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ofoceansandtombsanew · 7 months ago

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if gods exist, they made you perfect

cw. fem!reader, childhood friend au, ace novel spoilers (1st novel), pre-relationship, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, light mentions of child abuse (garp), brief loss in ace's ability to control his powers, reader receives a minor burn

pairing. portgas d. ace x black!fem!reader

synopsis. not everyone is going to reach for ace's hand but you always will.

notes. a very indulgent idea that has been living rent free in my head since i've had it and now it is your problem. cover comes from frederic edwin church's twilight in the wilderness (1860). blazing red skies and ace simply go hand in hand.

"The Five Elders are gonna have the biggest bitch fit to ever fit," with how Ace blinks up at you in surprise, he must have been really lost in his thoughts. You broaden your smile as you plop down right next to him. "I don't think anyone's ever turned down a Warlord position before. Can't wait to see how your bounty goes up this time."

Ace snorts lightly at your words, lips stretching into half a grin, "yeah, they are not going to like that."

"It definitely doesn't help you kicked that vice admiral's ass, either," you recall the events of your final moments in Sabaody. A definitive mixed bag of.

It was a beautiful country, that much is easy to say. Still it came with more than you were prepared to witness. It's only luck there hadn't happened to be any visiting Celestial Dragons coinciding with your temporary residency. Somehow you have the feeling that things would have surely been messier if their had been.

The stint with Vice Admiral Draw will be messy enough on its own.

"Garp's gonna be so mad when he finds out," Ace shudders at even your mention of his grandfather and you snicker. "What if he comes to Fishman Island for one of his grand lectures?"

"Don't even joke like that," the back of his orange hat thumps against the side of the Spadille with his groan of horror. "I can feel his Fists of Love right now."

You feel the phantom pain yourself. If you're both lucky, the semi-retired marine is busy visiting Luffy on Dawn Island. Maybe it's not that lucky though. It isn't the first time the thought the man is even harsher on Luffy now that Ace has gone ahead and sworn his life to piracy surfaces. It's a thought you push away as quickly as you have it.

Luffy's a strong kid, he's fine.

He has a spirit that is unbreakable.

"That Draw guy deserved to get his ass beat anyway." There is no disagreement to be had with your statement, Ace murmuring something similar. He's a million miles away from where you are, however, miraculously sat on a ship sailing beneath the waves. "Isuka'll be fine," you say suddenly, cursing your inability to ease into the topic gently. "She's strong and she was on our ass since immediately after we got to the Grand Line. She'll be back to chasing us soon enough."

Hopefully.

It isn't something you can say with resolute faith.

The ensign's sense of reality itself had been shattered in its entirety. Being betrayed by the one you believed to be your savior is nothing easy to overcome. You choose to believe a woman as impassioned as the naval officer will. You won't pretend to know where she'll head next.

Perhaps she'll embark on a path that leads her back to the marines. Or maybe she'll become a bounty hunter.

Wherever her journey takes her, you can only hope it is a path with no regrets.

"It would have been weird having a bounty hunter on the ship, anyway," you clumsily attempt to soothe your friend. There is irony in how Ace became your better in terms of comforting those around you when he had been the most argumentative and unfriendly between you. "That sounds like something Luffy would do."

At the sound of Luffy's name, Ace's lips do quirk into something more real. "Yeah, that kid would invite just about anyone on his crew, bounty hunters included."

You chuckle trying to visualize what the young boy's recruitment process will be. Somehow, you doubt his prospective crewmates will have much say in the matter. "Knowing Luffy, they'll probably want to join anyway though. He's convincing like that."

"Yeah," Ace only falls deeper into his thoughts. The silence that follows is even more glum than the depths. Damn it, you curse yourself.

You've never been like Makino, you recall the kind-hearted woman from your youth. She's always been gentle, dove-like in her approach when it came to matters of the heart. Knew exactly the words someone needed to hear and knew exactly how to say it in a way that didn't feel intrusive to the recipient.

That has certainly never been you. If anything, you're more akin to Dadan and her rough expressions of affection.

You hold back a sigh, closing your eyes.

"Alright, I guess this is how we're doing this," you open your eyes at last. Shuffling, you face your friend who makes a sound of surprise at your movement. You aren't a delicate person nor are you someone with the ability to handle matters of the heart with the delicacy it deserves. It's best to handle it clumsily, the only way you know how. "Ace, the stuff with Isuka; that wasn't your fault. And it isn't on you that she didn't want to come with us."

Isuka liked Ace.

It's impossible not to like him.

Even when he was a brat with more anger at the world than he knew what to do with, you liked him. Thought he was the coolest person you'd ever met in your short 10 years of living and wanted him to like you back. You like him even now.

Everyone in the crew joined because they liked Ace the moment they met him. He's darling in how effortless he makes it.

Even a marine as firm in her beliefs as Isuka couldn't let prejudice cloud her judgement when it came to Portgas D. Ace. Begrudging as it may have been, there has always been a mutual admiration for each other in spite of the opposing occupations.

You're like the sun. Equal parts the harsh rays of summer and the gentle beams of early spring. He's whichever the moment calls for. A warmth everyone wants to experience if they're lucky enough to come across it. The gravitational pull of the universe that keeps the planets in the sun's orbit. You're amazing!

"I don't know what the hell that girl needs," rough as the sentence is, your voice is soft. "But whatever it is, she wasn't going to find it with us. That's why she didn't come."

Ace opens his mouth but you don't give him the chance to argue or sweep your concerns away.

"I'm not gonna sit here and lie to your face and say that this won't happen again," it's an ugly truth. One Ace became aware of long before you met him. Regardless, as much as you hate it, you know it'd be unfair to lie to him. "Because it probably will. There's always going to be people who, no matter how hard you reach for them, they aren't going to reach back. And you can't do jack about it.

Hell, sometimes you can't even do jill. But," Ace's brow furrows in time with your words and your heart wrenches. "But," you start once more, the back of your fingers brushing against his wrist. "for every person that won't, there's going to be someone that does." You cup one of Ace's hands in both of yours with all the care one would give glass.

When did these hands get so much bigger than your own?

Still, you lips curl upwards in your nostalgia, the warmth that radiates from him remains the same. You squeeze gently, almost afraid that if you touch him too hard, he'll break.

"And I know for a fact there are a lot of people who are always going to want to hold your hands. Even if the shit does turn into fire," you chuckle at your quick addendum and despite himself, Ace does too. You've always loved hearing him laugh, it's even better when you're the cause. "The crew. Dadan. Magra. Dogra. Luffy," you squeeze again, your thumb carressing the back of his hand. "Me. We love these hands, they're yours."

There's a spark of something in Ace's eyes you can't quite place and it's unexpectedly hard to look him in the eye for some reason. "Heh," you laugh breathlessly. Without meaning to, your grip tightens around his hand. It's warm.

Really warm.

Shit, it's actually getting kinda hot ain't it?

You see the flicker of orange and your and Ace's expressions are well-matched in panic as you realize the source. Sure enough, your hands were engulfed flames.

"Shit-" Ace swears but despite instinct dictating you back away from the flames, you find yourself holding on to staunchly.

"Shit-" you fight against Ace's attempt to pull away from you as the flames die down. "[First]! Let go!"

"No way, what did I just say?!" Oh god this hurts like hell! "I don't care if it's fire, I'm not letting go!"

You hiss through your teeth, reeling yourself in with a breath but the flames are extinguished as quickly as they erupted. "Wasn't exactly expecting to prove my point so fast but," there's another attempt on Ace's part to pull away from you again but you only hold his hand tighter. You can ignore the sting of your hands but you can't ignore the way Ace's eyebrows knit together. You can't ignore how he looks like he wants to cry either. "See," you laugh breathlessly. "I love these hands, there's no way I'm never gonna hold them.

Dark eyes, wide, look between you and your face and you squeeze his hand again. The sting of your palms is prevalent but this pain is fine. Pain is merely proof that you are alive in this moment; and in this moment there is nowhere else you want to be.

There's nothing more that needs to be said between you, you believe. Facing him, you lean against the wood as you hold Ace's hand firmly between your own. With the hand he has available, Ace slides his hat down to hide whatever expression he's making.

You close your eyes with a sigh and pretend you don't hear the sound of hiccuping. You don't feel the way his hand trembles either.

You squeeze Ace's hand and he squeezes back.

Your hands sting something sweet.

#look she's writing #one piece x reader #op x reader #ace x reader #portgas d ace x reader #portgas d ace #look it's self shipping hours #flaming pearls #sea otters #flaming pearls (sea otters)#x black!reader #ace x black!reader

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butterflydm · 3 months ago

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Scattered WoT rewatch thoughts (1x01-1x04)

This includes spoilers for s3, because my rewatch is adding some context to my thoughts for season three and the spoilers we know so far and book spoilers through Lord of Chaos:

1x01

I do think it's likely that Egwene's Accepted Test is going to mirror the scene with Liandrin gentling the man from the cold open, but Rand being in a river ties it more to Egwene and the Two Rivers. Egwene has been very associated with water so far, from needing to trust the river in s1 to undergo the rite to officially become a woman, to a jug of water being the symbol of the battle of wills that she has with Renna in 2x06.

We have been watching Egwene's and Rand's paths diverge from each other from their very first scene together - the first time we see them kiss (and have implied fade-to-black sex) basically is a play from Rand to buy himself a little more time with Egwene before she breaks things off with him. Afterwards, she tells him that their futures aren't going to be aligned with each other. We even see her reject his symbolic romantic gesture of giving her a berry, which he used to give her when they were younger.

Rand will later say that Selene is the first woman to see him as a man and it does feel like his relationship with Egwene is very tied up to his boyhood.

So, s1 has an ep1 post-coital scene where Egwene's abilities separate her from the possibility of a future with Rand, so we may see this mirrored (if you'll pardon my choice of words) in 3x01.

First Finn foreshadowing for Mat: the tiny noose-like bits of thread on Fain's wagon.

The Rand & Egwene on a cliffside rock scene is another one that we know gets echoed in s3, with Lanfear taking Egwene's place and changing the narrative.

I really like that Nynaeve's feelings about the Two Rivers are grounded in her personal relationships (Rand has also been hearing a lot of things about the AS to make him wary, going by what Tam says about them).

Mat provides gambling, alcohol, and fostering emotional sharing in the relationship between the three boys. And we see them showing care and concern back to him.

I really do love how the show took the concept of Bel Tine and tied it into the world mythology of the Wheel and reincarnation. Very good philosophical setup for the future. Wheel keeps turning and we keep trying to do better than the last time.

We also see Nynaeve's loneliness in the Bel Tine scene, which is what Rand talked about when he was talking about what Egwene choosing to be a Wisdom would mean - no family of her own.

Overall, the show does such good job of showing how this mountain village has held onto the old ways without even realizing the depth of what those ways mean.

The battle is so well done. The fear and panic of the villagers at first, and how Moiraine helps them. I am also going to stand up and say that i think that having (and killing) Laila was a good choice! It shows us the cost of the Trolloc attack, it sets up Perrin's fear over his own battlerage, it sets up Perrin's overprotectiveness over his love interest without making wild overprotectiveness just a Two Rivers trait. And it really made all the show-only reactors that I watched sympathize with Perrin instantly. It was a solid change.

Rand undergoes the first of many "my parents weren't what I thought" when he sees how well Tam fights with a sword.

I love that we see our EF5's courage so strongly but in different ways.

Our first glimpse of weaves and of Aes Sedai working together with their Warders! And we see how effective they can be together. We're going to see the limitations of Warders in s3, I think, because they don't help much in a Power vs Power battle, but for most trouble that an Aes Sedai has been able to get into before now, they were very useful!

Also: Egwene is wearing a bracer on her left wrist here that is very much like the one she wears in s3 (and that does kinda echo the sul'dam bracer).

Rand mentions earlier that stories say a single Aes Sedai is said to be able to turn the tide of a battle and we get to see that here when Moiraine pulls down the Winespring Inn to hurl the stones at the Trollocs.

Poor in-denial Rand here, who does not want to believe what his dad confessed to him on their journey to the village.

Rand, Egwene, Moiraine, and Laila all in blue here, in the aftermath of the attack. Both Rand & Egwene cover up their blue shirts with brown sheepskin coats for their journey out of the Two Rivers. Mirrors!! Foils! Following parallel but separate paths, which is part of why they can't be together.

Rand knows that this about him but he can't admit it to himself. I love it when stories continue to add depth on a rewatch.

1x02

We saw the danger of the Shadow in the last episode, now we set up the danger of the Whitecloaks. Another scene that gains depth on rewatch, as show-onlys will later realize that the Whitecloaks are murdering a healer here, once they find out more about the Aes Sedai. They are zealots.

"Sometimes brutality is the only path to mercy." Yikes!

This episode also brings in the evil of Shadar Logoth, a more ancient example of purely human evil that is not driven by the Shadow or Darkfriends. The city that ate itself alive out of paranoia and self-isolation from the world. A cautionary tale for what the Two Rivers could have become.

We get first lessons in Aes Sedai Oaths here, both their limitations and the ways to find loopholes around them. We also see that Rand confronts Moiraine publicly while Egwene also confronts her, but privately (because Moiraine is also clearly more comfortable having private confabs with Egwene over any of the boys - she's no Red but still has a wariness about men could channel).

Is this Egwene and Mat's only conversation? (And they are quickly joined by all the others)

We see Mat trying to lighten the mood, while Rand begins to show hints of leadership, wanting them to form a plan in case Moiraine turns on one of them.

I like the change that the show made in the Three Oaths, giving them a solid origin based in history - and tying it to Hawkwing also ties it to the Seanchan. The White Tower chose to leash itself to specific rules, while the women in Seanchan were forcibly leashed by their government.

Moiraine must feel so hopeful when she realizes that Egwene can channel and so the world might get a Dragon who can't go mad from saidin.

Genuinely, it is so baffling to me how some people watching the show were calling Rand clingy and trying to hold onto a dead relationship when it's literally Egwene sending the mixed signals and trying to cuddle up to Rand here, the episode after she broke things off with him.

Rand and Moiraine's first fight! We're going to get more of this in s3 as well, I believe. Moiraine trying to direct and control them, while Rand wants to actually know the endgame and what her plans are.

Poor Mat & Perrin forced to witness the fight afterwards between Rand & Egwene.

Mat is so good at defusing emotional conflict. He is the one who gets Rand to level out after the disagreements with Moiraine & Egwene.

We are shown the division in the Whitecloaks here - the Questioners being the true zealots, with the regular Children being willing to bend on matters of Aes Sedai.

Rand is gonna glare a hole in Moiraine's back.

The ruined bridge! Love all the old ruins in the Two Rivers area.

Mat again shows his emotional intelligence by starting the sing-along to boost spirits among the group. And we get a little history lesson. Fingers crossed for Mat singing again in s3!

Also: this scene made me cry during this rewatch.

We're briefly told here that they've been traveling for days, before the night when they go into Shadar Logoth.

Rand and Egwene work through a bit and come to better terms over the course of this episode but their main conflict of being on fundamentally different paths is not resolved. I'm guessing this will get echoed in s3 but they will actually fully accept and come to terms with their separate paths.

Perrin's first wolf encounter! ❤️

Once again, we see Mat reaching out to one of his friends to help them process - Perrin in this case, offering him a dagger that Laila had made for Mat and returning it to Perrin. I hope we get to see some of that in s3 with his friends in ep1. Mat is so sweet to his friends.

S1 - Rand goes to a dead city with Moiraine & Egwene; s3 - Rand goes to a dead city with Moiraine & Aviendha (based on the trailers).

Mat getting drawn to the dagger. Man, that is gonna fuck him up. My poor sad wet cat.

Our first plot-mandated split up - I do understand why we don't get a second Cauthor road trip since they did get all this time and focus together in s1, but I am definitely hoping that the change means we'll get them together again later on the series, hopefully spending time with each other in s4 (if we get it, etc). And I hope for a couple of good scenes before they part ways in s3.

1x03

We learn more about Nynaeve's grit and cleverness in the opener, as well as revealing that Trollocs will cannibalize their injured companions.

Nynaeve is such a badass here. 💖

I love this credits sequence so much. I understand wanting to spend every moment of the episode runtime but it's just so lovely.

