show which “family” they belong to, for example, NT-Repts that are UN organisations typically has black tattoo-like body marks(unless the Representative is dark-skinned, then it’s white), have halos, and most importantly, all wearing SDGs bracelets.

NT-Repts also have fancy-coloured nails, but the colours are usually based purely on the aesthetic of those folks.

Both types of Representatives

Modified internal organs systems, they do not have proper digestive or respiratory systems, and they do not have reproductive systems at all.

Their eyes can glow!! So can their body marks(sometimes)

Yes, yes, folks, that is all about my blogs of now, I hope you’ll enjoy current and future contents that will be put out.

Btw you guys can shoot me a question about specific Representatives, if I do have their designs I can ramble about their headcanons lolol

[myprincejacaerys]

Rhaenyra & Jacaerys Part ii 👑🥀🖤

Now for their dynamic, this is where it becomes interesting. We know how Rhaenyra sees Jace, and this is somewhat normal. She adores her son, she loves him so much that his death is what ultimately “hardened her”. She, while grieving for Lucerys, entrusted everything to him – The next of the war plans, the futures and safety of her other children, the leadership her entire campaign on Dragonstone. The perfect son in everything but the one thing he cannot control.

Jacaerys perceives Rhaenyra as a God, and not in a healthy way. He has grown up beside her and his ‘father’, two of the most beautiful people in the royal family and he sees everything he is not. However much Rhaenyra loves Jacaerys, Jacaerys loves ten fold in return. Jacaerys lives for her. His very existence is to be her shield, her sword, her protector, her love, etc. He was born to be her successor, her replacement once she is gone, and with his most obvious flaw out for everyone to see, he must be perfect in every other regard. And the perfect Prince our Darling Jacaerys is.

When Jacaerys looks at Rhaenyra, he sees some kind of Deity. He feels something stabbing into his chest when he sees her unnatural Valyrian beauty, those Amethyst Gem eyes and long silver hair. This fanart so perfectly encapsulates all of these feelings, her glowing like a god while he watches behind her, almost like he feels unworthy to be even in her presence, let alone to be her son and heir.

And here is the thing, not one person alive knows of this, especially not Rhaenyra herself. If she had even an inkling of understanding of how Jace truly sees himself deep down, she would be in tears for the rest of eternity. She loves everything about him, including his appearance. Why else would she have continued having multiple children with the man whose genetics overwrote her own.

Now let’s discuss their physical appearances and similarities, more so referring to the show than the book. One thing they managed to get spot on was the casting for this series, because this is one of the only things I believe the show did better than the book – Something very very rare when discussing Jace. Harry Collett’s visage is some of the most perfect casting I have ever seen in any project.

He has all of Harwin Strong’s colouring, which is what immediately draws attention to the eyes. The curly brown hair, the dark coloured eyes. But this is essentially where the similarities stop. Everything else about him is Rhaenyra. His high cheekbones, his pale, snow white skin, his aquiline nose, his freckles. I even love how Harry’s eyes are brown but still not exactly brown, but more of a lighter hazel/amber colour that really glows when he’s in certain lightings. Even the way he carries himself when he is not trying to impersonate Daemon, did you guys see him at the dinner table with the dragonseeds? The perfect way he was holding his cutlery? The poise and the grace? That was all mommy.

A much as it is going to destroy me, I cannot wait to see how his death will impact her, especially because she seems to be taking his presence for granted in the show (yes, I know this is just her way of protecting him. She got him and his brother involved before and it ended in one of them eaten alive. She is not going to make that same mistake again. But unfortunately this is how Jacaerys interprets her actions.).

That one scene where she takes off on Syrax to see Seasmoke and Addam and Jace runs out to try and talk to her before she leaves really broke my heart, but demonstrated this point so perfectly. The show also has some good moments with them, like when they somewhat tried to get Jace to suggest they put distant relatives of the Targaryens on the dragons and that split moment where he turns back and grabs Rhaenyra when she’s watching Ser Steffon burn in horror – I like to view it as a metaphorical scene for what book Jace did for Rhaenyra was she was burning from the pain and grief of losing her daughter, her son and her throne, and had to have her oldest child take care of everything for her.

“Responsible, bold and politically savvy, Jace was protective of his family. He became skilled at arms by serving as a squire. Though his fifteenth nameday was still half a year away, Prince Jacaerys proved himself a man, and a worthy heir to the Iron Throne” - Writings of Gyldayn.

[alatariel-gildaen]

i neeed to know about both of the last two wips you added on plspls

So, the Smutacular one is basically the original smut I'd written for One Way Ticket - it's from Gi-hun's pov, and it immediately followed their first kiss, but then as I was writing, and their first kiss happened differently to how I'd originally imagined it, it just completely changed the vibe of what I'd already written, and how I wanted it to go. So I just need to write a bit of a start and an ending for that one, and I'll have it as a PWP/PWF oneshot :)

Anyways, have a little snippet (and you'll see what I mean about the difference in tone 😅)

A quiet whimper slipped past his lips before he could swallow it down, and the sound seemed to undo something in In-ho. The kiss grew urgent and desperate. His hands tightened, pressing Gi-hun against him, as if afraid he might slip away. Gi-hun responded in kind, sliding his hands up In-ho’s chest, over the broad expanse of his shoulders, finally settling at the base of his neck, where he could feel the heat of his skin beneath his fingertips.

They parted only when their lungs burned for air, foreheads pressed together, breath mingling in the space between them. Gi-hun’s lips tingled, kiss-bruised and trembling, his entire body thrumming like a live wire. He opened his eyes slowly, pulse hammering, only to find In-ho already watching him. His gaze was dark, unreadable, but beneath it was something heavy, something that made Gi-hun’s stomach tighten with a heady mix of exhilaration and need.  

“Tell me to stop.”  

The words sent a shiver down Gi-hun’s spine. But he didn’t need to think. He shook his head before he even realized he was moving, fingers tightening against the back of In-ho’s neck, anchoring him there. His voice came out hoarse but certain.  

“I can’t.”  

The plaintive cry of why are you doing this to yourself is aimed entirely at myself, and has absolutely nothing to do with the story 😅

So that one.... yikes. How do I even begin. I *love* writing insane, far out AUs. The crazier, more insane, the better.

One of my all time favourite fandoms is Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell, and after talking to @reingkings the other day, I found a fellow fan! Anyway, the basic premise of the book is about magic during the Napoleonic War - magic is a thing that has always existed, then it completely fell out of use and became almost a myth for hundreds of years, then in the early 1800s, these two English magicians restore it.

So I thought, what if those repurcussions were felt everywhere? Like say in 1820s Korea? Where they most likely won't have received the news of these two eccentric Englishmen dabbling in dangerous magic and summoning fairies, but whose spells have changed the world around them?

I've written a little bit, and given myself a bit of an outline for the first chapter. In-ho isn't going to be a villain so much in this one - the villain is Il-nam, and In-ho is a bit more pre-frontman (but still got his cynicism)

Here's a snippet with Gi-hun trying to escape from debt collectors (and I'm loving writing this Gi-hun so far - he's a wily little sod at the moment!)

Gi-hun’s breath came in ragged gasps as he ran, his legs burning with the effort. The packed streets of the marketplace blurred past him—flashes of colour, startled gasps from merchants, baskets of fruit toppling over as he shoved past. He heard the men behind him, their voices sharp with frustration, their footfalls gaining, but he was so close. Just a few more feet and he’d be safe…

His stomach lurched.

A fourth man stood at the entrance of the alley, his posture casual but his presence unmistakably threatening. The long sleeves of his robe hung loose, but Gi-hun didn’t miss the way his fingers flexed slightly, ready to strike the moment Gi-hun got too close.

His escape route was cut off.

Panic surged through him, but he shoved it down. Think, damn it!

The river.

If he could make it to the river, he could disappear among the fishing boats, dive into the water if he had to. Cursing under his breath, Gi-hun turned sharply on his heel, nearly losing his footing on the dusty street. No time to hesitate—he had to go back up to the roofs if he was to have a chance.

His hands caught the edge of a low wooden awning, and with a grunt of effort, he hoisted himself onto it. The fabric sagged beneath him, but he was already reaching for the ledge above, his fingers scrabbling against the rough wood. He pulled himself up, gritting his teeth as he climbed higher, scrambling onto the rooftops.

Shouts erupted below—his pursuers had seen him, but up here, he had the advantage.

Heart pounding, he sprinted across the slanted roofs, his feet barely touching down before he pushed off again. The tiles beneath him were uneven, shifting dangerously with every step, but he couldn’t stop now.

The river was so close. He could smell the brine in the air, hear the distant creak of boats swaying in their moorings. He just had to keep going—

A sharp crack split the air as the tile under his foot shattered.

Gi-hun barely had time to react before the world tilted beneath him. His stomach lurched as his foot plunged into empty space, his body pitching forward.

He barely had time to gasp before he was falling, the rooftops spinning past him in a blur. He braced for impact—bones cracking, pain exploding through him—

But there was nothing.

No hard stone, no sharp agony.

He hit the ground, but it was soft— too soft— like falling into a bed of feathers.

For a moment, he just lay there, stunned. He wasn’t dead. He wasn’t even hurt.

