#NEITHER HAD A CHOICE AND IT BURDENS THEM NOW

[shiorihyugawrites]

The Devil's Bride

Aurora Jaeger, Eren's long-lost childhood friend, was taken from him when they were children. After years of suffering under Marleyan control, Aurora is reunited with Eren while he’s undercover in Marley, igniting a bond neither of them expected. Despite her gentle nature, Aurora breaks her vow of pacifism to save Eren’s life, solidifying their deep connection. Secretly married before the Raid on Liberio, Aurora is swept into Eren's world of chaos and destruction. As the Scouts learn of her existence, tensions rise on the airship home. Mikasa’s heart shatters, and Levi demands answers. And Eren will stop at nothing to protect the only light left in his dark world—his bride, Aurora.

In this journey of love, loyalty, and war, Aurora must reconcile her innocent heart with the brutal reality of the man she loves, while Eren faces the truth of what he’s become. (Eren x OC)

Chapter Thirty Seven

Eren shut the door behind him, his movements harsh as he locked it, ensuring they wouldn’t be interrupted. Aurora sat at the edge of their bed, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her dress, her face still pale from the events of the past day. She glanced up at him, her expression a mix of worry and resolve.

He crossed the room, standing in front of her with his arms crossed. The weight of everything seemed to hang heavy in the air. Aurora knew she should bring up how she felt about Floch—how his hostility toward her made her uncomfortable—but she hesitated. Floch was too important to Eren right now. The Jaegerists were volatile enough without more infighting, and Aurora didn’t want to be the one to push Eren into an even tougher position.

Instead, she shifted her focus to Eren’s troubled expression, sensing that he had something on his mind.

“What’s wrong?” she asked softly, reaching out to take his hand. Eren looked down at her, his piercing green eyes unreadable for a moment, before he sighed and sat beside her on the bed.

“It’s about Historia’s plan,” he began, his voice low but steady. “She wants to use the ice burst stone as leverage to gain allies. Offer it to other nations in exchange for their military support.”

Aurora tilted her head, listening intently. She could sense the frustration in his voice, the way his hands clenched into fists as he spoke.

“I don’t like it,” Eren admitted, his tone sharper now. “The world already hates us. You really think they’d fight for us? No, they’d just take the stone for themselves and leave us to rot. We can’t trust them.”

Aurora frowned, absorbing his words. She knew he wasn’t wrong—the world’s hatred for Eldians ran deep. But something about the plan still resonated with her. If there was even a small chance to avoid using the Rumbling, wasn’t it worth exploring?

“I think it’s a good idea,” she said carefully, watching Eren’s reaction. His jaw tightened, but he didn’t interrupt her, so she continued. “If we have a shot at avoiding the Rumbling, Eren, shouldn’t we take it? Even if the chances are slim, isn’t it worth trying?”

Eren shook his head, his frustration boiling over. “You don’t get it, Aurora. These people don’t care about us. They don’t want peace with us. They want us dead. Giving them the ice burst stone is like handing them a loaded gun. How do you think that’s going to end?”

Aurora held his gaze, refusing to back down. “I know it’s risky, but what other choice do we have? The Rumbling is… it’s genocide, Eren. If there’s a way to avoid it, even if it’s a gamble, I think we have to try.”

Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, Eren didn’t respond. His expression was a mixture of anger and pain, and Aurora could see the war raging inside him. He was so resolute in his belief that the Rumbling was their only option, but Aurora could see the part of him that didn’t want to carry that burden. The part of him that wanted another way, even if he wouldn’t admit it.

“I don’t want to use the Rumbling either,” Eren said finally, his voice quieter now. “But the world isn’t giving us a choice. They’re coming to kill us, Aurora. We can’t gamble with something this big.”

Aurora reached out, cupping his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. “You’re not gambling alone, Eren. We’re all in this together. Historia, Levi, Mikasa, Armin, Hange me… We’re all fighting for the same thing: survival. And if there’s even a chance—just a chance—that we can do this without wiping out millions of people, then we owe it to ourselves to try.”

Eren closed his eyes, leaning into her touch for a brief moment before pulling back. His shoulders were tense, his hands gripping his knees tightly.

“You really think this plan could work?” he asked, his voice laced with doubt.

“I don’t know,” Aurora admitted honestly. “But I think it’s worth a shot. And I think you do too, deep down. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have brought it up to me.”

Eren let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You’re always too optimistic for your own good.”

Aurora smiled faintly, though her eyes were serious. “Maybe. But sometimes optimism is all we have.”

Eren stared at her for a long moment, his mind clearly racing. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh and stood up, pacing the room. “I’ll think about it,” he said gruffly. “But I’m not promising anything.”

“That’s all I’m asking,” Aurora replied softly, relief washing over her.

Eren paused by the door, glancing back at her. “You’re too stubborn, you know that?”

Aurora chuckled, a small but genuine sound. “Takes one to know one.”

For the first time that day, Eren allowed himself a faint smirk before stepping out of the room, leaving Aurora alone with her thoughts. She hoped that she had managed to get through to him, even just a little. If there was even a slim chance to avoid the Rumbling, she was determined to find it.

…

Hours later, the couple found themselves in a meeting with the scouts. The meeting was tense from the moment it started. Eren and Aurora sat side by side, their expressions serious, as Levi and Historia stood at the front of the room. Around the table were Hange, Mikasa, Armin, Jean, Connie, Sasha, and Floch, their faces a mix of apprehension and curiosity. Even Porco was present, though his hands were bound and Levi stood close enough to act at the first sign of trouble.

Eren wasted no time getting to the point. “Historia has a plan,” he began, his tone measured but carrying a weight that demanded attention. “She wants to use the ice burst stone as leverage to form alliances with other nations. In exchange for the stone, they’d provide military support.”

A ripple of murmurs ran through the room, and Levi shot a glare at the group, silencing them. “Let him finish,” Levi said curtly.

Aurora chimed in, her voice steady though she felt the weight of the room’s scrutiny. “This plan isn’t without risk, but it could give us the allies we need to stand against Marley and the rest of the world. If it works, we might not need to rely on the Rumbling.”

Hange leaned forward, her sharp eyes glinting with interest. “The ice burst stone is an incredibly valuable resource. It powers the ODM gear, so other nations must have been itching to get their hands on it. Theoretically, this could work.”

Armin nodded, his face lighting up with cautious optimism. “If we could convince even one or two nations to ally with us, it could change everything. They’d see we’re not devils, that we’re just people trying to survive.”

Jean tapped his fingers on the table, thoughtful. “And if they don’t stab us in the back, this could actually buy us time.”

Connie and Sasha exchanged hopeful glances, their relief palpable. “Anything’s better than the Rumbling,” Connie said quietly. Sasha nodded in agreement. “We don’t want to wipe out entire populations.”

But Floch’s voice cut through the room like a blade. “And what makes you think they won’t stab us in the back? What makes you think they’ll even agree to help us? They hate us. They’ve hated us for generations.” His eyes darted to Eren. “You of all people should know this, Eren.”

Eren didn’t respond immediately, his jaw tightening as he glanced at Aurora. He could feel Floch’s resentment radiating across the table, but he ignored it for now.

“Floch does have a point,” Levi said, his voice neutral. “This isn’t without risk. Offering them our most valuable resource could make us vulnerable.”

“But sitting here and doing nothing guarantees our destruction,” Armin countered, his voice firm. “We can’t just keep relying on the Rumbling as our only option. This is a chance to avoid mass genocide.”

Floch slammed his hand on the table, standing up. “We’re handing them the ammunition to destroy us! They’ll take the stone and use it against us. This isn’t a plan—it’s a death sentence!”

The room fell silent, the tension crackling in the air. Finally, Eren spoke, his voice low and steady. “Floch, sit down.”

Floch hesitated but eventually obeyed, his glare unwavering. “You’re letting her distract you,” he muttered, barely audible but loud enough for everyone to hear.

Eren’s eyes snapped to him, sharp and unyielding. “What did you just say?”

Floch didn’t back down. “You’re distracted. By Aurora. By this fantasy of peace. You’re losing sight of what’s important.”

Aurora stiffened beside Eren, her face falling, but before she could respond, Eren raised a hand to silence her. His voice was cold, each word deliberate. “You don’t get to question my decisions.”

Levi stepped in, breaking the growing tension. “Enough. Let’s vote on the plan and move on.”

One by one, the team cast their votes. Hange, Armin, Jean, Connie, Sasha, Mikasa, Levi, and even Historia voted in favor of the plan. Floch was staunchly against it, his scowl deepening with each “yes.” Finally, it was Eren’s turn.

“I’m against it,” he said, though there was a hesitation in his voice that hadn’t been there before.

Floch’s head snapped toward Eren, surprised. But then, Eren added, “I still don’t trust the world. I don’t think this will work. But if the rest of you think it’s worth a shot, then so be it.”

The room was stunned. Even though Eren voted against it, his tone suggested he was open to the idea—a significant shift from his usual unyielding stance. Floch’s fury was barely contained, his fists clenching as he glared at Aurora, blaming her for this perceived betrayal.

With the vote settled, Levi clapped his hands sharply. “That’s it. We have our decision. Now let’s get to work.”

Porco’s gaze scanned the room before he finally spoke. “The people who will be most interested and willing to negotiate with you are undoubtedly the Azumabitos. If you want to contact them, you can’t just go in guns blazing or send a message demanding an audience. You need to appeal to their… interests.”

“And by interests, you mean money,” Jean cut in, raising an eyebrow.

“Exactly,” Porco replied, leaning forward slightly. “The Azumabito are opportunists. They’ll sniff out a good deal from miles away. If you send them a friendly, non-threatening invitation—something that emphasizes the potential wealth they could gain from the ice burst stone—they’ll bite.”

Hange nodded thoughtfully, scribbling notes down on a piece of paper. “It makes sense. They thrive on trade and profit. If we present this as an exclusive opportunity, they might be more inclined to listen.”

Armin tapped his fingers on the table, his mind racing. “But how do we make it convincing? We can’t afford to seem desperate. They’ll take advantage of us if they think we’re backed into a corner.”

“That’s where you word it carefully,” Porco continued. “Make it seem like you’re doing them a favor by even offering the chance. Highlight the exclusivity of the deal. Make it seem like you’ve got other nations lined up waiting to get their hands on the stone.”

Floch, who had been sitting silently in the corner, suddenly muttered, “Why the hell is he even allowed to speak? He’s still a prisoner and an enemy.”

The room froze for a moment, tension thick enough to cut with a blade. Levi, standing near the back of the room with his arms crossed, didn’t even hesitate. “Shut the fuck up, Floch.”

The bluntness of Levi’s words caught everyone off guard. A few muffled snorts escaped from Jean and Connie, but Floch’s face turned red with anger and embarrassment. “I’m just saying—”

“I don’t care what you’re saying,” Levi interrupted, his voice sharp enough to make Floch flinch. “Every time you open your mouth, it’s nothing but useless noise. If you don’t have anything productive to add, keep it shut.”

Eren’s lips twitched slightly, but he said nothing, his eyes flicking between Levi and Floch before landing back on Porco. “Continue.”

Porco’s mouth quirked into a slight smirk at Floch’s dressing down, but he quickly wiped it off his face. “Like I was saying, the Azumabito won’t be able to resist the prospect of exclusive access to the ice burst stone. You make the deal look too good to pass up, but you don’t give them everything upfront. Keep some leverage.”

Mikasa nodded, her expression guarded. “How do we even deliver this invitation? It’s not like we can just send an envoy across the sea.They might feel threatened if they see a Paradisan ship.”

“Send a letter,” Porco suggested. “Something straight to the point but won’t appear threatening. Have Historia write it herself. The Azumabito love pomp and prestige—seeing a letter from the queen would definitely make an impression. They may even extend an invitation to Hizuru.”

The room fell silent at that suggestion. Everyone’s eyes turned to Historia, who sat with her hands folded in her lap. She took a deep breath and nodded. “If that’s what it takes, I’ll do it.”

“Absolutely not,” Eren said immediately, his tone brooking no argument. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Then who?” Jean asked, frowning. “We need someone who can make an impact. Someone they’ll actually listen to.”

Levi tilted his head slightly, his calculating gaze sweeping over the group. “If Historia goes, she won’t be going alone. And we’re not making any decisions about this right now. We still need to draft the message.”

Aurora glanced at Eren, who was visibly tense, his jaw clenched. She reached out and placed a hand on his arm, grounding him. “Eren, we have to at least consider it. If it’s the best way to make them listen…”

Eren looked down at her, his expression softening slightly, but he said nothing. The room remained quiet for a moment before Hange finally broke the silence.

“Alright, we’ll work on the wording of the invitation first,” Hange said, their tone firm but hopeful. “Once we have something solid, we’ll figure out the rest. But for now, we’ve got a direction, and that’s better than nothing.”

The room began to clear as everyone prepared to move on to the next steps, but the tension lingered, unspoken doubts and fears hanging heavy in the air.

Captain Levi motioned for Porco to stand. The clinking of his chains echoed through the room as Levi grabbed the end of the chain with an iron grip, ready to lead him back to his cell. Porco stood silently, not offering any resistance, but his jaw tightened slightly as he avoided looking at anyone in the room.

"Let’s go," Levi muttered, turning toward the door.

"Wait!" Historia's voice rang out, stopping everyone in their tracks. Levi froze and turned his sharp gaze toward her, one eyebrow raised.

"What now?" he asked, irritation clear in his tone.

Historia took a step forward, her hands clasped in front of her. "Please, Captain. Just give me some time with him. Porco’s been nothing but cooperative since he got here. He hasn’t shown any signs of hostility. You said it yourself during the interrogation."

Levi’s eyes narrowed. “That doesn’t mean I’m letting him roam around like some tourist. He’s still the enemy.”

“I understand that,” Historia said, her voice steady but imploring. “But we’ve been working together for months. He’s helped me more than anyone realizes. I just… I need to talk to him, Captain. Please.”

Levi tilted his head slightly, studying her with a cold, calculating stare. “Talk about what, exactly?”

“That’s personal,” Historia replied, straightening her back. “But it’s important.”

Levi’s gaze flicked between Historia and Porco. The Jaw Titan had a guarded expression, though there was a flicker of something—gratitude?—in his eyes as he glanced at Historia.

“No,” Levi said curtly, starting toward the door again. “He’s going back to his cell. You’ll have to make do with visiting him there.”

“Captain,” Historia pressed, stepping forward to block his path. “I’m still the Queen of this island, and I’m asking you to trust me.”

Levi stopped abruptly, the chain in his hand rattling as Porco nearly stumbled into him. He turned back to Historia, his face unreadable, though his jaw twitched slightly.

“This isn’t about trust,” Levi said, his voice low and dangerous. “This is about security. You’ve already been sneaking around with him for months, and look where that got us. Do you think I’m going to let you have another cozy chat with the enemy just because you ask nicely?”

“Please,” Historia repeated, her voice soft but unwavering. “I’m not asking for hours. Just a few minutes. You can even stand guard if that’ll make you feel better.”

Levi stared at her for what felt like an eternity, his icy gaze drilling into her, searching for any sign of weakness or deception. Finally, he let out a frustrated sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Five minutes,” he said tersely. “And if he so much as breathes the wrong way, I’m cutting off his damn head. Got it?”

Historia nodded quickly. “Thank you, Captain.”

Levi shot a glare at Porco as he unlocked his chains, though he kept his blades sheathed at his sides. “Don’t try anything stupid,” he warned. “I’m not in the mood to deal with any more drama.”

Porco smirked faintly but didn’t say a word as Levi stepped back, folding his arms and leaning against the wall to observe.

Historia turned to Porco, her expression softening as she took a hesitant step toward him. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “For everything you’ve done. For me, for all of us.”

Porco shifted slightly, his usually confident demeanor replaced by something more uncertain. “You don’t need to thank me,” he muttered. “I did what I thought was right.”

“I know,” Historia said, her voice gentle. “That’s why I trust you.”

Levi, watching the exchange with narrowed eyes, tapped his foot against the floor. “Four minutes,” he muttered.

Historia gave Porco a small, reassuring smile before glancing back at Levi. “I’ll be quick.”

As they began to talk in hushed tones, Levi stayed true to his word, keeping an unrelenting watchful eye on Porco. He didn’t trust him, not even for a second, but something in Historia’s determination kept him from interfering—at least for now.

But as Levi leaned against the wall, he found his gaze drifting across the room. His sharp eyes landed on Floch as the young Jaegerist moved toward the exit, flanked by a pair of his ever-loyal lackeys.

Levi's expression soured. He had never liked Floch, not even before the young man had risen to prominence within the Jaegerists. Floch's arrogance, his blind devotion to Eren, and his unrelenting willingness to cross any line grated on Levi's nerves.

The disdain deepened after Floch spent a full month hunting him and Mikasa like they were prey. That act alone had solidified Levi's complete lack of respect for the man.

And now, there was something new that Levi couldn’t ignore. Floch’s growing animosity toward Aurora. It wasn’t always there—Floch had initially been indifferent toward her, treating her like little more than an extension of Eren. But over time, that indifference had twisted into something sharper, something uglier. Levi didn’t miss the way Floch’s gaze lingered on her during meetings, or the way his lip curled in disdain when her name came up in conversation.

Levi was certain Eren had noticed as well. Eren wasn’t the type to miss such things, especially when it involved Aurora. But Eren also wasn’t the type to do anything about it, at least not yet. Floch was too important to the Jaegerists. If Eren was the “king” of this little rebellion, Floch was its commander, its rallying point. The soldiers didn’t just listen to Floch—they followed him. And that was what worried Levi the most.

Levi’s sharp mind played out a dozen scenarios. What would happen if Eren and Floch found themselves at odds? Who would the Jaegerists side with? And where would that leave the rest of them?

"Doesn't matter," Levi muttered under his breath, forcing the thoughts away. "Let Eren deal with his own damn cult."

But what Levi couldn’t shake was the way Floch looked at Aurora. It wasn’t just dislike. It was contempt. Resentment. Hatred. Levi couldn’t stand it. Aurora had enough to deal with as it was—her past, her current position, and now this mysterious connection to the Founder that no one fully understood. The last thing she needed was someone like Floch making her life harder.

And much to Levi’s annoyance, he had come to care about Aurora in a way he hadn’t anticipated. It was the same camaraderie he felt toward the rest of his squad— protective, almost paternal. She was stubborn, naive at times, and had a tendency to stick her nose where it didn’t belong, but she also had a strength that reminded him of people he’d lost. People he failed to protect. He wasn’t about to let someone like Floch target her without stepping in.

As Floch reached the door, Levi called out, his voice sharp and commanding. “Floch.”

Floch froze, turning slightly with a raised brow. “Yes, Captain?” His tone carried that same mocking edge it always did when addressing Levi, the kind of tone that made Levi’s fingers itch for his blades.

“Keep walking,” Levi said flatly, his eyes narrowing. “And stay out of things that don’t concern you.”

Floch’s expression darkened, and for a moment, it looked like he might argue. But something in Levi’s gaze must have warned him off because he simply nodded once and continued out of the room.

Levi watched him go, his jaw tight. He’d have to keep an eye on Floch. And if the little bastard stepped out of line—especially where Aurora was concerned—Levi wouldn’t hesitate to put him in his place.

He waited impatiently for Historia and Porco to wrap up their time together. He was already annoyed that they’d spent this long, and his patience was hanging by a thread. Just as he moved to step forward and call time, Mikasa approached him, her boots barely making a sound against the floor.

“Captain,” she said quietly, her tone laced with urgency.

He glanced at her, sharp and inquisitive. “What is it, Mikasa?”

Mikasa hesitated for only a second before continuing. “I just wanted to tell you… I saw Floch a few hours ago. He was outside Aurora and Eren’s quarters… with two other Jaegerists.”

Levi’s gaze darkened immediately. “Go on.”

“They were talking about Aurora,” Mikasa explained, her voice low but firm. “I couldn’t hear everything, but I caught enough. Floch mentioned her name—he called her a distraction. A liability. He doesn’t trust her, and he’s trying to rile others up against her.”

Levi’s jaw tightened, his expression hardening further. “Tch. That little bastard.”

Mikasa’s own frustration was evident in her tense posture. “He’s dangerous, Captain. Especially now. The Jaegerists listen to him. If he decides to target Aurora, it won’t just be him—it’ll be them too.”

Levi let out a slow, deliberate breath, his sharp eyes flicking toward the door Floch had left through earlier. He wasn’t surprised by Mikasa’s report—it only confirmed what he’d already suspected. Floch was a threat, not just to Aurora but to the fragile balance they were trying to maintain among the Jaegerists, the scouts, and Eren’s inner circle.

“He’s been crossing lines for a while now,” Levi muttered, his tone low and dangerous. “Hunting me and you for a month wasn’t enough, apparently. Now he thinks he can mess with Aurora.”

Mikasa nodded. “I didn’t want to bring this up earlier, but I think he’s been trying to sow distrust in Eren too. Floch sees Aurora as a weakness, something that’s pulling Eren away from the goal. If he keeps this up—”

Levi raised a hand to stop her. “I know. He’s testing the limits. And if he pushes too far, I’ll handle it.”

Mikasa didn’t doubt Levi’s words for a second. If anyone could handle Floch, it was Levi. But there was something about the situation that unsettled her. “Do you think Eren knows?”

Levi’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Of course he does. He’s not an idiot. But Eren’s keeping Floch around for the same reason I haven’t cut him down yet. The Jaegerists need someone like Floch to rally them.”

“Even if it’s at Aurora’s expense?” Mikasa asked pointedly.

Levi’s eyes flashed. “No. That’s where I draw the line.”

Before Mikasa could respond, Historia and Porco emerged from their quiet corner. Porco looked irritated at being interrupted, but Historia gave Levi an apologetic look as she stood beside her companion.

“Time’s up,” Levi said flatly, stepping forward to grip Porco by the arm. His movements were firm but not rough. “Back to your cell.”

Porco shot a glance at Historia, clearly reluctant to leave, but Levi wasn’t about to entertain any arguments. “Don’t even start,” Levi warned, his tone like a blade.

As Levi began to lead Porco away, Mikasa’s gaze followed Floch’s trail out of the room. Her grip tightened around the hilt of her blade. “Be careful, Levi,” she said softly. “Floch is dangerous.”

Levi glanced back at her, his expression as sharp as ever. “I know. But if he tries anything stupid, he’ll learn the hard way what happens when you step out of line.”

Mikasa nodded, her trust in Levi unwavering. But in the pit of her stomach, she couldn’t shake the feeling that Floch wasn’t going to stop until he got what he wanted.

…

Aurora sat at her workbench, the faint glow of a lantern casting a warm light over the collection of vials, herbs, and jars of carefully labeled powders. Her hands moved with practiced precision as she poured a shimmering liquid into a small glass flask, but her mind was far from her work. Thoughts of the Azumabito plan swirled in her head, a strange mix of hope and anxiety tightening her chest.

Could it really work? Was it too good to be true?

She didn’t want to let herself believe too much in the idea, but it was impossible not to feel a flicker of optimism. Aurora never wanted the rumbling. The sheer devastation of it haunted her, the image of entire cities reduced to rubble and innocent lives crushed beneath titan feet. She couldn’t bear the thought of Eren carrying the guilt and weight of billions of lives on his shoulders.

But now, because of Historia and Porco, maybe—just maybe—they had a real shot at another path. The possibility filled her with a cautious lightness, one she hadn’t felt in weeks. Her lips curved into a small, hopeful smile as she reached for another ingredient, a faint hum of a melody escaping her lips.

The soft creak of the door opening drew her out of her thoughts, and she glanced up to see Eren stepping into the workshop. His sharp eyes softened as they met hers, a rare smile playing at his lips when he saw the brightness in her demeanor. He leaned against the doorframe for a moment, silently watching her before approaching.

“You seem happy,” he said quietly, his voice carrying a note of curiosity.

Aurora looked over her shoulder at him, her smile widening. “I was just thinking...about the plan. It might actually work, Eren. We might have a real chance.”

Eren moved behind her without a word, wrapping his strong arms around her waist and pulling her gently against his chest. His hands rested on her growing belly, his touch firm yet careful, as though he were cradling the most precious thing in the world. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, pressing a kiss to her skin.

The sudden contact made Aurora giggle, her cheeks flushing. “Eren! That tickles!” she squealed, trying to wriggle out of his grasp, but he only tightened his hold, a soft chuckle rumbling in his chest.

“Stop moving,” he murmured against her ear, his tone teasing yet affectionate. “I’m trying to hold my wife.”

Aurora stilled, her hands instinctively covering his as they rested on her belly. She leaned back into him, her earlier anxiety melting away in his embrace. “You don’t think it’ll work, do you?” she asked softly, her voice tinged with a mixture of hope and worry.

Eren didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he kissed her neck again, slower this time, as if savoring the moment. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice quiet and honest. “I still think the world will stab us in the back the first chance they get.”

Aurora’s smile faltered, but she didn’t pull away. “Maybe they will,” she said after a moment. “But isn’t it worth trying? If there’s even the smallest chance we can avoid the rumbling, isn’t it worth it?”

Eren tightened his arms around her, his jaw clenching as he considered her words. He hated how much she believed in this plan. Hated it because he wanted her to be right, and yet the cynic in him couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all a trap. Still, seeing her so light, so full of hope, he couldn’t bring himself to crush that spark. Not now.

“You’re too good for this world, you know that?” he said quietly, resting his chin on her shoulder.

Aurora laughed softly, the sound easing some of the tension in his chest. “You always say that, but I don’t think it’s true. I just...want to believe there’s something better out there for us. For everyone.”

Eren kissed her cheek, lingering for a moment before pulling back slightly to look at her. “For you and our baby,” he said firmly. “That’s what I care about most.”

Aurora turned in his arms, her hands coming up to rest on his chest. “I know,” she whispered, her gaze searching his. “But if this plan works, it’s not just for us. It’s for all of us.”

Eren didn’t respond, but his hand moved to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing against her skin. For a moment, he let himself hope, if only because she believed enough for the both of them.

~

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[snifferz]

i feel like fishbowl and snuff could get along rlly well

bc theyre both like magical girls due to temporary inconveniences that they can eventually heal from and sort out over time.

ones overworked and has continued in the profession since their fucking childhood pet fish died + wanted it to come back (it did not, the wish awakened something else which is NOT what they wanted)

aaaand one has been through everything under the sun and wished for their partner to feel better (due to feeling like a burden). the offer wouldnt have been taken if they waited it out a little longer and found more opportunity.

[hisfavegirl]

Eternal Flame - Aegon Targaryen x Niece!Reader.

Summary : Your love for Aegon is enough to make you a bridge between the differences of your family, you are also a valuable asset that your family has in this peace.

Aegon Masterlist.

You stood silently in front of your mother’s chambers, your hands clenched into fists at your sides. From within, you could hear the familiar sound of raised voices—your mother, Rhaenyra, and your father, Daemon, locked in yet another argument. It wasn’t the first time, and you doubted it would be the last. Their words were muffled by the thick wooden door, but you didn’t need to strain to know what they were fighting about.

The topic was you.

More specifically, your mother’s decision to marry you to Aegon—a decision you had agreed to without hesitation because, despite everything, you and Aegon loved each other. But your father did not see it that way. To him, it was a betrayal, a dangerous political move that tied you to the Hightowers—a family he had no trust or love for.

“Do you not see what you’ve done?” you heard your father’s voice, sharp and accusing. “Marrying her to him binds her to them, to Alicent, to everything that divides us!”

“She loves him,” your mother’s voice countered, firm and resolute. “And he loves her. I will not stand in the way of their happiness because of your hatred, Daemon.”

There was a pause, heavy and tense, and then your father’s voice cut through again, quieter but no less furious. “It is not hatred—it is survival. Do you think love will matter when war comes? When the Hightowers seek to take everything from us?”

You swallowed hard, your heart aching at his words. You knew your father’s concerns were not without merit. The tension between your family and the Hightowers had long before you're born. But your love for Aegon wasn’t about politics, about alliances or power plays. It was real, and it was yours.

