#They turned them into hot anime characters so it's not Exactly the same

[nilesmoon]

they're making a dating sim where you can date your household items. they made prozds chairem anime real

[ponderingmoonlight]

Chapter 1: From Tradegy to Fantasy - Awakening in Another World

Pairing: Gojo x fem!reader

Warnings: reader's death, language

Genre: Isekai, Romance, Fantasy

Synopsis: Your life takes a tragic turn as you perish in a car crash, only to awaken in a whimsical world of fantasy with none other than Jujustu Kaisen characters as its main protagonists. But as if that wasn't enough, you're about to marry the prince version of Gojo Satoru. How will you navigate through this world of history and fantasy? Does your life take the same sudden twist of fate as that of your favorite characters?

Next Chapter ->

„Are you reading those strange stuff again…What was it called? Manga?”

“I’m only watching the anime because of that hot blindfolded guy.”

You don’t even try to look up from your phone, currently reading the newest publication of the Jujutsu Kaisen manga over some sketchy site online. That hot blindfolded guy…You’ll never understand why some girls are only watching Jujutsu Kaisen because of him, Gojo Satoru. This world has so much more to offer, so much more than this overpowered character not even Gege himself likes.

“It’s not exactly reading”, you mutter, so sunken into the drawn fight in front of your eyes that you simply can’t look away.

“(y/n), come back to reality. We have some classes to attend.”

Out of instinct, you roll your eyes. You’ll probably have to listen to that one professor who always talks about himself and simply reads through his presentation for three hours straight, not even allowed to look at your phone and do something useful instead. Urgh, being an uni student sucks.

“Give me a minute, I’m just finishing this chapter.”

When your friends start walking, you follow them without paying attention. This is it, the fight you’ve been waiting for. Maybe this time someone is able to defeat Sukuna, maybe this will be the day you’ve been waiting for. Fuck plot armour, fuck all the horrible things that happened last, all the beloved characters that had to die. Damn, you still miss Geto to this day. If they would have noticed sooner, he might be still alive-

“(Y/N), WATCH OUT!”

You always wondered about how death must feel like. Getting consumed by darkness, getting dragged into sheer empty space. Does it hurt? Will you die right on the spot and feel absolutely nothing? What about that myth about reminiscing your own life shortly before your death?

The second you looked into those blinding car lights, you knew exactly that you are next, that there is no way you’ll survive the hit that will sweep you off your feet, that throws your body into the air like a plastic bag.

How pathetic to die like this. Getting hit by a car while being glued to the sketches of fictional characters on your phone. What will your parents say, your family, your friends? You don’t want to die like this, but still…

You allow your eyes to rest against your harsh light, your phone dropping to the phone. You can’t escape the hit. Maybe, just maybe, you will wake up in a better world.

If stuff like that even exists.

When you open your eyes again, you brace yourself for an immense wave of pain hunting down your body, for getting greeted by those way too harsh hospital lights. But instead, your eyes open with ease. Instead, you get greeted by the dim light of a golden chandelier in and a well-painted ceiling in all different shades of purple.

“Where on earth…Am I?”, you mutter to yourself.

The second you look down on you, your heart drops to the floor. You aren’t wearing a pair of leggings and an oversized tee like you always do. No, you are covered in the softest white fabric you ever felt from head to toe, an elegant lavendel ribbon tied around your waist. And that delicate jewellery...

Immediately, you yank out of bed and almost trip over the hem of the white dress, coming to a stand in front of a mirror.

This isn’t possible. No, this has to be a feverish dream. Maybe they put you into coma after…

You swallow hard, reality hitting you with full force. You died. As soon as the car hit you, you were dead right on the spot and you knew it instantly. But why does everything feel so damn real? Frantically, your hands wander around the sweaty face that looks back at you in sheer horror through the mirror, stare at the lavendel eyes that don’t look like yours at all. But those facial features, the way your hair falls.

Is it…you?

A violent scream escapes your lips before you’re able to stop it, guts turning so uncomfortably that you feel like puking every minute. This can’t be true. This can’t be your reality now…Just before your feet give in, you grab the cool golden frame of the mirror, allow your spinning head to rest for a second.

“Lady Zenin, are you alright!?”

That distant voice, who is it talking to? Lady Zenin…Like Toji, Mai and Maki Zenin? Maybe you didn’t die but got kidnapped into a pervert cosplay party. Slowly, you turn around, face sticky in cold sweat.

But the man standing in front of you doesn’t look like a creep at all. No, he’s a truly elegant man. Maybe in his 50s, but it is clear that he’s taking care of himself. His eyes look at you worried, his gloved hands stretched out in order to help if you fall.

“Where…Where am I?”, you press out.

This isn’t your hometown. Fuck, this isn’t even your home country, not even your timeline. The stuff in this room looks so old and somehow magical, let alone that dress you’re wearing.

“I don’t understand, Lady Zenin. You are in your room”, the man replies visibly worried.

“What country?”, you probe.

“My lady, we are still in Avaloria…Are you feeling unwell? Shall I call the doctor-“

“In Avaloria. And I’m Lady Zenin…”, you mumble to yourself.

This doesn’t make any sense. You didn’t pay that much attention to geography, but you know for a fact that Avaloria isn’t a real country and that your last name definitely isn’t Zenin. But oh that last name is definitely familiar to you, so familiar that it’s frightening. Suddenly a shiver runs down your spine, dark foreshadowing letting your fingertips shake.

“What is my father’s name?”

You don’t want this answer. No, all you want to do is waking up from this dream, from this nightmare. You aren’t a lady, you aren’t a Zenin. You are nothing but plain (y/n) who adores anime and manga a little too much and still goes to university. You are nothing but a normal young woman.

“Your lordship…Your lordship is called Naobito Zenin, my Lady”, he stutters.

“And my brother’s name is Naoya, huh?”, you huff out.

This has to be a bad joke, right? What is this man, a stand-up comedian, maybe? You cross your arms in front of your chest, force your body to stop shaking. You need to put this madness to an end right now.