He scrambled to his feet, his hands brushing against solid earth as if to confirm it was real. His heart pounded wildly in his chest. What just happened?

The shouts from above jolted him back to reality. There was no time to question it. He ran. But as he did, something flickered at the edges of his vision—windows reflecting things that weren’t there.

At first, he thought it was the sun playing tricks on him. But then he saw them.

Ancient trees, gnarled and twisting, their roots breaking through stone, their branches stretching where rooftops should have been. Tall figures, faceless and unmoving, standing in the reflections of shop windows. They weren’t watching him. Not exactly. But they were there.

His breath hitched, but he forced himself to keep moving. He was exhausted, panicked, delirious from the heat—his mind was playing tricks on him.

It had to be.

Then, finally, the river was within reach.

The shimmering water lay ahead, its surface rippling strangely. The reflections didn’t dance like normal waves. Instead, they shifted, showing glimpses of shapes that shouldn’t exist, strange shadowy shapes that defied reason.

A strange sensation washed over him, a curious thought that he was in the midst of two different worlds, that one lay just out of sight behind the reality he could see and touch.

For the first time since the chase began, he hesitated, slowly stepping closer to the edge of the water.

Bent over, hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath, he looked down into the water, and yelped with surprise and fear.

A reflection,not his own, loomed behind him—unnaturally tall, featureless, and  utterly still.

Panic surged through him. He spun around, heart hammering.

Nothing.

No one was there.

He turned back to the water, but the reflection was gone.

Before he could begin to comprehend what he saw, a crushing weight slammed into Gi-hun’s side.

So yeah, that's where I'm at! I'm not quite sure where I'm going with it, if there's going to be any interest at all in it, or if I'm biting off more than I can chew, but we'll see :) Thanks for the ask, lovely!

[magixfairyix]

Imprisonment AU-02/?

An AU where Iorda, my oc, gets thrown into the dungeons of Cloud Tower after the Trix force her to break the seal on the Whisperian Crystals during season 1.

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Iorda turned in front of the mirror, fighting back a wince at the sight of the two parallel scars running down her back. Back in the cell, only four hours ago, she wasn't able to comprehend why her back burned. But now that she had some ability to think clearly, she guessed that between when she first heard the footsteps and when she spoke to Darcy, her wings were removed.

She expected either Darcy or Icy was behind it, only because Stormy looked at her with less disdain or cruelty than the other two; not caring about whether she lived her died.

She touched the red skin, biting her lip to bury an ache in her chest, before throwing her shirt back over; a simply black top, due to the fact she'd been in the same clothing for three and a half years.

She walked into the bedroom of the single dorm she was gently guided into—by gently, she meant threatened subtly beneath the demands while following Icy—and paced to the window.

She remembered the conversation...

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

It was difficult to take in her surroundings after being in the dark and silent cell for all those years—the halls of Cloud Tower being full of flickering tortures and colourful paintings—and the shadows and hissing that weren't really there made it worse. Iorda having to hear those things on the way to the dorm was to make a point of some sort; a manipulation.

She was lucid enough to realize that much.

Both Stormy and Darcy had remained in the office—Iorda remembered someone else used to reside in there, but not who exactly—and that made the walk to the door even less pleasant.

Not because Icy was clearly the most blatantly hateful, but because a certain witch had decided to make a point of how Iorda's sanity is practically tied to her.

Iorda wished she never had taken Darcy's hand when she was back in that cell. She couldn't have known who it was, and the only thing she cared about at the time was that another presence was in the cell.

She didn't know—couldn't know in her state—that taking the witch's hand would lead to a psychic link being formed, one where Darcy was able to control how much Iorda's mental state from being in the cell shone through.

Or if all of it was dulled for a brief moment of peace.

Iorda was hesetantly grateful she was sane enough to speak and deduce that, one, Icy was a threat. And two, the witch was likley leading her to whatever she'd be staying—more so imprisoned in—until Icy and her sisters would defeat the Winx.

"What..." Iorda started slowly, not used to the taste of words on her lips. "What... research, would I have to do?"

From the earlier conversation in the main hall of Cloud Tower, she learned that the reason she was still alive was to help them defeat the Winx; as vague as that was. She caught mentions of research and magic, but at that moment she was too jarred by the sudden dissolve of her mind into a painful peace.

Icy glanced behind her as she continued to walk. "Tonight, find a how-to on blindness curses." She faced forwards. "In two days you'll be able to put that spell into practice."

Iorda almost stumbled. "I..."

"Yes?" Icy sneered.

"I don't know how to use magic," Iorda said tentatively.

She could remember that she was able to use magic. Cloud Tower was where she used to learn, and she remembered sitting in class with a sphere of dark magic between her palms.

But after so long out of practice...

"Then you'd better get to work on that spell then."

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Cloud Tower was flying far over the ground, and Iorda saw a thick, bright and pale green forest with large creatures similar to ladybugs flying within it. That was all she could see, and she didn't know what planet they were on. She wasn't sure she even had enough past knowledge to know her location.

It didn't look like the darker forest of Magix, but at least the movement of Cloud Tower was smooth enough that it didn't make her nauseous. But it was difficult for her to feel grateful for the fact when her circumstances seemed so bleak.

Iorda heard a hiss at her right ear and gritted her teeth, moving her hand to cover it before realizing it did little good.

She wondered if the hissing would go away if she miraculously succeeded in casting a blindness curse after three and a half years of not casting the most basic of spells.

Iorda bit her lip as the scars of her back scraped against the fabric of her shirt, walking over to a bookshelf next to the window and pulling out a random book with a dark green cover.

She read the title on the front cover a few times before realizing that the book—with the words Spells of Changes engraved in gold—may have a high chance of having a blindness spell within its pages.

Iorda placed the book on the desk pushed against the window—a spider-web pattern shattered through it—before pacing to the bed, and then the door.

She turned the doorknob.

Locked.

Iorda's hand froze over the doorknob and she heard an indistinguishable hiss behind her. Her heartbeat became loud in her ears, and she breathed in only to find out how shaky and shallow the sound was.

Not again, no.

Not again.

Iorda's hands trembled as she stumbled back from the door, breathing heaving before she shakily sat down on the bed. She didn't trust herself to stand for much longer without falling.

She choked on a sob as she pulled her legs into herself, burying her face into her knees as she shuffled back until her back hit the wall. It was a state she was used to—curled into herself and her back against a wall—and she felt the most safe that way, ironically.

She was locked in again.

She was locked in again.

She was locked in again.

Iorda sharply inhaled before she felt all the panic disappear so quickly that for a moment she thought she deluded the entire sensation into existing seconds ago. She allowed herself to freeze for a moment before deeply breathing, holding her hands in front of her to see them shaking.

She was panicking seconds ago.

She shouldn't feel this... this artificially calm.

"Have you gotten started on the spell?"

Iorda almost flinched at the sudden voice in her head that she assumed was a hallucination of sorts because she realized that it was familiar, and she remembered the psychic link.

Of course.

Through her calmness—it felt more like a mild daze than actually being content—she felt a flicker of bitterness and anger, one of the first things that felt natural since she got let out of the cell.

"I'm working on it."

Iorda didn't remember how to use her psychic magic—or disappointedly any for that matter—but she assumed that clearly thinking would be enough to carry her thoughts to wherever the witch was.

"The locked door startled you, I'm guessing?"

Iorda resisted the urge to think 'no shit.'

Along with the strange calmness, it felt strange to be able to feel this bitterness so clearly. Or maybe it was just strange after the constant on-edge and dulled state she was in for years. Maybe she was always like this before she was imprisoned.

"Some..."

"I'll dull your panic until you succeed in the spell."

Iorda's eyes widened.

She assumed when Darcy's first thought went through the link that there would either be further blackmail involved, or a threat to hurry up on the spell. But as far as Iorda knew, this could just be another manipulation instead of some sort of so-called kindness.

She doubted the witch was even capable of such.

"As long as you actually manage to remain productive."

There it is.

Iorda sighed.

"I'd say thank you if you weren't the one who threw me into the cell in the first place."

At first, Iorda worried that she crossed a line. The state she was in, once again, felt foreign. That may have been the reason she was finding it hard to keep any bitter or sarcastic comments to herself.

"... that was overkill, I admit that."

Iorda's mouth gaped.

"Excuse me?"

Iorda sent out her thoughts only to get silence in return. She pursed her lips, waiting for a moment. She didn't want to acknowledge or think about the fact that the witch—that apparent mess of the witch—regretted imprisoning her for so long.

She doubted the witch felt apologetic.

Iorda, still in her content state she didn't know how to navigate, walked back up to her desk and sat down on the chair. She moved around slightly, uncomfortable.

She glanced behind her to the locked door as she flipped open the cover of the tomb. The door was the same as it was seconds ago, but one thing was different.

It didn't fill her with terror.

Not like it did seconds ago.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

"Do you really think that disaster will be able to cast a transmutation spell in two days?" Stormy questioned, elbow slumped across the desk that used to be Griffin's.

Darcy rolled her eyes, seated on a chair in the corner of the office with one leg crossed over the other. She admitted that Stormy had a point. She didn't know why or how Icy deluded herself into thinking that Iorda would be able to do so.