Gathering your courage, you raised your hand and knocked on the door. The voices inside immediately went silent, and a moment later, your mother called out, “Come in.”

You pushed the door open and stepped inside. Both your parents turned to look at you, their expressions tense and conflicted.

“I can hear you from the hallway,” you said softly, meeting their gazes. “And I know what you’re arguing about.”

Rhaenyra’s face softened, guilt flickering in her eyes. “My love, I’m sorry—”

“No,” you interrupted gently but firmly. “You don’t need to apologize. I know why Father is angry, and I understand his reasons. But this is my choice. I love Aegon, and he loves me. That should be enough.”

Daemon’s jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “Love is a fleeting thing, daughter. It cannot protect you from what is to come.”

“And neither can fear,” you replied, your voice steady. “I am not afraid of loving him, just as I am not afraid of standing by my family. I am a Targaryen, and I will not be divided by anyone.”

For a moment, the room was silent, the weight of your words hanging in the air. Then, slowly, Rhaenyra stepped forward and placed a hand on your shoulder.

“You are stronger than I ever was,” she said quietly, her voice filled with pride.

Daemon said nothing, but the flicker of approval in his gaze was enough. You knew he would never stop worrying, never stop protecting you in his own way. But for now, at least, the storm had passed.

You strolled through the garden, the soft rustle of leaves and the sweet scent of blooming flowers surrounding you. The tranquility of the moment was soothing, a brief escape from the weight of palace life. Yet, as you rounded a corner, the sound of familiar laughter reached your ears—a voice you knew better than your own.

Aegon.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you turned your head toward the source of the sound. There he was, leaning casually against a tree, his silver hair catching the sunlight like molten silver. He looked at ease, a rare sight for someone so often burdened by expectation and excess.

He hadn’t noticed you yet, lost in conversation with a servant or perhaps just musing aloud. But when his eyes finally met yours, his expression softened, a genuine smile curving his lips.

You couldn’t help but smile back, warmth spreading through you like a gentle flame. Despite everything—the politics, the whispers, the shadows that lingered over your family—he had always had this effect on you. He made the world feel smaller, simpler, as though nothing else mattered when he was near.

“Aegon,” you called softly, stepping closer.

His smile widened as he straightened, his arms opening slightly in an unspoken invitation. “Wandering the gardens alone, my love? Were you looking for me, or have I just been blessed with your presence by chance?”

You laughed quietly, shaking your head. “Perhaps a bit of both.”

Aegon chuckled, the sound rich and full of life. He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His touch lingered, and his gaze held yours with an intensity that made your heart flutter.

“In a garden full of beauty, you are still the most captivating thing here,” he murmured, his tone teasing yet sincere.

You rolled your eyes at his dramatics but couldn’t suppress the blush that crept to your cheeks. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, you’re still here,” he quipped, his grin mischievous.

As the two of you stood there, surrounded by the vibrant colors of the garden, the world seemed to fade away. In that moment, it was just the two of you, and nothing else mattered.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting warm golden hues over the garden as you and Aegon shared quiet laughter. His jokes, though often ridiculous, always had a way of lightening your heart. It was moments like these—free from the weight of duty and expectation—that you cherished the most.

Now, the two of you sat beneath the shade of a sprawling tree, the soft grass cushioning your seat. Aegon had decided, in his typical fashion, to make himself comfortable by resting his head in your lap. His silver hair spilled across your dress like threads of moonlight, and he looked up at you with a lazy grin.

“You spoil me, you know,” he said, his voice light with amusement.

“And how exactly do I do that?” you asked, raising an eyebrow but smiling down at him.

“By letting me lie here,” he teased, closing his eyes briefly as if savoring the moment. “By laughing at my jokes, even when they’re terrible. By not scolding me when I steal too many sweets from the kitchens.”

You laughed, gently brushing a strand of hair from his face. “You’re impossible, Aegon.”

“And yet, you love me,” he replied, opening one eye to look at you.

You didn’t answer right away, instead letting your fingers trace absentmindedly through his hair. The truth of his words was unspoken but undeniable. Despite everything—the chaos, the complications—you loved him deeply.

“You’re right,” you admitted softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Aegon’s grin softened into something more genuine, and he reached up to take your free hand in his, pressing a kiss to your palm. “I know I don’t deserve it,” he said after a moment, his tone quieter, more serious. “But I’ll do my best to be worthy of it.”

Your heart ached at his vulnerability, and you squeezed his hand gently. “You don’t have to be perfect, Aegon. You just have to be you.”

He closed his eyes again, a content sigh escaping him as he relaxed into your touch. The world around you seemed to fade, leaving only the two of you beneath the tree, wrapped in a moment of peace and love that felt as though it could last forever.

Your fingers continued to glide through Aegon’s silver hair, occasionally brushing against his cheek. His soft, relaxed expression made you smile—a rare sight from someone so often burdened by the expectations of his title and lineage.

He was calm, even content, as his head rested on your lap. You felt a sense of peace that you had been longing for amidst the chaos of your family’s complicated world. But that peace was shattered when you heard voices nearby.

You turned your head, your heart sinking as you recognized the approaching figures—your mother, Rhaenyra, and Aegon’s mother, Alicent. The two mother walked side by side, their expressions calm but tense. It was clear from their determined strides and hushed conversation that they were coming with a purpose.

Aegon, noticing your distraction, opened his eyes and followed your gaze. His relaxed demeanor shifted slightly, his lips curving into a faint smirk as he muttered, “And here come the dragons.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle softly, though you quickly composed yourself as they approached. When they reached you, Alicent’s gaze flickered between you and Aegon, her expression disapproving but restrained. Rhaenyra, meanwhile, softened slightly when her eyes landed on you, though there was a firmness in her stance that told you this was no casual visit.

“Aegon,” Alicent said, her tone sharp but quiet, “is this how you choose to spend your time? Lounging in the gardens while matters of your marriage remain unresolved?”

Aegon sighed, sitting up but remaining close to you. “Mother,” he replied lazily, “can’t a man enjoy a moment of peace with his wife-to-be?”

“A moment, perhaps,” Rhaenyra interjected, her tone gentler than Alicent’s but no less serious. “But there are matters that must be addressed. The wedding is fast approaching, and there are arrangements to finalize.”

You exchanged a quick glance with Aegon, who rolled his eyes slightly before standing and helping you to your feet. “Very well,” he said, brushing off his tunic. “Let’s discuss this ‘urgent matter’ of a wedding that we’re already committed to.”

Alicent’s lips thinned, clearly unimpressed with his attitude, while Rhaenyra gave you a small, reassuring smile. You felt torn between the two women—your mother’s quiet encouragement and Alicent’s intense scrutiny—but you nodded and stepped forward.

“Shall we sit and discuss everything here in the garden?” you suggested, hoping to keep the conversation calm.

Rhaenyra nodded, gesturing for everyone to settle under the shade of the tree. As Aegon plopped back down beside you, his hand finding yours, you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of anxiety. The two most formidable women in your life were about to negotiate the details of your future—a future you hoped would bring peace, not more division.

The four of you sat at the far end of the garden under the shade of a large tree. The servants moved swiftly and quietly, setting down trays of small pastries, fruits, steaming tea, and wine. The atmosphere was pleasant enough, though there was a certain tension lingering in the air.

Alicent was the first to speak, her voice steady and deliberate. “The gown,” she began, glancing at you briefly before shifting her gaze to Rhaenyra. “It must be fitting of her station. The finest Myrish silk, perhaps trimmed with gold or silver. Something elegant, yet modest.”

Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow at the word “modest,” a faint smile tugging at her lips. “My daughter will shine on her wedding day,” she replied calmly. “Aegon deserves nothing less than a bride befitting a queen. If silver and gold are what you wish, then so be it. But I will ensure the gown captures her strength as well as her beauty.”

Aegon, lounging casually beside you, took a sip of his wine and murmured, “I think she looks perfect in anything.”

The comment made you smile, though Alicent shot him a quick, disapproving glance. Rhaenyra, on the other hand, seemed faintly amused.

“The gown can be decided later,” Rhaenyra said, waving her hand slightly. “Let us discuss the ceremony. I suggest the Great Sept—though I imagine you, Alicent, may have a different opinion.”

Alicent’s posture stiffened slightly, but she kept her tone measured. “The Great Sept is a fine choice, but the royal wedding of my son and your daughter must also honor the traditions of the Faith. The ceremony should reflect the values of both our houses.”

Aegon sighed dramatically, setting his goblet down. “The Faith, the dragons, the banners… Must we weigh down our wedding with every tradition imaginable?”

“You speak as though tradition is a burden,” Alicent said sharply, her gaze narrowing. “It is what binds us together as a people, Aegon.”

Rhaenyra interjected smoothly, her tone almost playful. “Perhaps we can find a compromise. A traditional ceremony in the Sept, but with elements that honor House Targaryen’s roots. Fire and blood, as they say.”

Alicent hesitated, clearly uneasy with the idea, but she gave a curt nod. “As long as it does not overshadow the sanctity of the Faith, I will agree.”

The conversation continued, moving from the guest list to the feast and even the matter of who would speak during the ceremony. You sat quietly for much of it, feeling like a spectator at times, though Aegon occasionally squeezed your hand under the table, a silent reassurance that you were in this together.

Despite the occasional clash of opinions, both Alicent and Rhaenyra seemed determined to ensure the wedding went smoothly. Their mutual efforts, however reluctant, gave you a glimmer of hope that this union might bring some measure of peace to your fractured family.

Aegon let out a low growl of frustration, setting his goblet down with a sharp clink against the table. His usually laid-back demeanor shifted as he straightened in his seat, his expression a mix of defiance and determination.

“If we are to discuss the ceremony yet again,” he said, his voice steady but carrying an edge of irritation, “then let me make one thing clear: I want our wedding to honor our heritage—Old Valyria. That is our blood, our legacy, and I won’t have it drowned in customs that mean little to us.”

The air grew tense, and Alicent’s eyes widened slightly as she regarded her son. “Aegon,” she began, her tone cautious but firm, “the traditions of Old Valyria are… not aligned with the Faith. Such a ceremony could be seen as—”

“Blasphemy?” Aegon interrupted, his voice rising slightly. “We are Targaryens, Mother. Our house was forged in fire and blood long before we ever set foot in Westeros. Why should we not honor that?”

Rhaenyra’s lips curved into a faint smile, clearly intrigued by Aegon’s rare display of conviction. “I agree with Aegon,” she said, leaning back in her chair. “A union of fire and blood—a traditional Valyrian ceremony—would be fitting for our houses, wouldn’t you say, Alicent?”

Alicent’s hands tightened around her goblet, her lips pressing into a thin line. “The people of the realm will not understand such a ceremony,” she said carefully. “It will sow doubt and unease among those who already question the Targaryen legacy.”

“The people will understand what I tell them to understand,” Aegon retorted, his tone sharp. “I am their prince, am I not?”

You glanced at him, surprised by his sudden assertiveness, but there was a fire in his eyes that you rarely saw. He turned to you then, his expression softening.

“What do you think, my love?” he asked, his voice quieter now. “This is your wedding too. Would you stand with me beneath the fire of our ancestors, as it was always meant to be?”

All eyes turned to you, the weight of the decision suddenly resting on your shoulders. You hesitated, glancing between your mother and Alicent. Rhaenyra’s gaze was steady, encouraging, while Alicent’s held a flicker of concern.

Finally, you looked back at Aegon and nodded. “Yes,” you said softly but firmly. “A Valyrian ceremony. It feels… right.”

Aegon’s face lit up with a rare, genuine smile, and he reached for your hand, squeezing it tightly. “Then it’s decided,” he said, looking back at the two mothers. “Our wedding will honor the blood of the dragon.”

Alicent sighed deeply, clearly displeased but knowing she would not win this argument. Rhaenyra, on the other hand, looked almost triumphant, a glint of pride in her eyes as she raised her goblet.

“To fire and blood,” she said, her voice ringing with finality.

Alicent took a deep breath, her face calm but resolute as she placed her goblet gently on the table. “If this is how it must be,” she began, her voice even, though there was an edge of determination, “then I propose a compromise. You will have your Valyrian ceremony, Aegon. But there will also be a traditional ceremony under the Faith of the Seven. Two ceremonies, as a symbol of unity—between the past and the present, between our heritage and the realm.”

Aegon’s jaw tightened, his expression darkening at the suggestion. “Two ceremonies?” he repeated, his voice tinged with annoyance. “Why should we need to cater to the Faith when this is our wedding?”

“It is not just your wedding, Aegon,” Alicent countered sharply, her gaze unwavering. “You are the Prince. This union is as much about the realm as it is about the two of you. The lords and people will look to this wedding as a reflection of the crown commitment to the Faith.”

Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by the exchange. “Aegon is right, Alicent,” she said smoothly, the title slipping from her lips with faint sarcasm. “This is their day. Why weigh it down with obligations to the Faith?”

Alicent’s gaze flicked to Rhaenyra, her calm demeanor barely concealing her irritation. “Because the Faith holds great power in this realm, Rhaenyra. Alienating them by favoring Valyrian customs alone would be foolish.”

Aegon sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as if trying to ward off a headache. Then he turned to you, his expression softening. “What do you think?” he asked, his tone gentler now. “Do you truly want two ceremonies?”

You hesitated, glancing between your husband-to-be, your mother, and Alicent. The weight of expectation pressed down on you, but you knew your decision could shape not just your wedding day but the fragile peace between these two powerful women.

“I think…” you began carefully, your voice steady but thoughtful. “If having two ceremonies will ease the tensions and unite both sides, then so be it. We can honor both our Valyrian heritage and the Faith of the Seven.”

Aegon’s brows furrowed, a trace of disappointment crossing his face, but he said nothing. Rhaenyra’s expression grew thoughtful, her lips pressing together in a thin line, while Alicent gave a small, satisfied nod.

“Then it is settled,” Alicent said firmly. “The first ceremony will take place under the Faith of the Seven, in the Great Sept. The second will be the Valyrian ceremony you both desire. A compromise.”

Aegon leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming against the armrest. “A compromise,” he repeated with a hint of sarcasm. He turned to you, his lips curving into a faint smile. “As long as you’re happy, I’ll endure it.”

Your heart warmed at his words, and you reached out to take his hand, squeezing it gently. Though the path ahead seemed complicated, you knew that with Aegon by your side, you could face whatever challenges came your way.

The discussion about your wedding had finally come to an end, though traces of tension still lingered in the air. You stood, smoothing your dress as you exchanged a final glance with Aegon, his reassuring smile giving you a small sense of comfort. Your mother gestured for you to follow her, and together, you began walking toward her private solar.

The corridors of the Red Keep were quiet, save for the soft echo of your footsteps. Rhaenyra glanced at you occasionally, her expression thoughtful. She finally broke the silence as you neared the solar.

“You handled yourself well back there,” she said, her tone both proud and encouraging. “Navigating between Alicent and Aegon is no small feat. You showed strength and wisdom.”

“Thank you, Mother,” you replied, though a part of you felt the weight of the decisions that had been made.

When you entered her solar, the warm glow of the fireplace illuminated the familiar space. Your father, Daemon, was seated near the hearth, his ever-present smirk hinting at his mood. Your brothers, Jace and Luke, were standing nearby, their postures casual yet attentive.

Daemon’s sharp eyes flicked to you as you entered. “So,” he began, his voice low and edged with curiosity, “has the Queen finally finished her sermon about the Faith?”

“Father,” Jace murmured with a faint laugh, though his expression was still serious.

Rhaenyra shot her husband a warning look before addressing him. “The matter has been resolved. There will be two ceremonies—one for the Faith, and one for Old Valyria.”

Daemon’s smirk widened as he leaned back in his chair. “Two ceremonies? How… diplomatic of you.” His gaze shifted to you, his tone softening slightly. “And what do you think of all this, daughter?”

You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “I think it’s the best way to honor both our traditions and keep the peace.”

Daemon’s expression darkened slightly, but he nodded. “Aegon is lucky you are the one keeping the peace for him. Without you, he’d likely stumble his way into chaos.”

Jace stepped forward, his brow furrowed. “Do you trust him?” he asked, concern evident in his voice. “Aegon, I mean.”

You looked at your brother, sensing his worry. “I do,” you said firmly, though the question lingered in your mind. “He has flaws, but I believe we understand each other.”

Luke grinned, trying to lighten the mood. “Let’s hope he doesn’t drink too much before either ceremony.”

Daemon chuckled at that, but Rhaenyra silenced him with a sharp look. “Enough,” she said firmly. “This is an important moment for our house. We must remain united.”

Her words carried weight, and you nodded, feeling a sense of purpose despite the challenges ahead. With your family’s support, you felt ready to face whatever lay before you.

The conversation shifted, the clinking of silverware and soft murmurs of your family creating a quiet hum in the room. Your mother’s gaze, which had often flickered to your younger brother, now settled on you, her expression contemplative. For a moment, she said nothing, merely observing you with an unreadable look.

Then, breaking the silence, Rhaenyra’s voice was soft but clear. “You know, after your wedding… I think you will be the one to carry on our house’s legacy,” she said, her gaze steady as she met your eyes. “Perhaps soon, you’ll give me a grandchild.”

Her words were gentle but direct, and they landed on you like a heavy weight. You felt a warmth rise to your cheeks, the thought of children so soon after marriage feeling overwhelming, yet somehow inevitable. The idea of becoming a mother was something you had imagined, but now that it was spoken aloud, it felt like the future was suddenly pressing in on you.

You flushed, unable to form an immediate response, unsure of how to handle the sudden shift in the conversation. Your mind raced with the thought of what marriage and the responsibility it would bring meant for you, for Aegon, and for your family.

But before you could gather your thoughts, the sound of Daemon’s voice cut through the moment. He had been sipping his wine, but the mention of grandchildren clearly took him by surprise. He sputtered slightly, quickly coughing and sitting up straighter in his chair, trying to regain composure. “Seven hells, Rhaenyra,” he said, his voice filled with a mix of disbelief and mild horror, “I do not want my daughter to be… used for such purposes so soon.”

His words hung in the air, a stark contrast to the warmth of the earlier conversation. Rhaenyra’s expression softened slightly, but there was a flicker of amusement in her eyes, as if she had expected such a reaction.

“You misunderstand, Daemon,” she said with a smile, but her voice was firm. “It’s natural, of course. Aegon will take care of her as his wife, and they will fulfill their duties. A grandchild would be a blessing, not something to fear.”

Daemon gave a dismissive grunt but did not argue further, though his disapproval was evident. His intense gaze shifted back to you, and there was a rare softness in his eyes. “Just… be careful, daughter,” he muttered, his voice a little more gravelly now. “Marriage is not all it seems. The world does not turn easily for women.”

You nodded slowly, feeling the weight of both your parents’ concerns. Your mother’s desire for grandchildren and your father’s protective instincts blended into something that left you feeling uncertain about your own desires. You were caught between these expectations and the life you were about to begin with Aegon—an uncertain future where love, responsibility, and family would collide.

For a brief moment, you found yourself lost in thought, the heavy gaze of both your parents weighing on you. You wondered what the future would truly hold, and if you were truly ready for it.

The day of your wedding finally arrived, and the preparations seemed endless. Your chambers were filled with the soft rustle of silk and the quiet murmurs of your mother’s attendants as they adjusted the delicate wedding gown that clung to your frame. The fabric was exquisite, crafted from the finest silk in Westeros, its ivory hue shimmering under the warm glow of the room’s candles.

You stood before the tall mirror, staring at your reflection. The gown hugged your figure perfectly, its intricate embroidery glinting like stars scattered across the heavens. You tilted your head slightly, taking in every detail—the flowing train, the delicate lace sleeves, and the silver-threaded accents that reflected your Targaryen heritage.

Your mother, Rhaenyra, stood behind you, her hands gently smoothing the fabric over your shoulders. Her eyes, filled with a rare softness, met yours in the mirror. “You look perfect,” she said quietly, her voice steady but filled with pride. “You carry our legacy with grace, my daughter. This day will mark the beginning of a new chapter for you.”

Before you could respond, the door to your chambers opened. The sudden sound drew your attention, and you turned to see Alicent standing in the doorway. Her green dress, elegant yet simple, contrasted sharply against the pale tones of your gown. Her expression was carefully composed, though there was a flicker of something—perhaps nostalgia or longing—in her eyes as she looked at you.

“You’ll be a vision,” Alicent said, stepping further into the room. “The Realm will marvel at you."

Her words, though kind, carried a weight that was hard to ignore. You felt the tension between your mother and Alicent rise, subtle but palpable, as they exchanged brief glances. Alicent’s gaze then softened as it shifted to you, and she took a step closer.

“You remind me of myself on my wedding day,” she said, her voice quieter now, almost wistful. “So full of hope and dreams for the future.”

Your mother, standing protectively by your side, raised her chin slightly. “My daughter is stronger than you think,” she said evenly, her tone calm but firm. “She will make her own way, just as I have.”

Alicent’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she said nothing more, choosing instead to step closer to examine the embroidery on your gown. “It’s a beautiful piece,” she remarked, her voice neutral once more. “It suits you.”

You nodded politely, feeling the subtle clash between the two women like a current in the air. Yet, in that moment, all you could focus on was the weight of the gown, the weight of their expectations, and the life that awaited you after this day.

As the attendants continued their careful adjustments to your gown, the door to your chambers opened once more. This time, it was your father, Daemon, who entered. His presence was commanding as always, though his expression was unusually soft. His violet eyes swept over you, taking in the sight of you in your wedding dress.

For a moment, he said nothing, simply standing there, his gaze lingering. Then, he stepped closer, his lips curling into a faint, bittersweet smile. “My little girl,” he said, his voice quieter than usual, but filled with emotion. “You’ve grown into a beautiful woman… and now, you’re about to marry.”

His words caught you off guard, and your heart tightened at the emotion behind them. Daemon was rarely one to openly express his feelings, but now, there was no mistaking the pride—and the melancholy—in his tone.

He approached slowly, his hands resting lightly on your shoulders as he looked at you in the mirror. “It feels like just yesterday you were running around the Red Keep, challenging everyone with your fiery spirit,” he continued, his voice laced with a touch of wistfulness. “And now… you stand here, ready to step into a new chapter of your life.”

You turned slightly to face him, the weight of his words settling in your chest. “Father…” you began, your voice soft.

Daemon shook his head gently, as if to stop you from saying anything that might break the fragile moment. “You’ll make a formidable wife,” he said, his tone shifting slightly, a hint of his usual confidence returning. “And gods help Aegon if he doesn’t realize how lucky he is to have you.”

Behind you, your mother, Rhaenyra, watched the exchange with a quiet smile, though there was a glimmer of emotion in her eyes. Even Alicent, standing nearby, seemed to sense the gravity of the moment, her hands clasped before her as she watched father and daughter.

Daemon leaned down slightly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You’ll always be my little girl,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with affection. “No matter how much the world changes.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, but you blinked them away, nodding as you met his gaze. “Thank you, Father,” you said quietly.

He straightened, his usual composure returning, and he stepped back with a small, approving nod. “Now,” he said, his tone lighter, “let’s ensure the Realm remembers this wedding for years to come.”

His words brought a faint smile to your lips, and you turned back to the mirror, feeling a mix of emotions—love, pride, and the bittersweet realization that your life was about to change forever.

The final touches had been made. The maids carefully adjusted the veil cascading over your hair, ensuring every detail was perfect. The soft fabric framed your face beautifully, the delicate embroidery glinting faintly in the sunlight streaming through the window.

You took a steadying breath as you turned to the door. Standing there, waiting patiently, was your father, Daemon. His silver hair gleamed, and his expression was a mix of pride and bittersweet emotion.

As you stepped toward him, he took a moment to look at you, his violet eyes sweeping over your appearance. A rare, genuine smile curved his lips. “You look radiant,” he said quietly, his voice filled with warmth.

“Thank you, Father,” you replied softly, your voice steady despite the fluttering in your chest.

Daemon extended his arm to you, and you slipped your hand into the crook of his elbow. His grip was reassuring, grounding you as you began the walk toward the front courtyard where the carriage awaited.

The sun was bright in the clear sky as you emerged into the open air, the sounds of the castle bustling with preparations. The ornate carriage stood ready, its silver and black accents bearing the unmistakable marks of House Targaryen. The dragons emblazoned on its side seemed to gleam in the sunlight.

Daemon paused before helping you into the carriage, his hand lingering on yours. “This is the beginning of a new chapter,” he said, his voice lower now, meant just for you. “But remember, no matter what lies ahead, you are a Targaryen. You are my daughter. And you are strong.”

His words filled you with a sense of purpose, and you nodded, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “I won’t forget, Father.”

He smiled once more, helping you step into the carriage before following to take his seat beside you. The horses snorted, their hooves clattering against the cobblestones as the driver signaled for the procession to begin.

As the carriage began to roll toward the Great Sept, you felt the weight of the moment settle upon you. This was your wedding day, the day you would pledge yourself to Aegon in the sight of the Seven—and the beginning of a future you had long awaited.

The carriage came to a gentle stop, and the door was opened by one of the attendants. Your father stepped out first, his regal posture commanding attention as always. He turned to you, extending his hand to help you descend. His grip was firm yet tender as he steadied you.

The Great Sept loomed ahead, its grand arches and towering spires radiating sanctity and significance. The air was thick with the murmur of gathered nobles and the faint scent of incense.

Daemon tucked your hand securely into the crook of his arm, guiding you toward the altar. The grand doors of the Sept swung open, revealing the interior bathed in golden light from the towering stained glass windows. The faint melody of a harp accompanied your steps as you began your walk down the aisle.

Your heart raced as your gaze met Aegon’s. He stood at the altar, dressed in his finest, the golden crown of the Targaryens resting on his head. His expression was uncharacteristically solemn, though his eyes softened as they found yours.

The walk felt both eternal and fleeting, each step bringing you closer to him, to your future. When you reached the altar, Daemon paused, turning to face you fully.

With a rare gentleness, he lifted the veil from your face, letting it fall back over your shoulders. His violet eyes, so similar to your own, searched your face for a moment, and then he smiled—a small, genuine smile filled with pride and love.

Leaning forward, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, lingering just a moment. “You’ll always be my little girl,” he murmured, his voice barely audible but carrying the weight of his emotion.

He stepped back, placing your hand in Aegon’s. His touch lingered for a brief moment, a silent reminder that no matter what, he would always be there for you.

Daemon gave Aegon a pointed look, a silent but clear warning: take care of her. Then, with a nod, he stepped aside, leaving you standing beside your soon-to-be husband as the ceremony began.

The Septon’s voice echoed through the grand hall, steady and solemn, as he began reciting the sacred vows of the Seven. The gathered lords and ladies fell silent, their gazes fixed on you and Aegon as the moment unfolded.

You stood across from Aegon, your hands joined as the Septon laid a length of braided ribbon across them, symbolizing the binding of your lives. The golden light streaming through the stained glass illuminated his face, softening the usual sharpness of his features.

As the Septon’s voice continued, you lifted your eyes to meet Aegon’s. His violet gaze held yours, filled with an unspoken mix of emotions—nervousness, tenderness, and something that resembled quiet determination.

The world seemed to fade away, the grandeur of the Sept and the weight of the audience blurring into the background. In that moment, it was just the two of you, bound by the vows you were about to take.

"Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger..." your voices carried the weight of conviction and devotion.

"I am hers and she is mine. From this day, until the end of my days," Aegon vowed, his voice filled with unwavering commitment.

"I am his and he is mine. From this day, until the end of my days," your voice echoed. your voices intertwined, your souls merging in that sacred space.

The ribbon was removed as the Septon pronounced the union blessed by the Seven. Aegon’s smile was small but genuine as he leaned closer, pressing a soft kiss to your lips to seal the vows.

The hall erupted into applause and cheers, but all you could hear was the soft echo of your heartbeat as you looked into his eyes, knowing this was the start of your shared journey.

The grand hall of the Red Keep was alive with music, laughter, and the clinking of goblets. The celebration of your marriage was in full swing, the lords and ladies of Westeros gathered to honor the union. The throne room had been transformed, the usual solemnity replaced with joy and grandeur.