Lan being impressed by Nynaeve tracking them. 💖

The Great Cauthor Roadtrip has begun!

"They say all roads lead there." "That's not how roads work." I love them so much.

Perrin & Egwene's roadtrip also begins. I do quite enjoy their scenes together even if I'm not getting the shippy buzz from them. But Perrin & Egwene both trying to light the same fire and not being certain who did it in the end... I hope we get a continued connection between them in the future (iykyk).

This episode is where we can clearly see Nynaeve's healer yellow under her warrior green. Perfect, no notes. All the scenes between Lan & Nynaeve in this episode are pure gold.

We can also see more clearly how Lan has a fancy pattern on the shoulders of his outfit.

Ishamael trying to suss out which of the ta'veren is the Dragon via dreams. Perrin dreams of Ishy here but Egwene doesn't seem to. The wolves herding them to safety in the scariest way possible lol I love them. They are probably trying to talk to Perrin but he can't see their visions yet.

Our first glimpse of an Aiel (dead in a cage). It really sets the tone for the town as a whole.

Hello, Thom! And Dana has her eye on the boys from the beginning. I do love Thom's song here and, of course, what it implies about Thom's sympathies towards men who can channel. I'm hoping for at least one good convo about Rand between Mat & Thom in s3.

Mat's keen emotional intelligence in display in previous episodes gets turned like a knife against Rand in this one and it hurts a lot.

"Someplace new, you can be anything you want. And no one's gonna know the dirt you were born in." We'll see Mat indulging in this idea a bit at the start of s3, I think.

Our first hints of Perrin's overprotectiveness post-Laila's death, and Egwene pushing back and offering compassion that Perrin doesn't feel like he deserves, and refusing to let him risk himself for her sake - they go together.

I think we got Aram confirmed for s3, so looking forward to his reunion with Perrin and how they might interact.

Egwene getting covered with the shawl of many colors.

Dana is such a good compilation of "every darkfriend on the road" that Mat & Rand encounter on the road.

Lol at Rand being so snippy over Mat when we know he actually thinks extremely highly of Mat. He's just mad at him right now because Mat is being an asshole for what seems to be no reason.

Our first hint that Siuan and Moiraine got a relationship upgrade comes when Moiraine whispers a pained "Siuan" when she's really out of it. Also they did a great job of making Moiraine look on the edge of death.

We get to see more of Thom's compassion when Mat encounters him at the dead Aiel's cage. Love our little lesson about Aiel here - and our first open hint about Rand's heritage, as Thom tells us red hair is rare outside the Aiel Waste.

"If you're going to take from the dead, the least you can do is bury them."

First mention of the Stone of Tear and the Lion Throne of Caemlyn.

Dana going for the kiss - start of a pattern there, the Shadow trying (and succeeding in s2) to deceive their way into Rand's bed. And she genuinely likes Rand too, but is still willing to betray him.

Our first hint of Rand using the Power, when he breaks the reinforced door.

I really like that they used Dana to give us Ishamael's philosophy. Break the Wheel to stop the pain of the world. I like that Mat encounters this again with Ishy at the end of s2 and we see him reject it.

Okay, Thom never openly tells either of the boys that he thinks they're the Dragon but he overhears their conversation with Dana and also assumes right away that it's the madness troubling Mat in the next episode.

Hi, Logain! I like how both Nynaeve and Logain are used to create doubt in Moiraine's mind over the accuracy of the prophecies.

1x04

Logain does a good job showing us all the scary foreshadowing for what the Dragon will be capable of. What Logain does to one country, Rand is supposed to do to the world, essentially. We see both the power and the madness here.

"What does a crown mean to the Dragon Reborn?"

Logain knows and believes in the prophecies and believes that he is truly the Dragon, with the voices in his head urging him on.

We do see Logain fighting and winning against the corruption here, healing the king instead of killing him.

I love what they've done with Logain so far in the story. I don't think we've seen any spoilers about him in s3 yet but I would not be surprised to see him.

We get to learn a lot about Aes Sedai in this episode, with Nynaeve as our main vehicle for learning the lore, which is great because of her prickly relationship with Moiraine.

The war party to capture Logain is comprised of Green & Red sisters and this is an authorized operation that we can directly compare to the unauthorized operation that Liandrin and her fellow Reds carried out in ep1. Logain is captured and shielded, not gentled on the spot. Then he is meant to be taken back to the White Tower for trial - I'm guessing this is actually meant to determine if he's the real Dragon Reborn. False Dragons get gentled and the true Dragon stays shielded until the Last Battle, to keep him from using the Power and going mad from the corruption.

Liandrin is so snippy and petty with Moiraine. I kinda do feel like she tried a flirtation with Moiraine in the past and got shot down.

I really love how the show gave the Warders their own subculture and community. We did not get enough of that in the books at all. A+ improvement.

We find out here how secretive Moiraine & Lan are around other Aes Sedai & Warders. We also learn that Liandrin is pushing against the Amyrlin's decrees and that there are rumors spreading about the unsanctioned gentlings.

Aram is lovely and charming. The show also did a really good job making the Tuatha'an endearing.

Rand and Mat bonding over their mutual paranoia towards the rest of the world: oh dear.

"I always knew women couldn't see men's weaves..." setting out right here that there is a distinction between the two Powers.

I like Alanna & Moiraine's friendship. And Alanna does a good job setting out the Green Ajah mission statement - the Battle Ajah, to prepare for the Last Battle.

Alanna worrying that the current Tower policy about the Dragon is too aggressive and might lead to the Tower gentling the Dragon Reborn and dooming the world.

Liandrin starts her work on trying to get to Nynaeve. Not sure if she already knows anything about the Two Rivers ta'veren or if she's just looking to subverting someone traveling with Moiraine.

Rand taking charge of the situation to de-escalate, while Mat continues to slip.

Lol at Liandrin being the one to tell us the Blues are ~just spies~ and then to give us the official line on the Red Ajah philosophy - the magic cops, basically.

Liandrin also makes it clear here that men are not welcome under the Red Ajah's tent.

Tying the Way of the Leaf into the reincarnation cycle of the Wheel makes so much sense and rally solidifies it and grounds it into the world.

Rand starts to worry that something is really wrong with Mat here. The little girl offering Mat the Birgitte doll is so sweet.

Rand trying to rationalize what's happening with Mat, and Thom tries to gently led him to the idea that Mat can channel. Very good conversation, because Rand is torn between not wanting to believe it of himself but part of him knowing that it's him, and his worries over Mat. Rand hears about the consequences of being gentled here, and then sees both gentling and mental illness up close in s2.

"Nothing is more dangerous than a man who knows the past." Appropriate for both Rand & Mat!

Having Nynaeve hang out with the Warders so that we can learn more about them is so good.

And our first poly relationship hints!

I like that we get to see Moiriane doubting herself and her path, questioning the prophecies. And Lan reassuring her that they're on the correct path, reminding her of the dreams and the Trollocs, that Logain doesn't fit what they know about how old the Dragon should be.

This story that Ila tells is going to echo in s3 as well, as we see the Aiel come up against this choice and the split between them happens as some of them pick up a spear while the others do not, choose to stay true to their original culture instead.

"Have you lost him?" "No. No, I would know if I had." Egwene still thinking about Rand, as Rand was thinking about her last episode.

Rand waking up and making that promise to Mat. Awww. "No matter what happens, I'm here."

The show really has set out such a strong foundation for Mat & Rand's friendship, so while them not being together in s3 isn't my favorite adaptation choices (though I do think I will probably love Mat in Tanchico) they do have a very solid foundation of relationship work already put into them.

We got Perrin's Ishy dream, now we get Rand. Perrin is hammering away (at Laila's body?), Mat is wandering around with a bloody red hand, and Egwene is yoinked away by Ishy. And Rand wakes up from that into a waking nightmare of seeing Mat surrounded by a murdered family and then leaving Thom behind to save Mat & himself. Genuinely, not having a good day.

Thom was already ride-or-die (or believe them to have murdered a family under the influence of the corruption but still be willing to help) for the boys here.

I imagine the pitch Liandrin is giving Kerene here is the same slippery slope that the Reds went down originally - these men are too dangerous for us to risk carting them all the way back to the Tower.

Nynaeve and Lan bonding over lost family. Very sweet moment. Cried a bit here too.

I do think this fight is serving as big foreshadowing for Dumai's Wells. The Dragon captured by the Tower, his forces rallying to free him, him breaking out to join the fight. We'll just be on the other side of the battle that time, as Perrin (and hopefully Mat, in this version, fingers crossed, come on, let him actually be Rand's general for more than ten seconds!) fight to free him from the Tower embassy, while Rand fights to escape.

In addition to Kerene's death, we see a Red sister shot up with arrows too, though maybe she lives.

Nynaeve's AoE heal that probably made Moiraine less inclined to believe that Egwene could be the Dragon, because of how strong Nynaeve is.

#wot #wheel of time #wot on prime #wot s3 spoilers #wheel of time s3 spoilers #butterfly watches wot #the wheel of time #wot book spoilers #lord of chaos #now i will take a break but plan to watch more later!#wot rewatch

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sailorshadzter · 1 month ago

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just another jon was raised as a targaryen piece.

The music is swelling, some Targaryen ballad she’s only heard a dozen times since her arrival South. Though, she supposes it’s better than hearing The Rains of Castamere, for possibly the thousandth time that day alone. Sometimes she’s forced to wonder if the musicians of King’s Landing knew any other songs at all. A sigh escapes and she turns away from the men dressed in Targaryen livery, instead choosing to focus her gaze upon the dazzling room she stands within.

Say what you wanted about him, Rhaegar Targaryen knew how to throw a party, and this one was certainly no different than all the others. He’s spared no expense for the nameday celebrations of his son and heir, Aegon, the somber-faced Stark looking boy many whisper could never be a Targaryen born child. How could he be, when he’s got not a single trace of those strong, usually unbeatable Targaryen genes? Others simply argue that the Stark genes are just that much stronger, though she’s left wondering if that’s just the way the universe did things sometimes. Look at her and her siblings, after all, almost no trace of Stark in any of them- save for Arya, of course, who was most often compared to Aegon’s own mother, their aunt Lyanna. Died too young, tragically young, her father had always said, but she was wild as Arya, no man nor beast could ever tame Lyanna. She wonders, as her eyes fall upon the King on his throne, if he thinks of Lyanna every time he looks at his son.

And she wonders if it breaks his heart each and every time.

“My lady?”

She startles, turning her eyes away from the throne, only to find herself staring back at the very man she’s been thinking of. “Your grace,” she utters, dipping him a curtsy, her yellow silk skirts fluttering with her sudden movement. “I did not see you before the celebrations began to wish you a happy nameday,” she continues as she raises herself back up, offering him a smile, not surprised when his solemn features do not even crack. “The celebration is quite lavish.”

He is unnerved by her beauty, even now when he’s spoken with her dozens of times since her arrival to King’s Landing. The yellow gown she wears is most becoming, with sweeping sleeves embroidered with gold ivy, its plunging neckline offset by the golden pendant she wears. Her red hair, which she normally wears long and loose, is instead pinned up in the most intricate of ways, a single comb of gold tucked neatly into the back. It was a comb his father had given to him some months ago, a token of his long dead mother, a token he’d chosen to give to his betrothed some weeks after her arrival. “My father overdoes it, as he always does,” Aegon says with a slight roll of his eyes, though somehow, his words sound almost good natured. Almost. “I’ve come to ask if you might share a walk with me?” Truth was, they’ve done their part for the evening, having shared one dance at the start of the evening.

Sansa blinks, surprised by his request, but she nods all the same, taking the arm he offers her so they might make their way across the room. She is hyper aware of the hundreds of eyes that watch them leave, alone, out the double doors and into the nearly empty corridor that will lead them to the back staircase, the old stone one that opens into the gardens. “It’s a beautiful night,” she comments as they step out into the darkness, the glow of the lanterns marking their path through the lush floral of the garden.

“Aye,” he replies, sounding more like her own father than he knows, a sound that is enough to bring tears to her eyes. He notices and she shakes her head as he slows them to a stop, turning so he might face her entirely. To her surprise, he reaches out a hand, tenderly catching a teardrop as it falls from her lashes. “I’ve upset you,” he says, quietly, but again she’s shaking her head, smiling up at him as she takes his hand into her own.

“You only remind me so much of my father, I find that sometimes I am homesick when I look at you.” She tilts her head as she looks at him, wondering for a long moment just when she’d begun to feel such a tenderness for the man she was to marry. Some time ago, she’d been sick with rage, with fear, in knowing she was to marry a man she didn’t know. All her life she’s wished to marry for love, to marry a man who cherished her beyond any doubt, to marry without any political alliance forged beneath their joint hands. Somehow… All of those feelings of discontent have faded away, the more she’s come to know him. “Yet…” She trails off, her hand slipping free from his so she might reach up, the tips of her fingers tracing the outline of his jaw, the stubble of his beard rough against her skin. “I find when I look at you I also can see my home.” She doesn’t know how, but both of these things can be true- she can be homesick for the life she once knew, for the family she’s left behind, but she can also find a new place in the world in him.

Home… He wonders why that word has always felt so foreign to him until he’s heard her lips say it. They’ve not known each other all that long, but he’s developed a connection to her that he knows he’s never felt before- a feeling he’ll never feel again, save for with her. “I always want to be that feeling for you,” he says softly, leaning his head in, forehead pressed to hers. She’s so close now that he can feel the curve of her lips when she smiles, letting out a breath that catches his heart in his chest. They’ve never been this close before and he can feel his heart beating so fast that surely she must hear it.

Before either of them can say another word, he kisses her, something he’s not yet done.

To his surprise, she’s kissing him back, the feeling urging him on; his hands, once awkwardly at his sides, slide into place, one at the small of her back, the other against the curve of her cheek, fingers twisting around a stray lock of her red hair. When they break apart a few moments later, they’re both breathless, she smiling broadly as she timidly shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “Sansa…” He speaks her name in such a way that it weakens her knees and he’s tightening his grip upon her waist. “Shall we return inside…?” He asks softly and she laughs, shaking her head. He gestures towards the stone bench that sits just a short distance away, tucked into an alcove of floral bushes, and this time she nods, allowing him to lead her towards it.

There they might sit awhile, both feeling that same soft, yet wonderful warmth of knowing they were home.

#jonsa #actuallyjonsa #jon x sansa #I wrote this #my writing

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thlayli-ra · 1 month ago

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Hello! I know CodyRoman/Rheigns isn’t your usual but I would love to know your thoughts on it?

Well hello Pillow. Yes, you're right, they're not my usual, so I'm not as clued up on them as I am my favs (hence why I've been sitting on this ask for months) but I'll give it a go;

To me, Cody and Roman are two sides of the same coin - forged the same, minted the same but ultimately are polar opposites. To explain what I mean, let's start with their most obvious similarities. Both men are nepo babies, descended from widely respected lines of wrestling royal families. Both were products of WWE, beginning their wrestling careers in its developmental system and working their way up to the main roster. Both men carried the weight of heavy expectation on their shoulders as a result of their last names and lineage.

But above all else, both men struggled, not just with that pressure, but also with the whims of shoddy creative and more precisely, a certain someone in charge of the company at the time...

And this is where their paths divide. A decision was made, the coin flipped. One chose heads, the other tails. Cody left the company. Roman stayed.

Finally freed from his shackles, Cody thrived. Rebuilding himself on the independent circuit, he met other like-minded individuals, who wished to challenge the WWE's monopoly, and together they started AEW, a company to rival the wrestling juggernaut. At last he had the power to carve his own image and path, he had the adoration of the fans and yet... something was missing...

Meanwhile, Roman carried the company Cody had left behind, To mixed results. His controversial rise to the top made it clear that the powers-that-be had chosen Reigns as its new poster boy and were keen to shove him into every wrestling fan's face. Much like John Cena before him, this divided the crowd, however, not as evenly split as his predecessor. Babyface Reigns floundered when it came to winning the fan's affections and not even the usual tricks, like a seal of approval from The Rock himself, could sway the haters.

Fast forward a few years. Things have changed yet again.

At Wrestlemania 38, Cody Rhodes returns to the WWE and makes his intentions clear - he wants the title that his father, the late great Dusty Rhodes never got the chance to hold. The WWE Championship!