"Stormy has a point," Darcy stated.

Icy scoffed, sitting on the office desk. "Yes, I do."

"Icy, she lost her shit over the sight of a locked door," Darcy sighed.

It was clear to Darcy how rattled—more so traumatized—Iorda was after the entire endeavour of being in that dark and silent cell for so many years. She wishes she could tell herself that Iorda being a risk as the Fairy of Dark Arts justified what they put her through, but Darcy had realized how much they should've just decided to steal her magic instead of doing something this horrific.

Just because she made a habit of manipulating people's heads didn't mean she was immune to feeling sorry for a girl who'd mental state was so broken. If anything it made her less immune to feeling that sympathy.

"And you fixed that, right?" Icy questioned pointedly.

Darcy resisted the urge to glare at Icy. "I did. Temporarily, because if I keep burying all the shit going through her head, it won't do her—"

"Since when do you of all people care about this?" Stormy asked, rather bored with the entire conversation. It was late, and the thing she wanted most of all was some sleep that wasn't in the cold Gloomywood forest.

"Stormy, we messed up her mental state on a deep level," Darcy said. Stormy gave her a blank look. "Permanently."

"Ruined mental state or not, when Iorda figures out how to use her magic again, she will be of use to us," Icy said firmly, glaring at her sisters in a way that indicated that it was not open to discussion.

Icy tapped on the blurry crystal ball on the desk, a hazy image of the Winx reflecting through it. They were at Alfea—Bloom was talking with some random blonde girl with a hideous scarf—and unaware of everything that was to come.

"Your job, Darcy, is to make sure she doesn't try anything against us," Icy said pointedly.

Darcy met Icy with a fed-up look. She knew what she was supposed to do, but she wasn't worried about Iorda being a threat to them in the slightest. When her panic and terror were buried through the link, Iorda did maintain some of her usual bite that Darcy remembered from the first year before they locked her in the cell.

Darcy would make sure that wouldn't become an issue.

She hoped it wouldn't, for Iorda's sake.

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

This is becoming way longer than I thought, like, have mercy on my WIP'S.

I think there will be six more chapters about, or seven if I give Iorda even more trauma and give Iarcy more homosexual moments.

[ackerfics]

FAMILY LINE — a house of the dragon fanfiction | aegon ii targaryen x oc

act one, chapter five: the birth of the golden (wc: 9.1k) | masterlist

tw: poorly translated valyrian bc i used a translator online. forgive me.

117 AC

There is a reason why Aegon loves his name day.

People seem to remember him when the Grand Sept’s bells toll to start the one-week celebrations across King’s Landing, as expected of the first son of the King. The gates open to dozens of wheelhouses carrying the high nobles of the realm and the Keep has never been more colourful, housing each intricate combination of hues the Houses bear. Servants scurry among the floors of the castle to make the events as extravagant and fitting for a prince who the King begged the gods for, shipments are received in the docks for the banquet spreads to be laid out for a week, and fittings for new royal clothes are made each passing minute (Aegon wants to barf out his meal just to escape from it because apparently, the girls have their own fittings, so it’s just him, Aether, Aemond, Daemian, and Daeron). Mother won’t be breathing down his neck to pay more attention to his lessons and be more like Aemond, who has expressed a growing interest in history (a boring thing, if you ask him). Father won’t look at him like he is a passing face in the castle; for once, he gets to be a son. 

Excitement ignites each limbal ring of his eyes, mixing in the light of the sun between the tendrils of cornflower blues he possesses, because on his name day, it’s not his half-sister, Rhaenyra, they greet with jovial cheer in the Keep, it’s him.

But his tenth name day is not about the first son of King Viserys.

It unfortunately revolves around a little Prince that isn’t him.

Aesira has been a constant in the life of her first cousin once removed (she’ll call him his nephew anyway for her own sake) ever since he was born.

Jacaerys Velaryon is the name that he carries but his colouring is neither of his parentages, that much is true. Aesira is not blind; she can see that there is no shed of anything Targaryen in that little body of his except for the glint of something purple within his brown eyes when the light touches them perfectly. As a babe, his features hadn’t settled in; but as he reached two name days, the curls of brown framing his face and the button nose adorably sitting on his face is very much a reminder that he is not trueborn like Aesira and her brothers. Yet her cousin, Rhaenyra, looks at him like he is the light of his life — pride in the crinkles around her eyes and love lacing every bit of her smile.

It is also during these times that Aesira feels a palpable emotion that is completely unfamiliar to her.

Among her and her siblings, Aesira is the only one who maintained a connection to the Heir of Uncle Viserys, which lies in affable smiles exchanged in passing, knowing glances whenever someone mentions the paintings and tapestries plastered on the Keep’s walls, and understanding squeezes around smaller hands as a Lord points out how similar the two look in certain angles. How bittersweet it is when this string tying them together stems from something so inevitable and cruel, crafting a masterpiece so beautiful that many people remark it to be as precious as the titles they carry — The Realm’s Delight and The Flower of the Realm. The two are often seen walking together in the labyrinth hedges of the gardens when their schedules are kind enough to allow them, donning contrasting colours on their dresses as if they are from different Houses altogether. It is a sight when they grace the castle with their combined presence — both of which embody the ethereal beauty only Targaryens can achieve.

However, it is during these meetings with Rhaenyra that Aesira sees how much the Heir dislikes anything related to the Queen, the animosity radiating in the slight curl on her top lip when she breathes a word related to the most powerful woman in the realm. When Aesira revealed that the dresses she had in her closet were all commissioned by the Queen, Rhaenyra sent a few of her old dresses, the colouring as bold as her character — all reds and blacks and so Targaryen. When she mentioned a word about her tea sessions with the Queen, her gracious cousin proposed having daily outings of their own in the gardens, promising an abundance of their favourite cakes and more gossip happening around the court. She once shared her observations with Aether and her brother had the gall to laugh it out, comparing it to his petty rivalry with Aegon whenever they had their fights. Now that she sees it from both sides, Aesira surmises that Rhaenyra and the Queen’s indifference and anger at each other aren’t that much different from Aegon and Aether’s dynamic (but the latter pair always goes back to being partners in crime). She is not as clueless as she seems; she can see the longing in the Queen’s eyes when she stares at Rhaenyra too long and the affliction hanging over Rhaenyra’s head when she is around the Queen.

It is one Lady Redwyne who told her that the two women cementing roles in her life held a rare affection for each other while they were in their childhood. A pleasant surprise that sparks Aesira’s interest. Their relationship became strained, according to Lady Redwyne, when Uncle Viserys announced to wed the Queen during a Small Council meeting. It became the thinnest of threads when something scandalous involving someone so roguish happened in the middle of the night. Aesira didn’t have to ask who this someone was when the glares from the other Ladies landed on Lady Redwyne soon after. Of course, he was a part of it. Now, the court Ladies are silently dividing themselves between the Heir and the Queen, gossiping about the next big story and betting on who will win an argument if one ever surfaces. While they giggled behind their decorative fans about the recruits for the City Watch, Aesira was left mulling over the information she just heard, answering questions when they were only addressed to her.

When little Jacaerys was born, a hesitant Queen Alicent went to visit the babe with Aesira in tow, offering their congratulations to the married couple. Aesira held her hand the entire time to prevent her from picking on her nails, a habit that the girl noticed from the moment they had their second tea session. 

That unfamiliar emotion bubbling in her stomach started tickling her insides during this visit.

Rhaenyra, while wearing faux pleasantries upon facing the Queen and her inquiring gaze, looked so different when staring down at Jacaerys. Aesira never imagined her bold older cousin being this soft around someone, especially after hearing her badmouth every single thing she hated in court. She never realised it back then but it was the start of the change happening within Rhaenyra — a change that was dipped in nostalgia. Mother wore that look when gazing at her and Aether. Gone is the Rhaenyra who accompanied her to the gardens and gone are the daily meetups involving cake.

It started bubbling again when she heard the Queen grumble about the defining features morphing Jacaerys into a toddler.

Brown hair and brown eyes and the swish of a gold cloak following Rhaenyra’s every step. Aesira gives it the benefit of the doubt. She knows about the lineage running in Lord Laenor’s blood — parts of Baratheon courtesy of Princess Rhaenys.

But everything seemed to change when she happened to witness Ser Harwin Strong gazing upon Jacaerys with the same love painted in Rhaenyra’s eyes while the toddler stood on wobbly feet during his attempted walks — Rhaenyra’s little group gathering in the gardens for the joyous moment. When the treasonous thought forms in her mind, she took that time to look at Lord Laenor, seeing the exact proud emotion on his face when he cheered for Jacaerys to reach him in his small, baby steps. The sight burned her eyes and throat. That ugly emotion is painting her in the same shade of green the Queen prefers having on her gowns. While not looking like a trueborn Targaryen, Jacaerys has a father that will never leave him and a mother who will never die from childbirth. It’s unfair. Aesira looked down, swallowing the onset of bitterness covering her whole figure, hating the fact that she happened to enter this specific area of the gardens during an intimate moment shared by a family.

“Jace, where are you going, my boy?” Lord Laenor’s voice echoed in Aesira’s ear when she turned around to choose another area of the gardens to read her book. “Can he even walk that fast at this age?”