You sat beside Aegon at the high table, your hand resting lightly on his arm. He leaned closer occasionally, his voice low as he murmured words only meant for you. You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips, though your attention was soon pulled away when your father, Daemon, stood from his seat.

His sharp, commanding presence drew the attention of the room. He stepped forward, his violet eyes locking onto you. A faint smirk played on his lips as he extended his hand toward you.

“Come, my daughter,” Daemon said, his voice smooth and confident, “Let us show them how a Targaryen dances.”

The room fell silent for a brief moment, anticipation crackling in the air. You glanced at Aegon, who gave you a small nod, and then you took your father’s hand. He helped you rise, leading you toward the center of the hall where the musicians struck up a lively tune.

Daemon’s hand settled on your waist as the two of you began to move, your steps graceful and in perfect sync with his. The rhythm of the music swirled around you, the eyes of the court watching in awe.

“You look radiant tonight,” Daemon said softly, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

“Thank you, Father,” you replied, a touch of warmth in your tone.

As the music picked up, Daemon twirled you effortlessly, the hem of your gown sweeping across the polished floor. The crowd clapped in time with the music, their cheers rising as you moved with an elegance befitting a Targaryen princess.

When the dance came to an end, Daemon bowed to you with exaggerated flourish, drawing laughter from the crowd. You curtsied in return, your cheeks flushed from the exhilaration.

Daemon led you back to Aegon, placing your hand in his. “Your turn, boy,” he said with a mischievous glint in his eyes before retreating to the sidelines.

Aegon stood and took your hand, pulling you close as the music shifted to a softer melody. He leaned down, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “Shall we show them how it’s really done?”

With a smile, you nodded, letting him lead you onto the floor, the crowd parting to give you both space. Together, you danced, the bond between you growing with every step.

The music swirled around you, the rhythm pulsing through your body as Aegon led you across the floor. The eyes of the court were upon you, but in that moment, it felt as though the rest of the world had faded away. All that existed was you and him, dancing in perfect harmony. His smile, his eyes—there was a lightness in his gaze that made your heart flutter with every glance.

Aegon leaned in close, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered playful words, his breath warm against your skin. Each whisper sent a thrill down your spine, and you couldn’t help but smile at the intimacy of the moment. The laughter from his jokes echoed softly in your mind as the music seemed to slow, the final notes drawing nearer.

As the music reached its peak, Aegon twirled you, the fabric of your gown swirling around you as he spun you gracefully. The world seemed to blur for a moment, the movement so fluid, so natural, until he pulled you back into his arms with a gentle yet firm grip. Your heart raced as his hands settled on your waist, and in that moment, the entire room seemed to hold its breath.

Aegon looked at you with a softness that contrasted the strength in his stance. The distance between you closed, and without a word, he kissed you—slow and deep, a kiss that carried the weight of the vows you had just made, of the journey ahead of you. The kiss lingered for a moment, soft yet filled with a promise of everything to come.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, the room erupted into applause, the cheers mingling with the fading notes of the music. But all you could hear, all you could feel, was Aegon’s presence, his touch, the steady beat of your hearts in sync.

The night was still young, and you knew that this was only the beginning.

As the music continued to fade, a loud voice rang out from one of the guests, calling for a bedding ceremony to be held. The declaration echoed through the hall, a moment of awkward silence hanging in the air. The traditional custom was infamous for its brazen display of intimacy, something that, under the wrong circumstances, could become a source of embarrassment rather than celebration.

Your heart sank at the mention of it, but before you could react, Daemon, stood tall and imposing, his voice cutting through the room. “That will not be happening,” he said, his tone firm and resolute, a hint of annoyance lacing his words. “My daughter is not an animal to be put on display for your amusement.”

There was a tense moment of stillness as the room waited for the next move. Aegon, standing beside you, immediately took your hand with a reassuring squeeze, his voice calm but equally firm. “I agree with Daemon,” he said, his eyes scanning the crowd, filled with a quiet, dangerous intensity. “The bedding ceremony is a disgrace, and it has no place at our wedding. You will not demand it here.”

The crowd fell silent, the tension palpable. It was clear that both Daemon and Aegon stood united in rejecting the idea, their authority and influence silencing any further protests. Aegon’s hand tightened around yours, the bond between you both growing stronger in the face of such a ridiculous demand.

Your father glanced at you, a silent gesture of protection in his eyes, and then turned to the rest of the guests with a final, imperious look. “The night is to celebrate their union, not to satisfy your vulgar curiosities,” he declared. The room, now aware of the boundaries being set, fell into a respectful quiet, some guests murmuring but ultimately understanding the stance.

The tension began to dissipate, and the focus shifted back to you and Aegon, your hands still joined. The weight of the moment lifted as you stood there together, united not just in vows, but also in defiance of the petty customs that had no place in your lives.

Aegon leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear. “Let them gossip,” he whispered with a grin. “We have each other, and that’s all that matters.”

The evening air was cool as you and Aegon walked back to your chambers, the sounds of the celebration fading behind you. You could still feel the warmth of the dance and the weight of the guests’ gaze, but now, with the room finally quiet, you could let the tension slip away.

As you entered your chamber, the door closing softly behind you, the two of you exchanged a glance. The weight of the upcoming journey to Dragonstone loomed, but there was a strange sense of peace now that the night’s events had passed. The quiet was a welcome respite before the next steps, before the second ceremony, which would take place with the traditions of Old Valyria, a world away from the pomp and ceremony you’d just endured.

Aegon moved to the window, looking out toward the horizon where the sun would soon set, casting the sky in hues of orange and pink. He turned to you, his gaze softer now, the earlier intensity replaced with something quieter. “I know you’ve had enough for today,” he said, his voice low, “But I think we both need to rest before we face what comes next.”

You nodded, your tired eyes meeting his. The day had been full of emotion, and there was something calming about being in this space, just the two of you. You moved closer, sitting on the edge of the bed. Aegon joined you, his presence always warm and grounding.

For a moment, you both sat in silence, the peaceful stillness of your shared space allowing the chaos of the day to slowly fade away. The wedding on Dragonstone would be different, more intimate, yet filled with its own expectations. You would both face that challenge together, but for now, you could simply be.

Aegon reached out to gently take your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “After Dragonstone,” he murmured, “We will make this marriage our own. All the traditions, the customs… they won’t define us. Only what we choose to build together will.”

You squeezed his hand in return, a quiet agreement passing between you both. There would be more ceremonies, more battles with tradition, but what mattered most was the life you would create together—united by your love, not the expectations of others.

With a soft sigh, you leaned your head against his shoulder, feeling the weight of the day finally begin to lift. The journey ahead was uncertain, but as long as you had Aegon by your side, you knew you could face whatever came next. And for now, that was enough.

The sea breeze carried the scent of salt and freedom as the ship gently docked at Dragonstone. The journey had felt swift, perhaps because your mind had been preoccupied with the thought of the second ceremony—the one that truly mattered to both you and Aegon. His hand remained firmly in yours as you stepped off the ship, the volcanic island’s jagged cliffs and ancient castle rising before you.

Aegon’s grip tightened slightly, a silent reassurance as you descended the gangplank. The two of you exchanged a brief smile, the bond between you strong and unspoken. Alicent was already waiting, her expression calm but watchful, while your mother, Rhaenyra, stood with a regal air beside her. The contrast between the two women was stark, but for once, they seemed united in purpose: ensuring the ceremony later that evening would be perfect.

“Come,” Rhaenyra said with a small smile, motioning for you to follow. “There is much to do before the sun sets.”

Alicent nodded, stepping forward. “We’ll have you ready in time,” she added, her tone softer than usual, though her hands betrayed her tension as they clasped tightly before her.

You glanced back at Aegon as your mother and Alicent ushered you toward the castle, his reassuring smile lingering even as the distance between you grew. The ancient halls of Dragonstone felt almost alive, the walls whispering secrets of the Targaryen legacy. It was fitting, you thought, that the Valyrian ceremony would take place here, surrounded by the echoes of your ancestors.

Inside the castle, you were taken to a chamber overlooking the sea. The sunlight streamed through the large windows, casting golden hues over the intricate gown that awaited you. The fabric shimmered like dragon scales, the traditional marital robes of Valyria which is a pale white with red dyed edges. The deep red of House Targaryen woven into the design. It was a stark contrast to the Seven Kingdoms’ traditional wedding attire but felt infinitely more like home.

As the maids began to help you prepare, your mother stood by, her gaze soft yet proud. “This is how it should be,” she said, her voice carrying a sense of finality. “A union bound not just by words, but by blood, fire, and history.”

Alicent, standing beside her, added, “It may not be my tradition, but I see its beauty. And I see how much this means to both of you.”

You nodded, your heart swelling with anticipation. This ceremony wasn’t just for tradition—it was for you and Aegon, a chance to start your lives together in a way that truly reflected who you were. As the preparations continued, the sound of the waves crashing against the cliffs below seemed to echo your growing excitement.

The sun dipped lower in the sky, and you knew it wouldn’t be long before you stood with Aegon again, this time to pledge yourselves to each other in the ancient Valyrian way.

The cool wind of Dragonstone whipped around you as you stood on the edge of the cliff, the sea roaring below, a testament to the raw, untamed power of this sacred place. The setting sun cast hues of gold and crimson across the sky, mirroring the colors of House Targaryen, as you faced Aegon. His violet eyes met yours, filled with a mixture of reverence and love, a stark contrast to the usual playful smirk he wore.

Daemon, ever the keeper of tradition, had brought a septon who was well-versed in the ancient rites of Old Valyria. The man stood between you and Aegon, his presence almost dwarfed by the magnitude of the ceremony about to unfold. Around you, your family bore witness, their faces solemn and proud. Rhaenyra stood with Alicent, an unspoken truce in their shared pride. Your father’s piercing gaze watched every movement, while your siblings looked on, their expressions ranging from awe to curiosity.

The septon began to chant in High Valyrian, the ancient words flowing like a song. He held a chalice of Valyrian steel, filled with dragonbone ash and seawater, symbols of your shared heritage and the unbreakable bond you were about to forge.

Aegon stepped closer, his hand reaching for yours, steady and unwavering. The septon handed you both small daggers, their blades gleaming in the fading light. “With blood, we bind,” he intoned, his voice carrying over the waves.

You felt the weight of the dagger in your hand as you pressed the blade against your palm, mirroring Aegon. A sharp sting, and then the warmth of blood pooled in your hand. Aegon extended his hand to you, his blood mingling with yours as you clasped hands, sealing your union in the way of your ancestors.

The septon’s chant grew louder, his words resonating with the power of the old ways. “Fire and blood unite, unbroken by time, unyielding as stone.”

Aegon leaned in, his forehead resting against yours as he whispered, “From this moment, you are mine, as I am yours. Always.”

The flames from nearby torches danced in his eyes, and you could feel the truth in his words, the promise that bound you to him in body, mind, and soul.

The septon poured the ash and seawater mixture over your joined hands, finalizing the ritual. “May the blood of the dragon burn bright and eternal,” he declared, his voice a proclamation to the gods and the world.

As the ceremony concluded, Aegon cupped your face with his free hand, pulling you into a kiss that felt as fiery and unyielding as the bond you had just forged. The cheers of your family echoed around you, but in that moment, there was only the two of you, standing united against the world.

A year had passed since your union with Aegon, and the days had grown into a steady rhythm of love and understanding. The tension that once lingered in the air had dissolved, replaced by a calm happiness that surrounded you both like a warm embrace.

As you stood before the mirror in your chambers, your hand instinctively rested on your growing belly. The sight filled you with a sense of pride and anticipation. This was the fruit of your love, a child born not just of duty but of genuine affection. You smiled softly, feeling the faint flutter of movement beneath your hand, a gentle reminder that the little life inside you was almost ready to meet the world.

Behind you, Aegon approached, his reflection appearing in the mirror as he stepped closer. His hands slid around your waist, resting protectively over yours on your belly. “You look radiant,” he murmured, his voice filled with awe and adoration.

You turned your head slightly to meet his gaze, your smile widening. “And you look nervous,” you teased lightly, though you could see the excitement in his eyes.

“I am,” he admitted with a soft chuckle, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “But I’m also ready. I’ve been ready since the day you told me.”

The memory brought warmth to your chest. You had been hesitant to share the news at first, unsure of how he would react. But the way he had embraced you, his joy uncontainable, had reassured you in ways words never could.

Aegon gently turned you to face him, his hands still cradling your growing belly. “You’ve given me more than I could ever ask for,” he said softly. “This child, this family… You’ve made me better, stronger.”

You placed a hand on his cheek, your thumb brushing against his skin. “And you’ve given me a home, Aegon. A place where I belong, with you.”

The moment was interrupted by a knock at the door. One of the maids entered cautiously, bowing her head. “The Queen and Princess Rhaenyra have arrived to see you, Your Graces.”

You exchanged a glance with Aegon before nodding. “Let them in,” you said, your tone warm.

As the two women entered, Alicent’s expression softened at the sight of you, her eyes lingering on your belly. Rhaenyra, too, smiled, her gaze filled with a mixture of pride and nostalgia.

“It won’t be long now,” Alicent said gently, stepping closer. “How are you feeling?”

“Eager,” you admitted, glancing at Aegon. “We both are.”

Rhaenyra chuckled softly. “The waiting is always the hardest part. But trust me, it’s worth it.”

As the four of you spoke, the weight of history and tradition seemed to fade into the background. In its place was a shared hope for the future, a future shaped by love, family, and the new life soon to join your world.

The warm sun bathed the gardens in golden light as you strolled alongside your mothers, Rhaenyra and Alicent. The cool breeze brought the scent of blooming flowers, a welcome reprieve from the walls of the Red Keep. Your hand rested lightly on your rounded belly, a small smile gracing your lips as you relished the freedom of walking on your own—something you had fought hard to reclaim.

Aegon walked just a step behind you, his protective gaze following your every move. Ever since the announcement of your pregnancy, he had taken it upon himself to ensure your safety at all costs. It was endearing, but at times, overwhelming. Your father, Daemon, had been no better, his fierce protectiveness rivaling even Aegon’s. Between the two of them, you had scarcely been allowed to lift a finger, let alone take a step without someone hovering nearby.

It had taken both Rhaenyra and Alicent to intervene on your behalf, convincing the men to allow you some independence. “She is carrying a child, not a dragon egg,” Rhaenyra had remarked with a smirk, while Alicent’s soothing words had managed to calm their protests.

“You see, I’m perfectly fine,” you said over your shoulder to Aegon, your tone teasing. “No need to hover.”

Aegon huffed, crossing his arms but unable to hide the small smile tugging at his lips. “You say that now, but if anything happens—”

“Nothing will happen,” Alicent interjected gently, placing a hand on Aegon’s arm. “Let her enjoy this moment. She deserves it.”

Rhaenyra chuckled softly, her arm looping through yours as she guided you toward a shaded bench beneath a sprawling tree. “You’ve been walking for all of five minutes, and he’s already ready to carry you back inside,” she teased, earning a glare from Aegon.

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Besides, it’s not as though I’m running laps around the courtyard.”

As you settled onto the bench, Aegon took a seat beside you, his hand instinctively finding yours. Despite his overprotectiveness, you couldn’t deny the comfort his presence brought.

“I just want you to be safe,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“And I will be,” you reassured him, leaning your head against his shoulder. “But you have to let me breathe, Aegon. I’m not as fragile as you think.”

Rhaenyra and Alicent exchanged a knowing glance, their smiles soft. As the conversation shifted to lighter topics, you felt a sense of peace settle over you. For the first time in weeks, you were surrounded by the people who mattered most, their love and support enveloping you like a warm embrace.

The sound of your father’s voice calling your name startled you, drawing your attention toward him as he strode purposefully into the garden. His sharp eyes immediately fixed on you, narrowing as they took in your relaxed posture on the bench.

“Why are you out of your chambers?” Daemon asked, his tone a mix of exasperation and concern. His hand rested on the hilt of Dark Sister, as though he expected danger to leap out of the bushes at any moment.

You sighed deeply, feeling the weight of his protectiveness settle heavily over you once again. Turning your gaze to your mother, Rhaenyra, you silently pleaded with her to step in. She met your eyes with an amused smirk, clearly enjoying your predicament, but eventually, she relented.

“Daemon,” Rhaenyra began, her voice calm yet firm, “she’s perfectly fine. The maesters have assured us that walking is good for her and the child. Let her breathe, for the gods’ sake.”

Daemon’s lips thinned as he looked between the two of you. “I don’t trust maesters or their assurances,” he muttered. “She’s carrying my grandchild, and I won’t risk anything happening to either of them.”

Alicent, ever the diplomat, stepped forward with a soft smile. “Daemon, she’s surrounded by her family and has been careful. Surely, you can see there’s no harm in her enjoying the fresh air for a short while?”

Daemon huffed, crossing his arms but not arguing further. Instead, he turned his attention back to you. “If you feel even the slightest discomfort, you’re to return to your chambers immediately,” he said sternly.

You smiled at his concern, even if it was overbearing. “Yes, Father,” you replied, your tone laced with gentle amusement. “But I promise, I’m fine.”

Aegon, who had remained quiet until now, chuckled softly. “You see, my prince, your daughter is as stubborn as you are. There’s no point in arguing with her.”

Daemon shot him a pointed look but said nothing, instead walking over to place a protective hand on your shoulder. “I only want you safe,” he murmured, his voice softening.

“I know,” you replied, reaching up to squeeze his hand. “And I appreciate it more than you know.”

With that, the tension eased, and the conversation shifted once more, leaving you to enjoy the moment surrounded by those who cared for you deeply—even if they did have a tendency to hover.

As Daemon and Aegon engaged in conversation a few steps away, their tones alternating between casual remarks and the occasional chuckle, your mothers turned their attention fully to you.

Rhaenyra, seated beside you, gently ran her fingers through your hair, her touch soothing. “You’ve always been so strong,” she murmured, a soft smile gracing her lips. “Even now, you handle everything with such grace. I’m proud of you.”

You glanced up at her, warmth blooming in your chest. “Thank you, Mother,” you said softly. “It’s not always easy, but having all of you here makes it better.”

Meanwhile, Alicent busied herself with selecting a small plate of fruit from the table nearby. She handed it to you, her eyes filled with motherly concern. “You must eat, dear. The baby needs nourishment, and so do you,” she said, her voice gentle yet firm.

You accepted the plate with a grateful nod, plucking a piece of sweet melon and taking a bite. “Thank you, Mother,” you said with a smile.

Alicent returned your smile, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. “You’re glowing,” she said softly. “This child will be blessed with so much love, I’m sure of it.”

Rhaenyra chuckled lightly, still running her fingers through your hair. “Blessed and spoiled, no doubt,” she teased, her gaze flickering toward Daemon and Aegon. “With those two vying for the title of most protective, this child will have an army of guardians.”

You laughed, nodding in agreement. “It’s already starting,” you said, glancing toward your husband and father.

As if sensing your gaze, Aegon turned his head, flashing you a smile that made your heart flutter. Daemon, too, glanced your way, his expression softening for a brief moment before he resumed his conversation with Aegon.

Surrounded by the love and care of your family, you felt a sense of peace settle over you. Though they could be overbearing at times, their presence was a constant reminder of how deeply they cared for you—and for the life growing within you.

Rhaenyra’s fingers stilled in your hair for a moment as she looked at you, her violet eyes filled with a deep, maternal pride. “You know,” she began softly, her voice steady and filled with emotion, “you’re the one who holds this family together. You’re our bridge, the reason we’ve found peace after so much strife.”

You blinked, caught off guard by her words. “Mother, I’m not sure that’s true…” you murmured, glancing down at your hands resting on your rounded belly.

Rhaenyra leaned closer, cupping your cheek with a hand warm and reassuring. “It is true,” she said firmly. “Without you, this would still be a house divided. You’ve brought us together, made us see what’s most important—family. You are the heart of this house.”

Alicent, seated nearby, nodded in agreement, her green eyes glistening. “She’s right,” Alicent said softly. “You’ve done what I thought was impossible. You’ve made us see past old wounds and find a way forward. And for that, I will always be grateful.”

Your chest tightened with emotion as their words sank in. You glanced toward Daemon and Aegon, who were deep in conversation, their differences seemingly forgotten in the shared joy of the life you were bringing into the world.

“I never set out to do that,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I just… wanted us to be a family.”

“And that’s exactly why it worked,” Rhaenyra said, her voice filled with warmth. “You remind us of what truly matters. You’ve shown us all that love and unity are stronger than any quarrel.”

Alicent placed a hand on your shoulder, her touch light yet filled with affection. “This child will be the symbol of that unity,” she said. “Born of love, surrounded by a family who, despite everything, has come together for you—for all of us.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but they weren’t from sadness. They were from the overwhelming gratitude and pride you felt to be part of something bigger, to know that, in your own way, you had helped mend the rifts that had once torn your family apart.

The golden hues of the setting sun were fading, replaced by the soft glow of torches lining the corridors of the Red Keep. The cool breeze of the evening whispered through the open windows as you walked alongside Aegon, your mothers following close behind.

Viserys’s summons had been clear—he wanted the family to dine together every night, starting from the day of your marriage. It was his way of fostering unity and ensuring the bonds between you all grew stronger.

When you arrived at his private solar, the door was opened by a servant, revealing a cozy and intimate dining space. The table was already set with a feast of roasted meats, fresh bread, and rich wines, the scents wafting invitingly through the room.

Seated at the table were Aemond and Helaena, both turning their heads as you entered. Aemond’s sharp gaze lingered on you briefly before shifting to Aegon, while Helaena offered you a warm smile, her ever-gentle demeanor bringing a sense of calm to the room.

At the head of the table sat Viserys himself, his frailty apparent in his thin frame and tired eyes, but his expression held a warmth reserved only for his family. “Ah, there you are,” he said, his voice rasping yet full of affection. “Come, sit. Let us enjoy this evening together.”

Aegon guided you to your seat beside him, pulling the chair out for you before settling in. Alicent and Rhaenyra took their places on either side of the table, their shared glances a quiet acknowledgment of the fragile peace between them.

As the servants poured wine and began to serve the meal, Viserys’s gaze swept over everyone, a glimmer of satisfaction lighting his weary face. “It brings me joy to see all of you here,” he said, his tone earnest. “This family has endured much, but tonight, let us set aside the past and simply enjoy one another’s company.”

You felt Aegon’s hand brush against yours under the table, a subtle gesture of reassurance. You glanced at him, and he smiled, his usual mischief replaced by something softer, more genuine.

As the evening unfolded, the conversation shifted from light banter to shared stories, laughter occasionally echoing through the room. For a moment, it felt as though the tensions that often loomed over the Targaryen family had dissipated, replaced by a fragile yet comforting sense of unity.

The sharp pangs in your abdomen stirred you from sleep, leaving you breathless for a moment. You instinctively placed a hand on your swollen belly, trying to calm the ache that radiated from within. The room was dimly lit by the faint glow of the moon, its light filtering through the window. Aegon lay beside you, his breathing deep and even, completely unaware of your discomfort.

You glanced toward the window, noting the darkness outside; dawn was still far off. Carefully, you swung your legs over the side of the bed, your bare feet touching the cool stone floor. Each movement was deliberate and quiet as you didn’t want to disturb Aegon.

Once you were standing, you exhaled slowly, pressing a hand against your lower back to ease the tension there. The pain wasn’t constant, but it came in waves, enough to make you restless. You paced the length of your chamber, hoping the movement would help.

As you walked, your mind raced. Was this it? Was the baby coming early? Or was it simply the usual discomfort of pregnancy? You weren’t sure, but you wanted to be certain before raising any alarm.

Leaning against the edge of a chair, you closed your eyes and focused on your breathing, counting each inhale and exhale. The pain subsided briefly, giving you a moment of relief, but it returned shortly after, sharper this time.

A soft groan escaped your lips, and you stifled it quickly, glancing toward Aegon to ensure he hadn’t woken. His form remained unmoving under the covers, his face peaceful in sleep. You hesitated, wondering if you should wake him or call for the midwives, but the thought of disturbing him unnecessarily held you back.

You clutched the armrest tightly, bracing yourself as another wave of pain hit. Something told you that tonight was going to be a long one.

The night had felt endless, your pacing a desperate attempt to endure the relentless waves of pain that coursed through you. Your breaths came in shallow gasps, and the weight of exhaustion pressed heavily upon you. Sweat dampened your hair, clinging to your skin as you continued to walk, unable to find relief.

As the first rays of sunlight filtered through the curtains, illuminating the room in a soft glow, you heard the faint rustle of movement from behind. Turning slightly, you saw Aegon stir, his sleepy eyes blinking against the light.

When his gaze landed on you—your disheveled appearance, the sweat on your brow, and the way you clutched your belly—concern instantly replaced the grogginess in his expression.

“Love,” he called out, his voice rough with sleep but heavy with worry. “What’s wrong?”

You paused, gripping the back of a chair to steady yourself, and tried to offer him a reassuring smile, though it faltered under the strain of another sharp pain. “It’s… nothing,” you managed to say between breaths, though the lie was thin.

Aegon was already out of bed, his worry growing as he closed the distance between you. His hands gently cupped your face, his thumb brushing away the strands of damp hair clinging to your forehead. “This isn’t nothing,” he said firmly, his voice laced with panic. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“I didn’t want to—” you began, but another wave of pain cut you off, forcing you to clutch his arm for support.

“That’s it,” Aegon declared, his tone leaving no room for argument. “We’re calling the maester. Now.”

Before you could protest, Aegon was already moving, shouting orders to the guards outside the door. His protective nature had fully taken over, and for once, you were grateful for his assertiveness. As you sank into the nearest chair, your heart pounded not only from the pain but also from the realization that the moment you had been waiting for was finally here.

The door to your chamber burst open, and the maester entered first, followed closely by several midwives carrying linens and basins. Behind them, your mothers, Alicent and Rhaenyra, hurried in with expressions of alarm and worry etched across their faces. Their hair was slightly disheveled, and their gowns bore the telltale signs of haste, as though they had barely managed to dress before rushing to your side.

Aegon stepped aside to give them space but remained close, his hand gripping yours tightly as the maester approached. Rhaenyra’s gaze darted to you, taking in your pale face and the way you clutched your belly. She knelt beside you instantly, brushing damp strands of hair from your forehead.

“My dear,” Rhaenyra murmured softly, her voice trembling with emotion. “You should have sent for us sooner. How long have you been enduring this pain?”

Alicent was not far behind, her sharp eyes scanning the room before settling on you. “You’ll be fine,” she said, though her voice carried a mix of reassurance and command, as if willing you to stay strong. “The maester and midwives are here now.”

The maester stepped forward, bowing his head respectfully before addressing you. “Princess, may I examine you?”

You nodded weakly, leaning back as the midwives helped you into a more comfortable position. Rhaenyra held one of your hands, her face pale but composed, while Alicent stood at your other side, her hand resting gently on your shoulder for support.

Aegon hovered nearby, his jaw tight and his eyes fixed on you. “Is she going to be alright?” he demanded, his voice taut with worry.

The maester glanced at Aegon briefly before focusing on his task. “The labor has begun, Your Grace. It’s progressing steadily, though it may take some time.”

Hearing those words, the tension in the room grew. Rhaenyra tightened her grip on your hand, and Alicent exchanged a glance with Aegon. Both women, despite their differences, seemed united in their concern for you.

“You’re strong,” Rhaenyra whispered, her voice trembling slightly. “You’ll get through this, my sweet girl.”

Alicent added, her tone firm, “We’re here. You’re not alone.”

The labor had only just begun, but with your husband and both your mothers at your side, you felt a spark of courage amid the pain.

The door creaked open, and all eyes turned to see your father, Daemon, standing in the doorway. His usual composed and commanding demeanor was absent; instead, his face betrayed something you had never seen before—fear.