And who is holding that title, but Roman Reigns. No longer the 'blue-eyed' greenhorn who stumbles over his promos and smiles awkwardly through the pain, he is now the Tribal Chief, the Head of the Table. He has his cousins, his Bloodline, around him, he has his Wiseman Paul Heyman and together they have dominated the WWE landscape, casting a shadow of brutality and fear on anybody who defies them, including within their own ranks.

Cody fails his first attempt. Over the following year he understands why. Roman is strong because he has his team and if Rhodes is to defeat the tyrant, he must gather allies too. However, Cody does not bully others into joining his cause like Roman does, instead he chooses a different approach. Friendship. From rekindling old relationships to making new ones, Cody, once again, forges strong bonds with those that share a common goal and together, on a historic night at Wrestlemania 40, they succeed in overthrowing Reigns.

Cody becomes their new leader, igniting a bright new dawn for the company. However, he is forever haunted by the other side of his coin. Reigns returns a humbled and desperate man who has lost everything, including his Ula Falla, to a monster of his own creation, Solo Sikoa. Having been dismissed by everybody he once considered brother and publicly humiliated in the ring, he turns to Cody. The man who defeated him. The man who took down and shattered his Bloodline. He needs him to do it again.

Because that's the problem with Roman; he's never succeeded at anything on his own. His name and family ties can only get him so far but he's always needed somebody else to have his back, whether that be the Bloodline, the Shield or even the boss himself. Cody on the other hand, has done everything himself. Unlike Roman, Cody doesn't have the eyes of a dynasty on him, entrusting him to elevate their good name. What he does is for himself, a destiny of his own design. Roman's path was laid for him by his family and he was expected to walk it, never once allowed to deviate from the set trail.

Until now...

Now both men are at a crossroads (pardon the pun!). Cody is finding that life at the top comes with a price and those friendships he made on his way up are harder to maintain when he holds the biggest prize in the company around his waist. Meanwhile Roman is a chief without a tribe, no title, no purpose. This is his chance to redeem his past crimes and do things the right way this time around but as always, his pride keeps getting in the way.

Wrestlemania 41 is five days away. Both men are set to main event their respective nights. Roman is facing the demons of his past, while Cody is defending the soul of the company itself against the now soulless John Cena. How will things play out for these two - we'll have to wait and see!

#Thlayli-answers #cody rhodes #roman reigns #rheigns #head canon

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blackholesun321 · 9 months ago

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@mega-ringsandthings-world we were talking about Mihawk, as we do, and we came to the conclusion that he has never had someone love him for himself in all his ugly humanness. The world looks up at him and sees the world’s greatest swordsman, a warlord, or a man who can go toe-to-toe with an emperor. But they don’t ever see him. Know him—learn him. Because, well, it’s his fault for building that wall between himself and everyone else. For forcing everyone on the outside of his shell his whole life, and then he reaches the top alone, and... it’s everything he’s ever wanted, everything he ever said he wanted. He isn’t weak; he’s the best in the world, and he’s all alone.

And it’s empty—all of it, every second of it—empty, lifeless boredom. And he searches for something. Maybe he tries peace and lives within that state of half alive, half dead because he’s now convinced himself that peace is something he wants. Peace at all costs. But he’s still bored and alone, waiting for something, someone, anything to happen, and it never does.

Because, ladies and gentle-beings, Dracule Mihawk is a coward. He’s a coward because he chooses the easiest path of least resistance instead of charting a course in his own life and trying to make meaning in the meaningless. Mihawk is a coward, and he’s depressed. And these two things are not mutually exclusive; they are the driving force, the reason for each other. And because he will always choose the easiest path, he will never go after what he really needs, which is companionship.

That boy was good with a sword. He reeks of a gifted child, and maybe he even fell in love with swords and swordplay, but he was good at swords and then worked to be great at them. Somewhere in his history, we know he was betrayed by someone he trusted, and then he decided to never trust again. And, oh look, he runs away from everyone and everything, using the excuse to focus on his dream above everything—except when he achieves his dream. Instead of doing the hard work of trying to find meaning again or reaching out to others, he gives up and chooses the path of least resistance. He becomes a warlord for his so called peace of mind bored with hunting marines but trying maybe to have meaning or fights come to him. And he’s still bored and he’s still depressed.

Mihawk is a coward of a man who refuses to see that what he needs in his life is others to make the boredom bearable. And he doesn’t realize this for years—until Zoro. Even then, in Zoro, he sees a suicide; he sees meaning because he sees his end. But also, he sees how Zoro promises Luffy, how his crew gathers around him. He sees that and knows Zoro won’t fall like he did, won’t reach the top and then stop because he’ll have others reach it there with him.

And that’s why him giving Shanks Luffy’s poster, after years of holding a grudge against Shanks, is such a momentous act in his character arc. Because he’s reaching out to the man he personally probably views as someone he could have let as close as Zoro does with his crew. Now, he still views Zoro as a means to an end for his suffering, not yet as the character motivator to make friends and maybe open his heart up a little bit to others. No, that’s the time skip arc with Zoro and Perona. But still, that moment is him trying for the first time in forever, and it happens to be with Shanks.

In conclusion, Mihawk has hang-ups a mile long, but Shanks will always and forever be someone he loves and can imagine himself opening up to and standing at the top of the world with. But instead, he ran away when his vision of that ending was shattered by Shanks refusing to climb with him anymore and giving up his ability to do so—thus leaving Mihawk heartbroken and, in his eyes, betrayed once again. But the power of gay-autism-stupidity moss ball showed him he was the problem and needed to actually talk to people if he wanted to feel anything.

Also, Shanks and Mihawk made out sloppy style, on the beach after.

#one piece #mishanks #dracule mihawk #hawkeye mihawk #akagami no shanks #akataka #red haired shanks #mihawk shanks #shanks x mihawk #character analysis

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sheenashifts1217 · 8 months ago

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Pick A Pile #3

9/19/24

Message From Your DR Self

Take a breath and pick the image you’re drawn to first. Take what resonates, leave what doesn’t. This is a collective reading so some may resonate with this more than others. For a personal reading, check my pined post <3

Pile 1: Beach heart, Pile 2: Lightning Heart, Pile 3: Cloud Heart

Pile 1

Lyrics standing out:

“They say that we’re no good together and it’s never gonna work out

Everything you do is magic

Let em take pictures

Spread it all across the world now

I don’t know what to believe

Everything you do is magic”

Hi beautiful angels of Pile 1. Your DR self wants you to trust yourself more. You are your DR self. Your DR self is your CR self. Are you stressed about shifting? Don’t be because you’ve already shifted. Your DR self is telling you to take shifting and your DR off of such a high pedestal. There is nothing holding you back from your desires except for yourself. Get out of your own way. This I your sign to embrace all that you are and to on your power. You don’t need some outside cosmic force to make you shift. YOU ARE A COSMIC FORCE. Allow your reality to flow, it doesn’t have to be follow any rules. Magic is normal, normalize it to yourself because “everything you do is magic”. Every choice you make is shifting your reality, it’s that simple.

Your DR may include a lot of magic ad your DR self wants you to know that your s/o loves you like breathing.

Signs of confirmation, but not limited to: 444, blue bird, green leaf, dew drop, glass of water, blue, Billie Eillish, older women, dance

Pile 2

Lyrics standing out:

“Haven’t seen my mother in a long, long time

Do you really think I give a damn

I say I live in Rosemead, really, I’m at the Ramada

So many other things you can’t believe

Puts the shower on while he calls me

Your mom called, I told her you’re fucking up big time”

Hi beauties, Pile 2! Your DR self is telling you that you are having the time of your life. You may be a person who shifts pretty frequently, but to different DRs, or you may have a lot of DRs, but struggle to focus on one. Your ability to go with the flow is rewarding you greatly. If you’re shifting for an s/o, your relationship couldn’t be better. Marriage is in the near future for a few of you. Basically, your DR self is saying to sit back and enjoy the ride. Everything is going your way because you’re allowing it. Keep doing whatever you’re doing because it’s working. You’re on a path of healing and your inner child is shining. You are finally learning to give up on the thought of needing external validation and people pleasing. Keep it up because your hard work is paying off!

Signs of confirmation, but not limited to: “J”, red, crayon, curve, back road, country, serve, slay, boots, 24, 2, Taylor Swift, Willow, 90’s

Pile 3

Lyrics standing out:

“Now he’s just a shadow

My boy loves his friends like I love my split ends

My boy don’t love me like he promised

He ain’t a man, he sure as hell ain’t honest

Who are you?

He said he’d change

You want me to be yours, then you’ve got to be mine”

Hello lovely Pile 3! Why are you still doing things and allowing things in your life that don’t serve you? I know that was harsh right off the bat, but seriously, why? You know what you need and you know what hurts you. You’ve become comfortable in your cycle instead of actually speaking growth. Your DR self is telling you to stand the fuck up because you could be doing literally anything else, yet you’re self destructing. A lot of you began shifting to heal your inner child, but you began to use it to sulk and self destruct. Your DR self is you RN. You are in your CR because it is where you are desiring to be. Change your mindset to be in your “DR”, because right now, you’re making your CR be you DR by choosing to remain in the loop and keeping the same mentality. You always say you’re gonna change but don’t follow through. Actually do it, you won’t regret it. Your DR self says that things are great in your DR right now and they’re tired of you complaining about not being there when you’re not even actually intending to be there. A lot of things will lighten up once you face your shadow self and actually take that leap of faith.

Signs of confirmation, but not limited to: purple, cream, sparkles, glitter, candy, green, jeans, eagles, pen, fun, 888, 9, 23, trees, flowers

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hotgirlbedtimescenarios · 10 months ago

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The Story of Us

Timeless (pt.4)

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Summary: Epilogue

Words: 1.2k+

Warnings: too fluffy and too sweet, might make you sick

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

The flash of lights stirs you from sleep when the power turns back on in the early hours of the morning. A lazy groan sounds close to your ear, its breath tickling the hair on your neck. A sleepy smile crosses your face before you even open your eyes.

You roll in Javier's arms, still pulled tight against his bare chest as you had been all night since falling asleep. Kissing the tip of his nose, you whisper, “Good morning.”

Blearily, Javier's eyes flutter open and crinkle at the edges when he smiles at the image before him. In his arms is the girl he’s always dreamed of, with a voice like honey and hair tangled by sleep and the hands he’d run through it the night before. Still next to him on the heap of blankets and pillows you’d made love in while a storm raged on around you.

“Morning, mi amor,” he yawns before leaning in for a deep, slow kiss like he's committing your topography into the memory of his DNA. You let him, and you do the same, savoring the plush pout of his lips and sweep of his tongue against your own.

The kiss breaks, and you yawn, finally stretching and examining the room around you. “How about we blow these candles out before we burn my house to the ground, huh?”

Before you can get up, Javier slings a heavy around your shoulders and pulls you in to nuzzle in the crook of his neck, “5 more minutes,” he pleads.

You give in.

---

As the morning wears on, there's a giddy, almost nervous energy between you. While you get dressed, blow out candles, and fold blankets, you steal glances at each other, giggling when you catch one another in the act.

As you sit for breakfast and finally have a chance to talk, your nerves become real, but only for a moment.

Chewing on a piece of buttered toast, sitting across from Javier, you begin, “So…”

“So what?” he teases, a smirk on his lips when he senses your shyness.

“Where does this leave us?” you ask nervously, but don’t sugarcoat it; if ever there was a time to be blunt, it's now.

Javier sets down his coffee mug, his face losing the mirth it just had, and settles into something more serious.

“Everything I said last night, I meant every single word, but,” he sighs, “I’m still head of the team taking down the Cali cartel, and that means danger for me and anyone I care about. Last time, I took the choice away from you, but now the choice is yours. If you’ll have me, I’m yours for the rest of our lives.”

He lets loose a nervous sigh, as if he has any reason to worry.

You reach across the table and place your hand atop his own, interlacing your finger before saying, “Javier Peña, I told you last night. I’m all in, no matter what.”

“I’ll make sure every second is worth it,” he promises, squeezing your hand in his for emphasis. “I love you.”

And when you look into his eyes, you know it's true.

“I love you too.”

---

A short year and a half later, Javier keeps good on his word and takes down the head of the Cali cartel empire.

And, when his superiors come crawling back again, begging Javier to sacrifice himself to yet another one of their wars, he turns them down.

Knowing you're there to love him unconditionally, all his best qualities, and the darkest parts of his soul, he finds courage and the strength to break his path of self-destruction.

Finally, despite Javier's insistence that he’d changed over the years, that he was no longer the man you once knew, and that he’d done bad things and played a hand in numerous deaths, he chooses to live for more.

---

7 years later - Laredo, Texas

A cool fall breeze blows across the Texan countryside, ruffling your hair as you sway back and forth on your porch swing, reading your book in the last few minutes of daylight.

“Dinner’s ready,” your husband calls from inside your home as he sends your oldest to come fetch you from the porch.

The little boy pokes his head around the corner of the door, eager to beckon you inside to the meal they’ve prepared you tonight. “Come on, momma,” he says sweetly, his big brown eyes the same shade as his father's, alight with excitement.

“Coming, Matteo,” you say, using all your strength to push up and out of the porch swing and find your balance before following him inside.

It wasn’t the most graceful dismount, but considering you’re 8 months pregnant and your fingers are so swollen you had to take off your wedding rings so they don’t have to be sawed off your fingers, you have a pretty good excuse. Your feet are just as swollen; you don’t even wear shoes now as you waddle inside to join your family.

What you see when you turn the corner and enter the kitchen nearly brings tears to your eyes.

Javier flashes you a dazzling smile as he bounces your youngest, Maria, in his arms as he sets the table for dinner. Matteo races over to sit at the table, pointing excitedly so you can look at the meal he helped prepare with his father for the family tonight.

Slowly but surely, you waddle through your home, passing pictures on the wall that capture moments of your life together. A picture from your wedding day when your two families finally met for the first time, one of Javier and his father Chucho building the frame of the house you now walk through, and one of the moment your son was born, his tiny body held in your arms as Javier smiles above the both of you.

And somewhere, tucked away in a scrapbook with hundreds of more memories, is a small polaroid, now weathered and faded by time, that Javier held on to through the years, from the very beginning of your journey together.

You make it to the kitchen table and sit with a sigh of relief, eager to be off your feet.

Javier steps over, leaning in to kiss your cheek, and in his smooth, surly voice, he coos, “Happy anniversary, Esposa.”

Happy tears well up in your eyes, a testament to your immense joy and overactive hormones. Everything is as it should be; you know it in your heart.

Javier made good on his promise; every second you’ve spent together since you reunited has been worth it. Every moment is filled with joy, love, and understanding, the likes of which make you feel incredibly blessed.

You savor every moment spent together, though the fear of ever losing him never resurfaced; he became wholly devoted to you and you to him. Your last kiss will be the day one of you leaves this earth, with the other sure to follow swiftly due to a broken heart.

Though the journey to now had been long and hard at times, you know in your heart it was meant to be. It was a journey you had to take, to rediscover a love that had endured against all odds, a love that never truly left you, only laid dormant in the depths of your heart.

No matter the circumstances, you would have found your way back to each other, your fates entwined from the day you were born. In any lifetime, he’d find you and you him. Your love is timeless; it will stretch on into infinity, reincarnate, and begin again. This was it, the story of us.

Thank you to everyone who read, liked, shared, and commented throughout this series! This story originally began as a sad/angsty one-shot, but I crave a happy ending; thus, The Story of Us was born.

This is my very first completed series, and I'm so proud of how it turned out :,) I hope you enjoyed the journey.

Love you lots! - KT

*everyone say thank you to TSwift for her Speak Now album. It’s always been a personal favorite of mine and it inspired this whole story obviously*

*Also, since this is a mini series, things wrapped up quick and lots of moments between Javi and reader were left to the imagination or summed up quickly within the main story. So, if anyone is ever interested in a drabble or extra scene from some of their times together not mentioned in the story just ask and I'd be happy to provide. I feel like I could write a million things about these two.*

#the story of us #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #javier peña x reader #javier pena fanfiction #javier peña narcos #javier peña #angst with a happy ending #javier pena x you #fluff #love

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hyperfixatedcatlover · 7 months ago

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The Beauty's Rebirth - Chapter 2: Mother Agent

Hey y'all! Sorry this took so long to get out! Please cast your votes! I will write all paths but I will write them one at a time so I want to know what you all would want!