A small body wrapped around her skirt, stopping her in her tracks.

“Aesira?” Rhaenyra asked.

Aesira slowly looked down at the one responsible for preventing her from getting out of this mess. A gummy smile beamed up at her, little specks of white peeking through the grin. She blinked in place, her hands wringing with the fabric of her skirts. There were bound to have creases after this encounter. The number of times she saw Jacaerys was when he was still swaddled. Now reaching his first name day, the boy was growing into a little boy who would be a menace now that he learned how to walk.

Right when she was about to gently pry Jacaerys’s hands off of her clothes, she heard the smallest, most adorable voice calling for her.

“Thira!” Jacaerys cheered with a pure smile, bouncing on the heels of his feet.

Rhaenyra grunted from the bench, pushing herself to stand while placing a hand on her pregnant belly. “It seems like he adores you.”

“Thira!”

Aesira stared at Rhaenyra for a good minute. The small hands clutching her dress tightened, shaking her to capture her attention from The Realm’s Delight to the babe staring at her like she placed the stars for him to point out. Maybe that was what she looked like to Little Jacaerys’s eyes — a star maiden glowing with the sun’s halo around her head as he stared at her ever so adoringly. Lord Laenor chuckled from his haunched position on the ground, amusement pushing his head to shake from side to side.

She tilted her head, now fully looking at Jacaerys, who seemed to shine brighter now that she did. “Hello,” she greeted.

Jacaerys giggled, an endearing sound that lightened up their area of the gardens. “Hello!”

Masking the unfamiliar feeling and replacing it with polite cheer, Aesira let go of her skirts and turned to the little Prince craning his neck to fully see her in all her glory. She gave the adults behind them a questioning glance. Once she got a smile from Rhaenyra, raised eyebrows from Lord Laenor, and a neutral expression expected from a knight, Aesira picked up Jacaerys off the ground and balanced him on her hips. The babe squealed at the new person carrying him that wasn’t his mother, father, or the sworn sword assigned to protect them. The hesitance in her actions resulted in jerky movements that were unbelievable for someone who started caring for her baby brother when she was a child of five name days. But this babe wasn’t her Daemian. The scent on little Jacaerys was completely different yet so similar to her brother; as well as the feeling of him in her arms contrasted with Daemian’s calm nature. Aesira never realised that she was starting to bounce Jacaerys in her arms until the babe erupted into giggles again. 

“I believe this is the first time we have ever interacted, Lady Aesira,” a deep voice pulled her attention from gazing at Jacaerys’s gummy smile to a man with beautiful dark skin and tight white locks. He placed a hand on his chest, bowing at her by inclining down his chin. “Laenor Velaryon. It is a pleasure to meet the little Lady everyone has been raving about in court.”

Aesira curtsied with Jacaerys in her hold. “It is my pleasure to meet one of the honourable knights who braved through the War for the Stepstones. You did the crown and throne a great service — may the Seven bless you, good Ser.”

Lord Laenor bellowed a hearty laugh. “The Ladies must have been floating in your praises whenever you’re with them, my Lady.”

“I was merely saying the truth, my Lord.”

“Huh,” Lord Laenor hummed. “He has no shed of himself in you, I presume?”

“Laenor,” Rhaenyra cut in.

“What?” The Velaryon Heir swivelled to give Rhaenyra a look that showed he wasn’t following until the Princess narrowed her eyes at him. His expression didn’t change even after turning around to face Aesira again. She knew better — this man held every right to show contempt for the same person she hated. He was, after all, the brother of the young Lady Daemon has taken away to Essos, never to be seen again by her family and friends. It was almost a tale of romance fit for novels. Aesira had to bite her bottom lip to stop herself from scoffing from the depth of her thoughts. Lord Laenor shrugged in a nonchalance that was innate to every man hailing from the nobility. Aesira figured this was him trying not to make the situation heavy with the topic he was walking on like a tightrope. “It’s so refreshing to see his child be so different from him. Must be the Arryn in you, huh?” He raised his hands in the air. “I’m going to shut my loose lips before I find myself on the other end of someone’s pregnancy hormones. Forgive me for bringing him up, my Lady. I, myself, have expressed what I felt about him way too many times and all of them were not nice.”

So, she was correct. Lord Laenor didn’t like her father as much as she did. 

“Thira!” Aesira felt her cheeks being patted by smaller hands and pudgy fingers. Jacaerys had his adorable face scrunched up. “Me!”

“Pardon, little Prince,” Aesira murmured, brushing her nose against his, which resulted in another round of pleased giggles. “I’m looking at you now.”

Lord Laenor chuckled at the side. “I believe we are witnessing the start of something remarkable.”

The Lady Targaryen nods her head in agreement. “Yes, seeing Prince Jacaerys walk earlier made me remember the time when my little brother did it for the first time as well. It is quite remarkable.”

“That’s not quite what I mean.”

“Laenor,” came Rhaenyra’s stern voice.

“Sorry, Rhaenyra.” A large grin pulled on Lord Laenor’s face. “I was merely stating the obvious.”

It was at that exact moment that Aesira received a wet kiss on her lips, the giver of the token of affection laughing while clapping his hands. Warmth and nostalgia blanket her in a cocoon existing only to enclose her and Jacaerys in this speck of one’s afternoon. Without her control, Aesira genuinely smiled at the little Prince, even if it was as small as a twitch.

Rhaenyra sighed. “I’m sorry for having Jace come to you without any warning.” She walked toward Aesira and her son, her hands cradling her belly, and back straight with the weight of the realm on her shoulders. She didn’t forget to give Lord Laenor a look that had the man retreating to where Ser Harwin was stationed with his hawk-like eyes. Rhaenyra didn’t hesitate in running her hand over Aesira’s hair, her fingers hitting the butterfly slips nestling on either side of her head, which served as the only ornament and style decorating Aesira’s hair. “Nevertheless, it warms my heart that he has taken a liking to you.”

“I don’t mind it, cousin, and it warms my heart as well that he likes me.”

And during her tea sessions with the Queen, Aesira asked what was bothering her the whole time, “Is it wrong for me to hate a child, Your Grace?”

Alicent looked up from her cup of calming tea. “Little one?”

She remained spaced out, simply staring at a piece of honey cake. “There’s this ugly, unfamiliar emotion brewing inside me whenever I look at Jacaerys. It is mostly when I see him getting love despite not looking like me and my brothers.” Aesira met the Queen’s wide eyes. “Am I a terrible person?”

“Oh, sweetling,” the Queen’s touch is filled with care, “it is normal for children to feel envious of others. There is nothing wrong with feeling this way.” So, it was Envy who was responsible for her feeling mixed emotions around Jacaerys. The Queen was having none of her looking away. She tipped Aesira’s chin to affectionately pinch her cheek. “Don’t ever think that you are lacking love in this lifetime. My existence disproves your negative thoughts.”

Aesira looked down. “But he has a father.”

The Queen’s bottom lip jutted out in that signature pout she carried whenever she was troubled. “A mother’s love equals that of a father’s. What matters most, in the end, is how you will blossom with the love that was given to you when you were young. It is up to you, little one, to decide how you choose to live your precious life.”

So, she douses the small spark of envy in her, and becomes a constant in Jacaerys’s life until more firewood turns it into something bigger and different that she has no choice but to let it burn her from the inside out.

Aesira finally finishes her gift for him — a handkerchief embroidered with a golden dragon, topped off with his name in an elegant cursive that took her an entire day to perfect (and days to practise). Helaena is a blessing to have with her during her sewing lessons with their Septa; the younger girl already mastered looping the needle through thick fabrics with her fixation, boasting pieces that depict the most bizarre and most beautiful insects she discovered in the gardens. It was also she who suggested learning how to sew a dragon, providing no explanation whatsoever except that she saw it in her dreams. Since Helaena knows more than she lets on, Aesira trusts her judgement and finds herself with prickles of blood on her fingertips and nights spent in front of her fireplace to figure out the proper loop making up the dragon’s neck.

And here she is now, carefully running her thumbs over the material, while waiting for her handmaiden to finish styling her hair.

The door opens and the Queen enters in one of her emerald gowns, her crown sparkling in the natural light filtering in Aesira’s solar. “I’ll take it from here, Belinda,” she directs her words to Aesira’s handmaiden.

“Of course, Your Grace,” Belinda curtsies before smiling at Aesira. “My Lady.”

Aesira returns the smile. “Thank you for helping me with the dress, Belinda.”

The handmaiden's lips quiver in a more heartfelt beam. She is replaced by the Queen’s softer hands and brighter disposition. The woman gathers the entirety of her hair and runs her fingers through the waves, smiling at Aesira through the looking glass.

“I always love doing your hair,” the Queen wistfully states, “that and putting clips in Helaena’s.” She chuckles, never looking away from weaving her fingers through Aesira’s tresses; molten white-gold that is almost otherworldly, a piece of molten sunlight on earth. The Queen eyes the various accessories littering the vanity, most probably from Belinda laying everything out before trying a style that will match Aesira’s dress. It is a pale blue piece that is more tulle than anything, the sleeves draping down in a bell shape down to the girl’s elbows. The skin on her wrist is decorated by a couple of bracelets to make up for the lack of an entire sleeve. “Do you want something simple or an updo, little one?”