He stepped into the room slowly, his sharp eyes scanning the scene. The sight of you, pale and sweating, gripping your belly in pain, seemed to unnerve him in a way no battlefield ever could. For a moment, he hesitated, as though unsure whether to approach, before his gaze softened, and he took a step closer.

“Sweetling,” he said, his voice unusually quiet, almost tentative.

The room fell silent save for your labored breaths. Even Alicent and Rhaenyra glanced at each other, their rivalry momentarily forgotten in the presence of his uncharacteristic vulnerability.

Daemon knelt beside you, his hands trembling slightly as he reached out to brush the sweat-dampened hair from your face. “Why didn’t anyone wake me sooner?” he asked, his voice strained, barely masking the panic underneath.

You managed a faint smile despite the pain. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

“Worry me?” he repeated, his tone a mix of disbelief and frustration. “You’re my child. How could I not be worried?” His voice cracked slightly, and he cleared his throat to steady himself.

Aegon stood nearby, watching the exchange closely. He seemed surprised by the raw emotion in Daemon’s voice, as if he, too, had never seen this side of him.

Rhaenyra stepped forward and placed a hand on Daemon’s shoulder, grounding him. “She’s strong,” she said softly, glancing at you. “She’ll get through this, just as I did. You remember.”

Daemon exhaled deeply, his expression conflicted. He nodded, though his hand still lingered near yours, as if afraid to let go. “I’ll stay,” he said firmly, looking at the maester and midwives. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Aegon moved to your other side, taking your hand again. “Neither am I,” he said, his voice steady with determination.

Surrounded by the people who loved you most, you felt a small surge of comfort amidst the pain. Whatever lay ahead, you knew you would face it together.A sharp wave of pain tore through you, and the tears spilled freely down your cheeks. You shook your head, clutching at Aegon’s hand with trembling fingers. “I can’t… I can’t do this,” you gasped, your voice breaking as you tried to steady your breathing.

Aegon leaned closer, his other hand gently brushing your hair back. “Yes, you can,” he said softly, though his voice carried a firm conviction. “You’re the strongest person I know. You can do this.”

Rhaenyra knelt beside you, her hand resting over yours. “Listen to me, sweet girl,” she said, her voice steady and soothing. “I’ve been where you are now, and I know how it feels like it’s impossible, but you’re stronger than you know. Trust yourself.”

Alicent stood just behind her, her hands clasped tightly as if in silent prayer. When she spoke, her voice was gentle but full of encouragement. “You’ve come this far, and soon you’ll hold your child in your arms. Focus on that—on your strength and your love for them.”

Another contraction hit, and you cried out, your body tense with the effort. Daemon stepped closer, his face a mask of both worry and determination. He placed a firm hand on your shoulder, grounding you. “You are my daughter,” he said, his tone unyielding. “There is fire in your blood. You will see this through.”

Surrounded by their words of comfort and unwavering belief in you, something inside you began to shift. You took a deep, shaky breath, leaning into Aegon’s touch as you found a sliver of strength within the storm of pain.

“I’ll try,” you whispered, your voice trembling but resolute.

“And we’ll be right here with you,” Aegon promised, pressing a kiss to your forehead as another contraction built. Together, they steadied you, their love becoming the anchor you needed to face what was ahead.

The maester’s voice was calm yet firm as he instructed, “It’s time, princess. On the next contraction, you need to push with all your strength.”

You gripped Aegon’s hand tightly, your knuckles white as another wave of pain surged through you. With a deep breath, you pushed, every fiber of your being straining as you fought to bring your child into the world.

“That’s it,” Rhaenyra encouraged, her voice steady by your ear. “You’re doing so well, my love. Just a little more.”

Alicent stood near the maester, her hands clasped tightly together in silent support. “You can do this,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion. “Stay strong, dear.”

Aegon’s other hand brushed the damp hair from your face as he whispered soothing words, his voice filled with both awe and worry. “I’m here, love. You’re doing amazing.”

Another contraction hit, and you cried out, the effort draining every ounce of strength from you. “I can’t… I can’t…” you gasped, shaking your head as exhaustion threatened to overwhelm you.

“Yes, you can,” Daemon said firmly from where he stood nearby, his eyes fierce yet glistening with emotion. “Keep going, my love. You’re almost there.”

With their encouragement surrounding you like a shield, you drew on reserves of strength you didn’t know you had. You pushed again, and the room filled with the maester’s voice. “I see the head! One more, Princess. One more push.”

Tears streamed down your face as you gave it everything you had, a guttural cry escaping your lips. And then, suddenly, the room was filled with the sound of a newborn’s first cry—a sound so pure and powerful that it seemed to silence everything else.

The maester held up the tiny, wriggling baby, a look of relief and joy on his face. “It’s a boy,” he announced.

Aegon’s breath caught, and his eyes filled with tears as he looked at his son. “You did it,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “You did it, love.”

The maester placed the baby in your arms, and all the pain, fear, and exhaustion faded away as you gazed down at him. His tiny fingers curled instinctively, and his cries softened as he felt the warmth of your skin.

Rhaenyra and Alicent both leaned closer, their faces shining with pride and joy. Daemon, for once, was silent, his eyes fixed on you and the child you held.

“He’s perfect,” you whispered, tears streaming as you looked at Aegon, who leaned down to press a kiss to both your forehead and the baby’s. “He’s perfect.”

The peace of holding your son in your arms was short-lived. A sharp, familiar pain tore through you once more, causing you to gasp. Your grip on the baby tightened briefly before Aegon gently took him from your arms, his face etched with concern.

“What is it?” Aegon asked, his voice trembling as he looked between you and the maester.

One of the midwives checked quickly, her hands moving with urgency. “There’s another,” she announced, her voice filled with both surprise and certainty. “There’s another baby.”

Gasps filled the room as the realization settled over everyone. Rhaenyra stepped closer, her hand gripping yours tightly. “Twins,” she whispered, a mixture of awe and worry in her voice.

“No, no,” you whimpered, shaking your head as the pain surged again. “I can’t… I don’t have anything left.”

“Yes, you do,” Alicent said firmly, her voice a soothing command. “You are stronger than this pain. You’ve already done it once—you can do it again.”

Aegon placed your firstborn into Rhaenyra’s arms before kneeling beside you, his face level with yours. “Look at me,” he said, his voice steady despite the fear in his eyes. “You’re not alone in this. You can do this. For them, for us.”

The maester’s voice broke through the moment. “The second child is positioned well, my lady. It’s time to push again.”

Summoning every ounce of strength left in your body, you bore down, the pain feeling unbearable, yet you knew you had no choice. Each push was harder than the last, the exhaustion threatening to overwhelm you.

“You’re almost there,” Rhaenyra said, her voice steady with determination. Alicent nodded beside her, offering her own quiet reassurances.

With a final, desperate push, the pain seemed to peak and then suddenly vanish, replaced by the sharp cry of another newborn.

“It’s a girl!” the maester declared, lifting the tiny baby for everyone to see.

Tears poured down your face as the midwife carefully placed your daughter in your arms. She was smaller than her brother but just as perfect, her cries softening as she felt your warmth.

Aegon let out a choked laugh, brushing the hair from your damp forehead. “Twins,” he whispered, his eyes filled with wonder. “Our family has doubled in one night.”

The room was filled with quiet awe as everyone looked down at the two newborns, now swaddled and safe in their parents’ arms. The pain and exhaustion faded into the background as you gazed at them, overwhelmed by the love and pride surging through you.

“They’re ours,” you whispered, looking at Aegon with a tired but radiant smile.

“They’re everything,” he replied, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips and then to each of his children.

The room had grown quieter after the whirlwind of events, leaving only you, Aegon, and your newborn twins basking in the stillness of the moment. Both babies rested peacefully in your arms, swaddled tightly in soft linens. Aegon sat beside you on the bed, his hand gently tracing the outline of his daughter’s tiny fingers as she grasped at him instinctively.

Your mothers and father had left moments ago, promising to return after freshening up for court, though they had each lingered with soft kisses to your forehead and whispered reassurances of their pride.

“They couldn’t stop fussing over us,” Aegon chuckled softly, his tone filled with warmth.

You gave him a tired smile, leaning back against the cushions for support. “I think they’ll be back the moment they’re presentable. They won’t be able to stay away from the twins.”

Aegon nodded, his eyes never leaving the twins. “And who could blame them?” He shifted closer to you, gently cradling your son from your arms. “Look at them. They’re perfect.”

You watched as Aegon studied your son, the softest smile playing on his lips. The little one stirred in his father’s arms but soon settled again, his tiny chest rising and falling steadily.

“They’ll have your courage,” Aegon murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “And your strength.”

“And your determination,” you added, reaching out to brush a strand of his hair from his face.

He laughed lightly. “Let’s hope they inherit the best of us both.”

The weight of exhaustion was still heavy on your body, but the love that filled the room was stronger. As you held your daughter close, Aegon leaned in to kiss her tiny forehead, then yours.

“Rest, love,” he said softly. “I’ll stay here and watch over all three of you.”

You nodded, your eyes growing heavy as you leaned into his shoulder. With your family surrounding you, the world outside could wait a little while longer.

The soft sound of Aegon’s laughter pulled you from your slumber. Slowly, you opened your eyes to find the room aglow with the presence of your family. The sight filled you with warmth: your husband was cradling your daughter in his arms, an expression of pure joy lighting up his face. He looked more at ease than you’d ever seen him, gently rocking her and whispering something only she could hear.

Turning your gaze, you saw your mother, Rhaenyra, tenderly holding your son. She looked down at the little bundle in her arms with such affection, her fingers brushing softly against his tiny silver curls. Her expression was one of pride and love, the same one she often reserved for you when you were younger.

Your room buzzed with quiet conversation and soft laughter. Alicent and Heleana stood nearby, exchanging words in hushed tones as they admired the twins. Daemon and Viserys were engaged in their own discussion, though their eyes kept wandering toward the babies with expressions of pride. Jace and Luke sat at the foot of your bed, eagerly leaning in to get a better look at their newest family members.

You turned back to Aegon, your heart swelling at the sight of him holding your daughter so naturally. He noticed you were awake and smiled down at you, his eyes softening. “Look who’s finally up,” he teased lightly. “I told them you’d need your rest, but no one could resist meeting these two.”

Rhaenyra walked over, carefully bringing your son closer to you. “You’ve given us two miracles,” she said softly, her voice brimming with pride. “They’re perfect.”

Aegon sat beside you, gently handing your daughter into your arms. As you held her close, you felt a surge of love so strong it brought tears to your eyes. “They’re everything,” you whispered, glancing between your children and your husband.

Aegon leaned in, pressing a kiss to your temple. “And you’re everything to us,” he murmured, his voice filled with emotion.

For a moment, the room seemed to fade away, leaving just the four of you in your own little world. It was a moment you knew you’d cherish forever—a moment that marked the beginning of your life as a family.

Tag list : @danytar @zaldritzosrose @julessworldd @hangmanscoming @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @callsignwidow

[rainbowsky]

In all my years of being a GGDD fan, I don't think any year has ever been better than this last one.

In the past I have watched them struggle and face incredibly difficult situations, be forced to spend almost all of their time apart, and deal with scandals and setbacks.

2024 was a year I could never have dreamed of for both of them. Watching them both thrive so well, take charge of their careers and their lives to a degree never before seen, and to have so much time for their personal lives - it's all I've ever wanted for them.

And you can see how well they are thriving, how much happier they are, how much healthier they are, and how much of themselves is stamped on every single thing they do.

I frequently see fans spinning negative fantasies about them, and it makes me sad. As if there isn't enough pain in the world, why generate more in your own mind?

A lot of turtles tend to overly romanticize 2018 and 2019 because they were the years that The Untamed was filmed, promoted and aired, and that's where a lot of our favorite GGDD content was born. I think that's rather self-centered and shortsighted. If we take five seconds to remove our rose-colored glasses, surely we can see how difficult those years were for them.

Yes, they got to work together for a few months, they got to spend some fun time together promoting The Untamed and even got to be somewhat open about their affection for each other in front of a crowd, but outside of that summer dream, they were both in pretty precarious positions in their careers, and both of them faced a lot of really gruesome anti attacks. Neither of them had very much control over their careers or their choices, and their management situations were atrocious.

We don't even have to talk about 2020. That was an incredibly difficult year. GG was the focus of one of the worst cyberbullying and nearly career-ending scandals that's been seen in that industry. He was being threatened, the people connected to him and the brands that he dealt with were being threatened.

Any time he tried to do anything in his career, whether it was an appearance or an endorsement, antis would come out in droves and protest until it was shut down. There were active organized hate campaigns whose entire purpose was to destroy his life and his career. People were trying to infect him with COVID, and there were other threats upon his life. Multiple times online hate campaigns tried to spread the rumor that he had died.

He couldn't go anywhere without people following him and chanting hateful slogans at him and trying to infiltrate the hotels he was staying at. It was terrifying.

DD was constantly overworked, exhausted, always on the move with barely any time to come up for air.

They had to spend most of their time apart, including some of the quarantine time, when DD was isolated so that he could begin filming LOF, right when the worst of the scandal broke. GG's grandfather died, and he faced so many personal burdens.

They did get some fun times together of course, and there were some huge successes for both of them, including GG's spectacular comeback at the end of the year with his sea of red for Tencent All Star Night. Even turtles worked to help ensure he had his red sea.

And GG and DD got to clown around and be silly as well, and they made a real effort to show us that they were getting through fine, they would be okay and that they were still the same people, still able to be happy. We got so much candy that year, and so many great LRLG messages as well.

But that was just a sign of their character and strength. Make no mistake about it, that was a difficult year.

The intervening years between then and now have been a bit of a mixed bag. There were a lot of COVID frustrations (scheduling issues, Kafkaesque hoops to jump through, inability to travel outside the country, risk of ending up in a prolonged lockdown, inevitable health stress), they had to spend a lot of time apart and there were more and more crackdowns on the entertainment industry, on the queer community and on fandom culture, which made things feel positively dismal and oppressive - at times even scary.

However, it's undeniable that things have been gradually improving for them. They've both been building more and more autonomy and control in their careers, and building more respect from audiences and within the industry. They've both been prioritizing their personal lives more and more. And yes - they've BOTH been looking happier, more relaxed, more balanced.

I've talked about that a fair bit over the past couple of years. Most recently in this post.

Looking at 2024, they have had so much more free time in their lives, have been able to spend so much more time together in the same city, have spent time with each other wherever they were filming, and even got to travel and spend some fun downtime outside of China.

They are in such powerful positions compared to even a couple years ago. They have made great connections and worked on some amazing projects.

GG has been working with some of the top directors on some of the most anticipated projects in C-ent. He recorded an entire solo album and several music videos, and did all of that on his own time and on his own dime, and released it to critical acclaim and massive success with audiences.

He has been the talk of the globe in fashion circles and entertainment circles, and has been the global face behind some of the most successful and exciting campaigns for some of the most prestigious brands in the world.

He got to travel a lot outside of China, and build on some of the great connections he's made over the years. He got to spend time with his parents traveling Europe!

He's given us so much incredible content with his vlogs and photo sets. It's just mind-boggling how much he's given us over the past couple of years.

DD took initiative to propose and participate in a documentary series where he got to explore interesting locations and engage in some of the most extreme outdoor activities. What could possibly be more exciting for someone like him?

He got to work with a team of conservationists who are fighting to save pangolins, and filmed a documentary there as well. Knowing him, that has to be one of the most rewarding things he's ever done in his life.

Both documentaries were highly acclaimed and award-winning.

Speaking of awards, he debuted as a film star and has been nominated for all of the top awards in China both for his film work and his drama work!

He has signed a new contract with his management company that will certainly have put him in a very powerful position in the company as their top breadwinner. He has been exceptionally successful with endorsements, holding more endorsements than anyone else in C-ent.

He got to play tennis on the top of The Great Wall with one of the top players in the world (regardless of how much I despise Djokovic).

He got to be an Olympic torch bearer! He is the ambassador for multiple high profile organizations and projects.

He earned his auto racing license, joined a racing team and finished in first place in his first ever auto race!

Make no mistake about it, they are both now solidly calling the shots in their own lives and careers, they are living their best lives, and they are both happier than I have ever seen them in all of these years.

And much more healthy! Just take one look at them and you can see how much healthier they both are. They've been playing a lot of sports and doing a lot of active outdoor activities together, and it shows in how much happier and healthier they are.

Frankly anyone who can't see that has their head stuffed firmly in a moist dark place.

I urge everyone to center GG and DD in all of our fandom explorations, theories and interpretations. The reality is that the more that they get to focus on their own lives and careers and personal freedoms, the less candy and CPN we're likely to see. We should be happy for them rather than try to spin sad tales about it.

[themeraldee]

Mark Me Yours

[Masterlist]

18+ Only | 4.6k | Homelander x fem!Reader | Biting. Established Relationship. Mild Pain Play. Cunnilingus. Fingering (with gloves on).

Written for cozy corner kinktober prompt #16: Biting

Amongst the buzz of some vague Halloween music and constant chatter, Homelander is impatiently looking around the room. As an annual treat, Vought organizes a Halloween-themed party for their shareholders, ambassadors and any and all influential people that get easily swayed by expensive champagne and an impressive catering spread. 

The one person not impressed is Homelander himself. 

He’s had his fill of schmoozing and brown-nosing at Madelyn’s behest. By now he’s just looking for an excuse to leave. He’s not one to indulge in partying like the rest of the Seven. Looking at the state of them leaves him with a bitter feeling. There they are being more rambunctious than ever while he’s the only one who’s trustworthy enough to actually get the job of upselling and marketing done right.

While it’s dressed as a fun party, Vought doesn’t do things for fun. It’s a thinly veiled attempt at getting all the powerful people in the room to spend more money and sign onto more superhero-led campaigns in their fields. Really, to Homelander it’s a waste of fucking time. There are so many better things he could be doing. But no. He’s stuck having to sweet talk every C-suite level person in the room.

And while part of him wishes he could just relax and kick back like the rest of them he just as much scoffs at the childish Halloween costumes the rest of his team came in. Before the party even broke out, Deep thought it would be funny to come dressed in one of those terribly cheap polyester Homelander costumes all the pathetic lowlifes wear on this day of the year.

Pfft. As if they could ever understand the burden that comes with wearing the suit. Neither, really, could Deep. That’s why one look was enough to get through even his thick and algae-infested skull that if he doesn’t change out of the suit there won’t be a body to dress up for the party. 

With an exasperated shake of his head he looks for you. He comes into these parties with decent energy, soaking up the applause and the adoring words but very quickly the praise turns sour when he feels just how empty and vapid each executive he talks to comes across as. They don’t actually care for his attention. They just want to wring him dry for more cash and fame. You’re the only one who’s managed to keep his usually soured high going. Your look doesn’t turn vacant, instead there’s a real person behind those eyes. One that’s his. One that adores him and is his to adore. 

So where the hell were you anyway? Your presence is what makes him tolerate the insipid crowds these days. Besides the fact that he gets to be with you and show you off to the world, he happily uses your name as an excuse to get out of conversations that just about manage to reach levels of stupidity and numbness that even his media-trained smiles and nods can’t keep him looking interested.

Fucking Halloween. What a stupid holiday, he thinks. Homelander slides his tongue over the fake plastic vampire fangs you insisted he wears throughout the night. As if he’s a child that has to partake in the “festivities”. As if it wasn’t enough that he’s gracing everyone here with his effervescent presence. Surrounded by cameras he has no choice but to keep up his flawless smile, now tainted with the silly prop.

And really at this point he’s getting less annoyed and more worried. You promised you’d show up. And while the party is in full effect you’re still nowhere to be seen. Homelander steps a little to the side, removing himself from as much of the chatter and music as he can, instead listening carefully, honing in on the familiar pitter patter of your heart. Only outpaced by the clicking of your heels as you rush across the stone flooring.

Tsk, late as always. 

Not even a minute later you make your way through the open door, immediately looking around for him. Homelander watches you try to calm down your rush as you finally settle your eyes on him. You’re smoothing down your dress and calming your breath. He leans against the wall, raising an eyebrow and with a lifted gloved finger he motions for you to come close.

Thank god you’re finally here. Just the sight of you is enough to release the tension in his shoulders. Relieved that there’s finally someone who he doesn’t have to pretend in front of. 

And what a sight you are. Dressed to the nines, a gorgeous classy black evening dress that fits your body perfectly.

He would know, it’s one of the many he handpicked for you. 

Looking at you now he can’t deny that he’s got impeccable taste. His keen eye is good when it comes to picking clothing that dresses your figure in a flattering way. Not just any dress would do, it always has to be perfect.

Until he actually notices the little band of cat ears across your head that has him recall the very long-winded argument—or an exchange of opinions as you liked to call it—about the importance of dressing up appropriately during any festivities you come to be a part of.

“Look who finally showed up. I was beginning to think you stood me up.” He flashes you a grin, letting the fangs exaggerate the sharpness of his smile. 

You stutter through your answer, caught off guard, and instead of defending your tardiness you change the conversation. Homelander watches as your eyes widen in surprise, locking on the way he slides his tongue over the pointy ends. The shiver that runs through you doesn’t escape him either. Well… isn’t that interesting. 

“Oh my god—I didn’t think— you’re actually wearing them!” Almost comically you put your hand over your mouth in shock and he takes the time to properly look you up and down. In your initial shock you let him in on not one, not two but three secrets. 

From the gasped breath and the excited shiver running down your body he deduces that your earlier adamant begging to have him dress up was for an entirely different indulgence. 

His second surprise upon checking you up and down was the lack of any undergarments. Not that he wouldn’t be able to look through the flimsy bits of fabric as well but the lack of them certainly inspires a mood. 

And the third secret your body lets him in on is just how much you enjoy the sight of his fanged grin. Your thighs rub together but with no fabric to soak into, your slick just squelches in between your legs. A sweet little symphony for his ears only. Maybe tonight won’t be so boring after all. 

If this was the kind of trick or treating he knew he’d be getting he’d have been onboard with the holiday a lot sooner. 

His mouth tugs into a smile but he stops himself, instead tutting and shaking his head.

“Unlike someone, I’m keeping my word.” He rolls his eyes. “After all that hounding you come out in this? So much for dressing up, Mrs Halloween spirit.” He makes a mocking gesture with his hands, waving dramatically over your Halloween costume, if one could call it that.  

“And sweetheart, although you look stunning, your little cat ears definitely don’t count as a costume.” Homelander relishes in the way you swoon under his compliments and attention.

At least someone here understands how valuable it is to have his attention. 

Homelander waves over a waiter, plucking a flute glass off the tray, passing it to you. This breaks you out of your trance and you finally get your words straight.

“Sorry, that’s why I’m late. I had a costume, I swear! Then Ashley needed help with something and then on my way here someone spilled red wine all over my costume, so I had to change. I know it’s not impressive but this was last minute!” 

“Oh, it’s very impressive. Just not very festive of you.” He quotes what you said earlier that evening about his reluctance to wear the stupid Dracula costume you prepared for him.

“If you wanted to come as Catwoman you could’ve worn some swanky latex at least.” 

“Oh no thank you. You’d be peeling me out of that at the end of the night.” And you look cute when you shake your head with that displeased look on your face.

“Who said I won’t be peeling you out of this?” He places his hand on your waist, his glove sliding across the silk of the dress.

“I’m hoping that’s gonna look a little more elegant than the latex suit would.” You lean in, whispering this little secret as if it was just the two of you in the room. You do always make him feel like he’s the only one in the room. Finally, he’s getting the respect he deserves.

“One way to find out.” He graces you with a show of his sharp fangs as he whips out another wide grin. 

It almost wins you over.

But you’re not that easily swayed. And you came here to celebrate Halloween with him. Clearly, he’s not gonna be able to use you as an excuse to leave just yet.

You say just that.

“You can’t leave yet!” You cover your flustered cheeks with a laugh.

Homelander doesn’t give up without a fight, but more importantly there’s nothing he loves more than having an upper hand. “Then why aren’t you wearing any underwear?”

He’s close to leaning you against the wall and boxing you in so you don’t have a chance to get away but he does have appearances to uphold. 

“I—um, I thought I’d keep you motivated to keep your energy up throughout the night.” You’re no stranger to keeping things exciting. Flirting with him is a must and comes naturally. Unless it’s outside the comfort of your home. Then you get all flustered and embarrassed. It’s cute, really. 

“You’re motivating me to leave.” He grumbles and dips his eyes back down your body, making it terribly obvious that he’s not just admiring your dress. 

On the other hand, he’s a better flirt in a crowd. He knows the power that comes with being surrounded by people that adore him and while it’s the comfort in between the two of you that allows that, he takes advantage of being the one who’s seemingly in control. 

“I've barely just arrived!” 

“That's your problem not mine, be punctual next time.”

 “Come on, just another hour. You can manage.”

He rolls his eyes, already beyond fed up with the party. However, he still has a job to do and you take the chance to make your way around the room to make your presence known to other attendees. 

As the time goes on, Homelander catches you looking around for him like a sixth sense tickling the back of his neck and everytime he meets your wandering eyes, giving you a dazzling smile showing off those fake fangs he still puts up with just for you. And each time you look away flustered and move out of his line of sight.

While everyone else is here to kick back, he’s still on duty, actively greasing deals, soft-launching Madelyn’s messaging and repeating the corporate-glazed talking points just to plant the seeds of Vought’s future plans in unsuspecting and mildly inebriated victims. 

The promised excruciating hour later he finally makes his way around the room back to you, pulling you out of the conversation with his media smile aimed at the group. “Sorry folks, you’ll need to excuse my date.” With a hand settling on your lower back, he takes you away into a quieter corner, plucking the empty glass out of your fingers, placing it at a nearby catering table.

“You have been avoiding me.”

“I have not! I just know how busy you are.”

“Right.” He spreads his lips into a wicked smile and he watches as your eyes quickly dart from his eyes to his teeth, not quickly enough for him to miss it. Neither does he miss the way your heart skips a beat.

It’s then he puts his hands on his hips shaking his head with a laugh. “I knew it, you’re into this.” He lifts one hand to wave a gloved finger in your face as if you’ve done something naughty.

“I’m not!” You’re a terrible liar. Homelander just places his hand on your chin as he uses it to tilt your head to one side.

While ignoring your protest he continues. “Is this some sort of Twilight fantasy you’ve got? Want me to bite you here?” 

“What—no!”

He raises his eyebrows, parting his lips as he glides his gloved fingers down your neck with his other hand. As if you were in a secluded bubble he has his eyes firmly set on you, focusing on the hurried beat of your heart. 

Unlike him you fluster. Unable to tune out the sound of the party and the presence of a crowd.

“Stop, you’re embarrassing me!” You squeak out like a little mouse, though your hushed voice makes no difference to Homelander’s keen ears.

While he doesn’t let the topic go, he does let go of your chin, allowing you to straighten up. 

“While I love you very much, I’m not covering myself with glitter.” He chuckles to himself, terribly amused at having found one of your guilty pleasures. “But I can be your super strong and fast vampire if you’d like that.” It’s his turn to turn all hushed and whispered. He talks in a way that he usually indulges in between the sheets yet he can’t resist to see your reaction.

Homelander doesn’t miss the way you shudder at his proposition. He almost melts away your stubborn exterior, but you snap out of the dazed vision and blink your fantasies away. This is not the place.

“Wait, how do you know so much about it? And no, no, it’s not a Twilight fantasy. It doesn’t matter. Does it really need an explanation?” Still continuing with the hushed outrage you pull him with you, backing out of the party hall.

Homelander grins at you widely, purposefully flashing the fangs while you drag him away from the party. You probably think you’re being subtle, trying to blend your bodies in between the incoming crowds. However, his cape alone is as dead giveaway as any. If anyone cared to get his attention at the party they were now keenly aware that he’s left. 

“Nope, not really. I just want to know what’s going on in that fucked up little head of yours.” The lightheartedness that comes with you two prodding one another is not only refreshing; it’s needed. To have someone he can feel like a lovesick teenager with is more important than he expected it to be. 

You act as if you were sneaking away from your parents’ house rather than seeking the quiet comfort of your home.