TW: Child abuse, starvation, mentions of being trafficked, MDNI

I do not support or condone such behaviors in real life, this is purely fiction.

Prologue - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2(You are here)

In modeling, there is a term models are aware of. This term is "Mother agent." The mother agent is the agency or the person that discovered you.

'It's funny,' you think to yourself on the way to your house ship - as one of, if not, the most famous models in the galaxy, having a nice apartment that can also travel the stars was exceedingly helpful - 'my mother agent is more of a mother than my actual one.'

The craft driving you home is silent on the inside, but the silence is thick. The typical post-filming headache has set in, restarting the typical routine of these gigs. You smiled, you waved as you went to the dressing room, you took the expensive dress off and put on another nice, semi-less stifling outfit, waved as you went to the car, continued to wave out the window as the car drives away until you were finally out of sight. In these moments of traveling while the pressure in your skull causes the intense desire for pure, uninterrupted quiet, your mind can't help but drift. And drift it does, into the dark recesses of your brain where the memories of your childhood are.

'Mother always hated my beauty, I wonder what she thinks of it now.' Your mother was always jealous. At just five years old, the curls in your hair and the smile that shone seemed to tell her that you were much more beautiful, something she couldn't be. Of course it had to be your fault, of course she needed to punish you for it, of course she needed to starve you when you were seven to keep your figure, of course she needed to train you in acting docile and submissive, though that may have been the malnourishment that caused you to not ever speak up. Mistakes were met with harsh punishment,

"It's for your own good, you ungrateful spawn!"

You shake the memory out of your head, instead choosing to remember the kind woman at the modeling agency, which was small and didn't have that much money who took a chance on you. Poor, starving, freezing you, who she gave a roof over your head and a job, who listened to the story of your parents selling you off to become a concubine to a man thrice your age on another planet, how they faked your death at home. The woman who taught you what you needed to know. In your reminiscence, you to see something out of the corner of your eye. You catch sight of a light blue planet with golden swirls in various parts. Gold and blue… The colors cause your brain to remember someone, someone you miss dearly. I wonder how those two are doing.

The Halovian boy who was only a year older than you, and his sister who was two years your junior, the Oak Branch of The Family. They were the only two people who ever made you happy. At one of the events you were allowed to go to at just nine years of age, you got lost and began to cry no matter how hard you tried to resist it. It was at that point when a boy of slightly shorter height than yours and his much smaller sister found you. When I looked into the young boy's eyes, I felt seen. You were friends ever since, though your meetings were few and far between from how your families kept you busy.

Mr. Wood must have given him some freedom now, I know Robin is a singer, and Sunny most likely is in charge of something back home. If I can even call such a place home.

Childhood friend musings aside, your aircraft has landed in your garage, and you step out waving Charles, your Chauffer, goodbye as you scan your fingerprint to unlock the door. As you step into the home, the mewls of your cherry pie and lemon merengue pie snacks cause you to giggle as the hop towards you like they haven't seen you in months, despite only having been gone for five hours. You pat their heads and go to the master bathroom and shower, scrubbing the makeup, hair spray, and whatever else they put on your skin and in your hair. As you exit the bathroom, now wearing a satin nightgown, you see the snacks waiting for you on the bed.

Oh those cuties, I wish I could stay with them all day.

You join them on the bed when you get a message, your mother agent.

'Hey, you have a couple days off but before you go to bed, you need to hear the options to decide what your next shoot is. I'll get your answer tomorrow so you can think about it.'

'I get to decide?'

'My assistant's system glitched out and crashed, causing three events to be scheduled at the same time. I'll handle the fallout, but you should pick what you want to do.'

'Oh, okay! What are my options?'

'First option is that you could go to a planet, called Belobog, which recently made contact with the IPC and do a shoot there to increase tourism.'

'I guess I wouldn't need heavy security as most people there won't know who I am.'

'True, but you'll still have some. The next option is a shoot on the Xianzhou Loufu. An indie designer you've modeled for in the past is launching a line of traditional hanfu-inspired nightgowns and wants you to model a few, some are a smidge risqué, however.'

'I think I've shown more skin than was you're implying, I'll be fine if I go that route, but what is the last option?'

'You don't have to go to this one, I will make sure your reputation with this brand doesn't sink.'

'What do you mean? You're freaking me out a little bit.'

'The last option is with a major brand, they have a new clothing line with vintage clothes with a modern twist. The shoot will be in Penacony.'

'Oh.'

'My thoughts exactly. I'll let you think about what you want and talk to you tomorrow. Goodnight, sleep well!'

Mother Agent has gone offline

You set the phone on the nightstand and ponder.

Do I go somewhere new and help a planet's economy? Do I go to a smaller designer and give them more reputation? Or, do I go home? Where do I go?

After some tossing and turning, you fall asleep, dreams not reaching you, just a voice telling you to fly free. When you wake up, the snacks are ready for food. As the coffee brews and the snacks munch, you pick up your phone, having made your decision.

'I want to go to…'

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thatboreddrake · 2 months ago

Text

Stories. They may not be true, but I feel that each of them carries within itself a kernel of truth. Some knowledge to be gleaned, an idea to be considered. Stories are made with a purpose, after all. I can still remember the day that I had the revelation, childish though it seems in hindsight, that all stories had a message they wanted to convey. Even shows that seemed to be made purely for entertainment value.

Since that day, my enjoyment of and appreciation for stories has grown immensely. It is truly a pleasure to ask myself, "what is this story about?" Not as a means of deciphering the plot or the actions of the characters, but to examine the deeper meaning: what did the creator intend to convey when they set out to tell this story?

And in so doing, in learning how to better understand stories and their authors, I feel that I have come to a better understanding of myself. Oftentimes, this comes in the form of seeing aspects of myself in characters. In Shirou, I see my desire to create a space in which anyone can feel safe, and where people know they can rely on me. In Kaladin, I see my more active desire to protect, to care for those around me and shield them from a world that seeks to destroy them. In Waxillium, I see my desire to be strong, to carry the burdens that threaten to crush others, to take the hits so that others don't have to.

I feel that you can learn a lot about a person, especially yourself, by looking at what stories, what characters, what ideals they align themselves towards. But all too often, we gravitate only towards those who we perceive as being "right." Seeking to paint ourselves in the best possible light, we only allow ourselves to identify our positive aspects, while neglecting the darker sides of ourselves.

I fell into this trap for far too long. I identified with people like Shirou and Kaladin, choosing not to see the consequences of their choices. Now, I have begun to know better. In Shirou, I see not only a desire to save others, but also the depression that comes of a life lived entirely in the service of another. In Kaladin, I see that no one person can shield the entire world, and that I will be crushed under the weight of my own problems if I do not seek aid.

But I say again, I must not only identify myself with characters who I see as "right," lest I paint an incomplete picture of myself. So too do I see myself in Szeth-son-Neturo, as I am too often a man desperate for someone to tell me the objectively correct path to take. I see also the danger of accepting dogma as fact, and the need for me to examine all things for myself. I see myself in Taravingian, and shudder to think what lengths I might go to if I felt that it was the only way to save those who are most dear to me. I look to Kelsier, and I see the danger of accepting even my own thoughts as absolute truth. I see the need to constantly examine my own ideals and motivations, lest I become a pale imitation of the man I set out to be.

Perhaps more than any of these, I see myself in Miquella, both as I understood him in the base game and as I saw him to be in the DLC. For in the former, I attached myself to his desire to make the world safe for the least fortunate and his determination to banish the gods themselves if that was what it took to save his sister. Yet, in the DLC, I also see myself in his hubris, his decision that he and he alone had the wisdom to decide the fate of the world and all those who live in it. I think back to a boy, many years ago, who naively declared that the world could be fixed if only he were the one in ultimate authority. For I was just, I was moral, I could fix everything if only the world were made to listen.

Reflections of ourselves, or myself at least, can also be seen in the stories which we choose to tell, the characters we choose to embody. For in the process of telling a story, we come to understand its contents perhaps more intimately than any. Through the eyes of Grym, ebony-winged herald of the Raven Queen, I glimpsed a nihilism which declared that suffering in the world was too great for life to be allowed to continue. Through him, I declared death a mercy, yet saw the flaws in his logic as his former companions sought to dissuade him.

In the character of Alvar, I brought to light feelings of unrelenting guilt. I explored the fear that, no matter how hard I tried to save the ones around me, there may come a day when my strength was turned against them. I wrestled with the dread that the greatest danger to those I love might be found within my own heart.

In Ian Graeves, though his story is yet untold, I have dealt with feelings of inadequacy and apathy. The idea that if your best will never be good enough, then it would be no use to try in the first place.

Through it all run common threads. Ideals that I hold dear to my heart, truths that I have sought to reconcile. All told through the lens of stories and the characters who weave their way through them. But this last lesson that stories have taught me is the most important of all: progress is not, and never will be, linear. You may make a bold declaration one day, yet fall short the next. What matters is that I am always working, always striving to be a better man tomorrow than I was today.

I am not half the man I wish I was, but I know I am twice the man I used to be.

Journey before Destination, friends.

#drake rambles #stories #idk where i was going with this really #just felt the need to put it out there

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spider-jaysart · 10 months ago

Note

Character ask: Damian Wayne (duh!)

@venetiangoldroz

Lolll

1. How I feel about this character:

Small boy!! Very intelligent, has a good heart that he usually tries not to show off too often but it is always there with him, sweet animal lover, and is a cool, crazy, weird kid that I love so much lmao

2. All the people I ship romantically with this character:

Jon Kent

3. My non romantic otp for this character:

Jon Kent

4. My unpopular opinion for this character:

Some fans don't like that Damian is a fan of Dinah Lance as a singer, but I personally like it lol. I don't like how silly he was made to be about it though, like singing one of the songs out loud in public for example, because he would never actually do that all lmaooo, he would keep that to ONLY himself lol. Also, I'm hearing now that it was actually a crush he was having on her, which I hate. Like, yes, he's an adult in that specific comic, but I'm tired of DC making him fall for almost every female and older woman that he interacts with, like just let him be normal about them already!!! I just like him being a fan of her music and that's it

5. One thing I wish would happen/had happen with this character in canon:

Not just one thing, cause I'mma list them all here

Start getting the respect he deserves after so much😤, cause like he literally changed himself and went through so much development for years now, but it's still not enough for DC writers or even some fans!! Like, just what do you want from him anymore????? He's been trying so much for too long now!!

For writers to stop treating him like he's nothing but evil, because he's not!! He's just a kid who grew up with a kind of life that's VERY different from everyone else's and was just taught ever since from a really young age to see things in other ways because of that. He does have a heart, it's the reason why he's made so much effort to become the person and hero he is today now and has left the whole League life behind. And about him being a tough person, that's just literally his dang personality, it's not something that adds to him being "evil" at all either

For DC to also just let him choose and make his own path as a hero when he grows up. He shouldn't become the next Batman by force or go through with becoming head of the Loa either, one of the big parts about his character is about discovering who HE actually is and figuring out what he really wants for himself instead, so he deserves to make his own choices by his own will. He should also become a vetinarian when it comes to getting a career

Stop with the white washing and start consistently representing his Arab side more, just like how the artist Gleb Melnikov did very boldly and also wonderfully in Robin 2021 when drawing him

And another one for the writers is to also stop making him crush on older woman!!!! PLEASE!! Just cut it out already!!! This entire thing has been going on ever since he was just 10 years old and nothing about it has ever been "cute!" or whatever they think of it as! It's just freaking weird and I don't understand why DC writers keep doing that to him! He's just a kid, not a grown man, so treat him like it!!! And stop deaging woman who were also already much older just to be with him and stop setting him up with his own female family members too! That one's already happened twice now (Mar'i and Cassandra) and now I'm scared that the writers of the second Supersons movie are gonna push that into there too with Cassandra AGAIN and ruin the film that way, which I really HOPE that doesn't happen AT ALL!😖

Let him have an actual relationship with his Mother instead of keeping them distant so much! Damian deserves to have her in his life too, not just Bruce as his Father, and she also deserves to have him in hers as well. Despite how things may be, they really love eachother a lot and it's not fair that they don't get to be as close as they were before, which is also really heartbreaking to think about honestly

Damian should also get to have a relationship with Respawn too that can develop into a sibling one at some point if ever he ever does appear again in the future

Never let him act like a normal person, let him forever be his weird, strange self, because that's literally one of the biggest things that MAKES HIM DAMIAN and I love him for it lol. Batman and Robin 2023 tried to change this about him in it's protayal and I hated it, it felt like some imposter, which just frustrated me a lot and made some things boring too. This goes for other kinds of mischaracterizations that were done to him too, like Gotham War as the most recent example, which was a big time failure at doing it well in a different way. Writers need to learn how to get to know him better first before actually writing him in their stories, deciding how he will react and treat things that happen in said story and it's plot. Here's something else much better too, he needs to start getting writers who actually like/love, respect, and actually understand him!

I think that's all for now loll but Thank you for the ask, @venetiangoldroz !! Sorry about the little delay btw, but I enjoyed answering this!!!

#damian wayne #spider-jaysart asks

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sweetponythings · 1 month ago

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Tipiskaw International High School Part 3

Beware that this story contains bullying, homophobia, mentions of abusive relationships, transphobia, heavy subject matter. Please take care when reading. (Disclaimer: story doesn't fully follow how characters would act in canon, i needed a mean girl (very much inspired by Regina George) and Riya just fit the bill lol, plus there's no way she would choose to hang out with James and Yul in canon lol. Maybe I should give her some tragic backstory to flesh her out 🤔)

It's Amazing To Be Young

Across the school, a split-haired young man was happily chatting to his two dear friends, Lake and Rosa María. Aiden couldn’t help but feel a bit like a third wheel sometimes, with Lake and Rosa being so close. The two girls tried their very best to include him as much as possible, but Lake and Rosa lived together; Lake’s parents had kicked her out after she refused to marry a man they had arranged for her to become engaged with immediately after graduating high school. Lake’s family was very wealthy and had moved to Canada from Germany; her family’s high expectations and academic pressure had put Lake under a lot of strain, affecting her eating and general well-being. Lake knew deep down she could never be the perfect girl they expected; she was a lesbian and didn’t want to obey people who saw her as nothing more than a status symbol. Rosa and Lake were as thick as thieves; Rosa had even introduced Lake to one of her Spanish-speaking friends, Mariana. Mariana and Lake had both hit it off and were now dating happily. Rosa’s family saw Lake like she was their own daughter and took her in without a second thought, despite them not being very well off financially. The fact that Aiden and Rosa had both dealt with poverty in the past is part of what brought them together, bonding over the shared struggles they faced at home. Sadly, the majority of Lake and Rosa’s classes were on the other side of the school; Aiden only saw the two girls in the odd class they might have together, at lunch or in between classes.

The next lesson was a good one, Art. A favourite of Aiden’s and Lake’s. Rosa waved them goodbye as she departed to make her way to her woodwork class. Rosa María was everyone’s friend, thoughtful, kind and affectionate. Despite being the only girl in the class, all the boys in woodwork loved and respected her. She was no pushover, however. You would know if you had ever pissed the Latina girl off; she was able to whip all of the boys in her class back into line within a moment's notice.

“I still don’t know how she manages to deal with all those boys!” Lake remarked with her strong accent as they both continued down the buzzing hall, both teens weaving back and forth in an attempt to not bump into people. “Oh, come on, we’re not all that bad, you know.” Aiden joked with a little poke on his friends arm. A voice cut through the conversation, interrupting the two friends; a female form was standing right in the middle of their path, so they couldn’t get past. “How would you know? It’s not like you actually count as a boy.” Riya had appeared from nowhere and stared right into Aiden’s teal eyes, getting off on the pained reaction that her stinging words had brought. Aiden’s mind went blank, rattled by the remark. “Leave it, Riya. No one asked for your opinion.” Living with Rosa had certainly brought Lake out of her shell, taking on more of Rosa’s confidence and attitude. The Indian girl scowled, raising a finger in preparation to spit venomous insults into the German girl’s face when another voice joined the conversation. “Don’t worry about her, Aiden.” Came a deep voice with a strong Brazilian accent that Aiden was all too familiar with. James. “Sure he’s a boy, Riya. A very cute one.” James added with a wink. For some reason the Brazilian loved nothing more than to tease and wind up Aiden whenever he got the opportunity. Aiden knew it was best to ignore it, but it pissed him off to no end. He never bothered anyone; why did people constantly feel the need to get in his business?