“I would very much prefer a simple style, Your Grace,” Aesira answers with a smile. “I want Aegon to have his day.”

The Queen squeezes her shoulders, a wordless sign of gratitude, before twisting and pulling out strands of hair from a section she parts. Aesira doesn’t even feel anything while the Queen does her task. The slightest bit of prodding she feels is from when a series of flower pins are inserted into her hair. It’s times like this that Aesira truly feels at ease, her eyelids drooping by the second. With her head slightly tilted down, she lets herself be enveloped by the Queen’s occasional humming.

“Do you like it, little one?” The Queen asks while putting on the finishing touches to her hair — a forehead circlet that falls gently on her skin. It is all she has. While the rest of the royal family bear their tiaras and crowns, Aesira is the only one in her siblings to have jewellery that mimics the diadems commissioned for the princesses and princes of King Viserys and Queen Alicent. The aquamarine gemstone is sparkling with every bit of regality Aesira has. Her hair is done in a half-up, half-down style, with some sections on her head shaped to become small roses, and in between every one of them are accessories that Uncle Viserys gave her — bundles of iridescent flowers in one. The Queen takes her silence as a positive reaction, her shoulders pulling back in pride. “You are a delightful sight, little one — one of the prettiest girls to ever grace the halls.” The woman can’t help herself; she places a small kiss on the crown of Aesira’s hair. Her eyes catch sight of the handkerchief in between a flustered Aesira’s hands. “Is that a present for Aegon?”

Aesira nods after collecting herself. Sometimes, she gets lost every time the Queen gives her affection. “It’s not much but I hope Aegon will like it.”

The Queen makes a noise in her throat that is awfully like a snort. “That boy loves everything involving you. I’d be surprised if he begs for a gift from you. Just your presence might be enough for him to last the entire name day celebrations the King arranged for him.”

“It’s my first time embroidering something this special, you see. There are mistakes like this one right here,” Aesira lifts the handkerchief so that the Queen can see the little tangle between three threads. “Hel helped me through some of the process so I pray to the Seven that he doesn’t see the parts I struggled with.” She looks up to meet the Queen’s pretty brown eyes (she loves looking at them; the shade is very different compared to the usual purples she sees every day from her brothers). “But I highly doubt that my presence is enough of a present for him when he’s always excited for his name day since I knew him. He’s particular with this specific name day compared to the others, though.”

“I think I know the reason why,” the Queen casually says, her head slightly tilting to the side to assess any stray strands in the girl’s hair.

Aesira moves to fully face the Queen, turning her body to do so. “I believe I don’t follow, Your Grace.” She is usually not privy to Aegon’s little secrets (or the secrets that he chooses to share with her) but his vibrating excitement to this name day doesn’t come into light whenever it’s just the two of them; even Aether doesn’t know about why their friend wants to enter into the double-digit number so badly and that’s saying something. The only person who knows about it is Helaena, which is a first. But the girl said Aegon didn’t tell her, with the boy supporting it by saying that the Princess was being weird again. She knew about it because once again, she dreamt it in her deepest slumbers — one of the rare moments where she doesn’t wake up screaming and crying. “He didn’t say anything to me or Aether.”

“You recall what the Septa said about finding eligible brides when you reach a certain age?”

Oh, so, it’s this moment. “Aegon is going to be dancing during the feast to find his potential betrothed. Septa Marlow briefly told us about it.” She remembers the meaningful, levelled look the Septa gave her while she was reciting the words as if they were ingrained in her brain with how many times she has repeated it through the years — Septa Marlow is older than any of her guardians at the moment. “She mentioned that maybe the King might push him to pick a fair maiden to be his first dance for the feast but it should be a calculated choice because the court would start spreading stories about it.”

The Queen appreciates her quick thinking by pinching her chin between her forefinger and thumb, shaking it side by side, and humming under her breath. “We all know who this fair maiden is — the budding Flower of the Realm.”

It was a title said with adoration inside the Keep, rivalling that of the Siren of the Vale who lured men to their deaths. But Aesira is not a lady who men would fight a war for nor is she a woman who will bring men to their knees to get a single drop of her beauty in their palms. The title she is given is not granted to her by male singers commissioned by the royal family to sing occasionally in the halls — it was carefully coined by Ladies who have found her company quite sublime. A little flower, not just because of her blossoming beauty but also because of the way she carries herself at her young age. One of the older Ladies, one Lady Tully, told her that she felt like a consolation to the drabness of the court, that when a certain Lady was feeling a range of emotions, she was there to say the perfect words to make them feel better. And very much like how the realm relied on flowers to convey their thoughts, Aesira does it perfectly, or so the other Ladies claim to the Queen in passing, which reaches her ears since the Queen loves sharing what the Ladies and Lords say about her wards. With the spreading songs, the people of King’s Landing are all excited to see the little Lady away from the castle and in their cobblestone streets; but that will come at a later time.

Aesira slowly traces random patterns on Aegon’s handkerchief with her thumbs. “Aegon is a close friend of mine — it would be an honour if he chooses me to dance with him at the opening feast. Though, I would appreciate it more if he doesn’t kiss my cheek in front of the entire court.”

Queen Alicent lets out a little laugh. “He still does it every time.”

“Yes, as a form of greeting, he says.”

“That sounds very much like our Aegon. I will tell him to aim his kiss at your hand instead.”

Aesira snorts, a very unladylike sound she only does around her family. “Like he will listen.”

“If I add your name to the instruction, he will. Your power over him is akin to territories bending the knee to a conqueror of a foreign land. I wonder how he will fare when he gets older.”

“Seven Hells,” Aesira grumbles. “I do not wish to imagine it.”

“It is to your demise, little one. Your aversion to it is reasonable.” The air becomes wistful yet again. “It is rare in the realm to have a union built on love.” Aesira is already anticipating it. The court was already crafting the most bizarre theories since a year ago and as she believes, it will be inevitable and hard to avoid now that Aegon has reached ten name days old, which is older than most boys in the realm when they receive word of their first betrothals. “I will tell you this now, sweet flower, that the King is planning on betrothing you to Aegon, the idea was tickling his mind the moment Aegon showed you the flowers in the gardens nearly five years ago. This will not serve as a warning but it is a reminder that your life will possibly change like a snap of someone’s fingers, with your coming role as a Princess of the realm. Again, as someone who cares for you as a mother does, let me see you as my little one for a little while longer.”

Aesira stares into the looking glass. The weight of the forehead circlet is invisible as it is extravagant.

The Queen presses another kiss on Aesira’s head. “Let us go, little one — the people are waiting.”

For once in her life, Aesira has something to ponder that weighs an entire kingdom. In actuality, she doesn’t know what to feel about her possible betrothal to Aegon — she doesn’t particularly hate the thought nor does she appeal to it. At the end of the day, she’s still a child and she has so much she wants to do; finish her tutoring, be a Lady that can travel around the realm and to the lands beyond the Narrow Sea, and have her name remembered as someone true to herself — Aesira wants to be her mother. The late Lady Aellara Targaryen was someone who wore her kindness up her sleeve instead of her emotions. Aesira, to this day, still thinks that her mother might have been the Mother reincarnated and that her strength lies not just in her beauty but in her courageous kindness as well. The people of Dragonstone always seemed to brighten when her mother visited their streets, inquiring about the overall condition of the villages and offering a weekly feast in the main squares, all from the kitchens of the imposing castle in the distance. She was a beacon who shone for those who needed a spark of light in the dead of the night — Aesira wants to be like that to someone.

But then she remembers the person who robbed her mother of the life that could have been the salvation of others. Because it all comes back to him, doesn’t it? The very man who took her flying on Caraxes’s back when she was but a child of two name days. The man who promised his little princess that she would see bigger things and that he would always be there to protect her. He was also the same man who left her twin brother in Maegor’s tunnels. Will her impending marriage with Lord Something be as bad as the marriage shared by her parents? Will she be left on the birthing bed screaming and bloody while her husband flew to some parts of their home island? Will he leave their children behind when the Stranger tucks her last breath in the many last breaths they collected? 

The more Aesira immerses herself in this new life of hers—away from Dragonstone, away from where everything started—he never left.

Now, this fear of her future husband becoming like him starts forming in the pit of her stomach and she wishes she is born like her brothers, a child with a cock swinging between her legs.

Aesira just wishes Aegon won’t be like him.

The first thing she knows that something is wrong is when there is a lack of kisses on her cheek.

Aegon is dismayed, his chest rising and falling faster than normal. His lip is quivering in a frown that makes his entire face into an expression of misery without even trying. The Queen is not that different. Both of them are sporting looks of varying distress, with an interlacing sign of anger in the Queen’s Despite his Targaryen colouring, Aegon looks like his mother through and through — the wide eyes that seem to be a mirror of their soul, the jut in their bottom lip when things get frustrated, the jitters in their fingers that urge them to pick on their skin. With that, she places her hand around his to prevent him from damaging his fingers any further. And while the tourney is shedding blood on the grounds below, Aesira is setting her eyes on the boy beside her, both of them not paying attention to the knights roaring their glee after winning another bout.