You secretly make your way down hallways, guiding Homelander behind you.

Even with his hand in yours you reluctantly turn around. The Eurydice to your Orpheus where one look would make him disappear forever. 

He understands the love shared between the two of you. Sometimes it’s so overwhelming it feels like its own living thing. Ever growing. Spreading like mold. Taking over everything that you both are. Be it good or bad. 

When he shuts the door behind the two of you it’s like the rest of the world goes quiet. He can’t stop himself from smiling widely at the sound of your pretty laugh when he spins you in place, clumsily dancing with you across the hardwood floor of his penthouse. 

He didn’t get the luxury of dancing with you during the party so he enjoys the feel of you carefree and against him in the comfort of his personal enclosure.

Neither of you need music to feel the intimate rhythm of your bodies. And really, the party has only just started. Each wrong step results in a giggle and another twirl with which Homelander brings you closer.

The warmth and love Homelander can feel from your laugh is so visceral he needs to taste it. He captures your lips. Simply pressing his against yours. Feeling the vibrations of your giggles against his pursed lips.

Just as he’s parting his lips to deepen the kiss you stop him, placing a hand on his chest. You don’t put any effort into pushing him off, it would be fruitless should you try anyway. 

“Take them out, they’ll get in the way.” You refer to the fangs you’ve been downright drooling over the whole night. Finally. Homelander takes out the prop fangs and tosses them to the side.

With no barriers in the way he devours your lips like he’s been starved for the taste of you all night. He’s drunk on the ease with which you let him take what he wants from you. 

He’s pulling out his best moves tonight. He’s always eager to impress, but tonight especially so. It’s not everyday he finds out about yet another depraved fantasy you’ve been keeping away from him. That alone is a reason to celebrate and pull out all the stops. So if a little innocent vampire roleplay is what you want, a vampire roleplay is what you’ll get. 

Nipping at your lips earns him a moan. His hands gliding up your body cause a shudder. He continues teasing you little by little until your body is begging him to take it further. Your tongue licks over the naturally pointy ends of his canines. His grin stretches wide, dissolving the haze of lust and instead reminding him of what he’s here to do.

He walks you back to the sofa, all the way until your calves hit the upholstering and your knees give in. With a gleeful giggle you fall onto the cushioning. Homelander follows after you, sprawling across your body, still kissing you.

"I can hear your pulse racing..." Homelander breathes out when he pulls away. His eyebrows pinched tight together, acting as if any second away from you causes him pain. 

It doesn’t. But being away from you might as well feel like he’s drowning.

“All that blood rushing…” In a breathy tone he continues. His hands push the straps of your dress over your shoulders. His hands tremble. Wanting to grip and squeeze and push and pull. But the power he’s capable of is always kept tightly locked up. But the desire and the pool of need inside him just begs for him to be inside you, feeling your supple warmth all around him.

But he wants to fulfill your fantasy. He wants to be good for you.

With a moan he drags his tongue starting from your collarbone up the line of your neck. Hungry for the faint taste of you he licks at the tender skin, sucking marks where you won’t be able to conceal them.

He laps his tongue over the junction of your neck and shoulder with the same eagerness he usually devours your cunt with. Now he’s preparing the soft delicate skin of your neck, akin to a surgeon before a procedure. Equally diligent in prepping your skin ready for the incision. Except Homelander wants you to feel the sharpness and warmth of his canines and incisors rather than the cold steel of a surgical scalpel. Your blood rushes to the surface where he’s sucked hickies all over your skin. The temptation to break skin and feel the warmth of your blood is tempting. But alas, he wants you lightheaded with pleasure, not blood loss.

He’s too sucked into his own world. Your blood is rushing loudly in his ears. He doesn’t even manage to slip out another zinger before sinking his teeth into your neck with a needy moan.

Should someone stumble upon you two, it wouldn’t be clear who asked for this roleplay in the first place. 

Homelander’s careful with the pressure he puts into the bite. Even without his super strength he could easily break through your fragile skin. Instead he’s leaving indents and bite marks over your neck that have you whimpering right into each lap of his tongue over the wounded skin.

Attuned to your body’s responses he can feel the way you’re getting off on the contrast of the sharp bites and the dull ache of his languid tongue.

When he’s done with your neck, Homelander pulls away. Eyes hazy with lust. Hands trembling. His heartbeat is so loud it overpowers yours. He slides his tongue over his teeth as if he was licking off your blood. He looks up to meet your eyes and if the sight of you isn’t something out of a dream.

Just as hazed with the thick lust in the air. The smattering of bites is exquisite on a canvas as perfect as you. Your body rises and collapses with each shuddered breath and Homelander wants nothing more than to finish painting your body with his love.

And he does. Tearing and sliding the silk fabric off your body he leaves you bare in front of him. Your choice to omit your underwear gets you rewarded faster. He’s already sucking and biting all over your chest. Swapping for soft kisses anytime you yelp out of painful sensitivity.

Homelander bites wherever his teeth allow to sink into your flesh. Giving them the same soothing treatment with his tongue like he’s done on your neck.

The bites he descends upon your sides make you burst into giggles, temporarily breaking the bubble of the heated tension. With a smile he nuzzles his head into your belly, kissing you with affection all over the exposed skin. While the love he exudes is just as intoxicating, you push his head further down.

“Greedy.” He teases, but he happily slides off the couch, kneeling on the ground right in front of your gloriously spread legs. “Want me to bite you here too?” He easily slides back into his breathy tone as his mouth waters at the smell of your arousal.

After all this time he’s spent getting you worked up with bites and kisses you’re leaking over the couch.

He doesn’t wait for your answer, if you were coherent enough to give it anyway, and instead he licks up your inner thigh. Narrowly avoiding your sopping wet cunt. And while the hypnotizing rhythm of your throbbing clit nearly sucks him in, there’s still plenty of supple flesh he’s yet to sink his teeth into.

Homelander treats your inner thighs with the same respect he’s given your neck. Even though you wiggle underneath his tongue he holds you down. His arm easily pinning your middle down, while his shoulders keep your legs open enough for him to continue.

Here the sensation makes you both whimper from the stinging bites and giggle from the tickling motions of his tongue. Your body continues to serve as a canvas as he litters marks in between your thighs. He lets a few bruises join the mix as he grips your thighs with too much enthusiasm when he dips his head lower to bite another mark higher up the sensitive skin. 

You don’t shy away from the pain either. The contrasting shades of pain he paints across your skin just make your breath stutter, your heart race and your core ache for more.

Homelander is just as strung out. His cock is heavy and aching uncomfortably in the tight confines of his pants but he’s not about to relieve himself. Not when you’re served in front of him like a meal. 

Finally he buries his head into your lap. He licks up a line from your weeping hole to your clit, slurping up as much slick as his tongue can gather. He goes through expressions of content, where he’s eagerly sucking on your clit, and need, where he pinches his eyebrows together, whimpering into your cunt at the feeling of you quivering around his tongue.

And really, he could spend hours in between your legs. Getting handfuls of your ass he pulls you even closer, his tongue now closely and precisely rolling around your clit in a rhythm that has your toes curling and heart pounding. He’s come to know your body as intimately as it gets. The changes in pace are part of his plan. The slow teasing to a fast build-up, letting the feeling of your encroaching orgasm climb up and up your spine until he slows down, dropping the meter down again, wanting to prolong your pleasure.

With the occasional pull to the side where he nips more bites into your inner thighs he has you strung tight, and he’s playing you like a violin. When your moans turn into near sobs at the constant edge he keeps you balanced on, Homelander takes pity on you.

Gathering the slick and saliva, he pushes two thick gloved fingers into you. The drag of the leather glove is not familiar enough to you and you whine at the contact, clenching down on his fingers. Tight enough to nearly stop the glide.

With soft kisses he descends upon your clit, he lets you relax. When your cunt is no longer squeezing his fingers for dear life he drags them in and out while amping up the pressure. The obscene display of you bare to the world and him still dressed in his uniform has you both vocal and shameless.

While he’s already done a fantastic job of licking you open and needy, making you into an even bigger mess than you were before; he’s now fucking you wide open, preparing you for what’s inevitably going to be his cock in a round or two filling out all the space his fingers can’t reach. 

“C’mon, keep fucking me. Harder. Harder. Ye-yes. Yes!” You groan out, your voice all cracked and strained from moaning for so long. 

You grind yourself down on his fingers as much as the space allows. Your fingers pull at his hair while you ride both his face and his fingers to completion. It’s a hard finish, with downright growled words of praise as you chase the high he’s providing you with.

“That’s it, that’s it, that’s it. Fffuuck. Such a good boy, letting me ride your face like that.” You pant in between words, just as eager to give out praise as he is to receive it. 

With an obscene squelch, Homelander pulls his fingers out of you, sucking the leather clean, adding to the already rich taste of you on his tongue. You slide down the couch and lean down to kiss him, and he indulges you in letting you taste yourself on his lips.

Pulling away, you only allow the minimum space apart in between each other. Just like him, you act as if being apart caused you harm. 

“Take me to bed. I want to ride your cock next. Aaand maybe bite you myself.” With a giggle you wrap your hands around his neck. 

“You know you can’t bite me.” With a tilt of his head he kisses the bite marks he’s left behind. Each kiss brings back a little spark of pain making you twitch. 

“I love a challenge.”

“Well I’d certainly love to see you try.” He effortlessly lifts you up from the couch, already carrying you over to the bedroom.

After all the treating he’s done, he’s definitely excited to see some tricks.

So maybe the Halloween celebrations are not so stupid after all.

Taglist (you can add yourself to be tagged anytime I publish a new Homelander fic):

@rafecamsgirlll @hom3landr @mrsdesade @littlegaaby @jokesonyoupup

@nommingonfood @infinetlyforgotten @nervoussystemss

[acciotaitlynn]

Hey! IDK IF U ARE TAKING REQUESTS AT THE MOMENT BUT FIGURED I ASK JUST IN CASE!

Imagine Doctor Zayne and MC with unspoken feelings, they both liked each other since childhood but neither of them saying anything to each other about it.. UNTIL

one day MC shows up to the hospital with a wounded partner (Aka pookie Xavier) and guess who’s treating him?? DR ZAYNE.

And MC is all worried about Xavier and putting his hands on her shoulders and brushing the hair out of his forehead and Dr Zayne is like like.. 😡🤨😡😡 but he has to remain professional

ANYWAYS an idea, feel free to make ✨spicy ✨if you would like!

Hiii ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ this is actually my first request and it was so much fun, thank you for sending it! 10/10 idea btw. I followed my heart—it spicy💦

✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖

Zayne often found himself lending a hand across various departments in the hospital, a routine occurrence, especially during periods of understaffing. Despite the extra burden it placed on him, which was often more mentally taxing than the surgeries he performed, Zayne never really minded.

On the days he conducted rounds, he encountered more challenging patients and situations than he could count. Yet, none matched the weight of his current predicament. As he stood there on the threshold of exam room 5, Zayne observed you—concern etched on your face—as you gently swept a lock of hair from the forehead of a pale-haired figure.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, breathless, before you noticed him, your eyes filling with relief. “Xavier! He’s here—the doctor I told you about—he’ll take care of you, I promise,” you reassured the man on the bed, turning to Zayne with a silent plea; urging your best friend to ease both Xavier’s worries and your own. Zayne watched your gaze return to Xavier as you assessed his wound, squeezing his hand in silent encouragement.

The wound looked severe to you—it was probably the worst injury you’d seen Xavier sustain while on a mission. In a testament to his promise to always protect you, Xavier had risked everything, taking a wanderer’s claws to the stomach by leaping in front of you at the last moment. You couldn’t wait for him to recover so you could scold him for his reckless bravery, even if it wouldn’t change anything—Xavier would make the same choice again in a heartbeat. 

Meanwhile, Zayne still lingered silently by the door, hesitating as though contemplating escape. You shot him a pointed glare, making sure Xavier wasn’t watching, before mouthing, “What the heck are you doing?” while gesturing for him to come closer. You couldn’t help but wonder why Zayne seemed so uncharacteristically unsettled; he was usually the epitome of professionalism at work. Having been inseparable since childhood, you could sense when something was off with him—and something definitely was. But now wasn’t the time to address it, not with Xavier bleeding on the bed, his big blue eyes clouded with pain.

Zayne shut his eyes tightly, taking a deep breath to regain his composure. By the time he opened them again, he was confident his expression no longer revealed his inner turmoil—the struggle of watching the girl he secretly loved show such obvious concern and affection for someone that wasn’t him. He approached Xavier, carefully examining the wound the man had apparently endured while saving you. So what? Zayne had saved you countless times, he was always ensuring your safety and well-being—even in ways you weren’t aware of. Yet, you never fawned over him like this.

When Zayne finally spoke, his voice was eerily calm, his demeanor a mask of professional detachment. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” he assured Xavier. “It will require stitches, and I’ll prescribe a strong round of antibiotics just to be safe. I’ll also arrange for something to manage the pain, and give you instructions for home care.” Xavier nodded, and you felt a wave of relief at the thought of easing his discomfort. Zayne returned the nod and left the room without meeting your eyes. 

As Zayne stitched Xavier’s wound, he continued to ignore you, only acknowledging your presence when he dried his hands and prepared to leave. Your stomach sank when he finally looked your way. It was rare for Zayne to be upset with you, and even during those rare times, he had never looked at you like this. Though his face remained calm, a sharp hint of anger and hurt simmered just beneath the surface, startling in it's intensity. “Zayne?” you started, but he cut you off with a flat tone, “The pain medication should take effect soon. It will help him rest. We’ll keep him under observation for a few hours.” Then he was gone, the door swinging shut softly behind him.

You couldn’t think of anything you’d done recently that would warrant such an attitude. Sure, you hadn’t been sticking to his recommended sleep schedule, and there was that time you snapped at him for using his evol to catch a plushie, insisting it never worked anyway. But none of those felt significant enough to explain the emotions you just saw swirling in his eyes. You turned to Xavier, gently smoothing his hair. He seemed more at ease, his eyes fluttering shut as you encouraged him to rest.

You waited at Xavier's bedside, feigning interest in the cooking show on the screen while nurses came and went—but your mind was consumed with thoughts of Zayne. His behavior gnawed at you, intensifying your frustration by the minute. Not even an hour had passed before you found yourself bolting from the room, following the familiar route to his office. He didn’t seem surprised at all when you burst through the door, almost as if he’d just been waiting there for you the whole time.

“What’s wrong with you?” you demanded, unable to hide the irritation in your voice. Zayne didn’t even look up; he simply adjusted his glasses and continued typing. “I don’t know what you mean,” he replied in a bored tone. “Yes, you do! You’re treating me with peak Zayne-saltiness. Please, tell me what’s going on.” Your tone softened, pleading with him. You hated when Zayne was upset, and, as frustrating as he was being— you still wanted to make things right. Placing your hands on his desk, you leaned over to press your forehead against his. “Please,” you repeated, hoping to break through his wall. He leaned back in his chair with a sigh, his gaze unreadable as he looked at you.

Zayne really wanted to avoid this conversation, and regretted his earlier behavior immensely; knowing it would lead to this moment. But as you pleaded with him, words slipped from his lips against his will, drawing him closer and closer to the truth he had kept hidden for so long. “How long have you known the hunter? You two seem quite close,” Zayne inquired. You tilted your head, studying him. “Are you jealous, Zayne?” The question felt absurd the moment it left your lips—Zayne had never shown interest in you like that, no matter how much you wished he would.

He averted his eyes. “I’m allowed to ask these types of questions. I promised Josephine that I would always protect you—It helps to know the people you associate with.” You rolled your eyes at his feigned nonchalance. “Well, I met Xavier shortly after joining Unicorns. We met under… odd circumstances, but he’s become a good friend and a reliable partner.” Walking around his desk, you gently lifted Zayne’s chin to meet his eyes. “I know you’re not—but if, by chance, you were jealous—he truly is just a friend. Sometimes I think he might want to be more, but… I’m not interested in him like that.”

Your words were honest. Zayne’s eyes searched your face intently. “What if I told you that I am jealous?” His voice was so soft it was barely a whisper. Your response was just as quiet. “You… but why would you be?” He gave you a sad smile, his fingers lightly brushing your cheek as he tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear. The sadness etched onto his face was unbearable, and you weren’t sure if he was saying what you hoped he was—but you decided that it didn’t matter. Closing the distance between you, you cupped his face and pressed your lips to his.

Relief flooded through you instantly—no matter the outcome, at least you wouldn’t have to hide your love for him any longer. Zayne froze beneath you, eyes wide as he watched your lids gently close, a look of bliss washing over your features as you leaned into the kiss. Slowly, his hands slid to your waist, guiding you between his legs as he enveloped you in his arms. He deepened the kiss, a soft groan escaping as his tongue met yours. The taste of you was familiar—like all the times he had pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek or forehead—but now he could fully savor it—every sense was focused on you, leaving him utterly intoxicated.

What began as a gentle exchange quickly turned hungry, and you responded in kind, your hands tangling in his hair as you pressed against him. Rising from the chair, Zayne cleared the desk with a careless sweep and lifted you onto its surface. The intensity in your gaze as it roamed over his body without inhibition, lingering dreamily on the outline of his erection, was almost too much for him. He’d never dreamed you might look at him this way, and now that you were? It took all his strength not to lose control, everything inside Zayne urging him to claim you; to be with you as he’d longed to for so long.

He knew he should stop—he yearned to take his time, to cherish every part of you—a plan he had imagined in great detail over countless daydreams. But those plans vanished when your soft voice pierced the moment. “How long have you felt this way?” you asked, needing to know if he had wanted you for as long as you had him. “Perhaps from the moment I performed surgery on your melted popsicle,” he confessed.

Zayne was your closest friend; you thought you knew him as well as you knew yourself—how had you missed it? Then again, he’d missed your true feelings, too. In a small voice, you admitted, “I’ve wanted you for as long as I can remember, Zayne. I told myself I was content with being your friend… but every day was harder than the last. If this hadn’t happened… it probably wouldn't have been long before I caved and told you.” Disbelief clouded his expression, his breath momentarily forgotten as his heart pounded in his chest. Realizing he wasn’t going to make the next move, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him back into a kiss.

Your kiss was softer this time—savoring the feel of his lips against yours and the tiny whimper that escaped him as you placed gentle kisses along the contours of his face. With a teasing smile, you began unbuttoning his white coat. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve envisioned doing this,” you said, as you pulled it off and tossed it carelessly across the room. “Just as satisfying as I imagined,” you confirmed, taking in the scars that trailed out from his rolled sleeves with hungry eyes. Zayne chuckled, meeting your lips again. Not even giving him the chance to gather the courage to remove your own shirt; you pulled it over your head, quickly adding it and your bra to the pile on the floor.

His eyes couldn’t drink you in fast enough. He admired you for a long moment before reaching out to brush a thumb over your peaked nipple. Biting his bottom lip, he gently tugged at the bud, watching your breast bounce back into place. Something seemed to ignite in Zayne then, his mouth eagerly exploring every inch of your chest with a newfound urgency. His teeth and lips worked gently to leave light marks on the soft mounds. He pulled back to admire his handiwork, contentment and desire clear in his gaze. “All mine,” he murmured, almost to himself. But you heard him. “All yours,” you confirmed softly. It was the truth—it always had been. Zayne drew in a sharp breath, momentarily freezing as disbelief gave way to sheer happiness at your words. You couldn’t remember ever seeing him so joyous.

The two of you became a whirlwind of lips and teeth, you marking him with your own love bites while his tongue sought out the most sensitive areas of your skin, leaving you trembling and breathless. Zayne was so lost in the moment that he barely noticed when you slipped off your panties and pushed your skirt above your waist. His attention snapped back when you propped your feet on either side of you, parting your legs to reveal yourself entirely.

The sight was overwhelming for Zayne—your soft breasts, swollen and red from his touch, and your beautiful form; heat glistening with arousal just for him. “Your turn,” you teased with an eager smile. In that moment, nothing else existed for you as he slowly unbuckled his belt, lowering his slacks just enough to free himself. Over the years, you’d caught glimpses of Zayne in swim trunks or boxers—enough to fuel your fantasies. But seeing him now was incomparable to anything you’d imagined. His cock was thick, perfectly so, and the thought of accommodating him sent a thrill through you. It was long, too, with a curved tip that promised to hit all the right spots inside you. Watching precum drip along his length, you couldn’t resist gathering it on your fingertips and licking them clean with a sigh.

Zayne was captivated by the sight of your face filled with delight at the taste of him, your eyelids fluttering shut in ecstasy as you sucked the slick digits. “You’ll be the death of me one of these days,” he murmured, capturing your wet lips in a searing kiss. With no resistance left, Zayne’s touch was uninhibited. His grip was firm as he pulled you closer, your hands tangling in his hair again as his kisses trailed down your stomach and across your sensitive inner thighs. He delighted in the way you giggled when he nibbled on certain spots, soothing them with his tongue, savoring every sound you made.

Your giggles turned into a deep groan as he licked a flat stripe across your cunt, eagerly slurping up your arousal. The vibrations of his groan against your clit shot straight to your core, making your body sing with pleasure. You tasted even better than Zayne had imagined, making him wonder if he could get addicted to your essence alone.

Your murmured chants of his name spurred him on, his tongue exploring every inch and crevice of you, memorizing the spots that elicited your loudest cries. He grappled with maintaining his composure against the tight embrace of your walls around his tongue—so snug that Zayne wondered if you'd be able to take him fully when the moment arrived.

Your soft, slick skin felt incredible beneath his tongue and lips; the taste and scent of you completely consuming his senses. He was utterly lost in you. It was unclear how long he stayed between your thighs, his tongue languidly dipping in and out before drawing lazy circles on your swollen clit; almost teasingly. When you finally couldn’t take it anymore, needing more than anything to finish with him inside you—you pulled him up to meet your gaze. His lips and chin were coated in saliva and your essence, a blissed-out expression lingering on his face. Reaching out, you wrapped your hand around his length, pumping to spread the generous amount of precum gathered at the tip. Your other hands drew him closer as you spread your legs wider, softly rubbing his cock through your folds. Your gaze locked onto his as you guided him inside, his forehead resting gently against yours as his panted breaths caressed your face.

As Zayne pushed deeper, nearing halfway, you too began to worry that you might not be able to take all of him. His murmured words of encouragement were a soothing presence in your ear, accompanied by the gentle stroke of his fingers through your hair as you struggled to accept the rest of him. “That’s it—just breathe for me, love. You’re doing so well.” When he bottomed out with a soft exhale against your cheek, you both stilled, tears forming in your eyes at the perfect fullness of him inside you. “Is this okay?” he asked softly. “S’perfect,” you sniffled, beginning to move your hips against him.

He set a steady, deep rhythm, marveling at the sight where the two of you were joined. Your body eagerly welcomed him, and if Zayne pulled away for even a moment, your hands and cunt instinctively drew him back in. Seeking Zayne’s gaze, your wide, teary eyes locked onto him with a sudden intensity. “I thought that I'd never get to have you like this…never be able to show you how much I—” Your voice faltered, a wave of embarrassment washing over you at revealing so many hidden emotions so quickly—you weren’t sure how deeply Zayne’s feelings ran, and giving so much of yourself without knowing was daunting. His hand cupped your cheek, the look of complete adoration in his eyes soothing your fears instantly. “I understand,” he assured you. “I feel…complete, for the first time in my life. It’s overwhelming.” Your tears began to flow freely at the sincerity in his confession, and you couldn’t help but plead, “I need more.” His hands gripped your hips tightly, fingers dimpling your skin as he pushed your legs further back, allowing his cock to delve deeper. His thrusts turned almost primal for someone usually so gentle—his hands on your hips served to keep you from sliding across his desk as he drove into you.

Zayne needed you—more than you could possibly understand. With each deeper, harder thrust, he felt the ache of longing start to fade as the relief of finally having you trickled in. His name slipped from your lips like a whispered prayer as you felt your walls clench and throb wildly around him, ecstasy pulsing through your body in waves. Your desperate plea, “Need you to cum inside, Zayne,” was his undoing. His hips stuttered, and with a deep final thrust, he spilled inside you, his warmth filling you completely.

Even as his movements stilled and he softened within you, your eyes remained locked. Slowly, a smile spread across your face, mirrored by Zayne’s own grin, and you both beamed at each other like a couple of love-struck teenagers. As he gently pulled out, Zayne drew you in for a lingering kiss, pressing a tender one to your forehead with a soft chuckle. You lingered in that blissful moment, wrapped in each other’s arms, unwilling to let go. Then, a sudden thought jolted you back to reality. “Xavier!” you exclaimed, remembering your friend and nearly leaping off the desk.

Zayne’s grip on your hips held firm, stopping you in your tracks. He kissed you again, determined to push thoughts of the hunter out of your mind. He realized now that he had no reason to be jealous—but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be a little selfish. Now that he had experienced your affections being fully focused on him—Zayne was determined to keep it that way a bit longer.

“He’s fine,” Zayne assured you. “He has an excellent nurse tending to him. You’re not needed right now.” You raised an eyebrow at his new mildly possessive attitude. He continued, “The painkillers will keep him comfortable for another hour or so. And if necessary, I can always order more.”

✖ ✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖

[whetstonefires]

Underrated element of where Jiang Cheng is re: wwx after everything is that they always had a sort of dual relationship. Two different relationship premises, superimposed on one another.

There's the one where they grew up together, as close as brothers, beating each other up and complaining and being one another's closest companions, sharing a bedroom as kids and eating at the same family dinner table, actively encouraged by Jiang Fengmian to interact as equals.

And then there's the one where Wei Wuxian was in service to Jiang Cheng's family. Not as a servant--Jiang Fengmian absolutely refused to do that, even if he couldn't adopt him. But as a disciple of Jiang Cheng's father and recipient of his charity, as Jiang Cheng's future right hand and most trusted subordinate.

It's a vertical relationship, intimate in its own way but with very strict expectations about what obligations flow in what directions; they are not identical and reciprocal as between friends and equals.

(It's my opinion that Jiang Fengmian's core deal was a deep-seated discontent with the hierarchies he was at the top of, without access to any way to actually deconstruct them or even coherently articulate his opposition. Wei Changze was his dear friend, and no one thinks that's a good enough reason for him to treat Wei Changze's son like his own, because Wei Changze was also his servant, and you can't make that circle square. That's not a way you're allowed to love.)

Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian were like brothers; Wei Wuxian served Jiang Cheng.

The personal relationship was always the most important one. To them, in their hearts. But it was the other one that was real, that had weight in the world.

And it's important to understand that neither can be held up as more factual than the other, even though they conflict. Both relationships existed, and had power.

So then when Jiang Cheng chose to hate Wei Wuxian and articulate his grudge against him, he chose to do it in the language of fealty. Because as far as he knew, his case there was secure, watertight, and it wouldn't expose him emotionally or politically.

And those are the terms in which he's been condemning him all this time: for abandoning the Sect, for ingratitude, for lack of loyalty.

For fuckups, too, and poor judgment, but some of that now turns out to have been justified and some of it was mostly the fault of enemies behaving badly, or even Jiang Cheng himself allowing himself to be pushed into making unworthy choices.

And it was all for his sake.

The thing, the thing in my opinion, about what Wei Wuxian did, about the core transfer and his silent self-destruction around keeping it secret, is that that is a hideous thing to have done between two people who love each other, as an act of love. Beautiful, but awful. As the man who was like a brother to him, Jiang Cheng has a great deal of standing to object to it.

But as an act of vassalage, it's basically perfect.

If Wei Wuxian were only what he formally was to Jiang Cheng, if he is interpreted through a lens of fealty and obligation, he did exactly what he should have done, and went beyond what duty actually required. And went to his death silently, allowing himself to be judged, taking all the burden on himself rather than let harm come to his lord.

Like, obviously Jiang Cheng was harmed by the part where Jin Zixuan got manslaughtered and Jiang Yanli walked into the line of fire in situations where Wei Wuxian was resorting to violence and probably shouldn't have, but those are one step removed from the core issue. In terms of Wei Wuxian's intentional choices around Jiang Cheng himself, at the times he was feeling betrayed and abandoned Wei Wuxian was in fact being impossibly, poetically loyal, an absolute cliche about it.