Lake was giggling at James's remark, playing along light-heartedly. “He’s not wrong!” Lake’s warm smile never failed to make Aiden feel lighter, rolling his eyes with a sarcastic smile and tugging the German girl’s arm to remind her they needed to get to their next lesson. As they started to step away, Riya’s voice called out again. “Hey, I’m still talking to both of you. Where’s the other one of you girls?” Aiden felt his blood boil at that remark, marching forwards without so much as glancing behind him, shouting out “At least I’ve actually got real friends!” as he flipped Riya off over his shoulder. It was no secret that Riya and Yul were more rivals than friends, constantly bickering and trying to one-up the other. Aiden and Lake could both hear her. James burst into hysterical laughter at the quick-witted remark. “Teu cu! Oh meu Deus, isso é tão caralho engraçado. I have to make a TikTok about that!” Riya ground her teeth together as she watched the pair walk away; she would’ve snapped metal at that moment if she wanted to. She grabbed James harshly by the collar of his t-shirt and dragged him away. “C’mon, dumbass, we’re going.”

The art lessons that Lake and Aiden had were always peaceful and enjoyable. Sitting side by side at a table with two other girls that they both got along well with: Tess Morgan and Ellie Parker. Each student was working on their own project, an important part of their final grade. Lake had made a collage, depicting a princess and a knight. The knight was a young woman who had a strikingly similar appearance to that of Mariana; it was clear to see who the princess was supposed to represent. Ellie's art was a line of mannequins all in the same outfit moving down an assembly line, no doubt some 'deep' commentary on society and its structures. Tess was painting a young woman in a dark void, a string attached to her hands like that of a puppet’s. Finally, there was what Aiden considered his masterpiece. An image of a pink cocoon, the cocoon resembling the distorted image of a little girl. The pink pod was being broken open to reveal a handsome young man breaking free from the confines and growing beautiful blue angel wings, reaching out towards the light and flying away into the sky. Truly something that truly spoke about Aiden’s experiances since starting high school.

It hadn’t been easy telling the people he was close to that he was transgender; by the grace of God, his parents were accepting and encouraging. Other family members hadn’t been so open-minded, however. Lake and Rosa accepted who he was with love and open arms. As long as he was loved by them, he was happy. It was just as his mother said, ‘If people accept you, then those are the people you should love and care about; everyone else is irrelevant.’ It was easier to remember that than to practise what his mother preached. Some family members would still accidentally refer to him as his dead-name, but luckily most students at school had no clue, and if other people did find out, most simply didn't care; he was just ‘Aiden’ here, and he was all the more grateful for it. Riya was the boy's biggest tormenter, and with Yul at her side, they had both made it their mission to remind him constantly that he was born in the ‘wrong body’ or that he 'didn't count as a boy'. Aiden had Rosa and Lake to go to when things felt lonely, but recently he had been hanging out with Ellie, Ellie’s girlfriend, Gabby, and their friend Tom more. The three friends were their own little group, and they had accepted Aiden lovingly into their fold when the other two girls weren’t available to hang out with.

“Aiden, your piece is so beautiful; is it almost done?” Tess enquired, dabbing the navy blue paint out of her brush onto the paper below her. “I think so… I’ve enjoyed doing this, but I can’t lie; I’ll be grateful when it’s done. Each girl hummed in agreement. “Where do you want to sit at lunch, Lake?” Aiden asked, being reminded of the topic by the growling of his stomach. “Oh, Aiden… Mariana and Rosa are helping me with my Spanish essay; we’re going to be in one of the Spanish classrooms; only the three of us are allowed. Are you going to be okay on your own?” Lake had mentioned it before, but Aiden had completely forgotten, his smile turning into a small frown as he recalled. “Doesn’t that count as cheating, Lake?” Tess asked with a smirk and a hand on her hip. “Doesn’t it count as cheating when you get Ally and Hunter to help you with your computer science and programming assignments?” The red-haired girl responded, tapping her lip and pretending to be in thought. “Touché, Parker.” Tess couldn’t really disagree with that. “Hey, come sit with me and Gabs again.” Ellie suggested kindly, and Aiden smiled and nodded enthusiastically, the boy thanking her wordlessly.

“Hey Ellie, speaking of Ally. She told me you got in a fight with Jake in your English class. What’s that all about?” Lake and Aiden put their pencils down and looked at each other, then at the other two girls upon hearing that. “Ugh, don’t remind me! He wasn’t doing any of the assignment; he was just staring into space and feeling sorry for himself as per usual! Then he decided to throw a tantrum because I called him out on it!” Ellie exclaimed. Aiden recalled something that Tom had mentioned to him earlier in the first lesson of the day in biology class. “Tom told me Jake was really upset today… He saw him crying in the hallway.” “It was really horrible what happened to him. The breakup and the leaked messages…” Lake added, always being sympathetic to the struggles of others. Not to mention, everyone knew that Ellie could be a little bit harsh at times. “Yeah, I know, but we all have our problems. Jake doesn’t help himself at all.” The American girl rebuked. The other three decided not to pursue the topic any further, the conversation going silent and each student quietly resuming their work.

Lunchtime rolled around not long later, and Aiden made his way with Ellie to the cafeteria after saying goodbye to Lake. The room was almost overwhelmingly busy with people talking, eating, and moving from one place to the next with friends. Aiden and Ellie waited in line to get some sustenance for the next couple of hours, chatting about what they were going to be doing after school. Ellie had her job to attend to, while Aiden had promised Tom and Gabby that he was going to come to watch the young man’s soccer game tonight. Tom’s team was playing a rival school with a bit of a reputation for playing dirty; it would most certainly be entertaining if anything, plus Tom always appreciated his friends supporting him. The two found Gabby was sitting alone at a table in the corner of the room, near a door that led down the far hallway, clearly waiting for Ellie to arrive; immediately rushed to give her girlfriend a rib-crushing hug upon spotting her, and Ellie blushed wildly and kissed the brown-skinned girl on the cheek. Aiden smiled as Gabby happily called his name in greeting and squeezed him tightly in a hug. The twin-haired boy couldn’t help but wince in pain at the Polish girl’s strength; there were definitely going to be bruises on his ribs tomorrow. Aiden gasped a little when Gabby let him go, air finally being able to get back into his lungs, then realising that Tom was nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s Tom, Gabs?” The split-colour-haired boy asked while looking around, wondering if the taller boy was nearby. Tom was Gabby’s best friend; he was always spending time with the two girls. He and Gabs were virtually joined at the hip. Gabby and Tom had a Family Studies class together before lunch, so they usually came to eat lunch together afterwards. “He’s sitting outside with the other soccer boys today; they’re planning tonight’s game, I think.” Aiden nodded in understanding. “It would make sense if they’re talking strategy; tonight’s game isn’t going to be an easy one.” All three of them took a seat; Aiden sat opposite the two girlfriends while they held hands, munching on a red apple he was holding with one hand while scrolling through his phone with the other while muttering away about lessons. Ellie continued drawing in her sketchbook like she always did; it was always fashionable clothes she drew, or Gabby wearing the designs she had created. Gabrysia Nowak always had wild stories to tell. Aiden and Ellie listened in interest as the Polish girl explained how she managed to find out that a neighbour’s dog was the one who kept stealing things from her father’s tool shed, gesturing wildly and making the other two laugh like hyenas. Then Gabby had one of her ‘ideas’, much to the concern of the other two. “What if we help Tom later?” Ellie stopped drawing for a moment to look her girlfriend in the eyes. “What do you mean, Gabs? You know Tom would never cheat.” Gabby’s brown eyes grew wide with excitement. “What if we locked the other team in their changing room? We could jam a chair against the door so they would be late and get disqualified; that way we can make sure our team wins!” Gabby threw her hands up after announcing her idea, clearly proud of her strategy. Aiden stared widely at the brown-haired girl in amazement and disbelief, while the red-haired girl slapped her hand onto her own forehead, praying silently to herself that Gabby wouldn’t actually try to go through with her plan this time.

Meanwhile, outside, Tom sat surrounded by a few of his teammates. Diego and Logan were goofing around with each other while Spencer tried to talk seriously about team formations and strategy for the game that was in a few hours, desperately trying to get the other two to be serious for a moment. James was scrolling through his TikTok with a bored expression, looking up when he realised Tom was staring at him. “You okay, buddy?” James wondered aloud with his thick accent, poking Tom in the side to get his attention. “Yeah… it’s just… What were you doing this morning?” James raised an eyebrow in confusion, his dark brown eyes meeting Tom’s turquoise ones. “I wasn’t doing anything earlier, why?” The taller man rolled his eyes in irritation, his voice taking a more assertive tone with his next sentence. “Don’t give me that shit. This morning, at the lockers. You, Riya and Yul; what were you saying to Jake Hamilton?” James raised his hands in self-defence, trying to plead his innocence. “Seriously, my friend. I was just looking at my phone; I don’t get involved in what Riya and Yul do.” Tom accepted that answer; James was a fair few yards away from the other two; he didn’t seem to be paying attention to them when he came in from the courtyard and spotted the smaller, blue-haired boy being pinned against a locker in clear distress. Tom only came in after hearing the commotion all the way from outside in the first place.

“You could’ve stopped them though, you know.” James just shrugged nonchalantly, seemingly not too bothered either way. “Sim, eu sei, Tom… I’m sorry; I just wasn’t paying attention. I have waaaay better things to focus on.” The Brazilian’s attention went back to his phone, but Tom wasn’t done with the conversation. “He was in a really bad way, crying like that… I’m pretty sure I heard him throwing up before I went into the restroom.” The curly-haired man bit his lip slightly before turning off his phone and propping his elbow up on the picnic table they were sitting at, shifting to face towards his dark-haired friend and asking, “Why do you care?” Despite his tone, Tom could tell James felt a little bit bad about the situation, try as he might to hide it. “Because… I dunno, I see a lot of my younger self in him... He can’t even walk through a hallway without getting remarks. You know that I went through the same type of thing about two years ago. I don’t understand why Blake sent you those screenshots in the first place or why you felt the need to share them around.” Tom’s words had struck something in James; the two young men had known each other since middle school. Back then, Tom was the one to defend James whenever someone teased him about his accent or when he mispronounced something. James hadn’t long moved to Canada from Curitiba when they first met, and Tom had been a true friend and a rock on the worst days. James had seen firsthand the cruelty of people his age once again when Tom arrived back at school after three months of unexplained absence not long after they started high school. His friend had his new scars on full display for anyone and everyone to gawk at and comment on.

“I didn’t share those screenshots! I showed Yul because he was wondering what Blake had sent me before I even had the chance to read through the messages myself! Then when I wasn’t looking, he signed himself into my phone and sent them all to his phone; that’s how they ended up all over the school. Caralho, Tom! I couldn’t have given less of a shit about what Blake sent, to be perfectly honest, let alone wanting to go out of my way just to upset Jake.” Tom said nothing for a few moments, taking a long sip from his water bottle before offering some to his curly-haired friend, James gladly accepting and starting to drink. “I don’t get why you even hang out with those guys. I know they’re popular and all, but they don’t even get along with each other!” James smirked as he handed the water back to Tom. “Entertainment, I suppose. You get a lot of TikTok content out of those two.” James, hands raised in the air, as if to say ‘don’t blame me’, the scarred young man smiled and shook his head at his friends words before suggesting. “You should come and hang out with us; Gabs and Ellie wouldn’t mind, dude.” James stood up from the table, slinging his bag over his left shoulder and starting to make his way back inside as he waved goodbye to the boys, fist-bumping each of them as he passed by. “Yeah, maybe… I’ll think about it.”

Back inside, Yul and Riya were sitting with Grett; the British girl had her eyes glued to her phone as she scrolled through to find something she’d spotted earlier, intending to show the other two. Riya was growing impatient, tapping her foot against the floor. “Have you found it yet?” The brunette gave a sinister smile. “I have now!” Grett passed her phone across the table to the brown-skinned girl. Riya’s eyes scanned the phone as she scrolled down, a devilish smirk spreading across her red painted lips. “Oh, this is good shit; nice work, Grett.” “What were you even looking for?” Yul leant across the table, snatching the phone out of Riya’s hands, clearly unsatisfied with his findings by the look on his face. “Ugh, who the fuck is this bitch?” Riya pulled her phone out of her Valentino bag with grace, tapping on the glass quickly, suddenly on a mission to share something online. “It’s Aiden, and it’s just what I need to teach him a lesson.” If there was anything that Riya and Yul had in common, it was their pettiness and lust for revenge. Riya had revealed to the two others sitting at the table that Aiden had gotten a bit too cocky with her earlier that day; she needed something to get even, something to put her back on top and make Aiden think twice about daring to cross her again.

Grett was a master of finding old dirt on people, and Riya was the master of spreading it for all to see. What the two girls had found were old pictures from Aiden’s mother’s and grandmother’s Facebook accounts and a couple from Aiden’s old Instagram account, one he had forgotten to make private. The pictures showed a sweet teenage girl with long, pale brown hair and a cute, toothy smile; the person the photos displayed had little resemblance to Aiden, but it had to be him. He was an only child and didn’t have any cousins as far as Riya and Grett were aware. Before Yul and Grett could even ask what Riya was going to do, the deed was done. The pictures that Aiden so desperately wanted to never be seen by his peers were now sent to every group chat and account that Riya could find. A mocking caption that boldly showed Aiden’s name, as clear as day to see, underlined each image; there was no doubt about who it was in the pictures. Riya dropped her phone on the table and rested her hands behind her head, waiting for the chaos to commence.

Aiden was still sat with the two girls; the topic had changed from wanting to lock the boys that were coming to the school to play soccer later that day in their changing room to Gabby wanting to sabotage their chances by putting sleeping pills in their water bottles. Aiden tried desperately to convince Gabby that it was a horrible idea while Ellie listened with an amused smile. While speaking, Aiden couldn’t help but notice a lot of people turning their heads to look at their table, looking at him specifically and giggling. Perhaps they were just overhearing Gabby’s batshit plans; the e-boy tried to ignore them and just focus on the conversation he was having; however, something in the room felt very wrong. The American girl was checking her notifications while listening to the other two’s ramblings when a very odd message popped up. ‘Aiden Brooks is such an adorable little girl.’ Ellie gasped audibly as she clicked on the notification. Someone had somehow got hold of old pictures of her friend, mocking him and referring to him with some highly unsavoury terms. Without meaning to, Ellie had gotten the attention of the other two.

“Uh, babe? What is it?” Gabby scooted closer to her girlfriend before the redhead had a chance to move her phone away. Gabby caught sight of the images, and her eyes went as wide as saucers as she processed what she had just seen. The Polish girl was at first in shock, her attitude then quickly turning to anger. “Who the FUCK did this?” Aiden was fed up of being left in the dark and grabbed the phone so he could finally see for himself what the fuss was about, quickly coming to regret his decision. Oh no, oh dear god, no. There were pictures from his fourteenth birthday party, his middle school talent show, a picture of him with an Ariel doll he had been gifted when he was eight, and The Little Mermaid was his favourite thing in the world. The comments were disgraceful, too vile to repeat in public. Aiden dropped the phone from his hands, the case hitting the table with a CLANG as a cold sweat descended upon him and chills ran up his spine. It was him; everyone was looking at him, everyone was laughing at him. The young man stood back from the table, starting to shake. He was quite open with people who knew him about being trans. Many people at school knew; many others didn't, but being exposed like this for so many people to see and scrutinise, it was way too much to handle. Clutching his arms and hands to his chest, his heart felt like it was going to burst through his skin and land on the table in front of him. Moving backwards slowly, he bumped into someone. Riya stood towering over Aiden, grinning like the Cheshire Cat and chuckling at the boy’s horrified expression. “At least you’ve got friends, ‘Aiden’…” The Indian girl mocked, gesturing with her fingers on the subject of his name; no one at this school had ever known him by any other name, and he didn’t want them to either. The boy took off like a rocket down the hall, floods of tears leaking down his face hard and heavy as he went.