“Aegon?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Egg?”

There is a slight squeeze enveloping her hand.

“What is wrong?” She tries asking again. Where is his excitement? Who dares douse it? It is one thing to be slightly perturbed by his secretive giggles before the celebrations but it is another matter altogether to be worried about what might have silenced it. Her voice is almost a whisper that only they can hear. She does it to not catch her brother’s attention since Aegon looks like he’s about to cry any moment now. Besides, Aether is vibrating in his seat after another round of Ser Criston pulverising his opponent. “Aegon, will you tell me what’s troubling you?”

He doesn’t get to answer because the King rises from his seat at the top of their descending balcony to announce, “Gentle people of King’s Landing and those who have journeyed far and wide to be able to experience the revels we have prepared, I have news that I am most happy to share.” He pauses until he makes sure there are no rounds ongoing below and that the nobles of different colours hold out their ears to listen to what he has to say.

Aesira looks over her shoulder to watch the old King as he takes his time enunciating his words over the large tourney court. Everybody bates their breath in anticipation of his next statement. Aesira only turns away from him when Aegon once again squeezes her hand with his. She can’t help but cup her free hand over the one she is holding, her thumb rubbing circles on his skin. He glances at her from the corners of his eyes, his gratitude forming in a tiny smirk pulling on his lips. He’s about to lean his head on hers, one of the many gestures Aesira receives from Aegon, when the King continues his little speech.

“House Targaryen and dragons have always been set in stone for so many centuries. And today I am proud to say that my grandson, little Jacaerys Velaryon, is a dragonrider! The first Targaryen to have his dragon egg hatch in the Keep after our very own Realm’s Delight many years ago! Let’s be merry for another purpose to enjoy the grand festivities!”

Foolish, foolish King.

The entire arena cheers. The night will be merry indeed; for King Viserys loves nothing more than throwing flamboyant parties and honouring his Heir and her spawns. The only ones who seem to have wilted at the announcement are the Queen and her family. Trueborn Targaryens from the Queen and after ten years, not one of their dragon eggs hatched, with the hurt being carried by her the most. And now this humiliation. After exchanging a concerned glance with her twin brother, Aesira happens to catch Rhaenyra at the worst moment possible. Arrogance and smugness ooze off of her like she is born with a crown on her head. Princess Rhaenyra is the only one with her back straight on the balcony and the only one who has a smile on her face like a radiant beam of sunlight in between thick thunderclouds. Aesira knows that Rhaenyra holds a years-long dispute with the Queen and nothing has been more clear to her than this specific one.

Rhaenyra in black and Aunt Alicent in green.

Rhaenyra in the light and Aunt Alicent always in her shadow.

Rhaenyra the mother of a brown-haired dragonrider and Aunt Alicent with silver-haired dragonless children.

But the one who matters the most is holding back tears gripping her hand like it’s his lifeline.

The firewood inside her chest fuels the fire that’s been put out. Aesira feels her aunt’s shame, her younger cousins’ sorrow, and Aegon’s need to be small. What should be a day for Aegon is a day for someone else instead. She has never felt this anger since the day Aether was found wailing and muddied. She doesn’t realise she has been staring at Rhaenyra and her husband long enough for the older woman to meet her eyes. The surprise on the Heir’s face is apparent, seeing so much emotion and at the same time nothing on her younger cousin. Aesira simply stares and stares, letting Rhaenyra feel the consequences of her actions, for choosing the most inopportune moment to tell the King that Jacaerys’s egg just hatched. Because who does that on someone's name day? It is until Rhaenyra looks away with no hint of remorse for her half-brother, her chin higher in the air with an elegance expected of a Princess, that Aesira sees her in a completely different light.

“Sira,” Aegon finally speaks.

She loses her glare and tilts her head to face Aegon’s lowered one. “Do you want me to call for a maidservant to bring you dark chocolate cake?”

Aegon shakes his head. “Thank you for sitting next to me.”

Before the tourney started, Aegon fought with Aether to have Aesira next to him. On the usual tourneys in King’s Landing, Aesira is seen between her brothers with Aegon next to his siblings but on this specific one, he wanted Aesira beside him. She told her twin brother that this is one of her many gifts for Aegon, which the Prince received only with a small smile on his face — very uncharacteristic of him.

She pulls their hands until they rest on her lap. “Helaena said you will ride a dragon made from the hands of the sun.” He is about to pull his hand away from her but she holds them tighter, which finally makes Aegon look at her. She can feel his eyes even when she’s not looking at him — always. “If you don’t believe it because it came from Helaena, believe it because I’m the one who told you instead.”

“Helaena says the weirdest things sometimes.”

Aesira mindlessly wrote phrases on the back of Aegon’s hand, never noticing the boy’s cheeks reddening at the sensation. “She dreamt of you riding this dragon. You know how I hold Helaena’s words in high regard, Egg.”

Aegon pouts. “I know, Sira.”

“Say, Aegon.”

“Hmm?”

The lilac in her eyes bloom into brilliant gems, Aegon reflected on her pupils. “How about we have a little adventure to the Dragonpit after the tourney? I think it’s about time you officially meet Starfell.”

Starfell is a sight for the most oneiric of dreams.

A lithe body that brings the illusion of a clear spring of water; sharp, slitted eyes bearing the night sky with little pinpricks in the iris that were like charted constellations; ice blue membranes lining up the underside of her white wings; those who have seen her claim to have seen the legendary phenomenon of a fallen star coming to kiss the ground. From the moment the dragonkeepers saw her being guided to the Dragonpit (it was quite the struggle since the little she-dragon barred ferocious bites to those hands who dared to wrap chains around her body in an attempt to detain her), they instantly knew that this specific creature came from the same clutch of eggs Dreamfyre laid all those years ago — Achilles, Aether’s dragon, as well.

Aegon holds his breath when this majestic beast lowers her neck to assess the newcomer her bonded walks in with. He can’t help but flinch at the trills coming from the creature’s long throat. Panic sets in as Aesira leaves his side to walk toward Starfell. “Sira—” His breath catches in his throat at the smile directed at him over her shoulder, the hand reaching for her in the air lowering until they drop to his side. It hurts seeing that the serene smile on her face comes from the one thing he wants the most — a dragon. He feels the envy creeping into his chest, entangling with his veins, while he watches Aesira laugh at every nudge her dragon gives her. Speaking of the dragon, Starfell once again regards him in chilling eyes that sparkle in the dim light of the Dragonpit.

“Lykirī, ñuha gevie riña. Lykirī. Nyke māzigon lēda iā raqiros. Zȳhon brōzi iksis aegon.” (Be calm, my beautiful girl. Be calm. I came with a friend. His name is Aegon.)

Her voice sounds like water, flowing around him in every syllable the Valyrian language has. It sounds prettier than the songs he’s heard from the court bards. It’s a beautiful language as said by Father and by the Maesters he has learned his history from but this is the first time someone has said words coated with such care that it doesn’t sound foreign from the usual common tongue at all. Maybe this is what Aesira has been muttering a lot lately, with him catching her in the library during his daily expeditions around the Keep. He doesn’t understand any word of it, except for one word — lykirī (a dragon command he’s learned while waiting for his dragon egg to hatch), but it doesn’t grate his ears as he expects it to with the way someone should pronounce it.

Aegon doesn’t mind listening to her talk like this all day. 

“W-What did you say?” he asks, still standing in the spot she’s left him on like a lost child. “I’ve only understood one term.”

With her hand still on Starfell’s snout, Aesira giggles under her breath before beckoning Aegon closer to her. “I introduced you to her, Aegon. Come on, take one step at a time. I’m here to placate her if the situation requires it.”

Aegon gives the dragonkeeper stationed to accompany the two of them a glance. The old man nods his head in encouragement, a deep bow that has his chin touching the top of his chest. Taking a deep breath, Aegon follows Aesira’s instructions and takes one step at a time, gauging the dragon’s reactions at every pad of his shoe-clad feet on the ground. The pretty creature doesn’t move an inch from her perch yet her eyes track down his movements. A surge of confidence brings him to make determined steps until he’s found himself beside Aesira, inches away from the opalescent scales of glacial blue. Starfell is even more beautiful up close — a dragon fit for the prettiest girl in all the realm. Aegon cranes his neck to look at Starfell in awe, slightly jumping when a smaller hand covers one of his, directing him to feel the scales underneath his palm.

It’s a mistake to look over his shoulder because Aesira is so close to him that he can deeply register the scent of expensive lavender oils on her hair and a hint of citrus on her neck. Each individual eyelash covering her eyes acts like little butterfly wings every time she blinks. There is a little constellation of freckles dotting her nose. Her cheeks are tinted with a natural shade of enjoyment brought by the elation of meeting her dragon after a while. Aegon has never seen these features of hers up close since he closes his eyes when he gives her his greetings (cheek kisses). He gets the sudden urge to place a gentle kiss on her plump cheek, right on the apples rising from her never-dimming smile. Aegon slowly leans down, his eyes open this time.

The lilacs she has for her eyes flicker from her dragon to him. He stops at the last second. They’re closer this time. His heart is racing and pounding as if he has run from the Keep to the Dragonpit. He can hear every thump made against the walls of his chest. Can Aesira hear it, too? 