But only in terms of the hierarchical form of their relationship.

Which means that even though Jiang Cheng has a lot of reasons to still be mad at Wei Wuxian, his actual complaints that he's centered for thirteen years are basically wiped out by the revelation of Wei Wuxian's sacrifice.

Wei Wuxian was in fact doing the tragic hero loyal vassal thing, which very much includes being misunderstood and slandered by the world. (Chenqing as a name choice absolutely references this expectation, and the idea that Jiang Cheng specifically will never understand that Wei Wuxian was trying to help him first and foremost all along; he is not subtle.)

The debts Jiang Cheng has been spitefully calling in and considering defaulted were already long paid.

So if at this point Jiang Cheng keeps pursuing that same line of rhetorical attack, now that he knows, he'll be putting himself morally in the wrong, and he knows it. But if he pivots to something else, he'll both be signalling the shape of that secret to the entire world and looking like a prize idiot.

Which is already how he feels.

To actually address the remaining grievances between them, which are considerable, would require releasing those safe, open grudges to Wei Wuxian's face and then reclaiming him as a loved one. Which is, one could fairly say, more than anyone could expect.

Which is why Wei Wuxian told him he didn't have to.

Which leaves Jiang Cheng at something of an impasse.

[literaleyekon]

✦ SOAKED L.R

“y/n is having some problems, Lara wants to help?”

pairing. [Lara Raj] x [fem!reader] gn! prns used (i forgot mb)

genre. [smut, NSFW]

wc. [1.4k]

notes. [I can’t write smut but oh well darlings don’t forget to keep both hands where i can see them.😉]

now playing. [Soaked] - shy smith

✦ “YOU GET ME SO SOAKED”

As Y/n arrived at Lara's cozy apartment, they were greeted with a warm smile. Lara's long, dark hair framed her soft features, and her gentle eyes sparkled with joy at the sight of her friend. The girls had planned a low-key evening, catching up on their favorite TV show and indulging in some junk food. It was a simple pleasure, but for these two, it was the perfect way to unwind.

"Hey, Y/n! Come on in," Lara said, her voice filled with enthusiasm. "I've got the snacks ready, and the new episode is about to start. It's gonna be a great night!"

Y/n stepped inside, feeling the familiar comfort of Lara's home. They dropped their overnight bag by the door and made their way to the living room, where a cozy setup awaited them. Pillows and blankets were scattered on the couch, creating a snug haven.

"This looks amazing, Lara. You always know how to make a sleepover special," Y/n said, plopping down on the soft cushions.

The girls settled in, chatting about their week while munching on chips and dipping into a bowl of creamy dip. As the episode began, they fell into a comfortable silence, engrossed in the onscreen drama.

But as the night wore on, Y/n's thoughts began to wander. They had been feeling a bit down lately, burdened by a secret they had never shared with anyone, not even Lara. Y/n was a virgin, and not by choice. They craved intimacy and the connection that came with it, but every attempt at dating had ended in disappointment.

"Hey, Lara," Y/n said, their voice laced with hesitation. "Can I talk to you about something personal?"

Lara paused the show, her eyes filled with concern. "Of course, Y/n. You know you can tell me anything."

Y/n took a deep breath, steeling themselves for the confession. "I... I've been feeling a bit down lately. I'm still a virgin, and it's not like I haven't tried dating. I just... I can't seem to find the right person. It's frustrating, you know?"

Lara's eyes widened, and she reached out to squeeze Y/n's hand. "Oh, honey, I had no idea. I'm so sorry you've been feeling this way. You know, I've always been here for you, and I want to help."

Y/n smiled gratefully, feeling a weight lift from their shoulders. "Thanks, Lara. I just needed to get it off my chest. I know it's silly, but it's been bothering me."

Lara's face softened, and she leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "It's not silly at all. And you know, I've always had a soft spot for you, Y/n. I'd love to help you explore your desires."

Her words sent a shiver down Y/n's spine. They had always been aware of the unspoken attraction between them, but neither had acted on it. Until now.

"Really? I mean, I've felt the same way, but I didn't want to ruin our friendship," Y/n admitted, their voice barely above a whisper.

Lara's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Who said anything about ruining our friendship? I think it's time we explored this attraction, don't you?"

As Lara leaned forward, Y/n's heart raced. They could feel the heat radiating from her body, and the scent of her perfume was intoxicating. Without a word, they closed the distance between them, their lips meeting in a soft, tentative kiss. It was a gentle exploration, a silent agreement to take things further.

The kiss deepened, and Y/n felt Lara's tongue brush against their lips, seeking entrance. They parted their lips willingly, and the sensation of Lara's warm, wet tongue dancing with their own sent a wave of pleasure through their body. Lara's hands cupped Y/n's face, holding them close as she kissed them with a passion that took their breath away.

As the kiss continued, Lara's hands began to wander, gently caressing Y/n's neck and shoulders. Y/n moaned softly into the kiss, their hands gripping Lara's hips, pulling her closer. The heat between them was palpable, and they could feel their desire building with every touch.

Breaking the kiss, Lara smiled, her eyes glistening with desire. "I've wanted to do that for so long, Y/n. And I want to do so much more."

Y/n's heart was pounding, and they nodded, unable to find the words to express their longing. Lara's fingers traced a path down Y/n's neck, pausing at the collar of their shirt. With a gentle tug, she began to unbutton it, her touch sending shivers down Y/n's spine.

"Let's take this slow, okay?" Lara whispered, her breath hot against Y/n's skin. "I want to savor every moment."

Y/n could only nod, their body on fire with anticipation. Lara's hands were gentle as she slid the shirt off Y/n's shoulders, revealing the lacy black bra beneath. She took her time, her fingers tracing the delicate lace, sending tingles down Y/n's body.

"You're so beautiful, Y/n," Lara murmured, her lips brushing against Y/n's collarbone. "I want to taste every inch of you."

With that, she lowered herself, her lips finding the sensitive skin just above Y/n's bra. She kissed and sucked gently, leaving a trail of kisses down to the swell of Y/n's breasts. Y/n arched their back, encouraging Lara to continue her exploration.

Lara's hands cupped Y/n's breasts, her thumbs brushing against the hardened nipples through the lace. Y/n gasped, their body trembling with pleasure. Lara's mouth found a nipple, and she sucked it gently through the fabric, causing Y/n to moan loudly.

"Please, Lara," Y/n pleaded, their voice hoarse with desire. "I need more."

Lara smiled against Y/n's breast, her breath hot and moist. "Oh, I plan to give you so much more, my sweet Y/n."

With that, she gently removed Y/n's bra, revealing their full, firm breasts. Lara's eyes darkened with desire as she took in the sight, her hands reaching out to cup and squeeze the soft flesh. Y/n's nipples stood erect, begging for attention.

Lara lowered her head, her lips capturing a taut nipple. She sucked and teased, her tongue swirling around the sensitive peak while her fingers gently pinched and rolled the other nipple. Y/n's hands were buried in Lara's hair, holding her close as waves of pleasure washed over them.

"Oh, God, Lara," Y/n panted. "Your mouth feels so good. Don't stop."

Lara's response was to increase the intensity, her mouth working feverishly. She sucked and nibbled, her tongue flicking and teasing, driving Y/n wild with desire. Y/n's hips bucked off the couch, their body desperate for more stimulation.

Sensing Y/n's need, Lara trailed kisses down Y/n's stomach, her hands gently caressing their inner thighs. She paused at the waistband of Y/n's jeans, her breath hot against the sensitive skin.

"I want to taste you, Y/n," Lara whispered, her voice husky with desire. "Let me pleasure you with my mouth."

Y/n's eyes widened, their heart racing at the thought. They had never experienced oral pleasure before, and the idea of Lara's skilled mouth on their most intimate place was almost too much to bear.

"Please, Lara," Y/n begged, their voice trembling. "I want to feel you there. I need it."

Lara smiled, her eyes filled with determination. She unbuttoned Y/n's jeans and slowly slid them down their legs, revealing the lacy black panties beneath. Y/n's breath caught in their throat as Lara's fingers gently stroked their inner thighs, edging closer to their core.

Lara's mouth replaced her fingers, her warm breath teasing Y/n's sensitive skin. She kissed and nibbled her way up Y/n's thighs, her hands gently holding them open, exposing their glistening pussy. Y/n's heart was pounding, their body on fire with anticipation.

"You're so wet, Y/n," Lara murmured, her voice a soft purr. "I can't wait to taste you."

With that, she lowered her head, her tongue extending to flick at Y/n's clit through the damp fabric of their panties. Y/n gasped, their body jerking at the sudden contact. Lara's tongue was relentless, circling and flicking, driving Y/n to the brink of ecstasy.

"Oh, God, Lara! Yes, right there," Y/n cried out, their hips thrusting upwards, seeking more contact.

Lara's hands gripped Y/n's thighs, holding them open as her mouth worked its magic. She pulled Y/n's panties to the side, exposing their swollen, glistening pussy. Her tongue delved deep, exploring every fold and crevice, sending Y/n into a frenzy of pleasure.

Y/n's hands gripped the couch cushions, their body writhing as Lara's tongue teased and pleasured them. She sucked on Y/n's clit, her fingers slipping inside their wetness, curling and stroking in perfect rhythm. Y/n's moans filled the room, their orgasm building to an intense peak.

"I'm gonna come, Lara! Oh, God, I'm so close!" Y/n cried out, their body trembling.

Lara's response was to increase her efforts, her tongue and fingers working in perfect harmony. She sucked and licked, her fingers thrusting deep, driving Y/n over the edge. Y/n's body convulsed, their orgasm ripping through them with an intensity they had never experienced before.

As the waves of pleasure subsided, Y/n lay panting, their body spent and satisfied. Lara crawled up their body, her lips finding Y/n's in a tender kiss.

"That was incredible, Y/n," Lara whispered, her eyes filled with adoration. "I've wanted to do that for so long. I hope it was everything you needed."

Y/n smiled, their heart overflowing with gratitude and desire. "It was perfect, Lara. I never knew it could be like this. I want to make you feel the same way."

Lara's eyes darkened with anticipation. "Oh, Y/n, I can't wait to feel your mouth on me. But first, let's take a moment to catch our breath. We have all night, and I plan to make the most of it."

With that, they snuggled close, their hearts still racing from the intensity of their first sexual encounter. The night was far from over, and both girls knew that the best was yet to come.

As they lay entwined, their bodies still buzzing with pleasure, Y/n realized that this sleepover had become something far more significant.

Little did they know, the night had only just begun...

[burr-ell]

Bell's Hells gets compared to the Mighty Nein a lot, both in terms of narrative and party comp, but honestly, I think it makes more sense to compare them to Vox Machina. Back in Campaign 1, the deck was stacked against VM for several reasons in succession: the players had to port over from Pathfinder and learn 5e; Beastmaster Ranger sucks absolute ass; their cleric left in the middle of the campaign and was only available sporadically; and then their sorcerer left permanently. But they were able to build their characters to compensate! Scanlan took on the burden of arcane casting, and he, Keyleth, Vex, and later Vax all pulled their weight as healers. Keyleth was a Circle of the Moon druid, which is just a great subclass, and Percy not only had a great build but also took an ASI to give the party a higher INT score to better help with nerd shit. Vex multiclassed to play to more of her strengths when it became clear ranger wasn't going to do much more for her, and Vax's multiclass to paladin made for a formidable combination. It might have been nice if they'd had a wizard or if Pike had been available more often, but they still managed to find ways to work around it, and ultimately Vox Machina is still a really powerful and effective party.

Bell's Hells just...aren't doing any of that. Their party comp is ultimately just the sum of its parts, and not a particularly impressive one. They have a druid and two sorcerers and yet nobody has Teleport or Transport Via Plants (the Staff of Dark Odyssey needs charges and inflicts damage on the user for each charge expended). It was clear from early on that this campaign was going to have a lot of intrigue and conspiracy, but none of the characters had any reason to be invested in the worldbuilding or politics, so instead the party just followed breadcrumbs from lore dump to lore dump—Chetney didn't even get Grim Psychometry until level 10, and neither that nor Orym's knowledge of (mostly Vox Machina's) history were enough to make up for the fact that neither character had a real connection to what they were learning to give any of it real weight, and nobody else tried to make up the difference. Fearne and Laudna's multiclasses are both mechanically kind of a mess—it's not that they're not useful, it's that they're really not getting the kind of use out of their levels that they should be. (Is uncanny dodge worth being level 15 and not having any higher-level druid spells? Is it worth being a mostly-sorcerer multiclass when there's already a full sorcerer in the party?)

It's not that Bell's Hells can't accomplish anything; they very obviously can. It's that the players are making the kinds of choices that they were pretty deftly able to avoid ten years ago with fewer resources and years of experience than they have now, and it makes most of what the Hells do feel pretty designated and phoned-in at the end of the day. And frankly we saw that in last night's episode—they mostly just stumbled into their current party comp, and they mostly just stumbled into one of the dumbest decisions any CR party has ever made.

[pasukiyo]

Hey, ignore if u arent still doing requests but I've had this storyline in my head for ages and I think ur a perfect writer for tom. Basically, the reader is a muggleborn but she attends Hogwarts and it's like half term where they are all home for a break. Shes either avery or lestranges adopted sibling and it's kinda been kept a secret from tom because.. well yknow shes a muggleborn lol(he knows about her now because her adoptive brother had to explain before bringing Tom over) anyways so hes at every or lestranges house for some reason (you make it up) and shes in her room, her adoptive brother needs something so he asks tom to get it from her desk in her room and they preferably have 🌶 time. Sorry if it sounds stupid but I've been thinking about this for ages!!😭

𝐰𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 | tom riddle

tom riddle x f!reader 8,104 words warnings: smut. sort of angst. also lots of prejudice against muggle-borns. read part two here. notes: reader is hufflepuff and muggle-born in this one. summary: every year, the lestranges will hold a christmas party for only the oldest of pure-blood wizarding families. every year you are locked in your room while the party rages downstairs, but everything will change when tom riddle is invited to this year’s party. everything…

 The Lestrange name definitely held some irony, considering how strange the family truly was. The Mother sent an owl at lunch, the rolled parchment dropping onto the plate in front of Tiernan Lestrange. On either side of him sat Clarence Avery and Liam Mulciber, who gazed down at the rolled parchment sealed with the Lestrange family crest with sparkling irises. 

 “Is it for the party, Lestrange?” Avery asked as Lestrange took another bite of his sandwich, dusting his hands off before finally taking a hold of the parchment, untying the ribbon keeping it closed. “More than likely,” he replied as the parchment unraveled, his mother’s handwriting gazing back up at him in inky black cursive letters. 

 ‘To my dearest son,

 Tell your friends they’re more than welcome to join us on Christmas Eve for the party. Invite that Head Boy you were writing to me about too. I am most interested to meet him, since you speak so highly of him. Remind the Girl that she is to not speak of the party, I simply cannot have any more of her kind in the house. I will see you at King’s Cross Station, my darling. 

 With all my love, your mother.’

 Of course, the Girl referred to the Hufflepuff sitting all the way across the Great Hall at her own House’s table, her head down as she ate, so as to not catch the attention of her brother or any of his friends. She didn’t choose this family— and if it were her choice, she’d be far away from them— and neither did they. 

 It was the fault of whomever it was who dropped her onto the Lestranges’ doorstep in the wee hours of the morning when she was only an infant. The Mother had given birth to her son only a few months before, and found the crying baby on her doorstep to be quite a burden. 

 She asked herself why the Mother and the Father even bothered keeping her, for even before they learned of her blood status, they hated her. Perhaps it was to uphold their reputation— taking in a child who wasn’t theirs? It was the perfect foundation for the story of a kind-hearted pure-blood family— how could the Lestranges let that opportunity go?

 Of course, behind closed doors, she was treated less than a family member, some would argue far less than a house elf. She may as well have been a house elf if you ask her. She was treated like how they believed anyone of her kind should be treated— a mudblood deserved to be treated like the rubbish they are, they’d say. 

 Up until she got her Hogwarts letter, she believed them. She believed she deserved to be treated this way, that she deserved to be put through the torture that came with living with the Lestranges. She believed she had filthy blood, demon blood. 

 But all of that changed the second she first stepped foot into Hogwarts. Of course, the Lestranges were at first very against letting her attend Hogwarts— mudbloods shouldn’t be taught magic, they’d say— but even they could only take so many letters flying through the fireplace or popping up in the stew before they gave in. Of course, she wasn’t allowed to tell anyone of her blood status— “you are not to tell anyone of your filthy blood status,” the Father had told her with an accusatory finger in her face. “As far as anyone is concerned, you are pure-blood. So I expect you to act like it.” 

 Her school robes and supplies were not as grand as Tiernan’s, and she wasn’t allowed an owl or a cat or a toad. But she told herself that she would make do with what she had, and she felt at least a little bit grateful that the Lestranges didn’t give her tattered secondhand, even third-hand clothes, even if she knew it was all for the act. 

 When the Lestranges found out she had been sorted into Hufflepuff however, oh, it gave them all the more reason to ridicule and torture her back at home. “Of course the mudblood is in the weakest House,” the Mother would mutter beneath her breath as she and her husband read the letter their son had written. “We were fools to think that old ratty hat would sort her into Slytherin.”

 Tiernan and his friends— they made certain that her life at Hogwarts was just as bad as her life at home. Of course, Tiernan was the only one who knew the truth about her blood, Avery, Mulciber, and the others just tagged along because they found it funny. They loved calling her names, making her trip in the hallways, pulling pranks such as jinxing her school books so that they may not open no matter how hard she tried. 

 And still, she didn’t dare stand her ground, for she knew all too well that the Mother and the Father would catch wind of it, and make certain that she’d be on the first train back to King’s Cross Station. So instead, she dealt with Tiernan and his friends, just like she learned to deal with everything else. 

 But Tom… Tom Riddle was different. 

 Tiernan Lestrange and his friends worshiped the ground Tom Riddle walked on, and it was no secret. She remembered when she first saw Tom, all the way back in the Sorting Ceremony in her first year at Hogwarts. She remembered hearing his name ‘Riddle, Tom’ being called and she remembered watching as he approached the platform, settling himself down onto the stool. 

 She remembered the way their eyes met and she swore her knees turned into jelly when she gazed into those dark ravines he had for irises. And she remembered when the Sorting Hat exclaimed “Slytherin!” hardly before it had even touched a hair on his head. 

 And she remembered how disappointed she felt when she was called up to be sorted, the Sorting Hat put her into Hufflepuff. She wanted to be a Slytherin— she wanted to be wherever Tom Riddle was. 

 In all her time at Hogwarts, she’d never even spoken a word to Tom Riddle. They’d pass each other in the halls, but thanks to her brother, she’d never been given the chance to even tell him hello. And Tiernan made it clear that she never would. 

 So life went on, and she got older. She hoped that over time, she’d forget about Tom. But it was hard when he was made prefect, and when he was given the Special Award for Services to the School, and when he was made Head Boy at the beginning of their seventh and final year. 

 She remembered her fifth year during all the attacks on muggle-borns vividly as if it were only yesterday. She remembered how frightened she was when she realized it was muggle-borns whatever it was was attacking. She remembered the panic she felt when Hogwarts was on the brink of being closed— she couldn’t have that! She belonged at Hogwarts, not out there with the Lestranges where she was treated like vermin. 

 At least here, she could pretend to be someone she was not. 

 Of course Tiernan was no help, always taunting her and teasing her that she’d be next. She remembered when she heard that it was Rubeus Hagrid who had freed the muggle-born killing beast, how although she felt that it could not be Hagrid, she felt a sense of relief when he was expelled, when all the attacks had stopped. 

 And of course it was Tom Riddle who caught him. And of course it just made her admire him more and more. 

 But she would keep her distance. She’d admire him from afar. She couldn’t begin to imagine the torment Tiernan would put her through if he found out she liked Tom Riddle. 

 “Yes! Looks like we’re invited, Mulciber,” Avery exclaimed, pumping his fist. Tiernan rolled his eyes at his friends, “you’re invited every year,” he replied, just as Tom entered the Great Hall, and they fell into silence as he approached. 

 She could see Tom over the tops of the heads of the Hufflepuffs in front of her, and she slowly sat up to get a better look. That was when Tom blinked up and she swore their eyes met, just for a moment, before he settled down into his seat, disappearing behind the heads of the other Hogwarts students. She felt herself flush as she hunched over her plate again, a small smile creeping onto her face. 

 “My Lord,” Tiernan Lestrange nodded as Tom settled himself between him and Liam Mulciber. Tom nodded in acknowledgement as he placed a few pieces of chicken onto his plate, and Tiernan’s gaze flickered from him to the rolled parchment in his lap. “My mother sent an owl,” he said, and Tom hummed in reply, nodding. Still, he said nothing. 

 Tiernan shifted in his seat and cleared his throat, and Tom, with his eyes slightly narrower than before, peered up at him, waiting for him to say whatever it was he wanted to say. Tiernan turned pink beneath Tom’s stare, and he presented the letter to him, Tom’s dark eyes flicking down to the inky black words on the scroll. 

 “My family, we… we hold a Christmas party every year,” he said, and when Tom glanced back up at him, he flushed again. “And you would’ve been invited! But it’s only for the oldest pure-blood families, and, well…” Tiernan trailed off when he saw the shadow looming over Tom’s already dark gaze, and Mulciber and Avery shifted in their seats uncomfortably. 

 Tiernan cleared his throat again, “but I’ve been speaking very highly of you to my mother. She wants you to come,” he said, his lips curving into a smile. Tom pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek as he stared back up at Lestrange, handing back the parchment. “Yes, I know. I can read, Tiernan,” Tom said sternly, and Tiernan clawed at his knees to prevent himself from trembling. 

 “Yes… well…” Lestrange said shakily as he rolled back up the parchment, slipping it inside one of his pockets. “…I’d really love it if you come. We’ll all be there— me, Avery, Mulciber, Rosier, Dolohov, Nott— and our families too, so you can meet them all!”

 Tom took a bite out of one of the chicken wings on his plate, placing it back down before wringing a napkin between his hands, gesturing towards Lestrange’s robes with his head. “Who is your mother referring to when she speaks of ‘the Girl?’” He asked, and heat crept back into Tiernan’s cheeks until they glowed scarlet. “Oh, you know… my sister…” he muttered, and Tom’s brow furrowed. “Why wouldn’t she refer to her daughter by name?” Tom questioned, turning his body to fully face Tiernan, his interest piqued. “What does she mean by she ‘cannot have any more of her kind in the house?’”

 The other boys leaned in to hear what Tiernan would say next, and he knew now that there was no way to get out of this. He’d have to tell the truth not only to his friends, but to his Lord. 

 “Forgive me, my Lord, for asking this of you,” Tiernan hung his head and muttered lowly towards Tom. “But I must ask that you promise you won’t tell another soul about this. This goes for all of you, too,” he said towards Tom and the rest of their group. Lestrange gazed into each of their eyes and held contact for a moment with each, to make it known that he was serious. 

 Tom shrugged, “I promise.”

 Tiernan inhaled a shaky breath, before finally saying, “she… as you know, is not my sister,” he began. “And she’s not pure-blood, either. She’s a mudblood.”

 Mulciber, Avery, and the others all leaned closer and broke into a sea of murmurs, “that sure explains a lot. But a mudblood? In the Lestrange family?” Tom remained silent as he stared at Lestrange, beckoning for him to continue. “Her filthy muggle parents left her on our doorstep after she was born. My mother and father took her in purely out of the goodness of their hearts,” Tiernan sat up and stuck out his chest proudly. “And they kept her, even when they learned where she came from. So you see now why she never comes to the party. Mother always tells guests she’s never home for the party anyways.”

 The boys all laughed and ridiculed her while Tom, again, remained silent, staring absentmindedly down at his plate. He wasn’t sure what to think, how to feel. All this time he’d spent watching her, only catching glimpses of her from afar when he felt a gaze on him, watching as she turned away whenever she saw him with Tiernan and the others. 

 All this time he secretly lusted after her, the outcast of her family, the black sheep of the family. All this time he felt some sort of connection to her, all this time he felt he could relate to her because he, too, felt like an outcast. The outcast of the orphanage he grew up in, the outcast of the Gaunt family, the outcast of his muggle father’s family. 

 Tom Riddle never belonged anywhere, but he belonged here, at Hogwarts. And he knew she felt the same. 

 But would things change now that he knew she was muggle-born? Should he feel disgusted with himself now for ever thinking of pursuing her, for ever thinking of taking her in whichever way he pleased? Was it wrong of him to still lust for her, to still think of having his way with her? 

 Tom was clever but this, this he wasn’t sure of. 

 “So where has she been hiding during the parties?” Liam Mulciber asked, and Tiernan Lestrange snickered. “Mother and father force her up into her room. Says they’ll punish her accordingly if they hear even the smallest of noises coming from her room,” he replied, the boys erupting into another fit of snickers. Tom was still silent as he stared at his plate— he suddenly didn’t feel like eating. 

 The next day, she and a group of other Hogwarts students waiting to go home for the holidays gathered at Hogsmeade station, waiting for the arrival of the train. She snuck glances over to where Tiernan and his friends stood together, Tom in the middle of them all. She flushed and turned away when his head began to turn, and she moved to hide herself behind a few of her fellow Hufflepuffs, safe away from Tom Riddle’s view. 

 The train’s whistle echoed as the train emerged, slowing down to a stop before them. She dared gaze back over to where Tiernan stood with his friends as she waited for the doors to open, and when she did, Tom was no longer looking her way. She let herself stare for a little moment longer before she felt someone tap her shoulder, and blinked at the Hufflepuff girl in front of her with brown skin and shoulder length black hair she recognized as Clara Wingrave. 

 “Are you coming?” Clara asked, a furrow in her brow. She blinked and nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat back down. “Yes, sorry Clara,” she mumbled as she followed the Hufflepuff girl onto the train, sliding into the seat opposite the one Clara chose. She sighed as she settled herself into the seat just as footsteps thundered through the train, and she hardly had any time to register what was happening before their compartment door slid open, revealing none other than Tiernan Lestrange, Clarence Avery, and Liam Mulciber, Tom and the other three boys nowhere in sight. 

 Clara narrowed her eyes at their intruders, “hey, go find your own—“

 “Shut it,” Mulciber hissed towards her. “No one allowed you to speak.”

 Clara’s glare hardened as Tiernan leaned down to block his adopted sister’s view, his lips curving into a cheshire grin. Her hands balled into fists, and she suddenly felt the strongest urge to slam them right into that crooked smile of his. 

 “Mother sent the owl this afternoon,” Tiernan muttered, and he needn’t elaborate, for she was already used to the rules she was forced to follow every year during the annual Lestrange Christmas party. “Oh yeah? And let me guess…  I’m not to speak of the party, I’m not to attend the party, I’m to stay up in my room and if I make even the smallest of noises, I’ll be punished accordingly? Is that all?” She asked quietly, so that the girl across from her could not hear. 

 Tiernan scowled and grabbed for her throat, much to Clara’s shock as she shrieked, giving her a firm shake. She pressed her lips closed and gazed into Tiernan’s dark umber eyes as they gleamed with mischief. “You dare give me attitude?” He tsked. “You just wait. I’ll tell mother and father about this and—“

 “—Tiernan? Won’t you leave her alone for Merlin’s sake, the train is about to leave.”

 She along with Clara, Tiernan, and his friends snapped their heads to the open compartment door where the Head Boy now stood, a furrow in his brow. He narrowed his eyes every so slightly, and he looked irritated. She flushed when she saw him and turned away as Tiernan released her, dusting off his clothes. She glimpsed up at him as he turned to leave, not without making sure to flash a dirty look her way over his shoulder before he slid the compartment door closed behind him. 

 “What the hell was that about?” Clara gasped and shook her head in disbelief. “I know it is common for siblings to fight, but that was just absurd.”