“Yes, exactly my Lady!”, the man in front of you literally cries out in relief while the ground is pulled underneath your feet.

No, nothing about this is right. These men, their names…They are nothing but an invention by Gege Akutami, nothing but drawn figures in a book adapted into an anime. They are nothing but fantasy, nothing but fiction.

“B-But…”

Your voice fails as your mind can’t process anymore. Is it really possible that…You were reincarnated into a world like this?

“Are you causing a scene again, sister?”

You don’t recognize the voice speaking behind you, but something inside you tells you that if you turn around, you will be greeted by…

Cold, sharp brown eyes.

Your very own orbs widen in sheer horror. Those dark green roots, the annoyed look on his face, his tall muscular frame. He looks exactly like the manga made him appear. But instead of wearing a kimono, he is dressed in a black uniform with golden and purple details.

“You’re looking like a fucking prince…”, you breathe out.

“Are you trying to upset me, (y/n)?”

“Master Naoya, the lady doesn’t appear like herself today. Shall I call the doctor?”, the older man speaks with low voice.

“Did you have a bad dream?”

He grabs your chin before you’re able to stop him, his cold glare hitting you with full force.

Naoya just touched you. Fucking Naoya Zenin is standing in front of your very own self, his fingers wrapped around your chin, staring at you so intensely that you feel like fainting any given minute.

“Don’t you dare to mess today’s meeting up because of your weird acting. It took father and I months to arrange a meeting with that lousy prince. Let’s hope that he finds liking in you or else I’ll marry you below your status”, he hisses into your face.

“You can’t just arrange my wedding. Who the hell do you think you are?”, you spit into his face out of instinct.

“All the attention must have gone to your head, (y/n). Who do I think I am? I am your big brother, father’s right hand. And you are nothing but a woman. Your only worth is to marry into a wealthy and influential family. I will never understand why the prince of our country found a liking in you. Apart from a pretty face, you have nothing to offer.”

He yanks your chin away roughly, forces you to take a few steps back and almost sends you onto the floor with the sheer force of his fingertips. Your body quivers in anger, hands balled into fists so tight that your knuckles stand out white.

“I don’t need a prince, I know my own worth you fool!”, you demand.

“Who taught you to talk like this? You are a lady, (y/n). Finally start to act like one or I will tell father about your behaviour. Maybe a venesection will cause your mouth to finally shut, what do you think?”

“A vene-what?”

“Urgh, just be quiet and get yourself ready. You will meet the prince as soon as you are presentable. And don’t you dare to disappoint us”, he hisses through gritted teeth.

And then he’s gone in the wind while you stand in the middle of the room, still unable to catch your shaky breath. Who the hell does this guy think he his? Where exactly are you, what world is this? Your head begins to spin so violently that you fear to lose your balance, your whole life crashing down on you like a house of cards.

This isn’t 2024 on mother earth anymore. This…this is something completely different. And that man who introduced himself as your brother made it all too clear that there’s no way you’ll survive here if you don’t play along. Maybe it’s like in that anime you just watched, the one with the girl names Raeliana. If that’s the case…

“Please call in my maids. I wish to be dressed”, you speak out monotone.

“Of course, Lady (y/n).”

You will play along. But there is no way in hell you’ll let him force you into a marriage with some strange prince you don’t even know. Your eyes are fixated on themselves, the new lavender color gleaming back at you being so unknown as well as all those women who scurry around you.

Who is this prince, anyway? If you’re really in some strange jujutsu kaisen verse, it must be another character. Maybe Geto…Oh, that would be nice. But what if it’s Sukuna? You shake your head, haunt away your stinging imagination. No, you won’t marry the king of curses. Actually, there aren’t many men you’d like as your husband.

How is this supposed to turn out good?

-at the salon-

You feel like fainting any given minute, heart pounding so roughly against your well-dressed ribcage that every beat sends a shiver down your spine. If the man standing in front of you isn’t called Geto or Nanami, you don’t want him. And apart from that…Aren’t you too young to marry anyway? Why does your family want to get rid of you so badly?

“It is so nice to finally meet you in person, Lady (y/n).”

Your heart drops to the floor.

That voice.

Fuck. It’s no doubt that it’s him.

“Let me introduce myself properly: I’m Prince Satoru, the future king of Avaloria.”

The second your brother steps aside, you get greeted by bright blue eyes and a cheeky grin.

This is Gojo Satoru, that “hot guy with the blindfold”, one of the last men you’d like to marry even if he’s dressed in a fine suit with red and blue details. Out of instinct, you cross your arms in front of your chest, narrow eyes staring him into the ground. You will never understand the hype behind his smile and eyes when it’s all too clear that he’s a player, a womanizer. A man like Gojo Satoru isn’t the husband you were imagining, not the man you were looking for since you were a child.

“I’m not marrying that man”, you announce into the silence of the room.

Soo, this was the very first chapter of my new series and it makes me beyond excited! So please, if you enjoyed it, it would make me beyond happy if you like/comment/reblog that work of mine and let me know what you think. Thank you guys so much for your constant support, it means the world 🤍

Tags: @m0k0k0 @lees-chaotic-brain @sanicsmut @risuola @fire-loving-siren @sunshine7queen @gatitam @kentocalls

[flowerandblood]

The Fall from the Heavens (40) (End)

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: description of childbirth, breeding and lactation kink, sex content, smut, angst, fluff ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Childhood

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Nothing terrified her more than giving birth. During the night, she often dreamt that she was dying an agonising death, that her husband was ordering her womb to be cut open as her grandfather had done to her grandmother.

She would then wake up drenched in a cold sweat and sigh with relief when she realised it was only a dream. She didn't tell her husband about it because she knew he would have been furious at the mere suggestion that he could do something so monstrous to her.

To her surprise and the initial panic that gripped her, though she would never have expected it, the presence of Alicent and Alys eased her delivery. The two experienced women told her exactly how she should sit and when to walk, how she should breathe, when to push and when to rest, stroking her hair and her back.