Yul cackled at the sight; Grett was clearly proud of herself. She was definitely in Yul and Riya’s good books now. A smart move, in her opinion. Riya was satisfied hearing Ellie call the boy’s name as he ran off, the American girl rushing to pack up her things and pick up the bag that Aiden had forgotten in his hasty exit. “You’re a bitch, Riya. Back off, all of you!” Ellie took off down the hall too, desperate to find her friend. Gabby scowled and bared her teeth at the other three. “Jestes kurwa najgorszy!” rang out from the top of her voice at the tormentors as she went in the opposite direction of her girlfriend, hoping to meet with Rosa María and Lake in aid of finding Aiden and calming him down. As she left the cafeteria, Gabby stormed past James as he came inside; he looked at the Polish girl with a confused expression and then shrugged it off, walking over to where Yul and Riya were gathered. “What was that all about?” The Brazilian questioned, jabbing his thumb in the direction behind him, clearly indicating Gabby stomping past him like a soldier on patrol.

Yul grinned deviously, pointing to the phone in James’s hand. “Have a look for yourself, friend.” James did just that. Clicking on the tidal wave of notifications that kept popping up, it took him a few moments to realise just what he was looking at, but when it sank in, Yul and Riya were more than confused to see James’s disgusted expression. “O que caralhos é isso? What the hell did you do that for?” Yul smiled as he wrapped his arm around James’s wide shoulders. “Because it’s fuckin’ funny and Aiden’s a little shit.” James’s expression grew more and more pissed. “Foda-se! That’s just fucking wrong!” Riya rolled her eyes, and she crossed her arms in annoyance. “Would you just speak fucking English? It’s not that big of a deal, dipshit.” James squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head in disbelief, recalling his earlier conversation with Tom. His hands were becoming fists; he could’ve punched each of them there and then. Turning to walk away, he had final words for the three. “How about you translate this? Vai pro caralho!” The three stood in disbelief before Riya shrugged it off and went back to their table. Just as if nothing had happened at all. Gabby had speedwalked her way outside, nearly passing by Spencer, Logan and Diego. The young men had to call out to her to get Gabby’s attention; the three boys were fond of Gabby due to her being Tom’s best friend. When she tried enquiring about Tom’s whereabouts, Logan had explained that Tom had gone inside to meet up with someone. The young Polish woman then quickly explained that something had happened and that she needed to get going quickly. Before she could leave, a familiar, handsome face had seemingly come out from nowhere. It was James. “Let me help you find him, please. What they did was utterly fucked up.” The brown-haired girl started daggers at the Brazilian man after hearing his request; she bumped her shoulder into his side as she moved past him, shoving him out of the way. “Oh, fuck off; you’re part of the problem!”

#disventure camp #tomjake #jaiden #jake hamilton #james costa #aiden brooks #disventure camp jake #disventure camp tom #td #td verse #riya sharma #yul kim #gabby nowak #ellie parker #tom reed #disventure camp fanfiction #disventure camp highschool au #disventure camp aiden #disventure camp james

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anamazingangie · 7 months ago

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a princess and a painter | Daemon x Rhaenyra

☆ Rated E ☆ 7.5k words ☆ Complete! ☆ by AmazingAngie ☆

tags: Royalty!AU, smoking, loss of virginity, cousin incest, period typical attitudes

She wondered what it was like to be an artist. She wouldn't find out, no, if anything she was doomed to be some sort of object in a gallery. Carved from marble. Chunks of what she could have been and would have wanted, chipped away until all that remained was pale and smooth and inoffensive. Until she was exactly what her parents wanted her to be. Because that was her purpose in life, wasn’t it? That was what they had always told her. Her appearance—her actions, her existence, was a reflection of their parenting. Of their family. Of their country.

Vaguely inspired by 'The Crown' in which Rhaenyra is a well behaved princess and Daemon is her cousin who pushes every boundary given to him and inspires her to do the same.

Read on Ao3! (or below the cut)

England, 1938

Rhaenyra hadn’t had many boys in her rooms, though she supposed this boy was more of a man. Daemon Targaryen was twenty-four to her sixteen, and he looked it. He was tall, and though not the most muscular of men, he walked and moved with a lithe confidence that spoke to his strength.

She imagined he could be an intimidating man if he wanted to be. But in her presence, he had chosen to be charming and he succeeded in that quite fantastically. They had met the previous morning—nods of recognition that were suitable to pass between a princess and a man—her cousin, she thought? Or her uncle once removed? Her grandfather's, brother's, youngest son, if she recalled correctly. Farther from the throne than she was, but still with a strong current of royal blood in his veins.

It was funny, how obvious that was. She didn’t need the nose of a hound to know his last name was Targaryen, no one would, not with his eyes and hair and smirk. But he was a bit of a pariah, the third son, and not one willing to fall in line behind the others.

She didn’t know much about her cousins, at least not more than whispers her mother discouraged around the dining table but embellished when taking tea with friends. But she knew of Daemon—his photos were often in the papers, or rather, photos of him.

Not him making speeches, or cutting ribbons. No, they were of him at bars, drunken in the streets and disheveled. She had to hide her grin when they met that morning, when she got to see him in the flesh—his hair slicked back save for a stubborn strand that fell across his brow. He looked every bit a prince then, as he did now, so many hours later. The newspaper didn’t do him justice, smudges of dark ink creating shadows where there were none, and hiding the best and brightest of his features.

Daemon hadn’t gone into service—even with talks of war brewing. He hadn’t turned to the faith. He hadn’t even attended university to learn the laws and become a solicitor. He had gone to France, to art school. Her father had scoffed at the notion, of a son, of a man in line for the throne—albeit not near the front, choosing such a ridiculous path for life.

But Rhaenyra had admired it then, when she heard. Thinking it must be nice to live a life creating things others liked to look at. She admired it now too, perhaps even more given that Rhaenyra spent her days feeling like she was one of those things that had been created for others to look at.

A bit like a sculpture, maybe? Carved from marble. Chunks of what she could have been and would have wanted, chipped away until all that remained was pale and smooth and inoffensive. Until she was exactly what her parents wanted her to be.

Because that was her purpose in life, wasn’t it?

That was what they had always told her.

Her appearance—her actions, her existence, was a reflection of their parenting.

Of their family.

Of their country.

Daemon didn’t seem impressed by the space she called her own, despite the large size of elaborate quarters carved out for her in the palace. His seemed to carefully scrutinize the walls—the furniture, and even the floor. He wasn’t looking in awe at the grandeur, and his eyes didn’t widen in envy at the luxury she spent her time in.

No, instead his first words were about what it lacked.

“There are no mirrors?” Daemon said, looking around her bedroom curiously. It was an odd thing to notice, she thought—made stranger still by its relevance to the thoughts that had seemed to swim in her head throughout the day.

Perhaps it was coincidental, but no one had ever noticed the absence of them in her rooms. For her walls were hardly lacking decoration—papered with something thick and expensive, with foiled vines stretching across it like they were trying to reach the sun. It was a droll tragedy, how they were doomed to end at the ceiling, never reaching the sky. Sadder still were roses entwined with them, all mere buds that would never bloom.

She hadn’t chosen the paper. She had even tried to rid the room of it, once, finding a seam and picking at it with a hair pin until a maid found her and scolded her. Sometimes she looked at those marks—scratches in the thick paper that couldn’t be repaired that remained a reminder she had tried to change her circumstances once.

A constant comfort, perhaps.

She had chosen the paintings on her walls, at least. The expanse of them big enough to hold several of her favorites—pieces deemed to garish for the gallery, but not inappropriate for a girl of her age. She liked some of the darker ones—the heavy oils that displayed realistic scenes of murder or adultery. Works from the Renaissance or when her ancestors walked these halls, then gruesome acts and religious imagery were some of the few subjects artists felt drawn to.

But she liked pretty things, too. Viserys had once called her taste childish, scoffing at the bright colors and abstract styles that impressionists used. Rhaenyra thought it interesting, how so much could be said with so little detail. How much richer it was to look at, when such things were left up to imagination.

It took talent, the modern paintings equivalent in her mind to a poem that shared as much as a published volume of history. More words didn’t make something better. Didn’t make something true. Perhaps that was why she hated her reflection, for it was more detailed than any picture or portrait, but it didn’t seem to portray who she was at all.

Maybe it was part of what drew her to Daemon, curiosity not stemming from his unruliness but rather his shared interest in the world. Or maybe it was envy, either for his talent or his passion and ability to commit years of his life to its study. She would have no such luxury, at least not within the walls of a classroom.

She had her tutors, but her concerns once her education finished would be with the country, the people, not silly pictures, as her mother called them. Everything Rhaenyra liked was silly, her interests brushed aside while her mother insisted upon the importance of charity work and appearances. As if they weren’t one in the same, money directed towards causes that would make them look better, prop up their position even higher while doing alarmingly little for the lower class.

Not that she cared about that, either. She was just tired. Tired of true intentions being hidden behind bobbed hair and bright smiles. Speeches about how they were doing their best that people would accept simply because her father was nicely dressed and descended from the Kings and Queens that lined the halls of England's finest gallery.

It was exhausting, the inability to be yourself, even in your own rooms. Though this was the closest she could come, and so she shouldn’t have felt the need to justify her decor choices to him, a near stranger despite their shared blood.

But they were her choices and for once, she was curious what someone would think of them. What he would think of them. He had a quick wit that kept up with her own. He was handsome, and he knew it, but he didn’t hold that like a weapon against her throat—didn’t use it as an excuse to make cutting remakes. At least not towards her. She didn’t think he would tease her, if she told the truth—and so, she did.

“I don’t like my reflection,” She admitted. The words sounded silly between them, and she suddenly cursed herself for not making up another reason.

Her distaste for such a thing had stemmed from her childhood, the warnings of how she was a reflection of her family turning literal in her younger selves mind. She feared she would see them looming behind her in the pane of glass, like a shadow of ancestors warning her of the potential for disappointment.

She grew out of the childish fear, but not the dislike for such objects. She didn’t like looking at herself—being forced to see what others did. See what others believed. The good girl who always had fresh stockings and polished shoes, skirts the perfect length—necklines appropriately modest. Compliments towards her were endless, and well earned by the effort she put in. She knew she was comely, not needing a mirror to prove she was pretty.

Not just pretty, but perfect.

She didn’t feel perfect. She didn’t want to be perfect. And she didn’t want to see evidence of the illusion her appearance gave. Didn't want to become convinced by her own tricks, for fear she might lose sight of her own self.

“You surprise me.” He admitted, though the words sounded fond. “I thought a princess would want to do little but stare at her beauty.”

She tilted her head up, trying to stand taller—as if that would disguise the feeling that curled in her gut, the one that made her feel uncertain and small from her inexperience . She’d been called beautiful before—many times in fact, far more directly than his comment, which was really more of an implication than a statement.

But it felt different between the four walls of her room. Different when they were alone. Different when it was Daemon, and he was looking at her like that.

She laughed, hoping it sounded natural despite the tightening of her throat— “Hardly so.” And then she smiled, though it wasn’t as genuine as she’d like, either, “Are all princesses not beautiful? What need does a rose have to remind itself of its petals?” It was his turn to laugh, a sound quite a bit deeper than hers—and one that made her feel something deep inside her own gut

“Are you a rose then?” He asked, and she shrugged. “Perhaps.”

He took a step closer, “A proper english rose?”

She took a step back, and it wasn’t lost on her that he was herding—for that’s what it felt like, her closer towards the bed. This was supposed to be her territory, but somehow he was the collie and this was his field.

“I don’t know.” She admitted, feeling quite like a dim sheep.

Daemon paused—seeming surprised that she had discontinued their banter. But he wasn’t discouraged, going so far as to reach his arms out and pull her towards him. She followed his lead, as he folded her into an embrace.

Rhaenyra hadn’t hugged many men—perhaps a dozen? And none so recently as a girl—near women, of sixteen. She hadn’t realized how much she missed it. How good it felt to nuzzle closer against the crisp lapels. The warm scent of smoke and spicy cologne they used to try and cover it was so distinctly man . It distracted her into relaxing, though she had enough awareness to notice the comically loud sniffing noise.

She pulled back, affronted—looking up at his grinning face. “You smell like a rose.” He said, and she laughed, tipping easily back into his arms and making a point to noisily sniff his collar—she had to go on her tiptoes to do so, and her lips brushed his jaw in the process.

She didn’t think it was intentional on her part. But maybe it was. She certainly didn’t protest at his response, which consisted of catching her face in his palm. Tipping her chin up until her gaze was forced to meet his own. His hand stroked down her jaw, thumb pressing at the hollow of her throat before cupping her neck.It was odd, the weight of a hand there, though not unpleasant.

It fell to her waist, pulling her closer to him still before he tipped his own jaw and brought their lips together. Rhaenyra had kissed a few boys, and a few men, but none like this. This was the type of kiss children weren’t allowed to see—it wasn’t a promise of affection, it was a promise of more, of lust.

She’d heard whispers of naughty stories, even thought she’d come close to being kissed in such a manner herself! But this was different. It was intoxicating, the way his tongue pressed against hers—exploring her mouth and claiming the territory as its own before his teeth followed, scraping against her bottom lip and inspiring her to follow his lead.

They ended up on her bed, somehow. He must have had more awareness than her, because she felt them moving—felt his hands running down her back and gripping her hips as she attempted to straddle him. She swore at the style of her dress, too narrow for what she wanted. The rayon made noises of protests as it tore from the strain, but the stiff lining beneath trapped her legs all the same.

It wasn’t elegant how she huffed, jumping off Daemon before fussing with hooks to try and remove it. Daemon laughed, but it wasn’t a cruel sound—simply one of amusement over her antics. He pulled her closer to him, attempting to undo the hooks at her side while he remained seated on her bed. He wasn’t doing a very good job, she noted. He seemed distracted by looking at her. His eyes unapologetically meeting her own, as if looking for an answer to something.

Finally she grew frustrated, “What?”

He shook his head, returning to the task at her waistline while he spoke, “I just, can’t imagine why you wouldn’t like looking at yourself.”

Her breath caught. “It’s not that.” She said, wetting her lips—her mouth that had seemed wet to the point of embarrassing when they were kissing now felt dry. “I just don’t think it’s very accurate.” she paused, “Or maybe it’s too accurate.” she pondered, wondering if that was the truth of it.

“Have you had your portrait painted?” He asked, successfully freeing her from the taffeta skirts. She awkwardly slipped out of it, hating the inconvenience of side closures. She was sure she looked a mess now—hair rumpled and in nothing but a slip, but it was hard to be embarrassed with the way Daemon looked at her.

“No,” she said slowly. “Not since the invention of cameras.” she teased.

“A painting wouldn’t show you what you look like. It would show you what I see when I look at you.” He said, sounding awfully serious despite her state of undress.

��Are they not the same?” She asked, fingering the undone lengths of his tie.

He smiled, leaning back against the bed. “Let me show you,”

“Now?” She teased.

He shook his head, “No, now I’ll show you something else.”

It was her turn to grin.

She hadn’t planned this. Inviting him to her room. She thought he was handsome, true. Interesting, perhaps. But she hadn’t expected this fascination —the way her eyes followed his every move. She understood now, the way maidens would wait on their suitors every breath. It would have been pathetic, maybe it was, but he was too charming to make her feel anything other than warm.

And then after dinner, he had cornered her.

“I wish we had more time to talk privately, princess.”

“Talk?” She had queried, a bit skeptical.

“In your rooms, maybe.” He had hinted, reaching to wipe something from her shoulder—a piece of imaginary lint, to be sure, her attendant would never allow her to leave her room with such a thing on her person.

“My mother would say you are seeking an invitation for something less savory than talking ” She said, blushing a little at the implication. If she was wrong, if he truly craved mere conversation, he’d think her probing foolish.

“And if I am?” He asked, not looking the least bit bothered by her search for the true meaning of his words.

“I suppose…I would say to follow me.”