 She shook her head as she shifted in her seat, gazing out the window as the train began to move, and Hogsmeade station grew further and further away until it disappeared altogether. 

 “He’s not my brother.”

 The train ride back to King’s Cross Station seemed to go by quicker than usual, much to her dismay. She wished she could stay on the train forever rather than have to go back to living with the Lestranges, and wished that she had an invisibility cloak so that she could hide and be on her way back to Hogwarts within the hour. 

 But, since she didn’t, she sighed as she collected her bag with her few belongings and exited her compartment, stepping out of the train and onto Platform 9¾, where her eyes immediately fell upon the Mother and the Father where they stood, eyes narrowed when they fell upon their muggle-born adopted daughter. She huffed as she made her way over to them, standing beside the Mother with a considerable amount of distance between them. 

 “Where is my son?” The Mother asked through gritted teeth, and she shrugged her shoulders. “He and his friends should be getting off soon,” she replied, not daring to turn to look at the Mother. Sure enough, almost as soon as she finished saying it, there stepped out Tiernan and his friends, Tom Riddle close behind. The other boys left to greet their own parents, but Tiernan and Tom made their way over to where she stood beside the Lestranges, and she flushed. 

 Why was Tom coming over here?

 “Tiernan,” the Mother smiled, drawing her son into her chest for a hug. “And you must be… Tom, is that right? Hogwarts’ Head Boy?”

 She glanced over to where Tom stood, a charming smile plastered his face and she could feel heat creep back up her neck. She turned away from him before he could catch her staring.

 “It is nice to meet you, Mr and Mrs Lestrange,” Tom greeted them, shaking Mr Lestrange’s hand and giving the top of Mrs Lestrange’s a polite kiss. “Oh!” Mrs Lestrange giggled. “I like this one. The manners!”

 Tom flashed his best smile but snuck a glimpse over to where the Lestranges adopted daughter stood, her arms crossed over herself as she looked anywhere but at him. He eyed her up and down just as Mrs Lestrange clutched either of his forearms, and he was forced to tear his attention away from the girl behind her.

 “Tiernan here tells me you’re from the orphanage?” Mrs Lestrange asked and Tiernan felt like shriveling away beside Tom. Tom only nodded in reply to which Mrs Lestrange tutted, “how about this? You’re welcome to come and stay with us for the holidays. We’d be delighted to have you.”

 She froze at this and her lips fell agape with the intent to protest, but nothing came out. She knew nothing she said would matter anyways, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to handle being around Tom for the entirety of the holidays. She’d been comfortable leaving him at a safe distance away from her at school, but now she’d have to deal with seeing him at the Lestranges? She simply wouldn’t be able to trust herself being around him for so long. 

 “Thank you for your hospitality,” Tom beamed as Mrs Lestrange fussed over him, leading him away from the platform, and she, the Father, and Tiernan followed close behind. Tiernan made a point of ramming his shoulder into her every once in a while, and it took everything within her to control herself, to not shout or push him away. The Father saw this was happening but did nothing to stop it. 

 It wasn’t longer before they finally entered the Leaky Cauldron and made their way to the fireplace, and they each grabbed a handful of Floo Powder. The Father went first, then Mrs Lestrange, and Tiernan before it was down to her and Tom. It occurred to her that this was the first time they had ever been alone together, and she forced herself to look away as he stepped into the fireplace. 

 Tom was no stranger to her shy nature. He tilted his head to try and get a better look at her, watching as she peeked over at him only to find he was staring, and looked away again. He smiled, exclaimed “Lestrange Manor!” and he was gone, leaving her alone. 

 Soon, she too was back in the Lestrange Manor, and she nearly ran into Tom where he stood just before the fireplace. Her palms instinctively fell onto his back to find her balance, and oh, how she felt she’d explode where she stood. 

 It was the first time she had ever touched Tom, and she truly did not expect him to be so warm. Tom glanced back over his shoulder when he felt her hands on him and swiftly stepped out of her way, feeling her touch lingering on his back where she had touched him. Something ignited within him at that touch, and every doubt he had about still wanting to pursue her seemed to fray away. 

 He wanted her. 

 “Welcome to our home!” The Mother exclaimed with a smile as she dusted off the shoulder of Tom’s coat where some ash had fallen, letting her palms soothe back down all the way to his elbows. “Tiernan will show you where you will be staying. Feel free to make yourself at home.”

 She began to follow Tiernan and Tom as they headed for the staircase leading to the next level, but just before she could, the Mother grabbed her by the elbow and tugged her backwards to face her and the Father. She scowled down at her adopted daughter as soon as she made certain Tom was out of sight and leaned down until they were eye level. 

 “Listen to me, girl, and listen to me good,” the Mother said lowly. “You are to be on your best behavior while we have a guest in the home. You are to stay up in your room for the holidays except for meals, do you understand me, girl?”

 She blinked— normally, she’d hate the fact that she had to stay up in her room all hours of the day, but instead, she felt relief surge through her. At least she wouldn’t have to see Tom, at least she wouldn’t make a fool out of herself in front of him. 

 “Yes, Madam Lestrange,” she said as the Mother released her elbow, and the Father stepped forward, leaning down to eye level.

 “And you mustn’t leave your room under any circumstances during the party tomorrow evening,” he muttered. “If I hear even the smallest of sounds coming from your bedroom, I will punish accordingly and do understand, I will not show mercy.”

 She heard this rule every year, but still to this day, the way the Father threatened her sent chills down her spine. “Yes, Mr Lestrange,” she nodded and when the Father waved her off, she walked as fast as she could towards the stairs, practically sprinting up the steps and down the hallway until she finally reached her bedroom. 

 Tom and the rest of the Lestranges were already in the dining room when she finally bounded down the steps, and he could tell Mr and Mrs Lestrange were using all the self restraint they had within them to not blow up at her, most likely for his sake. He watched as she sat down across the table from where he and Tiernan sat, carefully only placing a small selection of food onto her plate. 

 He glanced back over to where Mr Lestrange sat on one end of the long dining table before looking over at Mrs Lestrange on the other end. Neither paid her any attention, or showed any intention of speaking to her. She didn’t seem to want to talk either. 

 “So, Tom, Tiernan tells me you’re exceptional at Defense Against the Dark Arts,” Mr Lestrange said, shaking Tom from his thoughts. He forced a small smile as he nodded, wiping his hands on his napkin. “Yes, actually, I wish to become Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher one day.”

 She listened as she finished her dinner as quickly as she could, but she didn’t stick around to hear the rest of Tom’s story. She gazed over at the Mother who only nodded that she may be excused before she gathered her plate and hurried off to the kitchen where the Lestranges house elf cleaned. 

 “Thank you for the food, Gimbel,” she nodded at the house elf who only nodded back as she set her dirty plate on the pile of unclean dishes the house elf had stacked on the countertop. She hurried back upstairs where she shut herself in her room, sighing as she fell onto her mattress. 

 All she had left to endure was breakfast tomorrow morning, and she’d be free of seeing Tom for the rest of the day. She rested her arm over her eyes, her heart beating against her chest. She couldn’t believe the boy she’s been pining after since her first year is in her house, staying in only a few rooms down from hers. How she wished she could talk to him, to treat him like a guest rather than act like he wasn’t even there at all. 

 She even, for a moment, wished she was a true member of the Lestrange family, so that she could be treated as an equal. 

 Tom hardly saw her for breakfast the next morning, for as soon as he and Tiernan had entered the dining room, she was seemingly finished with her food, and once again scurried off towards the kitchen as she did the night before. Tiernan scoffed when he saw this as they took their seats on one side of the long dining table, loading their plates with biscuits and bacon and eggs. 

 “I apologize for her… strange behavior, my Lord,” Tiernan muttered to home as Tom took a sip of milk. “She’s always like this, you see.” Tom didn’t care to listen to whatever else Tiernan had to say about his adopted sister. Tom had already made up his mind about her, it was how he’d find the chance to talk to her that was the problem. 

 She seemed to avoid him like the plague, and he knew he more than likely wouldn’t be seeing her at all the rest of the day, since the Lestranges locked her in her room while they hosted their party. Tom was clever, so surely he’d be able to find a way around it?

 But as the time for the party to begin approached, he still came up with nothing. He had no excuse for wanting to see her, and with Tiernan practically breathing down his neck, he hadn’t any chance of sneaking away any time soon. He wasn’t even sure if he’d be able to see her at all when the party began and Avery, Mulciber, Rosier, Dolohov, and Nott all came rushing towards him and Lestrange. He had no space absolutely no space and no time to sneak away. 

 “Don’t worry,” Lestrange was saying to his friends. “The mudblood is upstairs in her bedroom. Won’t be coming out at all tonight, that one.” The boys snickered as they called her names and made jokes about her, but Tom wasn’t listening. Even though it seemed as if all hope of seeing her tonight was lost, he was still thinking of every possible excuse he could come up with to sneak away. 

 But fortunately, he wouldn’t have to contemplate for much longer. 

 “Blast,” Lestrange cursed, feeling around his pockets. Clarence Avery furrowed his eyebrows as he watched his friend, the others soon joining in. “What is it?” Liam Mulciber asked as Lestrange emptied each of his pockets, coming up with nothing. “Left my damn wand in my room,” Lestrange muttered, and Tom perked at this. Lestrange turned to Tom and stepped closer to murmur close to his ear, “forgive me for asking you of this, my Lord, but I simply do not trust the others. Will you go upstairs and retrieve my wand for me? I can’t go upstairs, mother and father said I need to stay down here.”

 If Tom was the type, he’d laugh and jump up and down at the request. All day he had been trying to come up with some sort of excuse to slip away from the party, and now he finally had one. He cleared his throat and nodded, “of course,” he said to Lestrange before making his way over towards the staircase, but he did not stop at Tiernan’s bedroom door as he passed. 

 Instead, he walked a little further down the Lestranges upstairs hallway, stopping at the last door on the left where she was, the black wooden door the only thing separating him from her now. Tom raised a fist to the door and knocked, and for a moment, it was silent on the other side. 

 Who could possibly be knocking at her door?

 She knew it could not be any of the Lestranges, for they would’ve just burst through the door without any respect for her privacy anyways. It couldn’t be Gimbel either, the house elf never came to her room. She grew weary as she closed her book and set it down on the mattress beside her, clearing her throat before murmuring a low, “come in.”

 She watched as the handle to her door twisted and it swung open, and when she saw who was standing there in her doorway, she felt as if all the air had been knocked from her lungs. She’d only ever dreamed of Tom Riddle being in her bedroom, but never before did she actually think he’d really come in here. 

 But there he was. There Tom Riddle stood, closing the door behind him and turning to gaze at her where she sat on her bed, his eyes entrancing as they were dark. Even from across the room, his irises seemed to pull her in like they were magnets and she was metal, and she lost herself further and further into his soul…

 “Forgive me,” Tom said, and she blinked. Those were the first words she had ever heard him direct towards her. “I would not usually barge into a lady’s room like this.”

 Fire raged across her skin, up her neck, and to her cheeks until they were seared with flame. She suddenly had the strongest urge to open the window, wondering if she had broken into a sweat yet or not. 

 She blinked again, and the corner of Tom’s lips curved into a soft smile. He knew he already had her wrapped around his finger. 

 “Your brother thought he left something in here,” he said, gesturing towards her desk against the far wall of the room. “May I?” 

 She could not think of anything Tiernan could have possibly left in her room, but she wouldn’t dare question Tom, so instead she nodded, and she watched as he strode across the room, opening her desk drawers and sifting through its contents. 

 Of course, Tom wasn’t searching for anything. But she needn’t know that yet. 

 “Hm,” Tom hummed, closing the drawers he had opened and turning to face her again, leaning back against the wooden desk. “Perhaps, your brother was mistaken.”

 She felt small underneath Tom’s gaze, and she felt as though she could curl herself into a ball right now and shrivel away. But instead she sat still on her bed, unable to speak, unable to move. Tom chuckled and she pinched her bottom lip between her teeth, mentally cursing herself for being so shy. Typical Hufflepuff, she could imagine her adopted brother sneering. 

 “You know, you should really join the party,” Tom said, hoping to break the ice between them. She soothed the skin of her arms with her palms and rubbed at her elbows, shaking her head. “The Mother and the Father won’t let me attend,” she managed to speak at last, and she gulped down the lump in her throat. 

 Although Tom already knew the answer, he still tilted his head, feigning curiosity. “Why is that?” He asked, and she swallowed again, forcing back down the truth. She dropped her head and shrugged, “because I’m different.”

 Tom blinked, and he suddenly felt like he was ten years old again, still living at the orphanage he grew up in. For over ten years, he grew up unlike all the other children, and even at an early and young age, he knew that he was different. It wasn't until Albus Dumbledore came to visit him that he finally understood why he felt this way. 

 It was different in her case, because at least she knew why she was different. But they were still treated the same, like they were misfits, rejects, outcasts. It was then that he understood the connection he felt towards her with a different meaning, that he first noticed this string tethering them together. 

 They had both been lost before, but just like he had found himself, she could be found too. Tom could be the one to find her, for he seemed to be the only one who understood her. 

 Tom’s footsteps permeated her bedroom as he made his way over towards her bed, setting himself down on the mattress beside her. She flinched when she felt the bed dip beneath his weight, and it was then that it occurred to her just how close he was. 

 They had never ever been this close before. 

 “Why are you different?” He asked, gazing down at her as she peered up, their eyes meeting closer than they ever have before. For a moment she said nothing, only continued to lose herself further in the dark depths of the treacherous caverns that were his eyes. He studied her— her eyes, her eyebrows, her nose, her cheeks, her chin, her lips. 

 It was no secret that she was beautiful, even Tom could admit that. But she was vulnerable, it was clear the moment Tom met her eyes again. And Tom could work with vulnerability. 

 “Well…” she trailed off, contemplating how much she should tell him. Tom’s fingers grazed against her knee and she trembled, her eyes flicking down to his hand and back up to his face. “You can tell me,” Tom said warmly. “You can tell me anything.”

 She blinked. Never before had she heard those words. Nobody has ever wanted to hear her story before, for they all thought they already knew it all by now. She was the child who was left on the Lestranges doorstep as a baby, the child the Lestranges took in to ‘raise as their own’ because they just couldn’t bear giving such a young girl away since they were so kindhearted. 

 So never had she ever thought she’d be given the chance to tell someone about herself, to let someone read her story. But there was something about Tom, and she felt like she could trust him. 

 “I’m… I was left on their doorstep as a baby,” she began, and Tom nodded, encouraging her to continue. “I was… I am muggle-born…” she trailed off, wincing as she searched Tom’s face for disgust, but he didn’t even recoil. He only gazed at her with that same patient stare, waiting for her to keep going. 

 So she did. 

 “They hate me for it,” she added. “For having dirty blood. I’m not sure why they kept me, I could’ve been a Squib or not even a witch at all for that matter. Thankfully, I got my Hogwarts letter when Tiernan did.” She wrung her hands together in her lap, Tom’s warmth drawing her even closer to him. “It certainly didn’t help that I wasn’t sorted into Slytherin.”

 She swallowed the lump in her throat back down again, and Tom let his palm rest on her knee again, his touch warm, like a kiss from the sun itself. She felt relaxed when he touched her, despite how nervous she actually was inside. 

 “They treat me… so bad,” she whispered. “They treat me like I’m nothing.”

 Her voice wavered before it broke, and when it was clear that she wouldn’t be able to continue, the hand that had previously been resting on her knee retreated so that it may instead reach her face. Gently, he gripped her chin between his thumb and forefinger and forced her face up to his, her teary eyes searching his for something, anything she could hold onto. Warmth, comfort, reassurance, hope, anything. 

 So Tom would tell her what she wanted to hear. 

 “You are not nothing,”  Tom murmured, and her lip quivered the longer she stared at him. “You are somebody. Don’t let them take that feeling away from you.”

 She blinked and her brow softened, her vision blurring with tears. She was somebody. Tom Riddle thought she was somebody. 

 And somehow, that seemed to be all she needed to hear. 

 A silence ensued and they only gazed deeper into one another’s eyes. With the grip still on her chin, he drew her near and he leaned down to meet her halfway, his lips pressing against hers softly, as tenderly as he could. He felt the way she shuddered under his touch, as if his kiss was a tranquilizer, and she was becoming limp and pliant, all for him. 

 So he kissed her deeper, he kissed her harder. His tongue was warm in her mouth as she let him reign dominance over her own, her hands shaking as one cupped the side of his face and the other grabbed his bicep. 

 This was what Tom Riddle had been fantasizing about for years. To have her compliant beneath him, to have her completely under his control. He loved how easy it was, how easy it was to have her. Although he’d admit, this connection he felt towards her was growing, and it was growing at an alarming rate. As he pushed her down onto the mattress and trailed his kisses down from her lips to her jaw, he found that his heart burned, as if she had set it aflame, and this feeling was foreign to him. 

 He had no idea what this tenderness he felt was, whether he dared call it love or not. For eighteen years, he was under the impression that he couldn’t love, that love simply just wasn’t in the cards for him, and he was completely okay with that. 

 But this feeling, whatever it was he felt for her, came unexpectedly, and he was unsure whether or not he should embrace it or push it away. 

 For now, he worked at unbuttoning her blouse as he sucked marks into her neck, his tongue swirling around her collarbone. 

 She pressed her lips together to contain her noises as Tom slipped her blouse from her shoulders and down her arms, discarding it down onto the floor altogether. He made quick work of her brassiere, his lips previously kissing her collarbone venturing down between the valley of her breasts, sucking marks onto either mounds of flesh. 

 “T… Tom,” she mewled as he pressed a kiss to one of her nipples, kneading her opposite breast with his palm. He hummed in reply, gazing up at her through hooded lids as he sucked the erect bud, releasing it with a wet pop before doing the same to the other. She squirmed beneath him and squeezed her eyes shut, arching her back up off of the mattress. “T… Tom, I… they will punish me if they hear me.”

 Tom smirked against her skin as he released her nipple from his mouth and kissed down her stomach, past her belly button, all the way to the hem of her skirt. He pushed himself up by the elbows as he hooked his fingers over the hem, beginning to tug them down her thighs. 

 “Then I suggest you stay quiet,” he said simply as he removed her skirt from her ankles, her panties soon joining the sea of clothes on the floor as well. 

 She sank her teeth down into her bottom lip so hard when he placed a kiss just above her aching clit, she feared she’d draw blood. Tom eyed her through his hooded stare as he teasingly dipped his tongue past her folds, testing the waters. He watched as her face scrunched and she kicked her legs, arching her back at just the simplest of touches. 

 So eager, he thought. 

 He soothed her stomach with one of his palms as he pecked her clit, watching the way she trembled and writhed, whining behind closed lips, silent pleading for more. Tears broke past the glossy barrier of her eyes and began to spill down her cheeks like crystals, and he smirked as he pressed his lips down against her heat, sucking her clit as it throbbed and ached to be touched. 

 She threw her hands down on the mattress on either side of her, her fingernails clawing at the sheets as he flicked his tongue up and down her slit, humming at the taste of her nectar on his tongue. She tried to watch as he lapped up the juices spilling down her folds before flicking his tongue against her bud again, but she couldn’t even hold herself up, much less keep her eyes open for longer than a few seconds. 

 “P… please,” she mewled quietly as one of her hands ventured down between her legs to grip at his hair, and she ground her hips against his face, eager for more. That was when Tom stopped and pried her hand away from his head, and she blinked up at him through her bleary eyes. 

 “Do you want to come?” He asked as he unbuttoned his shirt, shouldering it off of him and tossing it to the floor with the rest of the discarded clothes. She gaped at the sight of his chest, but he grabbed her face again and forced her to look at him, squishing her cheeks between his thumb and forefinger. “I expect you to answer me when I ask you a question.”

 She trembled and felt her walls clench at his words, nodding up and down. “Yes. Yes please,” she whimpered as he tore his hand away from her face to work on his belt, tossing it and his trousers away until he stood before her completely in the nude, in all of his glory. 

 He was beautiful. And he was already beautiful to begin with but this, she never could have even imagined how he looked underneath the clothes. He wasn’t muscular or built like a statue or even a Quidditch player, but still, his arms and torso were toned, and his cock…

 She could feel her patience slipping away the longer he kept her waiting. She watched as he took a hold of his cock and stared down at her, maintaining eye contact as he gave himself a few pumps, his other hand absentmindedly stroking up and down her slick. She bit down onto her lip as she gazed up at him, watching him in anticipation for what was to come next. 

 Tom leaned back down to her face and captured her lips with his, unable to resist the temptation any longer. He kissed her again and again and again as he slipped inside of her, her moans muffled by his mouth on hers. She instinctively wrapped her arms around his shoulders and dug her fingernails into his skin, etching crescent moons into his flesh. Tom broke their kiss and let his forehead drop onto hers as he rocked his hips into her, slowly at first. One of her hands slithered to cup the back of his neck as tears streamed down the sides of her face, never feeling this good in all her years. 

 Tom let his gaze fall upon her face again, her eyelids squeezed shut but her face scrunched in pleasure, every once in a while muffling her sounds by pressing her face into his shoulder. He began to thrust harder than before, her legs wrapping around his waist and squeezing, beckoning him further inside of her. So he fucked her harder, and harder and harder and harder as if he intended to break her, to shatter her into a million pieces. 

 And maybe that was the goal all along. 

 Never has Tom felt this good, never had he felt so intoxicated by another person, and never did he believe he could be so attached to someone else before. Part of him hated it, part of him wanted to throw it away and stomp on it and set it on fire. 

 But the other part of him embraced it, another part of him felt powerful as he fucked into her with reckless abandon, powerful having someone underneath his control. He never imagined another person could feel so good, he never imagined someone else could make him feel so infinite. As far as he was concerned, he was doing just fine on his own. 

 But this was different. This was on a whole other level of power. He felt strong, even when she clenched around him and gushed around his cock, even when he felt himself so close to the edge, so close to releasing himself for another person. 

 He pushed away from from her and groped her chest with one hand, holding onto her shoulder with the other as he fucked her harder than before, without a care for how much noise they were making. He’d make it up to the Lestranges, he’d go down and tell them it was him making all the noise, it wasn’t like they’d punish him. 

 For now, he focused on chasing his release, on the way she felt around him, on the way he was so close to climax he could practically taste it. She sobbed beneath him and her lips fell agape with the intent of screaming his name but he clapped his hand around her mouth before she could as he thrusted again and again and again until finally he released, and warmth surged through her. 

 Tom’s chest heaved and he fell on top of her as she cried, motionless beneath him. Sweat made her skin glisten and tears made her cheeks swollen and sticky, but he found that he admired her all the same. 

 This warmth in his chest was new, and it was a feeling he couldn’t quite place or put a finger on. But if whatever it was could make him feel like he was on top of the world, like he was the most powerful being on this Earth, like he was infinite…

 …then surely he could learn to embrace it. 

a/n; oop this is the longest imagine i’ve ever written 🙈 thank you so much for the request anon! i wrote this one up pretty fast because i really liked the idea, it definitely wasn’t stupid! so i hope this is close to what you’ve been imagining!! and feel free to send in more requests if you’d like! i love writing requests!

| 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 |

@darkmoviesquotespizza 🥹🫶

[evanescewriting]

"i can see all the colors"

above me they are shining and finally, I can see all the colors that surround me.

CONTENT: Vague descriptions of injury, descriptions of character death, potentially disturbing sensory (rotting corpse smell mentioned, etc.) comforting character death (for Curly), regret (for Anya’s situation), j***y is not named (🖕) SYNOPSIS: Captain Curly gets a glimpse of the universe outside the foamed up walls of the drifting Tulpar. AUTHOR'S NOTE: mouthwashing folks how are we feeling about that ending

In the end,

no one came.

No one came to free him from the cryopod. No one came to free the bodies scattered around the ship - no one to bring them home. Or for that one, dead, rotting pixel he had no choice but to now see - no one to throw him out into the endless universe like trash.

It was just him.

The bodies.

The tulpar.

And the cryopod he wasn’t meant for.

God, if one could hear him this far from Earth, he would give anything, anything, to be a captain worthy of that honor. Anything to go back in time, pick up the pieces of his sense he let fall to his feet, shattering and cutting him and all that once stood around and with him. And how they bled. How they bled so much that he thought, perhaps, the crimson beneath his feet was a red carpet that marked his glory. His leadership.

Perhaps this was punishment.

To want to give everything to go back as you freeze in a pod, slowly, slowly dying with no one to come save you.

A captain always goes down with his ship.

He wishes he could close his eyes - burning from dryness, and the cold. Perhaps this was punishment too. For not seeing. Now, all he could do was see. He felt as if he had been stripped away of everything. Gone were the skin and limbs. Leaving only behind the most vulnerable, most human mechanisms in his body. To see. To hear. To create sounds of pain, sadness, and desperation. He was a canvas of red - a tiny splotch of blue amongst the various crimson shades. Scaled small on the canvas, but within it so much knowledge. So many things that had finally been seen.

Time stretches by so slowly.

It rakes its nails across him and his ship. Chipping away at resolve and cleaning the remnants of sanity from his mind.

And still,

no one comes.

His ship is failing. His body is failing. What was it, that saying he had thought of not long ago as he considered his punishment? Ah- a captain always goes down with his ship. Well, Captain Curly was going down with his ship.

And his crew.

They are rotting. He is rotting.

And how long had it been, counting his time through the days, hours, and seconds that had gone by since he was.. not this. He felt that he had become something more. Something different. But truly - he was still himself, wasn’t he? The crash had changed him, of course, but isn’t that similar to the process of a sudden metamorphosis? It felt more burden than butterfly - but what if there were still the remnants of the caterpillar in him? Would it be somehow possible to call upon them? To use the skills from the past and translate them to something he could do now?

Yes - yes he thinks perhaps he could. He could call upon them. Use the strength of this form to deliver the most powerful something of all. Do something so very caterpillar (human) while being so butterfly (in his view, not human).

In this freezing, empty chrysalis, he reverts back to his roots, opening his jaw with pain - but that was a familiar thing already - and wheezing out something that only reverberates within the chamber. Echoing down the long hallway of his punishment, lost on the ears of the dead.

“S-S - orry.”

And then no one came.

And then he could not close his eyes.

And then, just before the end, he realized he was neither caterpillar, nor butterfly, nor human, nor anything more or less than that - but maybe, just maybe - he was forgiven.

And then he went down with his ship.

The metal walls and layers of the Tulpar had unraveled itself. All that remained was the exoskeleton of a ship - bones and ribs and skull - drifting through space. One, singular pod still connected to it. Two long dead bodies bound in their infinite voyage.

But maybe that wasn’t true.

Because he feels himself, somehow, come out from the pod - standing just on the edge of the peeling metal. Feet planted impossibly confidently with the absence of gravity.

Beyond death - Captain Curly can still see.

There are so many colors.

Purple, blue, orange, red - a cornucopia of color beyond imagination. Hues and shades the human mind could not even digest. He can see them all before him.

“I think my favorite might be the blues.” There is a voice behind him - sounding different when it lacks timidness.

“Guess mine!” Cheery, useless ray of sunshine that beams so far away from the sun.

“Green.” Straight to the point. But Curly knows that underneath the tone is a fondness for the two.

He can feel them behind him. Eyes turned to the mass of color above.

“Close! It’s pink, Swansea. Me and Anya’s colors make purple.” Daisuke says, and he just knows that maybe he is putting his hands on his hips in a ‘see how greatly that works out?’ motion.

For a moment, silence passes. Comfortable. Peaceful.

“What about you, Captain? What’s your favorite?”

And then he turns - and they are before them.

The crew. The three he should have saved. The three he could not save. The three he failed.

Whatever form he takes now - they stare at him with indifference. Passive curiosity on the simplicity of his favorite enveloped in the beautiful mass, far away from life.

He feels, somewhere within, the feeling of a held in cry or scream that only comes out as a freeing-

“Maybe the yellow. But the pink is nice - so is the blue.”

“Yellow is the best choice.” Swansea voices his agreement as he looks back above him.

“Yeah. Yellow is a good choice, Captain.” And of course, Daisuke’s eyes follow his mentors, even here. Even now.