They comforted her with warm words, told her how perfectly she was doing, how brave she was, that everything would be well, that she could do it.

She felt like her baby was about to tear her apart, moans and screams erupted from her throat as if she were a monster or an animal, tears of exertion and suffering running down her cheeks hot with emotion.

"– I can see the head, Princess – the baby is placed in the right position – all is well – when I tell you, push –" Alys said, peering at her from between her thighs, and she nodded quickly, feeling relieved at her words, thinking that she would not die.

That she would give her husband a son and end the war.

She screamed, clasping her hand over Alicent's palm as she tried with effort to bring her offspring into the world, this brutal act unknown to the man full of blood and fluids, sickening and beautiful at the same time, giving life.

And suddenly she was relieved when something large finally slid out of her body and began to quiver. Alys smiled, as if she was genuinely happy about what she was seeing.

"– it's a healthy little boy –" She said, and she laughed with joy while simultaneously crying from relief and exhaustion, tilting her head back, panting loudly.

When her son's umbilical cord was cut he was wiped quickly and given to her, rolled up in a soft white cloth so she could see him.

His hair was white.

She looked at Alicent, who pressed her lips together, tears one by one running down her face.

"I'm so happy for you, my love. I truly am."

When her husband was summoned, she had the feeling that he had survived her labour worse than she had – he walked into the chamber shaky and pale, breathing loudly through his mouth as if he was about to faint. When he closed them in his embrace, when he saw their child, there was a smile on his face that she had so rarely seen: wide, joyful, full of life.

They had a son.

They had an heir.

They had an heir to the throne.

The word was immediately sent out to Dragonstone and King's Landing along with the signatures of Daemon and the Queen to attest to the truth of the message.

Both Aegon and her mother arrived in Harrenhal to see that it was true, and were greeted by the head of Lord Larys Strong impaled on a spike, as promised by Daemon.

She ran out to greet her mother as soon as she noticed Syrax in the distance – Rhaenyra embraced her immediately as she slid from her saddle, sobbing with joy at the sight of her, kissing her forehead and cheeks.

"– my only daughter –"

Aegon was already waiting for her, together with her husband bent over the cradle in which their son lay.

Viserys looked at the newcomers with his big, bright eyes, hiding his face in his small hands, watching the historic moment when a settlement was to be written between her mother and her uncle that would change the order of succession by their agreement, establishing her and her husband as ruler-regents until their son reached the age of sixteen.

According to Rhaenyra's will, neither of them was to wear the crown or sit on the Iron Throne – that honour would be bestowed only on their son, Viserys, when he reached the right age.

She watched, cradling her son in her arms, who put his whole little hand in his mouth, mumbling something squeaky, as Aegon and then her mother put their signatures to their arrangements written down by the scribe, and she clenched her eyes shut, swallowing hard, knowing that it had finally happened.

This was the end of the conflict.

Although the atmosphere in Harrenhal was tense, and Aegon had immediately returned to the Red Keep, the exact date had been set for when she, her mother and her husband would appear in King's Landing to present the will of her mother and her uncle to the entire kingdom in the Great Sept.

She was horrified that what had remained only in her imagination was now to become a reality.

Her husband was to become King Regent and she was to become Queen Regent.

They were to rule the kingdom together.

She was not prepared for such a life and was terrified, her husband, however, seemed calmer and more confident than ever, as if he had been destined for it.

She trusted him and wanted to be his support.

Viserys was changing every day, growing in front of her eyes. It seemed to her that he had more of his father in him than of her, for he was a sweet but shy child, hiding his flushed face whenever anyone but her or his father looked into his cradle or touched him.

To her delight, her husband, although at first afraid to take him in his arms, began to do so to ease the strain on her and her back as their son began to grow heavier.

She watched from the sidelines as the physical contact began to bring them closer together – Viserys stretched his small, chubby hands towards him when his father merely leaned over him, and her uncle was taking him in his arms, whispering something to him, from which their son giggled loudly.

She knew that he wanted to be a better father to their son than the one he had.

Because of what was happening they were too tired to do anything at night other than sleep, so they cuddled exactly as they had when they were children, falling asleep with their foreheads touching each other, holding hands, silently reminding each other that they were not alone.

Her uncle loved watching her feed his son. When she took him in her arms and slipped her shirt off her shoulders, he always interrupted whatever he was doing and came over to them, sitting down next to her, looking silently at this mythological sight of a woman breastfeeding her offspring.

One night as she put their son down, sleeping peacefully with a belly full of her milk back into his cradle, her husband looked at her with a look she knew well. He licked his lips as he sat spread out on the bed, watching her entire figure from afar.

"– come here –" He commanded with a grimace from which she felt a pleasant shiver, his eye fixed on her expression of satisfaction.

"– it's time for your husband to taste you –"

She didn't think he meant it, but as it turned out, her childhood friend still managed to surprise her. His lips kissed her soft thighs and stomach, where white lines had formed, and although, indeed, her body looked different, he didn't seem to notice.

"– my brave wife – she brought my son and heir into this world – shouldn't I, as her husband, caress her every night in return? –" He gasped, sliding his tongue down between her thighs, his light, taunting lick traveling up her puffy bud made her throw her head back, all thirsty.

"– yes –" She exhaled, feeling in her loins more than ever how much she wanted it, how much she needed those words, her cunt swollen with arousal.

"– mmm –"

She almost cried out as his nose pressed against her warm, sensitive folds, and his tongue invaded deep between her slit, trailing its tip and teasing the spot from which her thighs trembled in the grip of his hand.

"– fuck – Aemond, oh, fuck –" She mumbled, rocking her hips so that her pearl rubbed again and again against his face, feeling the tension and tingling in her lower abdomen, in her hard nipples and lips, her hands clenched in his hair, begging him for more.

"– dirty little cunt – all sticky – am I wrong? – He cooed with a sneer and she shook her head, feeling a wonderful shiver of delight run through her body at his words as his tongue slowly built her path to fulfillment.