She hadn’t spoken to him of her inexperience. She assumed he knew of it—she was a princess, with few opportunities, and few interactions with men willing to risk their place by propositioning her. Not to mention the scandal it would cause if news broke that she…before marriage...

It felt too late to mention it, when she had already agreed to have him in her rooms. She knew what the implications of that were, she wasn’t dim.

When a man asked to go to your room, it was because it had a bed, and beds were for….

She knew the basics of what they were for at least. She just didn’t know about… this. She thought it would be awkward. A bit of fumbling before two nude forms met each other. She didn’t expect the teasing—the tongue tracing her shoulder blades while teeth plucked silk straps from them.

There was so much kissing—endlessly their mouths met, drinking each other's moans and laughs and cries as their hips ground together in a way that inspired their lungs sing in pleasure.

Rhaenyra didn’t have much insecurity about what lay beneath her slip, constant dress fittings and physicals long sense undoing her sense of modesty. She had un-stylishly full breasts that felt heavy but sat high on her chest, even when the hooks of her bra were undone. Her waist was small, but curved into hips that she swore made their own sigh of relief as she peeled her girdle off. Curves weren’t in fashion, much to her chagrin. The suit of nylon an attempt to hold in what her body begged to truly be. Because of this she was unsurprised by the fact the metal suspenders had dug in, leaving angry marks behind as she tossed aside her hose.

When she turned back to Daemon—feeling relief over the removal of the offending garments rather than embarrassment over her bare body, she delighted in his expression. It was a bit awed, a bit dumbstruck. He looked younger—lighter, and it was so sweet she had to stifle a giggle.

He made no move to well… move, and she huffed, her patience wearing thin even if he was looking at her so nicely. “It’s your turn.” She said firmly, and he nodded—his tie had been loosened by her wandering hands, so it came free easily. She was sure a few links for the buttons would be found in the plush carpets of her room, so that garment was swiftly set aside too. It was hard to care about her potential carnage, when she was so eager in wanting more of him to be exposed to her.

And when he was… dear lord.

Rhaenyra thought she knew what the male form looked like. She treasured her books on greek sculpture after all! She’d been to galleries across Europe. Her fingers had traced the marble lines of Michelangelo's most famous works. And so she didn’t think a nude man would be a stranger to her, and it wasn’t strange! It was…gorgeous.

She realized she probably had a similar expression that he’d had a moment prior—something dumb as she took in what was his naked body. As she came to terms with what she wanted to do to his naked body. Desires she certainly hadn’t felt when looking at the marble forms in a gallery. She swallowed, before gesturing for him to come closer. It tickled her, how he obeyed, how he brought his lips to hers in a gentle kiss.

He was softer than a statue, made from flesh and bone and sculpted by a pantheon of gods rather than the palms of a mere mortal. Perhaps that was why he was even more lovely than any creation she’d seen in a museum. But she couldn’t reflect on this for long, not when his fingers were roaming and tongue lapping at the swell of her breast.

He was lazy in the exploration of her body, unhurried in a way that both tormented and thrilled her. Though he seemed to move too slowly, time was passing so quickly, pleasure seeming to turn to steam and rise through the air before grasp it with her palms or come to terms with it at all. And when his mouth met her cunt—

Gods, indeed, for this was the sort of pleasure out of mythology rather than bibliography.

This must be what people lived for. What they killed for. What wars were waged for. This feeling, it was everything. She was lost in it, the tongue battling against her folds despite both being on the same side that was her pleasure. She didn’t know when her fingers found his hair, but they were twisted in the silver locks—holding on so tightly it must have hurt—but when she let go he growled. It was as if her grip had kept the beast at bay, and now it was freed from her thighs and ready to strike, its mouth meeting her own as they teeth clashed and in a sloppy kiss.

Her hands found his hair again, and their bodies found each other too—slotting together like they were made for this, it took the simple guidance from Daemon’s fingers to press his length inside of her. She thought it hurt, but she was distracted by the fact she was being devoured. By the fact his teeth were digging into her neck and his thumb twisting the peak of her breast. There were too many sensations flowing through her for the contractions in her cunt to phase her.

Not until they started feeling good.

She was quiet now, she thought—no longer moaning, her lips silenced by Daemon’s own. The noise was of him inside her the slick slapping sound of flesh repeatedly meeting each other. The sound reminded her of a baker kneading dough until it was ready to rise, and that made her want to laugh too—but she couldn’t, she didn’t have space inside her to make sounds. She was too full of him.

Perhaps he was kneading her rearranging her with his cock until she was perfect for him. And she was rising for him, too, everything seeming to tighten as she approached a new height she didn't think she was capable of. She was delirious now—comparing herself to baked goods! Whatever she was, whatever this was, it truly was good. It was better than good. It was… everything.

It was perfect. But better than that. Because it was tangible and real.

She was still holding onto his hair when he came, ducking his head in the side of her neck and pressing gentle kisses to the curve of it. She winced when he slipped out of her, the absence of pleasure making lingering pains noticeable.

He stood and slipped the rubber from his length, which she was equal parts fascinated with and disgusted by, before lazily throwing it in a waste basket that was decorated with baroque scrolls.

She had a moment of fear when he reached for his pants—it was mixed with embarrassment and attraction to his nude form, but the fear overshadowed them both for she was worried he would leave.

He didn’t, though. He fished out a lighter and a package of cigarettes before dropping the wool trousers to the floor. When he returned to her, he propped himself back against the headboard, and made no move to cover himself before lighting the coil of paper.

“Have you smoked before?” he asked, looking at her curiously. She shook her head, eyes following the trail of smoke that blew from his lips.

When he passed it to her, she took it eagerly—-following the steps she’d seen her father and his men do thousands of times before. She coughed inelegantly, inhaling too deeply and too much before cringing in embarrassment at her poor showing. When she caught her breath, she was happy to pass the offending thing back to him, shivering a little at the drag of his calloused fingers against her own.

“It takes practice.” He insisted, showing off by blowing a ring of smoke towards her ceiling.

“Does that get better with practice, too?” She asked, looking at the space between them to implyl the true meaning of her words.

“You hadn’t done that before, either.” He said, catching her gaze. She didn’t think it was a question but she shook her head all the same.

“When you come to my studio, you can find out.” He said, a little smug.

She tried not to show her enthusiasm, her pleasure that he still wanted to see her again. She had heard of men and their appetites, knew that his charm might be as much of a facade as her own. Falling from his features when he was alone and had no need for her body for his pleasure.

“You still want me to come?” She asked, trying to be brave as she stole the cigarette from his hand. She didn’t cough this time, which seemed to please them both.

“Why wouldn’t I?” He asked, his expression one of amusement, causing little wrinkles to form at the corners of his eyes. She reached out to feel them, stretching the skin that wasn’t her own with her thumbs and grinning because he let her.

“Some might say a deflowered rose has little left to offer.” She said, a bit primly, narrowing her eyes and tilting her head to see how he’d respond.

He surprised her, putting the cigarette out on the lacquered surface of her night stand—chemicals melting and mixing with the scent of smoke. It would leave a mark, she realized. One she’d have to explain, but that was for later, and for now he was pulling her back into his lap—a duvet between their loins but leaving enough skin exposed to make her blush.

“I don’t think that’s true.” He said, leaning back against the headboard and cradling her hips with his palms. “About the deflowered rose, they still have lots to offer.” He specified.

She giggled, cupping his face, “Like what, exactly?” she asked.

They were maybe an inch apart now—noses brushes, breath tangled, when he whispered, “They still have thorns.”

Daemon left that night, like she knew he would.

The smell of smoke faded.

Rhaenyra wrapped the rubber in toilet paper, stuffing it beneath every bit of garbage she could find in her room with hopes of disguising it. The sigh of relief she felt when trash was emptied with no question was astonishing.

No one asked about the mark on her side table, but it remained. A divet in the lacquer, showing a man's defiance—only a few feet away from her own act of rebellion, scratches at the seam of foiled paper.

It was the only outside sign of his presence in her rooms. Aside from the square of paper he’d withdrawn from his pocket before leaving. It had the address, for his apartment and his studio on it, written in the hand of a well bred Targaryen, not a loop out of place—too ingrained in them from a young age to be absent even in a casual missive.

The paper was worn now, from being folded and carried in her pocket. Even though she had memorized the numbers that very night she took it with her everywhere. Too afraid someone else would find it. Too afraid to throw it away. She needed it as a reminder he was real. That this was real.

His studio was small, in a good part of the city but a poorly maintained building. The windows were big, and the amount of light extraordinary—but it was drafty, curtains doing little to hide this as they blew in the breeze from the gaps in the window panes.

The floors were old planks, the finish long since having worn away, leaving them an uneven shade of brown that was barely remedied by the cedar oil she could still smell in the air. It hid the scent of damp, at least, mixing with the smoke of his cigarettes and his cologne.

She loved it, though. The mismatched pieces of furniture and the large rugs clashed horribly but did a great deal to cover the damaged floors. And there was art everywhere. Not the type in her books, or in the galleries, or not just those types.

His collection was varied—he seemed to dislike most of them when she inquired, which amused her endlessly. But he had such an appreciation for their existence and creativity. The way he talked about art, the way he respected things for being different, rather than trying to make them all the same.

It was…extraordinary.

He is extraordinary, she thought, when they reached his own works. The talents of the old masters mixed with an innovative palette, creating something modern but respectful and not at all like she had expected from him.

It was genuine, when she said she loved his work.

It was scary how genuine she thought the same words might be in regard to her feelings for him.

He drew her with charcoal first. Portraits and limbs and a dozen poses. Quick sketches that hardly looked like her but exposed so much in the ways they did.

His hands were a sooty mess after, leaving prints on her hips when he fucked her. He’d laid her over the drafting table, every thrust of his hips pressing her breasts against his drawings, smudging the lines and obscuring the subject further.

“They’re ruined,” She said, running her fingers over the dark lines that dragged across the page. Sweat and oils from her skin having distorted the beautiful forms he’d outlined on the paper. But he shook his head and sounded confident when he said, “They are exactly what I wanted.”

She wondered if she was what he wanted.

She was grateful she wore black that day, as she pulled the cotton twill over her smudged chest. Grateful for her etiquette lessons, for it kept the tears at bay when she said goodbye.

“You’ll be back.” He said, and it wasn’t a question. But she wasn’t sure it was something she could promise, either.

That night she was intentional in the way she looked at her reflection. Thinking for the first time she looked like something of her own making. Or of his.

It washed down the drain, leaving behind once more pale skin.

She was punished for missing her lessons. Questioned about where she went and what she did. The unaccounted for hours in her life seemingly unacceptable to those who were paid to care for her.

Viserys assigned her a new guard, a man of the faith turned devotee to the crown, who watched her like a hawk with clear blue eyes. Her every step was shadowed by his own, his looming presence at her door long after she went to bed. The worst of her indiscretions had not been realized, but she was being punished for them all the same.

She saw Daemon once at a dinner, weeks later, but they didn’t have a chance to mingle or speak.

He was not shy in the way he gazed at her, she would even say he was rude in how he started. But she didn’t mind it. She liked it, the feeling of being alive under his gaze, of being seen. She had forgotten how heady that feeling was, how desperate she was for more of it.

But it seemed life was determined to keep her from it. He was noticeably absent from the small birthday celebration they had for her the following month, the larger party canceled due to talks of war which would make celebration seem uncouth.

“Oh, his behavior towards you didn’t seem quite appropriate.” Her mother admitted, giving her an apologetic smile along with the explanation.

His interest in her hadn’t gone unnoticed. And her mother—or the crown, did it even matter which? Had decided it wasn’t of her interest.

Rhaenyra stared at the mark on her nightstand.

Then, one day, it was gone.

“There was a dent—some sort of damage, I do apologize for it not being noticed earlier.”

It was replaced with something eighteenth century—white with gold gilt. It was pretty. It fit the room perfectly. It was as if the previous piece was never there. A priceless antique that had been in the palace for centuries was easily replaceable to a family like hers.

She wondered if she would be replaced that easily too.

Her brother Baelon was young, but of just as good breeding. His hair was platinum and his irises purple. He would have the same tutors as her, and tailors. Even more opportunities than her thanks to his gender. What would happen if she stumbled? If she became marred like the nightstand was. She might not be thrown away—but she would be set aside, something better taking her place.

She didn’t get much sleep—her eyes were searching for something that was no longer there.

Her mind was searching for a reason to stay here.

She should have been ashamed, that when she heard the news of an invasion that could motivate England to finally act, that her first thought was of freedom. People were scared, and when scared they were sloppy.

She stole a coat, giggling despite her unease in regards to this escape. It swallowed the red burgundy velvet of her gown, hiding the stretches of skin that had been allowed for the evening and falling past her hands. It was easy to slip away while cocooned in its embrace. She kept her head ducked low while she caught a car.

The address spilled from her lips quickly, eagerly, the engine revving as it accelerated towards the outskirts of London. The driver was listening to the radio so loudly it hurt her ears, but she could barely hear it over the pounding in her chest. She was grateful for it, either way, that he didn’t try to make conversation.

The car didn’t linger, seeming to disappear as soon as her heel met the curb. Four steps lead to the door that boasted his address, something old and grand and appropriate for a member of her family to have.

Leaves decorated the stoop, saturated with water and squelching unattractively beneath the leather soles of her shoes. She realized, somewhere between paying her fare and knocking on the door before her, that this was perhaps a foolish idea—what if he wasn’t there? What if he laughed at her? What if—

The door opened.

The hall behind him was dimly lit, and she realized he must have been sleeping because a pair of half buttoned pajama pants were all that covered his form. She couldn’t help but grin at his tired state, his rumpled hair.

A giddiness at being close to him again overtook the nerves and then he was kissing her.

The next morning he made her eggs, while she watched in rapt fascination—never actually witnessing the task before. He drank coffee instead of tea, offering her some only to laugh when she nearly spat it back into the mug. “It takes some getting used to,” he said.

“I think I’d like to get used to it.” She admitted quietly, looking down at the mug of dreadful liquid. It may have been vile but she was grateful for the grounding nature of its heat in her palms, the euphemism it offered when discussing a more challenging topic.

“There would be a media storm,” Daemon mused, though he didn’t look bothered by the thought.

“We’re British, we can handle some rain, can’t we?”

“I do have experience making women wet.” He said cheekily. She gaped at the jest, reaching over the counter to hit him, but he caught her palm and pulled her to him.

“I’d like to weather a storm with you.” He said, more serious now.

“I’d like to do more than just that.” She admitted, smiling before their lips met—and she found coffee didn’t taste as bad from his tongue.

They went to his studio—the radio turned off, eating rations an older woman from upstairs insisted on dropping off. She was nearly blind, Daemon whispered to Rhaenyra before letting her in. Daemon told her that they were newlyweds and the woman grinned, saying she would be back—- muttering something about fuel before trudging up the remaining stairs.

Daemon posed her, and sketched at a canvas for what felt like hours before they broke for lunch. They ate her offerings and napped on a dusty chaise lounge. They didn’t wear much clothing, too enamored with each other's nude forms to bother.

Daemon became nearly frantic in his work—layering oils and mixing paint until the smell of turpentine permeated the air, growing even stronger as hours passed. He was too caught up in his work to take breaks for smoking, or —to her annoyance, sex, at least not until the light turned bad.

Then they would come together, in more ways than one.

When he showed it to her, she almost wanted to cry. Because it was her. Hair long, eyes alluring, lips turned up in something her mother would call a smirk. Her form was bare but for a sheet, as was her face and she had never looked more...perfect was a cursed word on her tongue. She wouldn’t use it.

But this was how she wanted to be seen.

And it was how he saw her.

And that was all that seemed to matter.

She felt very young and small as they left his studio—dressed in an ill fitting navy suit and large sunglasses that hid the most notable of her features. She’d huffed, when the store didn’t have any pants—a novel style she had never been offered the opportunity to wear in her life in the palace. Daemon promised she could have all the pants she wanted, they just had to get out of this god forsaken country first.

It was strange how no one looked at them on the busy streets, too caught up with their jobs and lives and concerns with war to be bothered by the pair of blondes slipping onto a train.