“Egg, Starfell. Starfell, Egg.”

He wears the warmth on his cheek while looking up at the dragon, who lowers her head right in front of him. A couple of wavy locks are pulled toward Starfell, with the dragon inhaling his scent. Aegon says without looking away from Starfell, “How do I say hello in Valyrian?”

“Rytsas.”

Aegon nods. “Rytsas, Starfell.”

Starfell responds through a series of clicking sounds that are very much like the chirping of birds at dawn. 

Laughter dipped in gaiety makes his torso shake. Aegon’s eyes are like the sun, feeling the thrill of having a dragon not bare its teeth at him like every warning he’s received if he’s planning on walking to the Dragonpit with one goal in mind. “She likes me, Sira!” He cheers.

Aesira’s voice contains bewilderment. “That she does.”

He looks back at her, only to find her staring at Starfell with a confused scrunch on her eyebrows. “You sound surprised.”

She now narrows her eyes at Starfell. “That is because I am. Did you know that Starfell made it her personal mission to snap at anyone when she first came to King’s Landing?” He fixes her with a questioning look. Aesira answers him by squeezing the hand she’s covering on Starfell’s scales. Once again, he can’t look away from her when pensiveness paints her as if she is a subject in the most important painting in the Keep’s atelier. “She’s always so protective of me back in Dragonstone. We weren’t that much apart when me and my brothers were there, Achilles and Ajax are the same with them. When news of us being warded in King’s Landing by Uncle Viserys, she felt my melancholy that she threatened everyone who took a single step to take her from me; you should’ve seen the way she spread her wings, Egg.” He stiffens at the feeling of her leaning her head on his shoulder. This is uncharted waters. What should he do? Be still, you idiot, says the voice in his head that awfully sounds like a mix of Aether and Aemond. “Ever since she’s in the Dragonpit, she has developed a dislike for any dragonkeeper trying to chain her. She’s probably the freest dragon in here.”

“That’s,” Aegon gulps at the proximity, the scent purely associated with her covering his entire senses, “wonderful. Starfell sounds like she loves you very much.”

Aesira snorts before covering her mouth.

Aegon loses the tension in his shoulder to laugh. “Was that a snort I just heard?”

She looks away from him. “No, you must have heard it wrong. I was merely clearing my throat.”

He grins at her. “Where did my fair maiden go? Who is this imposter with me right now?”

“You’re testing me, Egg.”

Aegon shrugs now that her head isn’t leaning on his shoulder. He can breathe easier now. “I have to say; it sounds adorable. You should lose all your Lady regalia when you’re with me, princess.”

Aesira nudges him with her elbow, making him grunt at the force. “Don’t call me that!”

“Why can’t I when you look like that?” He nods his head to all the accessories still in her hair, especially the forehead circlet that matches his eyes (he likes to think it does match his eyes even when it’s a few shades off). “You even dressed the part.” He chooses to never voice out that he will make her his princess, fearing that voice in his head that sounds like both of his nightmares combined and also her pushing him to the ground. “But truthfully?” Aesira sends him a disbelieving expression. A natural smile tugs on his lips, reaching his eyes in childlike merriment. “You look beautiful, Sira.” His smile grows when Aesira’s eyes widen, her cheeks glowing in a pretty shade of carnation. Maybe he’ll give her a carnation bouquet from the gardens. Though he’ll have to be sly to evade the gardeners who poured their heart out to make the gardens the way it is.

“And will you stop looking at me like that?!”

Aegon sputters, forgetting that they are still in front of Starfell. He takes both of his hands to cover his face from Aesira’s onslaught of painless smacks. “What? I said I speak the truth.” Her face gains another shade of red, probably rose, and Aegon’s grin gets wider. He reaches a hand to pinch her warm cheek, cooing at how soft it is in between his fingers. “Don’t be mad at me, Princess Aesira.”

“Seven Hells,” Aesira grumbles but it comes out as something warbled from the way Aegon keeps pinching her cheek. “And here I was, thinking of inviting you to ride with me on Starfell once she’s alright to saddle two.”

Every single time spent with Aesira is filled with genuine laughter that Aegon doesn’t realise the time has flown so high over their heads. Starfell has been permitted by the dragonkeepers to roam around the neighbouring islands for her next meal, something that only the she-dragon and her fellow brothers have, which would be the reason behind her larger size for a dragon of nine name days. With Aesira’s hand firmly in his, Aegon wonders if his dragon grows to reach the size of Starfell or Achilles, Aether’s dragon who he saw for brief moments before he took off to the skies to follow his sister. Ser Arryk Cargyll (or is it Erryk) stands tall at the entrance of the Dragonpit, waiting for the two little children so that he can safely escort them back to the Keep.

But then he hears a call — a song pulling him in.

Aegon stops in his tracks, turning to the tunnels underground making up the Dragonpit. For the first time in his short life, he feels a strong sense of purpose — he has to follow where this call will lead him. Never hearing the shouts for his name and the distressed shouts of the Kingsguard sent to fetch them, Aegon runs down to the Dragonpit, letting this song guide him through the tunnels. Left. Right. Straight ahead. There is no light in here, only darkness stretching on for miles on end, almost swallowing him whole with nothing left to salvage. He doesn’t know how much time he’s spent avoiding steep stairs or sleeping dragons but he knows he’s near to the source of the lonely yet beautiful song. Behind him, he can faintly hear the clunking of armour. Ser Cargyll definitely followed him down here. He pays it no mind and focuses on the increasing volume echoing across the walls of the Dragonpit; it’s a surprise that no dragons have heard the call, the hall is silent except for this song. Aegon’s run becomes a slow walk, his head so wrapped up in this amalgamation of notes that has him in a trance, having no care for the safety of his person until he meets the singer. His heart is beating wildly in his chest, eyelids fluttering in trepidation. Whatever is residing a few paces in front of him will be the singer of the ballad pulling on every fibre of his reasoning. It’s becoming louder and louder. 

Gold is the only thing he can see in this darkness.

Aegon releases a shaky breath. “Rytsas.”

The golden raises itself from his position and nears his face to Aegon’s. For some reason, Aegon feels safe. When he tilts his head, the dragon follows suit. A small laugh tickles his chest, “Who are you?” He mutters under his breath. As if the dragon understands him, a large snout is nudged on Aegon’s torso, reminiscent of how Aesira does when he teases her. The dragon now fully stands from lying down and walks with pounding footsteps toward him. Underneath all the gold, there are pink membranes lining his wings. Aegon’s breath is taken away from him. “What do you want me to do?” Common tongue is all he can utter, taking note to himself to ask Aesira to read Valyrian texts to him in addition to all the tutoring and training. The dragon lowers himself in front of Aegon. “What?” 

The dragon makes a clicking noise in his throat, shaking his head a little and flapping his wide wings around.

“D-Do you want me to climb on your back?” Aegon looks around. “But there are no saddles around here.” Another set of clicking sounds. “Alright, alright. Just let me,” he grunts, carefully choosing scaffolds in between the dragon’s wings. He balances himself with both arms spread out on either side of him until he finds himself sitting on the most comfortable area on the dragon’s back, a juncture between his torso and neck. The feeling of powerful muscles underneath him sends a shudder down his spine. Magic thrums with each breath the dragon makes and Aegon thinks that maybe his blood is responding to the ancient ichor running down the large beast’s veins. The moment he is on the dragon’s back, it feels like the Fourteen Flames of Old Valyria are tying together a string that’s stronger than the pillars holding the Keep together. It sets his entire body on a height of confidence, his posture losing that residue of melancholy that followed him from the tourney. Aegon looks down at the unnamed creature. “Now what?”

The Dragonpit’s walls pass by him in a blur, the dragon’s claws propelling him to run. Aegon doesn’t register that the screams following them are his own. 

“Sunfyre! Dohaerās, lykirī!”

Dragonkeepers keep shouting commands at the dragon but the magnificent beast with gold for his scales bypasses them to the open doors of the giant Dragonpit. Tucking his wings close to his body, Sunfyre twirls his body before opening his gigantic wings again, letting the wind take him higher over King’s Landing.

He opens his eyes and the world is in the palms of his hands. The ocean has never felt this vast and all-consuming. The skies have never felt this near to his fingertips. He keeps clinging onto the dragon’s back and he swears he will never let this moment go. He’s sure that the smallfolk of King’s Landing open their doors to see the new shadow covering their streets, baffled at the intricate colouring his dragon possesses (they’re pointing and gaping with their hands over their mouths), and that they can hear him scream out in pure, unadulterated joy.

The golden Sunfyre has been claimed and it only means one thing.

Aegon Targaryen is a dragonrider — a trueborn Targaryen with magic in his bones and divinity in the threads of his hair.

this is already on my ao3 so if you want more chapters, click on this link

if you want to be added to the taglist, send an ask or reply <33

taglist: @winxschester @darylandbethfanforever9 @averyyreads

[finnattack26]

Another one, god it keeps going.

As soon as your legs are free they’re snatched up and folded too and BLANK instructs you to hold your arms out, their eyes lingering on your scars for a second before they stretch out the measuring tape. “This shouldn’t take too long, I’ll get something crafted for you ready for the event but I know some people are sensitive to certain types of fabrics. Do you prefer something looser and breathable or something restrictive?”