"– my wife is unmannerly – she can't even answer her husband – what a pity –" He hummed, rising on his arms, wiping his face with a grin. She looked at him with her eyes wide open, panting loudly, feeling her whole womanhood pulsing and quivering with desire.

"– n-no – please –" She muttered pleadingly, and he chuckled under his breath, delighted apparently at her condition.

"– what shall I do with you? – how to teach you good manners? – treat you like a mere wet-nurse? – a source of milk for my offspring? – hm? –" He sneered, making her turn red with embarrassment, her fingers clenched on his hot, naked body.

She squirmed, startled, when he suddenly leaned over her chest and pressed his face against her breast, enclosing her puffy, delicate nipple between his lips, and then began to suck greedily.

She heard him swallow her warm milk and moan low at the same time as her, as if something about the act aroused them both.

"– fuck – fuck, fuck, fuck, please –" She mumbled out and sighed as his knee hit her leg and forced her to spread her thighs – not letting go of her breast from between his lips, which he kept squeezed between his fingers, he blindly tried to meet her entrance with the tip of his cock, into which she herself guided it with her fingers, desperate, spreading her walls in front of him.

"– here – here, uncle – gods, yes, right here –" She mewled and threw her head back as he slammed into her with an aggressive, deep thrust, sliding into her with ease. She squealed when he put his arm under her back and suddenly lifted himself to a sitting position, pulling her against him.

He forced her to fit his hard, throbbing erection inside her again and again with sharp, quick thrusts while keeping his hands clamped on her waist and breast – his lips released her nipple and clung to her mouth, letting her drink her own milk, warm and sweet.

"– fucking delicious –" He exhaled, sliding his tongue down her throat, embracing her tightly, her full, swollen breasts bumping against his chest, rubbing against her oversensitive nipples again and again. Their bodies slapped against each other loudly, her walls slick and wet, welcoming him easily deep inside her.

"– I've missed this little cunt – gods, Rhaenys, 'm close –" He muttered, ashamed and flushed at not being able to persevere any longer after such a long break, and then groaned loudly in pleasure along with her, his mouth wide open in relief and bliss.

"– Aemond –" She panted, along with him coming down from their peak, her fleshy walls squeezing his half-hard, twitching manhood, the remnants of his seed filling her womb.

"– six – you promised me six more –" He muttered, and she nodded quickly.

"– yes – yes, my beloved –"

The day their little son was to be presented in front of the crowd and the terms of the agreement were to take effect was one of the most terrifying of her life. She and her husband had returned to King's Landing several weeks earlier to oversee the preparations and what was to happen.

They and their families had travelled in carriages to the Great Sept as agreed. She rocked their son in her arms, who would not be calmed, crying loudly, feeling her terror and fear, the thought that something would happen, that someone would betray them, that there would be a tragedy that would destroy everything.

"Give him to me." Said her uncle, and she pressed her lips together, handing him squirming, whimpering Viserys.

"There, there. Easy. Your mother is just very scared, but we are not in any danger." He whispered to their son, rocking him calmly. Viserys looked at him, putting his small hand into his mouth as was his custom when he was intrigued.

"– no –" She and her uncle said at the same time, but her husband forestalled her, pulling his hand from his mouth.

"– you can't do that –" He rebuked him, apparently believing that the several-month-old infant would comprehend the weight of his words.

However, it turned out that he did not when, after a moment, his little fingers reached his chubby face again. Her husband grabbed his arm to stop him from doing what he wanted.

"– he's stubborn just like you –" He said, looking at her reproachfully, as if it was her fault that their son was displaying behaviour incomprehensible to him. She sighed heavily, shaking her head.

"– you haven't replied to my letters for eight years and you're going to lecture me on stubbornness? –" She asked with raised eyebrows and saw her uncle press his lips into a thin line, exactly as he had when they were children and she had told him that Aegon the Conqueror spent nine nights out of ten with Rhaenys.

He was just as she remembered him.

"Did you hear that, son? Your mother never forgets anything." He muttered, looking her straight in the eye. She smiled at him with a sneer.

"Never."

Her husband responded to her words with the same expression, grinning.

"Little tease."

When they finally arrived in the Great Sept, to her surprise, they were greeted with flowers and cheers; contrary to what she thought, the people of the kingdom were not in favour of a bloody solution to the matter and wanted peace above all else.

They went inside through a side entrance, her mother, her uncle and everyone else waiting on a large stone platform, onto which they stepped, accompanied by the solemn sound of trumpets.

"Heir to the Iron Throne, Viserys Targaryen, his father, King Regent Aemond Targaryen and his mother, Queen Regent, Rhaenys Targaryen." She heard the voice of one of the guards and looked at him in shock.

Rhaenys Targaryen.

Her husband had ordered that her real name not be read out, only the one he had given her.

That was how he perceived her.

Her mother looked at her, furrowing her brow, thinking something bad had happened, but she nodded at her with a smile, feeling tears under her eyelids.

The crowds began to cheer, and an overwhelming relief could be felt all around her, as if fresh air had suddenly filled her lungs, and she began to breathe again. She kissed the temple of her son, who snuggled into her body, terrified by the sudden screams and loud sounds, seeking refuge in her.

The more Viserys grew, the more he reminded her of his father. He quivered with contentment as her husband leaned over him with a book, showing him drawings of dragons, reading aloud to him the history of their lineage. When he was alone, he spent his days in the library, sitting in the exact chair her uncle had sat in when they were still children.

His role overwhelmed him and she knew it; he was a polite, composed and sensitive child. He had watched his father when, cold and mocking, he had dealt with members of the Small Council who had aroused his frustration, also spending a lot of time with his uncle, Prince Aegon.

"I took the throne from him. What was rightfully his as first son." He told her once, pale, bent over a book as usual. She ran her hand through his hair in a subconscious, maternal reflex and hissed when she felt the baby kick inside her abdomen.

Her husband had told her the night before, kissing her rounded belly, that he had hoped that after three sons he would finally have a daughter, and indeed, she had hoped so too.

The whole kingdom benefited from how stable their relation was, how strong their partnership was, their union, their trust in each other.