Daemon had a friend file paperwork for them, ink drying on the license declaring them wed before they even stepped off the train. They stayed at an inn, a raunchy establishment named Silk Street. Daemon loudly exclaimed his intentions towards his new bride before the evening began, and though she had been embarrassed at first, she drank too much and had too much fun dancing with him to care by the time they retired.

“They have to know I deflowered you,” he said between kisses, “Can’t let them take you away from me.” he insisted, sounding almost desperate, justifying the treatment he gave her with a few more whispers before dropping his mouth to her cunt.

She tried not to give him the satisfaction of screaming—biting her fist until the marks bruised. But soon she couldn’t resist, whimpers and shouts turning to broken cries while her hands grasped his hair.

When they left the next day, there were jeers and glares in equal measure.

The room on their ship was, thankfully, better insulated.

Rumors didn’t break of that night, or their travels. Though Rhaenyra had little doubt word of it made it to her parents—the crown. She hadn’t heard from them either, despite sending them her address months prior. It was her friend—another cousin, Laena, who told her that they placed a tiny announcement in the paper. There wasn’t even a photo, just a short message saying she had wed and moved to another country with her husband.

Baelon was announced as heir a week later.

Rhaenyra was right, she was easily replaced—at least in their eyes.

There never was a media storm like they worried, she thought, looking down at a newspaper sticking to the wet concrete while she waited for the stupid beasts they called pets to find a place suitable to pee. They were unbothered by the rain that dampened the shoulders of her coat, the scent of wet wool mixing with the rose perfume she still favored.

It hadn’t been long, since they had left. Months, though it felt like a lifetime sometimes. Reminders were still easy to come by, poking at fears that had yet to come to fruition. Her parents held the strings too tightly for her betrayal to be fully revealed. But she had worn a veil at first, when she left their apartment—not because she mourned her old life, but because she feared strangers would recognize her in this one.

She didn’t bother anymore. Between the flush that winter left on her cheeks, her loose hair, and the dark coat, she found there were few similarities to the english princess she once was. She liked wearing Daemon’s old things, hanging off her shoulders and belted tight around her tiny waist. But he kept his promise, buying her pants, though they both preferred her in skirts for… reasons.

She painted her nails red. Wore red lipstick, too, and though Daemon complained about the marks it left on his neck, he didn’t seem to mind them late at night when it left rings around his cock. That was something she had learned about, too. There was freedom in this life, a type she’d never known.

The pair of hounds pulled her towards home golden and red coats shiny even in the poor weather. They stopped twice to sniff in front of a barber shop, where a large mirror served as a backdrop for their list of services. She found herself unbothered by it, blinking mindlessly at her reflection before pulling the beasts towards home.

She was eager to be home—tossing the twill leashes, coat, and keys into a heap by the front door. Daemon would scold her for it later, but she didn’t care. He thought he was so much more dignified than her, learning menial tasks while he was at university. She’d had maids for those things, and hadn’t quite built the habits he boasted just yet.

She hadn’t tried that hard, either. But she would rather learn than get a maid—she didn’t want to give up their privacy. The luxury of being responsible for the state of their own things. She wasn’t sure they could afford one, either. .

They weren’t rich the way her parents were—how could they be, when they were people rather than an institution? But Daemon had his mothers old apartment and investments, teasing that she was his favorite, given that she willed it to him despite being the forgotten third son.

“Is that why you are so attention seeking?” She had asked, “Worried they will forget you if you aren’t in print at the breakfast table?”

“Me? Of course not. I’m unforgettable.” He had argued, and Rhaenyra found she couldn’t disagree.

He made sure she would never be forgotten, too.

Every stroke reads like a sentence, leaving the finished piece more akin to a love letter than a painting. It’s extraordinary how he captures her—his wife of twelve years, and the once princess, Rhaenyra Targaryen. It’s her nude body we admire, but it seems only a fair exchange given the way her husband bares his soul.

It’s no wonder they’ve taken the art scene by storm, and I feel lucky to have been in its path. The wreckage of emotions left behind is a gift as it renders you more time to examine the beauty of their shared work. .

#hotd #fanfic #ao3 #daemyra #daemon x rhaenyra #house of the dragon #Rhaenyra Targaryen #Daemon Targaryen #fic #a03 #daemon x Rhaenyra #HOTD #Angie writes

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ms-kio · 11 months ago

Text

Demon(slayer?)hood

Izuku Midoriya, Eri X Demon Slayer! 2296 Words

“Remember, boy. If you see me, run. I’m only about four hundred years old then. I will not recognize you.” The six-eyed demon commanded his pupil, the only sign of his aging being the silver white hair streaking his ponytail.

Izuku bowed, “Hai Sensei!” He said, the necklace gifted to him bouncing off his chest as he righted himself.

“And hide that necklace.” Kokushibo reminded Izuku. “Having one of my eyes on you is an immediate trial in the Demon Slayer Corps, and potential execution.” The boy nodded, tucking the jewelry under his shirt.

“I’ll only use it as a last resort.” Next to Izuku was a little girl, Eri. Since Overhaul had been imprisoned and not killed, she had no faith in her safety anywhere in this world. She was eager to step through the rip in reality behind her, to leave forever.

Kokushibo stood up, walking around his desk and embracing the two silently. He didn’t ask if they wanted to turn back, or change their minds. All he did was shove them through the portal, turning to face a mask, and a pair of golden eyes.

~ ~ ~

Izuku immediately turned, frantically looking for Eri. Where was she? He drew his Scorpion Stinger, wandering into the forest at the sound of rustling leaves. “You! Bow to the power of the Great Inosuke!” Now, Izuku knew someone named Katsuki Bakugou, and immediately recognized the attitude.

“Fight me!” The greenette shouted back. “Whoever wins has to help the other with one request!”

The boy paused for a minute, as if not believing what he was hearing. “Finally! Someone wants to fight me! Bring it on!” Inosuke howled, charging Izuku. The youngest of the Midoriya Family expertly sheathed his sword, entering a grappling match with his new friend.

Eventually, Midoriya decided to end their match, taking a deep breath in. ‘Broccoli Breathing, Friendship Bat!’ Izuku landed a roundhouse kick on Inosukes skull, causing the boy to collapse, his boar mask falling off and revealing one of the prettiest faces he had ever seen. But not as pretty as Eri’s, of course. Izuku picked Inosuke up, along with his mask, carrying him down the path towards the Final Selection, which Kokushibo told him he needed to attend if he wanted assistance from the demon slayers in any significant way.

Izuku had planned on just living a quiet life with Eri as his pseudo sister, but now with her missing -most likely separating in the portal- he needed all the help he could get.

: : :

About an hour later, Izuku had taken a break from carrying Inosuke, stopping by a river to bathe himself. The water was cold at first, but felt nice against his scars. Scars he had earned in only his first year of hero training.

The boy had given up heroism after the year was over. It had become too much for him, and he wanted to preserve himself for the people who he loved; Every inch of unscarred flesh, and every bone left unshattered in his body. He’d given OFA to Aizawa-sensei to give to students of his choosing, teaching the man how to separate the quirks and transfer them individually with Quirk Pass and how to use them over the summer. However, Aizawa had decided to have Izuku keep Danger Sense and Black Whip, being one of the few who knew of Izuku's plans to enter a world of demons, with a little girl to protect.

They had delivered the news in a last minute fashion to his classmates (aside from Bakugou), only telling them that he would be leaving, and not coming back. Izuku had cried when he told them, but he didn’t regret it. He couldn’t bear to look at the world he lived in any longer, cloaking disdain for it every minute of every day he was allowed to let his thoughts stew.

And what better place to go than Kokushibos own world? A place he might be able to find something familiar without wishing it wasn’t there.

Izuku was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he hadn't noticed Inosuke join him in the river until now, quiet and with his back turned as he washed himself. His mask and clothes were on the riverbank with Izuku's belongings, however, they weren't folded like the greenette’s was.

The duo continued to respectfully ignore each other until the hour was up, when they both left the river to dry and get dressed.

“Inosuke-san.” Midoriya spoke up after a minute, drawing the boy's attention. “Are you alright?” Inosuke paused for a minute, before sparkling and answering.

“Yup!” The bluette replied. “I was being quiet because creatures usually don’t like to talk while they are vulnerable, or their scars are present.”

Izuku smiled, then grinned. “Thank you Inosuke. By the way, what is your full name?” He asked.

“Hashibira! Hashibira Inosuke! What is your name, person-I-owe-a-favor-to?” Hashibira asked in turn, still sparkling.

“Midoriya Izuku.” The boys sparkling intensified, causing Izuku to shield his eyes. “Tone it down, will you?” The sparkling went down, and Izuku was able to see again. “My little sister went missing. She has pale blue hair and red eyes. Would you look for her when we part ways?”

“Fine! I will find your sister! You can count on it!”

~ ~ ~

Eri opened her eyes, looking around. Where was she? Where was Izuku?!

Suddenly, the horned girl heard the strike of a biwa, and her surroundings changed. She was on a tatami mat floor, in a room that had walkways and stairs on the ceiling and walls, appealing to have infinite surfaces in every direction. "W-where am I?" She asked quietly, too confused to be scared. "You are in the Infinity fortress, young one." A femenine voice replied. Up on a raised platform, a woman holding a biwa looked down at Eri. "Tell me girl. Are you human? Can you walk in the sunlight?" Eri nodded, hesitantly looking around. The woman struck her biwa again, teleporting next to Eri, causing her to jump a little. "Sit, girl. What is your name?" Eri sat down obediently next to the woman,"My name is Eri Aizawa."

~ ~ ~

Nakime glanced at the girl, noticing the exhaustion on her face. "Come, girl." She said, putting her biwa down. "You look tired, you can lie on my lap." The pale blue haired girl cast her a thankful look, accepting Nakimes offer and almost immediately falling soundly asleep, in what looked like the first time in days.

Not an hour later though, Nakime sensed the Upper Moons. They were granted permission by Muzan to enter whenever they pleased, much to her irritation, so Muzan allowed her to kick them out after 24 hours if they were too bothersome. Kokushibo and Akaza were never a problem, Daki and Gyutaro mostly minded their own business, but the other three could get annoying as hell. It was even worse when Doma and Akaza were in the same area, she always had to clean up their messes. Though, she really couldn't blame the ladder.

Kokushibo was the first to reach Nakime and the sleeping girl, much to her thankfulness, who seemed to catch on to the situation and went to quiet the loud ones. Namely Doma, but the others too. Roughly 15 minutes later, the others arrived.

They were all quiet, much to Nakimes temporary relief, until Doma opened his mouth. "Aw! How cute!" He said quietly, to everyone's surprise. But, he wasn't quiet enough. The girl jumped, clutching onto Nakimes kimono in fear, snapping awake instantly. The biwa demon glared at the blonde, placing a hand on the girl's shaking form.

"Doma, you fool." Akaza hissed. "Kokushibo said to be quiet." The demon promptly decapitated Doma with his hand, veins bulging.

"I was just trying to be nice!" Doma protested.

Nakimes anger had been steadily rising, but immediately simmered down when the girl stopped shaking, standing up and timidly approaching the decapitated head. The gore didn't seem to bother her as blood dripped onto her feet, proceeding to hold the head up to Domas' still standing body. "H-here you go sir." She said quietly, the demon taking his head and putting it back on his head.

"Why thank you little girl!" He said. No longer trying to be quiet, but not loud either. The girl quickly zipped behind Kokushibo, clutching his hakama pant leg as she eyed the other demons cautiously.

~ ~ ~

Kokushibo looked down at the little girl, giving her a questioning look as she returned his gaze. It was silent for a moment as they had a small staring contest, until she wrapped her arms around his legs. "You look like you need a hug." She said, as she closed her eyes and pressed her face into the side of his thigh. The demon's stoic demeanor broke as a small smile graced his face, placing a hand on the girl's head. A calm, peaceful sensation washed over Kokushibo as he ruffled the girl's hair, his eyes falling closed in a happy manner, his smile widening ever so slightly. But, the moment was ruined when the duo heard the metallic clang of one of Domas' fans clattering to the ground.

Kokushibo almost felt bad for his second.

~ ~ ~

As Akaza turned around to face Kokushibo, he saw something he never thought he would ever see in his life. 'Kokushibo is smiling. Upper Moon One is fucking smiling.' Using his compass, Akaza sensed Doma was about to turn around and say something stupid, so he quickly slapped a hand over his superiors mouth, motioning to Kokushibo.

'And Doma stayed quiet. Doma is being quiet- WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON!?'

~ ~ ~

Muzan Kibutsuji was quite confused when he felt large amounts of panic, shock, and confusion from Akaza. But oddly, Upper Moon Three wasn't dying. This caused Muzans confusion to rise. He looked into Akazas head to hear: 'Kokushibo was smiling. Upper Moon One is fucking smiling.' Akaza then quickly slapped a hand over Domas mouth.

'And Doma stayed quiet. Doma is being quiet- WHAT THE FUCK IS-' And thats where Muzan left Akazas mind.

He then decided to visit Kokushibos head and felt a peaceful serenity in the demon. His eyes were closed, but he could feel a small child hugging the demon's body. From Upper Ones memories, he saw the face of a red eyed girl, with a small, barely noticeable stub of a horn. In the background, the demon king could hear Daki fawning over the girl in her head. Muzan then shifted to Doma, who was stunned to silence, almost feeling bad when the blonde dropped his fan.

~ ~ ~

Eri jumped when she heard a metallic clang, looking over to the blonde man, who seemed relatively shocked. Eri hesitantly let go of the six-eyed man's hakama, walking over and picking up his fan. "S-sir?" She stuttered out, drawing his attention. "You dropped this." The girl held up his fan, seemingly snapping him back to reality.

"Oh, thank you! I was just surprised, it's not often you see Kokushibo-dono smile." The blonde smiled, who Eri remembered his name was Doma, from when Mr. Kokushibo was telling them about his world.

She gave a small nod and hurried over to said pink-haired man, hugging his legs in a similar manner. "You also look like you need a hug." Eri said. This one was Akaza. Kokushibo had described him as one of the better ones, he wouldn't hurt her. She didn't notice Akaza giving Kokushibo a panicked look, asking for advice. The demon only nodded towards the girl's head with his own, prompting the nervous demon to pat Eri on her pale blue locks. Eri didn't notice any of this, only leaning into the demon's touch, happy for the comforting gesture.

Eri then passed out, stressed by the recent development, and light headed from the last blood draw.

~ ~ ~

Akaza panicked again, quickly catching the girl's limp body as she fell. Did he do something wrong?! He glanced around to see the other Upper Moons snickering, even Kokushibo had an amused glint in his eye. Akaza then glanced at Nakime, begging her for answers. She only smiled and gestured to her lap, Akaza quickly placing the girl with her.

"Akasa, you dolt." Daki snickered. "The kid's just tired and stressed. Don't worry your pink-haired head." Akaza sighed in relief, almost wilting. But he, and all the other Upper Moons, went ramrod straight when they sensed Muzan in the room, bowing immediately. Aside from Nakime, who simply straightened in attention.

"Originally, I was going to make her my heir, and train her to be the next Demon Queen." He stated. "However, it seems being with you six would be better for her. Teach the girl the ways of the Upper Moons, only then I will make her the new ruler of demons." Muzan then warped away, presumably returning to his office. All of the demons were shocked at this new development, Muzan was not one to give up even an ounce of his power.

"Well well well!" Doma was the first to speak up. "That is quite interesting! What should we teach her?" He asked.

"I'll teach her hand-to-hand." Akaza offered.

"Swordsmanship." Kokushibo continued.

"I'll teach her how to appear human for when she becomes a demon!" Doma said.

"I'll help with that." Daki also said. "And Gyutaro says he'll teach her about poisons. Hantengu, you and Doma can teach her psychology. And Gyokko, you and Nakime can teach her about music and craftsmanship." The lewd demon ordered, not afraid of her superiors. During this, Nakime had put the girl to bed, much to Akazas relief. He swore, if anything were to happen to her, Akaza would kill everyone in the room and then himself.

~ ~ ~

Muzan choked. What now?!

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #izuku midoriya #eri bnha #eri mha #crossover #fanfic #mentor kokushibo #post manga ending #demon slayer x my hero academia #kimetsu no yaiba x boku no hero akademia #kny x bnha/mha

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