They don’t look up from their task as they ask you this and you open your mouth to reply but Solace beats you to it, “he prefers comfortable clothing so something breathable would probably be best. He likes jackets that have a little weight on the shoulders I’ve noticed.”

BLANK nods and glances in the android’s direction. “Ahh, I see. I had a handler like that once, they enjoyed being able to hide in the fabric of jackets and things like that.” They pause in thought and then look up at you, smiling at your nervous expression. “They also enjoyed things like wearable blankets, would that be something you’d be interested in wearing?”

You blink. “I– yeah, I guess?”

They tut. “Don’t sound so unsure of yourself, I’m not going to berate you if you don’t like the things I suggest–”

“No, no, I do like stuff like that! I’m just a bit out of my element here, y’know?”

Solace sends you a fond, helpless look and you look away with a grimace, shuffling nervously on your feet before stilling as BLANK crouches to measure your leg. “I see. Well, from the little I’ve seen your wardrobe is a mess so I suppose this is something you’re going to have to get used to.” They send your uniform a stink-eye and you’re amused to find they have the motors to allow for micro expressions as their faceplate scrunches. “That outfit is a disaster, must you always wear that when doing your job?”

When you nod, amused, they tut again and shake their head, going back to taking your measurements. “Ridiculous, truly. You know when I was looking around I saw one of the guards walking about and I just thought how uncomfortable that uniform looked – it looked so heavy, almost as heavy as those bags under her eyes dear lord, how hard do they work you here? In my location anyone who came looking exhausted were sent straight back to their bed.” They pause and tilt their head. “Well, I suppose we did work with some expensive machinery unlike here but still–”

Kai leans against the railing and gestures ahead to the rows of tables, grin never falling for even a second. “I know you like doing this by yourself so I’ll wait here while you three get acquainted.”

“And you have no idea how they woke up?”

They shake their head. “Not a clue, sorry. Maybe a loose spark?”

You hum back a ‘maybe’ and then enter the room fully. As you both make your way further into the room, passing a few tables, the sound of shuffling cards grows closer and louder until you stop a few feet away from the new bot. They’re balancing dangerously on the back two legs of a wooden chair – one made specifically for them you can’t help but notice – and legs straight on the table, ankles crossed. They don’t look up from their task of performing a few fancy tricks and you take a moment to examine them closer.

Unlike Freyr, they don’t have a nose and their crescent occupies the majority of the left side of their face. It’s an off shade black and the circular shape is a dull orange colour, brightened by the shapes above and beneath their eyes – their left having a red heart and the right a black diamond. Instead of large rays they have a couple of spades, the same you’d see on playing cards with smaller rays between. They don’t have any pupils, just a pure white background and the only indication you get of them even acknowledging your presence is the slightest tilt of their faceplate. 

With a smooth gesture the cards disappear from their hand entirely and they plant their feet on the carpet to sit in the chair properly, clawed hands clasped neatly on the table. Their silicone lips pull into a wide grin, displaying sharp yellow teeth, “about time, ah was beginning to drift off.”

You blink. Out of everything, an American accent hadn’t been what you were expecting. Kai’s description about the bot was correct, his tone was disarmingly charming and smooth, rumblier than Whirl’s but still with that fancy flick to it. 

“Nice to meet you, Blackjack.” You say, pulling out a seat and sitting down. The air shifts at your back as Freyr takes a step forward, his hands grasping the wood of your chair. You’re reminded of the incident with BLANK and flash him a warning look, but he isn’t looking at you – instead his entire focus is on Blackjack. “How did you turn on?”

He shrugs, folding his arms and you eye the off shoulder cape rimmed with hearts and black spades with interest. His trousers are poofy, black and decorated with red and white diamonds and seem to be kept in its shape by some wire, similar to the original daycare attendant. Under the cape he’s wearing a corset similar to Whirl’s but an off white colour with orange accents. “Dunno, thought he turned me on,” he says, gesturing to Kai.

“They.” Freyr corrects from behind you.

“Ah, my apologies,” he mutters, sending an apologetic squint Kai’s way. “I thought they had turned me on but I suppose I was incorrect in that assumption.”

[blackdigitalrose]

 Healin' Good♥Pretty Cure Review

Last but not least! It is the potentially ironically or awkwardly time plague series, when a real life plague struck.

Not overwhelming, casual pace with steady development both sides, along with a good variation of villains.

Nodoka carries the story and what a rough story it is, I suppose I would have liked to have seen more of her overcoming weaknesses, it was nice to see her struggle, not get out the hospital and magically all is ok.

Hinata needed some more time and focus to help flesh her out better, while Asumi, her presence doesn't overly affect the team, they are still very much a trio +1, heck even the team transformation has her on the outside why they do their three musketeers impression.

The villains pettiness between the three of them let's them down but over all, a strong group with plenty of personalisation and build up to. I'm still disappointed Grace vs Daruizen never happened, those two had all the build up and history for an amazing potential showdown!

The EB had the solid foundation and build up but then was over in the blink of an eye?

I'm just not sure what it is, it is missing, yes I would recommend but it is not quite in the same league as Smile.

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˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ Cure Fontaine/ Sawaizumi Chiyu

And just edging a head, I couldn't help it, it is the member that gives 110% to the team despite everything on her plate, Chiyu. (Her and Pegitan may have helped ^^;) I can admit, she isn't the easiest character to relate to, she's very niche but I like that she found two dreams and was determined and willing to put the effort in to chase both. It feels like a unique trait in Precure and a good message that you can chase after more than one goal in life and that's ok to.

🌟 Cure Grace/ Hanadera Nodoka

I have to hand it to them, Grace is an excellent lead, she's the driving force of the story with out taking the spotlight off the rest and while the story is very personal to her and her alone, the others still have a part to play. The message that her well being and health comes first and she shouldn't feel guilty or pressured into doing otherwise was a very mature message to be sharing and one that is worthwhile to be heard. To top it all, she's a refreshing pink, whose more relatable than you would first thing; kind but not overly energetic, enthusiastic but mostly determined and it was nice to see her journey back to her feet and making up for lost time.

Cure Sparkle/ Hiramitsu Hinata

I dunno, I feel like they could have done more with Sparkle, she sort of faded into the background abit compared to the other two... or she just didn't catch my attention enough and it felt that way? Battling insecurities and self confidence, trying to find the right path for you, wanting to be more, some one to be depended on while knowing you have siblings that have set a high bar for you to try and match/surpass. It wasn't like Hinata had nothing going for her but it was just somehow the least interesting one.

Cure Earth/ Fuurin Asumi

They had something with her, this blank slate that need to be taught, learning things as they went, actually made you think about things you wouldn't usually, especially on how you would try to describe certain emotions and responses etc. This unfortunately only lasted a few eps and then she was just there, with nothing really going for her. Her colour still conflicts me mind you, Cure Earth, wind element = Green, however mystical, mysterious, with links to royalty, purple also makes sense (⁠๑﹏๑) I can't decided, perhaps a different name than Earth would have resolved this? (It's really saying something about her character, when the most pressing point about it is he colour...)

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Pegitan

Adorableness aside (˶ˆᗜˆ˵) by default, he was still the only option. Pegitan and Chiyu made a great team, I like how it went full circle in the end with Pegitan offering courage to Chiyu instead. He had his flaws, he seemed quite prone to jealousy but he came a long way from he fearful fairy we were introduced to in he earlier eps.

Rabirin

I did say she was redeemable, completely forgiven, no, she's still annoying at times. However, the second half of the show, Rabirin seemed to mature a little and started showing another side of her and it showed while dealing with Nodoka problems, from her illness to Daruizen's bizarre offer at the end.

Nyatoran

… I've got nothing, he was there, his design didn't really save him, he didn't bounce off Hinata that brilliantly and overall, I think he just got lost in the shuffle.

Latte

The mascot who really is just there to look cute until the finale and she finally learns to talk, thus becoming able to do a little more.

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Best: Daruizen

Just edging a head, I think I've got to give it to Daruizen, he was a bit slow and lack lustre at the start but he more than made up for it in the second half. His feud with Grace was brilliant and while he seemed lazy, he was the only pro-active one when it came to actual combat against the Cures out of the main three. On top of the sub plot story. It is unfortunate Grace vs Daruizen full showdown never happened.

Honoury mention still goes to Batetemoda who unfortunately got sacrificed to Earth in her big debut. The guy was vicious, yet funny and held no punches. Batetemoda was another who wasn't afraid of intercepting the Precure instead of just standing there and letting them do their thing.

Worst: Shindoine

Bottom line, I'm simply not a fan of these one track minded, love obsessed characters. I thought she may have got a feud going with Earth but that never materialised, would have made that scene in the finale better if they had. Unlike the other two, she just didn't offer anything much, even at the end when she was the last one standing, Byogen said it himself, she was easily replaceable.

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Healing Flash

I dunno what it is about it, it's no different than the Healing Flower or Stream but it just seems like so much more overkill!

Healing Oasis

It feels like a good team finisher that's a bit more extravagant and more developed than the other series I've seen thus far. Plus it is an attack that just has so many good shots of the trio!