"The matter of succession was unclear because, before his death, your grandfather said that Aegon should become King, even though he had forced the Lordships many years earlier to pay tribute to my mother as the heir to the throne. This caused both her rights to the throne and your uncle's to be challenged throughout the kingdom, and there was no way out of the situation except war, which would have destroyed us all. Your appearance was a sign from the gods." She said softly, and her son nodded, something like relief on his face. He stared ahead for a moment, playing with his fingers.

"Do you know when Princess Alyssa will return?" He asked quietly, as if embarrassed.

She raised her eyebrows in surprise, remembering that, in fact, Alicent, Helaena and her two daughters had travelled to the Old Town some time ago to visit Dareon.

"Well. I do not know that." She answered truthfully.

Alyssa was the youngest child of Aegon and Helaena, already born after the Targaryen family's great truce, and in accordance with this agreement, she lived with her parents in the Red Keep.

She had inherited her mother's beautiful, delicate beauty and her father's cheerful, loud character, while retaining her gentleness and warmth. She used to laugh and speak a lot, hence it seemed to her that her son, withdrawn and quiet by nature, watched her from afar with indulgence and irritation rather than curiosity.

"Are you fond of her?" She continued, wanting to get more out of him, and he simply nodded.

"She is kind." He replied, playing between his fingers with the page of the book on his lap.

She smiled at him involuntarily, placing her hand on his shoulder.

"Let's write her a letter then."

______

Author's note: This is my most important, favorite and longest series since The Impossible Choice, Glass Cuts Deepest and The Man in the Black Mask and I must admit that I didn't expect it would have so many chapters. The story of Aemond and Rhaenys is special to me. Thank you for the wonderful reception of this series. There is also an epilogue coming, which you will read from the three diffirent perspectives: Viserys's, Aemond's and Rhaenys's.

[sunderwight]

thinking about reverse SVSSS AU where the demon characters are human and the human characters are demons (LBH is still both), but cultivation society operates more like MDZS so that the demon characters can preserve their ruthless clan politics and inheritance systems, and but demon society (which the formerly human characters are now part of) operates more like the ghosts in TGCF, where it's mostly a free-for-all of powerful demons establishing whatever kind of system they please in whatever space they can carve out. I think that'd preserve the meritocracy elements and "twelve different sects in a trench coat" qualities that cang qiong has as an organization.

so the peaks are instead these sort of liminal space cities which are ruled by the most powerful/influential demons, who choose their successors (at least ostensibly) based purely on talent and ability. instead of the sprawling alternate dimension demonic realms of PIDW, they're more like pocket dimensions which can only be accessed if you know the secret ways, existing in the shadows of otherwise seemingly normal towns, mountains, cities, forests, etc. humans sometimes wander into them by mistake, although whether they can get back out again or not depends a lot on which demon lord's domain they were unlucky enough to stumble upon.

Mobei Jun and Sha Hualing are still the heirs of their respective sects/clans, which are among the most powerful sects around. The CQMS peak lords are the rulers of twelve allied demon settlements. Tianlang Jun was the heir of the strongest sect, sort of like Wen Ruohan if Wen Ruohan's biggest motivation was to have his Hot Girl Summer rather than conquering everything, but after his and Zhuzhi Lang's disappearances their sect lost a lot of clout. Su Xiyan hailed from a wealthy demon phantom palace, known for its exceptional hostility towards humans (this version of HHP definitely literally eats people).

The demons-turned-humans are still exactly as cutthroat and dubious as in PIDW. Sha Hualing still wants to kill her father to take his position, Mobei Jun's uncle still tries to assassinate him, the cultivation world has an underground business in trafficking demon body parts (officially decried, but unofficially often consumed to help boost cultivation or create certain tools), the sects often go to war with one another and tend to wreak havoc on the secular human governments and societies whenever they do. All that sort of stuff.

On the humans-turned-demons end, demons in this setting are sometimes born the same way as humans -- two parents of compatible genital orientation get it on and some months later etc etc, which is how siblings like Liu Qingge and Liu Mingyan happen. But sometimes demons also just sort of manifest out of concentrated pockets of demonic energy. Some demons come from humans (SJ and YQY were both born from the unquiet ghosts of slave children), some come from animals (SQH was a pet hamster who was tormented enough to become a demon hamster, and then cultivated enough to take on a human shape), some come from collisions of powerful elemental forces such as volcanoes or floods (Su Xiyan).

So demons have a lot of apprenticeship and teacher-and-student style familial relationships, and demons looking to build families often will risk venturing out into the human realms and trying to find other isolated demons to bring into their fold. Demons alone in the human world are highly vulnerable to being hunted, killed, or enslaved. This is also why there's such a high percentage of "orphans", and contributes even more to a demon like SJ (no parents) resenting a demon like Luo Binghe (found and adopted by a kindly older demon almost right away).

So in the original PIDW, Luo Binghe is a kid who thinks he's a demon and grows up under the cruel and resentful talons of the Lord of Qing Jing, Shen Qingqiu. Every twenty or so years the demon settlements manifest much more strongly in the human realms, during which time they are a lot more vulnerable to attacks from humans. To help deal with this this, the demon rulers traditionally host big, dramatic, scary events that bring everyone within a certain geographic range together, the better to put any righteous sects off the idea of trying to single them out and attack. Most of the smaller settlements clear out entirely in preparation, leaving "ghost towns" where the buildings appear but the demons and anything too valuable to risk leaving behind are all gone.

This Demonic Alliance Conference is a time for contests, trials, matchmaking, partying, festive hunts, trading, and big displays of power. What could be a massive weakness instead becomes a big celebration, and a time for mingling and making new connections.

In PIDW, after suffering years of abuse at the hands of his cruel master, Luo Binghe attends the DAC in hopes of securing some better place for himself in demonic society. But when the righteous sects launch an unprecedented attack on the event, his human heritage is revealed, and Shen Qingqiu tosses him into the twilight space between realms in disgust. Binghe is forced to navigate the hollow and desolate place, locked into his newly-revealed and very weak human form, until he bonds with the legendary Xin Mo blade and effects his escape. Then he sets about bringing the righteous sects to heel (his bloodline means he's heir to one of the biggest sects around, even if they've fallen on hard times the past 20 or so years) and of course conquering the demon realms, and taking revenge on Shen Qingqiu, all while accumulating a record number of wives.