“Blue is the best choice, though.” Anya says as she joins their gazes lifting back up.

He wants to ask them: was this always just right outside those walls? All these colors he could never see? All these ideas and concepts? All that pain and suffering?

But he knows that they’ll tell him yes, it was. And only now can you see it, Captain.

Only now can you see all the freedom, the relief, the joy, the stars and their colors.

And tell us - tell us when you come to that conclusion, too.

Tell us if you think it is beautiful.

[darkstar225]

Sick Spider-Girl ft Wanda Maximoff and Natasha Romanoff

The Avengers Tower was bathed in a soft, dim light as the sun dipped below the New York skyline. In one of the rooms, Y/N Parker lay in bed, a silhouette against the pale glow. The room was quiet, except for the occasional muted sounds of the city below.

Y/N, known as Spider-Girl, was usually full of energy and vitality. However, tonight was different. The fever that had gripped her was relentless, leaving her feeling weak and achy. She curled under the blankets, shivering despite the warmth in the room. Her thoughts were foggy, and every move she made seemed to take a monumental effort.

Down the hall, in the living room, the air was thick with tension. Wanda Maximoff and Natasha Romanoff, two powerful and formidable women, were locked in a silent battle of wills. It was a fight that neither seemed willing to concede, even for the sake of the person lying sick in the other room.

Y/N had sensed the tension earlier, and it hurt more than any fever. The strained glances, the clipped words, it was all too familiar. The three of them were a makeshift family, brought together by circumstance and choice. Y/N, Wanda, and Natasha had shared laughter, tears, and battles, but tonight, the air was heavy with unspoken words.

In the quiet of her room, Y/N tossed and turned. She wasn't just sick physically, the emotional toll was equally overwhelming. She wished she could intervene, and smooth things over between Wanda and Natasha, but her body refused to cooperate.

The distant murmur of their voices reached her ears, the rise and fall of argument that she couldn't quite make out. Y/N groaned, a pitiful sound muffled by the pillow. She wanted them to stop, to come in and check on her, but pride held her back.

As the verbal skirmish escalated in the living room, Y/N's stubbornness kicked in. She couldn't stand being a burden, especially in their current state of discord. Ignoring the protesting ache in her body, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed.

The floor felt unsteady beneath her feet as she stood. The younger girl clutched the edge of the dresser, trying to steady herself. Her vision blurred, and she wobbled, but she pressed on. She couldn't let them see her weakness, not now.

The argument in the living room had reached a crescendo when Y/N, determined but frail, stumbled out of her room. She moved silently down the corridor, hoping they wouldn't notice her. Yet, every step felt like an eternity, and the distance between her and the living room seemed insurmountable.

Just as Y/N reached the threshold of the living room, the door swung open, revealing the formidable figures of Wanda and Natasha. Their eyes widened in surprise as they took in Y/N's pale, feverish form.

Natasha - Y/N!  What are you doing out of bed?

Natasha's voice was a mix of concern and irritation.

Y/N - I'm fine. Just needed some air.

Y/N replied, her voice shaky but defiant. 

Wanda's eyes, however, were sharp. She stepped forward, reaching out to steady Y/N, but the teenage girl brushed her off. 

Y/N - I can take care of myself.

The tension in the room thickened. Y/N's stubbornness clashed with Wanda and Natasha's concern. The air crackled with unresolved emotions. Unbeknownst to all, the atmosphere held a combustible mixture that would soon explode.

Ignoring their worried glances, Y/N shuffled toward the living room door. The distant sound of the city seemed to call her. She needed space, a moment away from the suffocating presence of the people she cared about most.

As Y/N stepped into the living room, a sudden wave of dizziness swept over her. The world tilted, and for a moment, she felt weightless. Panic set in, but before she could react, everything went dark.

In the living room, Wanda and Natasha froze. The silence after Y/N's thud on the floor was deafening. Fear gripped them as they rushed to her side. Wanda's hands glowed with scarlet energy, ready to assess the situation.

Natasha - Y/N! 

Natasha's voice trembled as she tried to wake the fallen hero. Wanda's magic gently probed for signs of life.

A groan escaped Y/N's lips as consciousness flickered back. Wanda and Natasha sighed in relief, their earlier conflict momentarily forgotten. Y/N's eyes fluttered open, confusion and vulnerability shining in them.

Y/N - What happened? 

She mumbled, disoriented.

Wanda - You fainted. 

Wanda answered, her voice a mix of worry and relief.

Natasha brushed a strand of hair from Y/N's forehead. 

Natasha - You scared us, honey.

A sheepish smile played on Y/N's lips. 

Y/N - Guess I'm not as invincible as I thought.

Wanda and Natasha shared a glance, the unspoken tension still lingering. But at that moment, the priority was clear: taking care of Y/N. Wanda conjured a damp cloth, gently placing it on Y/N's forehead.

Natasha - You need to rest. 

Natasha said, her sternness softened by concern.

Y/N nodded with a rare vulnerability in her eyes. 

Y/N - Yeah, I guess I do.

As Wanda and Natasha helped Y/N back to bed, a silent understanding passed between them. The fight, the unspoken words, it could wait. Right now, they had a sick family member to take care of, and that took priority over everything else.

In the quiet of the room, as Y/N drifted into a restless sleep, the weight of their makeshift family hung in the air. There would be time for conversations and resolutions, but for now, they would stand together, united by the unbreakable bond forged through battles, laughter, and, most importantly, shared concern for one another.

[oh-no-its-bird]

I need. A fic. Where. Kakashi and Rin from the timeline established in "Ming Fan ends up in Naruto and massively derails the plot" end up in canon. And just kinda fucks around and gives us fun reactions n stuff

As a refresher, that timeline looks like this:

Izuna was first Hokage, Tobirama second Hokage, and Kagami the third

Sakumo was appointed 4th instead of Minato since Ming Fan interfered with his mission gone wrong

Kannabi bridge went unfortunately similar to canon, and Obito fell into Madara's hands.

With Sakumo still alive at the time, Kakashi was able to recover from this without the major personality shift, and due to a combination of Sakumo and Ming Fan's additional training, when it was Rin's turn on the chopping block, she instead survived and now continues to live as the Konoha's second jinchuriki

Obito attacked Konoha with the intention of releasing the kyuubi, and at the time Kushina and Minato were in the Senju compound for the birth

Mito got in his way, delaying him long enough for Sakumo to also arrive

In the fight, both Mito and Sakumo died (fucking thanks, Obito. I don't know if Kakashi's gonna be able to forgive u for that one this time around) but Kushina and Minato survived, and Naruto was born healthy and without the fox sealed into him

Kakashi is understandable devastated, and as recovery efforts begin, he's taken in by Minato and Kushina. He offers little fight against this.

With Sakumo's death, Kagami was once again appointed as the Hokage. After only a year or two of stabilizing Konoha + preparing his successor, he quickly gives Minato the hat, and retreats once again to retirement.

Minato makes Kakashi and Rin both ANBU, expressing his desire to have them by his side (at least this time they're slightly older, with Kakashi at 15 and Rin at 17) and puts them on home guard, specifically as Naruto's ANBU guards. It's an easy job, and helps Kakashi in particular to heal some, even if he gets even more rigid about things like rules and formalities

With Izuna as the first Hokage and Kagami as the third (and technical 5th) Uchiha-village relations were actually very good! Thanks to this, the Uchiha massacre was avoided entirely

Kakashi is raised pretty much as Naruto's very protective older brother, with Rin in a similar boat but she still has her own family so there isnt quite so much trauma fueled dependency from her end.

Naruto grows up to be alarmingly talented, with Kakashi and Rin tutoring him, and Minato and Kushina obviously doing their best (though Minato remains mostly busy due to the unfortunate realities of being a Hokage. Meanwhile Naruto is absolutely a total mommas boy)

Kakashi and Rin end up actually fighting over who gets to be Naruto's sensei (Naruto wants NEITHER OF THEM!!!!! HES A BIG BOY NOW STOP CODDLING HIM!!!!!)

Canon then proceeds mostly the same, though with some very obvious major changes

Somewhere along the way, Itachi is convinced to ditch Konoha even without the massacre, and later down the like Sasuke also follows suit to investigate what happened with his brother— though this time he leaves with orders from Minato to go undercover, and investigate Sound

(fucking THANKS dad!! -Naruto, probably, when he finds this out)

+ also I originally had some vague ideas for the 9 tails jinchuriki Sakura— with both her and Naruto eligible for the role when it times come to pass the responsibility down. Kushina ultimately going with the very selfish choice of not wanting her son to suffer the same fate as herself, choosing instead to vouch for the skilled civilian girl to take on the burden. Maybe incorporate that into it, that could be fun

BUT LIKE. Codependent queerplatonic besties Rin and Kakashi, some time around when they're fighting over who gets to be Naruto's sensei (Minato wants nothing to do with that argument, no matter who he picks someone is going to stab him so he refuses to make the choice himself) — and then somehow wind up in canon

Kakashi is so fun in that au, he's a LOT closer to being the strict, bratty kid he used to be than the lazy, perpetually late slack off we know and love in canon (although, despite his preaching about protocols, he can be alarmingly loose when it comes to bending rules to suit him. Being the special little guy of not just 1 but 2 Hokage's absoloutley made his bad habits so much worse, he can get away with almost anything and he knows it)

He also has some insane unresolved feelings ab his father's death, who is cemented as a hero both in his heart and the hearts of all of Konoha, for both his service and his sacrifice

Sakumo's death wasn't drowned out in the massacre of grief of literally all his loved ones dying in such quick succession, and so it's been given a lot more time and space to fester— Kakashi absoloutley has some revenge type shit going on with the "mystery masked man" who attacked Konoha and killed his father, and Rin stands beside him— having exacted a promise from him to not take on the burden of revenge alone ("that's what comrades are for, Kakashi!")

He can have his revenge quest but only if she gets to come with, you hear!! They probably had some huge blow up fight over it years ago that ended in like, and super dramatic blood pact to do this together. Yay friendship !!! If one of them dies the other will go insane.

Watch your fucking back Obito, if Kakashi becomes too emotional to kill you at the grand reveal, Rin will handle the "overcome by murderous rage" part on his behalf.

Anyways, throw them into cannon !!! Yippie !!!

The two Kakashi's can not look eachother in the eyes without canon!Kakashi developing a rather violent twitch and AU!Kakashi pulling on a face of pure disgust. They are everything they hate in a person and they share the same face. It's very uncomfortable for the both of them.

Having way too much fun specifically thinking ab them reacting to Sarutobi as Hokage— Sarutobi is not and has never been Hokage in their world, they have no idea what to do with this. He's one of the Hokage's advisors, but retired alongside Kagami, so he hasn't been politically relevant in years, not even as Sarutobi clan head since that position recently went to Asuma in their world.

Meanwhile Sarutobi and Danzo are going through all the stages of grief at the knowledge that Kagami was their 3rd Hokage, oh man are they Experiencing Emotions rn fr

That isn't even covering like. Oh hey! Btw! Sakumo was Hokage for a good few years!

(Multiple people looking at this strange, uptight version of Kakashi who very visibly seems to think he's better than 90% of the people in the room at any time: "....that checks out...")

Also!! This Kakashi has never heard people talk bad about his father bc Sakumo's mission never fucked up! The village loved that guy, even after so many years, Kakashi will still occasionally hear murmurs of "if only lord 4th was still around"

He is very much known as and proud of being "the son of lord 4th, the white fang, who died to keep the kyuubi from being released and killing us all"

I'm sure there were undoubtedly some people within Konoha who didn't especially like Sakumo, but even still, theyd never fucking DARE to say anything within earshot of Kakashi. Total death wish, why would u do that?

Obv, other countries no doubt celebrated his death (especially in Suna where he was wildly unpopular and deeply feared) but like. In Konoha? Nah people LOVE that guy, even after so many years.

All of that is to say that if a single person breathes wrong about Sakumo "deserving his death" Kakashi will go fucking insane on their ass. Immediatley. There will be blood. Rin will not hold him back.

Anyways silly Kakashi and Rin snippet time:

"So are you two— dating?"

"I'm out of her league." Kakashi says as simultaneously, Rin replies,

"The only thing that can get Kakashi up is a rule book"

"Isn't that right, Kashi-chan?"

"Can you not??"

"Oh, I'm sorry I forgot only your Kushina-neechan can call you that" Rin teased, and Kakashi turned a shade of red so bright he seemed to glow with it even under his mask.

"I was drunk!"

Rin gave him a comforting pat on the back that did absoloutley nothing to actually comfort him. "And you'll never live it down."

"I would be a great sensei!" Kakashi denied, very much ignoring the immediate noises of doubt and disbelief coming from everyone in their general area.

"You hate children!" Rin accused, pointing a disbelieving finger at him.

"I would be a great sensei for Naruto!" Kakashi corrected himself, and Rin rolled her eyes.

"And then what? You tie up the other 2 and leave them somewhere while you teach Naruto?"

"It'd be good for their character!"

"You were supposed to deny that that's what you'd do that, Kakashi!"

"Well if you like the other 2 so much, then you can teach them! And I'll just take Naruto!"

"He needs a team Kakashi!"

"Sensei said—"

"Sensei said you were a little bitch as a kid and a team is what helped straighten out your attitude."

"He did not!"

Rin sniffed. "Maybe he didn't use those exact words, but—"

"Well a team certainly didn't help your attitude, did it? And besides, you don't even like kids either!"

"Hmph. I'd make an exception, because I'm a good sensei."

I think Rin and Kakashi have genuinley fought exactly 2 times.

One was when Kakashi was spiraling a bit on his revenge quest for his dad and Rin got him to promise to let her in on the revenge so he didn't fucking kill himself alone trying to avenge Sakumo.

And one is their current, very petty arguing over who gets to be Naruto's sensei

(Team 7 ends up having 2 very enthusiastic sensei's, who also end up getting a stern talking to from both Minato and Naruto of all people about playing favorites. It's deeply embarrassing for everyone involved.)

I actually just need Rin and Kakashi very loudly arguing over who gets to be team 7s sensei while canon!team 7 stands there like ??????????

AU!Kakashi and Rin are nagging Canon!Kakashi about how lucky he is to be their sensei. Canon!Kakashi needs them to shut the fuck up and get out of his line of sight immediatley so he can have that mental breakdown he's overdue for

AU!Kakashi is going to cause problems for Canon!Kakashi on purpose. He's looking directly into his counterparts eyes and going "Wow Naruto you look just like ur dad. Who is my sensei btw. Did other me tell me that? You should ask him ab that. Sensei said I'd get to be ur big brother when u were born. Just so u know. Oh hey Sasuke! Wow it's sooo funny that ur on team 7 when I also helped train Itachi. Crazy."

He refuses to be silenced he thinks canon!Kakashi is being a cowardly little bitch and will not take "everyone I know died and I'm incredibly depressed" as any sort of reasoning, he's calling it an excuse and telling Kakashi to do better

(Rin is telling him to slow the fuck down and be nicer to himself)

The Kakashi's fucking HATEEEE eachother it's super awkward for literally everyone around them

Anyways the Uchiha massacre !!! in the AU, the Uchiha's relationship with the village is very good, they're incredibly well respected, powerful, and one of the centermost clans of Konoha. Arguably the centermost clan, especially since the Senju are pretty much all gone now

So the Uchiha massacre being a thing is totally out of nowhere and horrifying to Rin and Kakashi. Like, it would have been even if the Uchiha were in poor standing, but that's like THE clan!!! Holy shit!!! And they're— gone? Dead? Killed in their own homes?

They're both told Itachi did it and kinda uhh. Don't fully believe it.

Itachi did leave the village in their world, but peacefully and for unknown reasons still under investigation (and then there was a ton of fun stuff with Sasuke facing a ton of sudden pressure as the new clan heir) and Kakashi and Rin both knew him, having been on team Ro together, so there's a lot of disbelief at the idea that he could do such a thing

But also like, they are in an alternate dimension. One that honestly? Kind of seems to be the worst timeline to them.

Anyways uhhh also fun playing with the HUGE difference in how jinchuriki are treated in the two konohas— one in which the kyuubi was released and decimated a chunk of the village, and another where Obito was stopped before it was released, + their jinchuriki are known war heroes

(Rin was made into a war hero of her own right, coming back from their mission as the new sanbi jinchuriki. People like to say she bested the demon with her will of fire or smthn, it makes for a great story)

Obv they still face a lot of negative stigma (particularly from civilians) but nowhere NEAR as much as canon konoha. Plus like. One jinchuriki is the Hokage's beloved and popular wife, and the other is a war hero. So.

Rin and Kakashi are hearing that Naruto is the kyuubi's jinchuriki and staring blankly at whoever told them. In their world, Kushina still holds the title, and the clan council is in the middle of choosing who will be the next one (Sakura or Naruto)

Rin can help give him jinchuriki lessons!! They can bond over having demons in them <3

Also thinking about how since AU!Kakashi got more time w his dad, he's a lot more aware of and proud of his clan heritage as a Hatake. He wears his clan mon on his clothes just like his old man used to, loud and proud

It'd be cool if I grabbed a fistful from that other obkk child bride ghost marriage au where Rin survives and Kakashi gets kind of partially claimed by the Uchiha bc of Obito's eye + the ghost marriage

Not the ghost marriage part to be clear (Sakumo would never fucking allow it in a million years) but the "Kakashi kind of gets picked up by the scruff by the Uchiha bc of his sharingan and gets special lessons from them and lowkey becomes an honorary Uchiha" bit. Would give him even more reason to a) be really fucked up about the massacre + know Itachi, and b) approach Sasuke

Also it'd just be fun and super funky, especially for those around him reacting to it

Let him wear a shirt with the Hatake mon on one sleeve and the Uchiha mon on the other, in alignment with his eyes!!! It'll be fun!!! It'll be quirky!!!

(Also, it'd mean he's the special little guy of 2 Hokage's and the most important and powerful clan in Konoha. Even more reason for him to be the way he is. Also: infinitely funny.)

I have a couple more abstract thoughts but I think this has become more than long enough, so I'll stop there. But like !!!! Dimension travel my beloved

[isagrimorie]

People give Janeway guff about not giving Kazon replicators and transporters. Still, it's proven repeatedly that giving one Kazon faction an advantage over the other would be mixing it up in an internal war that would LITERALLY shift the balance of power.

Klingons at least know the technology they have engineers, even as it's becoming a dying breed over Warriors.

TLDR in Alliance Chakotay and Tuvok convinces Janeway that making an alliance with a Kazon faction is the way to go.

And so she does finally concede on this little experiment but with a lot of reservations going in: That once they leave the infighting will go on, and might actually have been worse.

Tuvok naively thinks it might help and bring about a Federation.

B'Elanna then pushes forward Harry's sarcastic comment about forming an alliance with Seska and then at the first sign of this, Chakotay balks.

And then Janeway says something that I feel is her guiding principle in dealing with hard decisions:

Janeway: "You can't have it both ways Commander. If you want to get in the mud with the Kazon you can't start complaining that you might get dirty."

Again, this is what I love about Janeway -- she gets flack for it but when Janeway makes a decision no one else wants to make it.

As I've mentioned in another post in tags: #right or wrong#i admire how janeway is always the one#who goes#the buck stops with me#she makes the hard choices on voyager#especially during debates#when the staff just goes around and around in circles#like in memorial where she starts just in the background#listening to the senior staff debate#from how janeway started in episode 2 of season 1#where she's presented with the horrific#sophie's choice of neelix dying because he has no lungs#and then subjecting another person to the same fate#to the (now boring debate about tuvix)#to this moment#to the moment on the memorial episode#she will take on that burden#and she will always stare at the hardest choice unflinchingly#because someone has to#as the 12th doctor once said#sometimes all your choices are bad ones#but you still have to choose#

In this episode, she allowed herself to be persuaded but she's not sold on it. But she's letting her crew run with it -- okay so we do this, but if we do this, we commit to it. And yet, at the first uncomfortable decisions... there's already balking. This was Janeway testing the waters if any other person on her senior staff could carry water about making the hard choices.

So far the ones who have stepped up were B'Elanna, Tom, and Neelix.

Anyway, I wish there was more fallout on the whole Kazon vs Trabe conflict because that was actually interesting.

But also Voyager had a Doctor Who problem -- if they meddle in the affairs of a spatial politik, they don't know the repercussions of their actions and just look at Living Witness and the reputation Voyager gained simply by doing a bit of a trade deal.

Voyager can help when they can, see: helping Brenari refugees escape the Devore. (Counterpoint).

But they can't and shouldn't really interfere with internal politics. They're not like DS9 where they can stay in one place and fix things permanently. They're just passing through.

This is also why I think she wasn't really considering Tuvok and Chakotay's thing during the Void episode where they raid another ship's resources. (Also, because after Ransom and Equinox, she knows what faltering in the Federation principles can do).

Crucially, she's also known both Chakotay and Tuvok enough that while she loves them -- Janeway knows neither men have the stomach for their proposals.

The Alliance episode was one example of that already.

Janeway, though, if she is pushed to make that commitment and there was absolutely NO way they can prevent raiding others-- Janeway would have committed to that action 110%. This is why I feel Janeway would actually come to a similar conclusion as Sisko in In the Pale Moonlight.

Especially, if she gets daily reports of Starfleet casualties. I have a feeling, there would be less kicking and screaming when Garak finally does his reveal.

Janeway has rules for a reason. She is fastidious about it. For a reason. Because once she commits to an action, it will take both hell and high water to take her off that course.

/edited

[jiangwanyinscatmom]

Mo Dao Zu Shi and Self-Yearning For Reconciliation

There is an overarching lesson within the writing of MXTX that forgiveness and moving on doesn't entail non-verbal consent for a relationship to be salvaged once more or reclaimed as it used to be.

Within SVSSS, we are given the character of Yue Qingyuan desperately seeking the friendship and brotherhood he had with Shen Jiu. Only for that relationship to be provided by another way of Shen Yuan who finalizes he is not the man Yue Qingyuan needed closure from, but is the only one able to give it for the man to find peace with his own choices.

To a lesser extent this is also shown with the relationship between Xie Lian, Mu Qing and Feng Xin at the end of TGCF. This time though, despite Xie Lian associating with them with no ill will, he does not let either man make choices for him and resoundingly makes his own boundaries aware within the reclamation of their friendship.

MDZS does not offer this reclamation of a friendship or the start of one previously lost with another. Unlike the previous two who did yearn for friendship what was between Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian had been a stipulation of burden and assumption that started with Jiang Fengmian. Jiang Cheng was to see Wei Wuxian as a servant made friend when brought in, and Wei Wuxian was protector over friend. There was already a set imbalance due to neither naturally being able to choose the roles within their lives for the other and extending parties stating who and what they were to each other.

Jiang Cheng in his already tenuous esteem with himself and resentment of being told he was already viewed as less from his mother, took Wei Wuxian's existence in his life as a displacement of his own claims within life. His sacrifice of his dogs was the precursor for the beginning of their relationship on the allusion of debts between them.

Jiang Cheng gives up the loyalty of a literal pet, for the loyalty of an eventual man. In other words, I will shelter and protect you in exchange. Jiang Cheng does keep to this as children, with the expense of mocking Wei Wuxian's fears as he is want. His stipulations for this begun to escalate over the years and as such the giving of shelter and safety cannot be made up for Jiang Cheng, forever loyalty is now not enough, but why must Wei Wuxian also be adept at cultivation, why is he to be praised for his deeds more so, why must Wei Wuxian be a bright mind of the war.

If he is to be that, it at least would be overshadowed that he is still only under Jiang Cheng's rule. Otherwise every other action against this, is to demean Jiang Cheng, to oppose him, to cause trouble with ingratitude. It is also why, despite Wen Qing and Wen Ning having sheltered him and Wei Wuxian as well as collected his parents and provided their ashes, Jiang Cheng is able to disregard his obligation to help them. If not for Wei Wuxian's supposed insubordination, Jiang Cheng would not have suffered his own losses. Even when he did protect Wei Wuxian, the loss of it was too much, as with the dogs he had given up as a child, he did not get an active said promise of more dedication made up tenfold for the minimum kindness exhibited by Jiang Cheng. As said by Fang Mengcheng, "Atonement? You cannot actually be feeling grateful to him!”

To want to be good and to protect others, must come with selfish want for exemption of guilt for the harm you have caused. Wen Ning and Wen Qing owed it to Jiang Cheng for the deaths of his parents for carrying the surname of Wen, as such he did not need to repay them. Wei Wuxian sat at the table of the Jiangs and was given a living others would envy, as such he owed his life to Jiang Cheng. Wei Wuxian taking on the burden of protecter of another, was a betrayal of all that Jiang Cheng's lineage had gave him. To do the impossible because it is right, is not worth the self emulation and ridicule of the many. And while he may resent that kindness in Wei Wuxian, for it to be given to others as well, is a lack of loyalty of the ideals of Jiang Cheng. Jiang Cheng's growing resentment of Wei Wuxian's choice of kindness over safety, is a a mirrored resentment that Jiang Cheng holds within himself and his lack of respect for his own Clan ideals. A servant under the lord of the house embodies what Jiang Cheng was born to be.

As he throws abuse upon Wei Wuxian at their penultimate clash, while he does say sorry, he is still unable to view it without the veil of debt owed between each other. As Wei Wuxian could not tell him he gave him his core out of pity for his ego to keep him from shattering, Jiang Cheng could not say he protected Wei Wuxian out of a moment of kindness without care for the consequences until it expounded as his reality.

There is a self soothing mechanism, that opening up to truths will eventually mean a mending of what had been, or the beginning of something better. Yet this is only true when both are open to stand together as equals. Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng began with obligation and ended with obligation. The obligation to give for doing, the obligation of sorry for redemption.The obligation of servitude for sacrifice.

To rebuild and start again is meant to be the closure of ill will and the understanding of boundaries that cannot be crossed now. Jiang Cheng can only do one but not the other. He chooses hate for his continued nature, even while he is adamantly protecting Jin Ling by the end. While Wei Wuxian knows that resentment is not something that will create true happiness and nurturing growth that people strive for.

Reconciliation is to come to terms with that which you lacked, and to be more, to be better. Jiang Cheng accepts his core nature of resentment which would not last next to the altruism that Wei Wuxian chooses more than once. Kindness and Resentment cannot coexist at the same time. To resent is to be cruel, to be happy is to be kind. Both men are too tired to understand the other, and why they choose to part as a peace offering, an understanding that they will never thrive with the other.

[heretherebedork]

Kohei and Taichi are stuck in the same place right now because neither one of them knows how to move on. It's not Maya keeping them there, it's not the show, it's two men who don't know how to move forward stuck in the place they started.

Kohei confessed to Taichi but is convinced he cannot ever understand and cannot let himself hope or try again and so has pulled back and stayed pulled back. He is so afraid of being a burden on the people he cares about that he refuses to even try.

Taichi heard the confession, panicked and hasn't gotten past that because he so needs to be needed but is terrified of anything deeper because he doesn't know what else to do. He's so used to being unwanted and out of place that the idea of someone caring about him as him is wild.

They are both people who are used to their own forms of loneliness and who cling to that loneliness as comfort, as a safe place, as a familiar place that they know.

And they are trapped here because that's who they are. They need to be shaken up, they need to be pushed... but neither of them knows how to be pushed.

Maya is pushing them. Apart, yes, but pushing them. Without her, nothing would be changing. Nothing would happen. Because they would both simply continue to... be. They would just keep on being.

I love this show so much because it really is about how easy it is to simply stay in your comfort zone but also how little it takes to push a person out and help them through that transition.

Kohei was so isolated and all it took was Taichi being Taichi to draw him out but Kohei gave Taichi a purpose that he desperately needed and a sense of being needed that he never had before, of being wanted as well.

There's just so much and I love them so very much. And I know the finale will show us what's between them that they've been struggling to face. This is a story about breaking out of the holding patterns you find yourself in and how that intersects with disability and culture and that's why I love them all so much even when I don't like their choices and know they're hurting themselves and others with them.