Shen Yuan transmigrates into Demon Lord Shen Qingqiu, ruler of Qing Jin settlement, a haunted bamboo forest in the most cursed mountain range ever.

Downsides -- he's of course destined to be dismembered and/or shoved into a pickle pot by the protagonist.

Upsides -- he's a demon with amazingly awesome demon traits! He has talons! Fangs! WINGS! Also, Binghe is a little demon bun and he is so cute, like a puppy with his fluffy wolf ears and baby claws and darling bright red eyes. Who could ever persecute such an adorable monster boy?! His tail literally wags when he's excited!

Plus Shen Yuan gets to spend as much time investigating cool beasts and other demons as he likes. He's in heaven. Well, not literally of course, but for his standards. Pretty close. Almost worth the price of admission!

[intooned]

MY FAVORITE SHIPS!

This was a LONG time coming! And I want to thank @expensiveeggplant & @coffinbrotherr for putting up with my procrastination while boiling down the who and why of this list!

Adventure Time: Finnceline

My first real ship, the first fanfiction I ever read, and I spent hours watching Finnceline AMV's way back when YouTube didn't have commercials. Finn and Marcy's personalities and experiences play so well off of each other that I'm thoroughly convinced the writers were terrified of their potential. They would be an amazing butt-kicking couple, but that wouldn't leave Finn with as many flaws to develop as a young man coming of age. And it's such a shame because you know they'd always have each other's backs and best interests at heart. And with a fully grown adult Finn I'd bet money they'd have at least turned out as cuddle buddies... who occasionally engage in some very aggressive cuddling courtesy of my good friend Lofty! (Click at your own risk!)

Flame Princess and Huntress Wizard were great and had their cool moments with Finn, but something tells me Marceline would give up her immortal life in a heartbeat to protect Finn. Having seen each other's pasts and memories and going out of their way to help each other with deep-rooted life issues, Finnceline just has more depth to work with than the other ships.

Gravity Falls: Dipper x Pacifica x Mabel

The first episode I ever saw was the one where Pacifica and Mabel play mini-golf. I wasn't fully paying attention and assumed Dipper and Mabel were just best friends dealing with a bully. The car ride home together was cute and solidified my first ever threeway ship. THEN I found out they were siblings...

Then I found out fanfiction didn't care! In fact, here's a [link] to the BEST fanfic I've ever read for this ship, enjoy!

Star Vs. The Forces of Evil: MonStarco

The MonStar AU is where things are relatively the same except for one thing: Star is half or part monster. It makes good sense that Star, being an interdimensional magical princess from an interdimensional magical kingdom would be a little more... interdimensional. It gives some fresh blood to Starco fics, which can be a bit too vanilla most of the time, especially when you get to parts where Star's otherworldly anatomy and quirks cause all sorts of problems and shenanigans!

Sort of like her muberty phase but she's stuck looking that way, and if you remember the show said there's a chance every Mewman actually COULD end up stuck in butterfly form! Super interesting! It reminds me a lot of the episode of Teen Titans(original) where Starfire was going through alien puberty, and how fun of an episode it was to watch. The fact that there's tons of Monster Star AU and Mewberty art out there helps a ton as well!

Steven Universe: Lapiven & Stevinel

Lapiven: These two are the perfect example of "cute sunshine boy X hot goth gf". Plain and simple, Steven's optimism is exactly what Lapis needed to begin working through what happened to her. And no one appreciates a cinnamon roll the way a scarred person does. Also, tell me they don't look like a couple everytime they're onscreen together? I mean really watch them! Blushing, giggling, constant eye contact, twinkling eyes, immediately responsive to each others change in mood, plenty physical contact, elation whenever Steven calls or visits.

You can call it platonic for the Shtewball, but Lapis adores Steven in every sense of the word! She warned him and negotiated his safety when she realized Homeworld would get involved. She held Jasper prisoner in her own head just to protect him. She faced her trauma and returned to confront the Diamonds, ready to put hands and feet on an enemy she knew she couldn't beat. And entirely because, to her, Steven's safety was more important than her own life! Weigh out those exact same scenarios, their exact same interactions with each other with just about any other two characters in animation and tell me it doesn't make sense? I swear most of their episodes together are just them going on dates!

Stevinel: Now this is special to me. On the opposite side of the scale Steven and Spinel share the same feelings of abandonment and inadequacy from and by Pink. Of course they aren't the only ones, but Spinel didn't raise Steven as a parent or sibling. There was no one better suited to empathize with Steven's issues, and his downward spiral into becoming a monster who hurts people.

What Spinel went through in the movie is too on the nose for what Steven goes through in Future, and I'm flabbergasted that the writers chose to have her be of little to no help when Steven needed to be shown that he didn't have to hold himself together on his own!

But back on topic. The other Gems love Steven, but Spinel is wired to love him just like Pearl, on top of whatever blooms between them naturally. So when those wires were damaged from Pink's abandonment, it's quite poetic that Steven is the one to mend them. From there It's as easy-peasy pink-heart-squeasy to assume the seeds of affection could sprout from such fertile ground. It also helps that Rebecca Sugar blatantly suggests Steven and Spinel's relationship isn't concretely platonic, at least for Spinel. Even going so far as to give us fan service!

Possibility is all that is needed for shippers and fanfictioneers to run wild with wishful thinking. I also might have a revenge boner for heartbroken characters who find happiness despite the tomfuckery done to them. "Pink abandoned me in her garden? Guess I'll have Steven frolicking in mine.

RWBY: Nora's Arc

Although I may grow enamored with other RWBY ships, I always come back to this one. It's just tons of fun! Responsible & Awkward meets Extroverted Hurricane, legally banned from IHOP and the Sloth exhibit at the zoo! Premium family man real estate meets poster girl for found family and there's no one better than Jaune-1-of-8-kids-Arc to get the job done!

I'm also of the mind that Nora's bombastic personality is meant to draw people to her, because she's absolutely terrified of being alone and left behind again. And with family gatherings at the Arc residence, isolation is all but nonexistent.

Wakfu: Yumalia

Dreams do come true! LET'S GOOO! Not much to say; they were set to be together from first sight and it was a rollercoaster from there. A lot like Aang and Katara, Yugo got his feisty princess and Amalia got her dashing hero. It's classic, it's timeless, and you love to see it done well!

The Dragon Prince: Rayllum

Obvious cuteness is obviously cute. It's nearly unheard of for the strange but exotic alien girl to be the one intrigued and smitten with the human boy. An action adventure fantasy but the non-human girl is the awkward one hiding her feelings? Sign me up! It's a breath of fresh air!

Sonic The Hedgehog: SilverWolf

The newest addition! Some fresh meat to sink my teeth into as I rekindle my love for the Sonic franchise! I haven't followed anything Sonic since the fever dream that was Sonic 06, but happened to see a few panels of Silver talking to what appeared to be a new character, Whisper the Wolf! Shy, soft spoken, but not from timidity, rather a desire to not scare others away because of her frightening features.

Pairing her with the very approachable and reassuring Silver makes for good chemistry in my opinion. I also adore Whisper's color scheme and the combination of silver, gold, and neon lights they have in a lot of comic panels together. They'd make a cute pair that's easy to reduce to a blushing mess with any little bit of teasing, and I'm here for it!

AND THERE YOU HAVE IT!

I have loads more ships but these are the ones that I felt were most worth sharing.

[bekaroth-reads]

Baldur's Gate 3 Characters x Reader/Tav with childcare habits

[ Not sure what to title this. I work with toddlers and very small children, and there are so many habits that leak over into other things I do. Thought that it would be funny if Tav had the same problem. Not necessarily romantic relationships, it can be platonic too. This is written gender neutral so it can be any reader or Tav.]

Gale- There was a general air of exhaustion that hung over the camp. But, on the bright side, at least Gale could rest easy in the knowledge that there was a very powerful, easy to consume artifact in his hands. While he usually liked to go through the whole song and dance of this unfortunate requirement by himself, he didn’t mind if you were there. You had both seen each other in stranger situations by this point. Add to this that you looked like you were about to fall asleep at any moment, there wasn’t much to be self conscious about.

Just as Gale put the artifact to his lips, you suddenly moved his hand away, giving it a few gentle taps.

“Ick, ick! Makes a Gale sick.” You mumbled, not conscious enough to be considered awake before you rolled over and fell asleep proper.

Gale gave a tickled chuckle that was slightly tinged with the bitterness of the truth in the situation.

“Oh, believe me. I know.” He patted your shoulder and got back to the deed at hand.

Halsin- Everyone else had retired to their tents except Halsin and yourself. The both of you had offered to clean up the mess from dinner. You had talked for awhile, but finally got around to actually cleaning. The pot that was used to cook dinner was left too close to the fire, so it was still too hot to touch with your bare hands. You had used a cloth to move it away, and were waiting for it to cool off when Halsin came over to pick it up.

Moving faster than your thoughts, you moved away his hand while instinctively saying.

“Hot, hot for Halsin!”

You were hoping that he somehow didn’t hear what you had said exactly. And, when all he responded was a polite, “Thank you for the warning,” you thought he might have not. However, Halsin was literally biting his tongue to try not to laugh.

A few days later, he teased you by taking a lit torch from you and gently scolding, “Hot, hot for Tav.”

Astarion- Things haven’t been great for him lately. And, by lately, he meant decades. However, he could wallow in self pity later. Right now he needed to feed, and animal blood wasn't cutting it. Lucky that you seemed to put your bed roll a bit farther from the fire than the others in the group.

He quietly sneaked his way over to you, and prepared to strike. However, when his fangs hit your neck, things took an unexpected turn.

"No bites! Not nice!" You scolded in your sleep as your hand moved to rest on his forehead and gently push him away.

You suddenly woke up. The two of you stared at each other, neither saying anything. After an agonizing awkward few minutes, he walked away.

The next morning he pulled you aside from the rest of the party and sternly whispered, "Look- you don't mention that I'm a vampire and I won't tell them about the baby-talk."

Shadowheart- She and Lae'zel had gotten into an argument. Nothing new for either of them. This one really got under Shadowheart's skin this time.

"Can't believe that slimly toad of a woman thought she could pull something like that..." She grumbled as she stomped past you.

"Hey, are you using your kind words?" You asked.

This stopped her in her tracks and she turned to look at you, her anger almost completely replaced by myrth. "I'm sorry, what did you just say?" She questioned, her voice sounding as devious as she felt.

"Are you speaking well about our teammates?" You rephrased.

Raphael- He had insisted that he recite a new poem that he was working on, even if he had to wake you up to do so. Despite trying to stay awake, you couldn't help but doze off on Haarlep's shoulder. They didn't mind as, though they weren't physically tired, they would also rather be anywhere else. The two of you both being Raphael's quite literal captive audience.

"Oh, no. That most certainly is NOT what you asked me." Shadowheart teased. She wouldn't let you live this down for a long time. She's never too hard on you though.

Once the cambion had finished, he looked at the both of you expecting praise for his prose; Haarlep elbowed you just in the nick of time so you could sit up before Raphael noticed.

"Well?" He goaded.

"Truly, you have outdone yourself." Haarlep gave a purposefully unconvincing cheer.

Raphael rolled his eyes before moving his attention to you. "And, you, Tav?"

Still not fully aware of how you sounded or anything in the actual contents of the poem, you said, "Oh, how pretty, Raphael!" like you would have to a child that just gave you a finger painting.

The next thing you knew, Haarlep was rushing down the hall, you slung over their shoulder, their wings hitting your head with every movement, as they were laughing so hard it almost turned into a coughing fit. The quick escape must have been from the vaguely Raphael shaped fire right behind you, snapping and flinging blazes your direction while cursing and yelling about you not knowing what true art is.

Haarlep- They had heard that you had taken a pretty nasty hit to the head. Still, they hadn't quite expected what they were greeted with when they went to take stock of your condition like they were asked to. (Nurse work wasn't usually in their duties, but Raphael couldn't be bothered to do this himself.)

They appeared in your room to see you sitting on your bed, staring at nothing.

"Knock, knock, little mortal." They announced their presence which tore your eyes away from the space you were looking at.

You looked at them for a moment before giving a exasperated sigh.

"Where are your clothes?" You asked.

They blink a few times, not knowing how else to respond. "I beg your pardon?" They eventually asked.

You walked over to your closet and started digging through it. Eventually you walked over with a completely mixed matched set of clothes. "You have to wear something. You can't just run around in your undies!" The last part was very exaggerated as you lightly pinched and wiggled their nose.

They immediately returned to Raphael with you in tow. "It's worse than we thought." Was all they said as they sat you down and walked away.

Gartash- To say that Enver Gortash's work and habits were messy would be an understatement. It was certainly no different tonight. He had gotten blood and viscera all over him. And, seeing as he loved to get a rise out of you, he chose not to wash it off before going to find you.

When he saw you reading, he took a moment to compose himself to seem as though nothing was amiss, and walked calmly up to you.

"Anything interesting in your books today?" He asked, barely holding his excitement to hear you yell at him.

You started to say something, but when you turned to look at him you took a cloth from your pocket. Reaching up, you rubbed the blood from his face; each pass of the cloth was acompanied with a sing-song, "Wipe, wipe, wipe, wipe, wipe."

Gortash was baffled and indignant that he didn't get the reaction he wanted. He smacked your hand away and yelled, "What in the hells was that?!"

"Sorry," you offered sheepishly, "force of habit."

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

reading update: november 2024

*arrives halfway through december with a hot chocolate in hand* WHO WANTS TO KNOW WHAT I READ IN NOVEMBER

this is not going to be my best or most thoroughly written roundup but I want this shit posted so you get what you get

Sharks Don't Sink: Adventures of a Rogue Shark Scientist (Jasmin Graham with Makeba Raisin, 2024) - as a shark enjoyer who was too dumb to go into marine biology, I was really looking forward to Graham's book about her experiences as a Black woman working in this very white field. while the book's a bit dry it's also a fun, quick read, with an infinitely likeable narrator whose passion bursts out of every page and will delight anybody who also loves sharks. Graham's determination to forge her own path and make spaces for herself and other women of color makes for an inspiring story, and though this book isn't specifically targeted at younger readers, I'd happily recommend gifting it to any girls looking at getting into any kind of animal-related field so that they can find a worthy role model in Jasmin Graham.

Bite by Bite: Nourishments and Jamborees (Aimee Nezhukumatathil, 2024) - I feel bad, but I was disappointed! I was so smitten with poet Nezhukumatathill's previous collection of short essays, World of Wonder, in which she extolls the virtues of various animals and plants. while I always enjoy a lush description of a good food, and the illustrations were very charming (the shave ice in particular had me YEARNING to blow my savings on a trip to Hawaii), it Bite by Bite lacked the substance of its predecessor. the connections drawn in each essay felt a bit more contrived this time around, with many feeling like thinly veiled justifications for Nezhukumatathil to pontificate on her sons growing up rather than celebrating the foods she spotlights for their own merits. I ended up feeling as if I was rushing to get it over with, which is always sad.

Four Lost Cities: A Secret History of the Urban Age (Annalee Newtiz, 2021) - this was one of the most unexpect delights of the year. I know borderline nothing about archaeology and anthropology, but Newitz paints such vivid images of their subjects that I found myself getting genuinely emo about disaster relief efforts in Pompeii. idk what it was, man, but they took their right turns stupid just like we did! humans is the same after all this time! it's been a while since I picked up a book about something totally alien to me and got to settle in for the pure joy of learning from a talented writer, and this book hit the spot tremendously. if anyone is planning on doing my 2025 book bingo challenge and needs an idea for the nonfiction about a topic that's new to them, consider this a recommendation!

The Truth According to Ember (Danica Nava, 2024) - maaaaan. I wasn't, like, blown away by the synopsis of this romance novel, in which the titular Ember lies about being white rather than Chickasaw in order to land a job only to immediately find herself crushing hard on a Native coworker, Danuwoa, and getting increasingly wrapped up in a web of lies. while the plot's not exactly original, I was excited to check out a book by a Native author about Native characters getting a pretty big release, something I hadn't yet encountered in romancelandia. but honestly? the biggest disappointment in this book wasn't the unoriginal story or Disney Channel sitcom-levels of hijinks to maintain the various lies, but it's the fact that lying about being white isn't even really the crux of the plot. Ember doesn't get fired for that! that's not actually the thing anyone has an issue with! she gets in trouble for lying about having a degree that she doesn't have to get a job she's wildly underqualified for, which is a significantly bigger issue! but all of the marketing is based on her lying about being Native, which feels... idk, it feels misleading? also the romance takes, like, a loooong time to show up; Danuowa is very secondary for like the first third of the book while we learn about the ins and outs of Ember's life, family drama, and new job. I don't know if I've ever been begging for a romance heroine to interact with love interest more, but this book made it happen.

The MAGA Diaries: My Surreal Adventures Inside the Right-Wing (And How I Got Out) (Tina Nguyen, 2024) - on the one hand, I really fuckin' feel for Tina Nguyen. what started out as a college flirtation with libertarianism spiraled into a deep immersion in the burgeoning alt-right thanks to her then-boyfriend, including a brief stint working under Tucker Carlson himself. Nguyen ultimately comes to realize the extent of batshit insanity the republican party is descending into, jumping ship well before the 2016 election thanks to an increasing sense that something is deeply amiss among the right's journalism core. (one especially chilling anecdote involves Nguyen, the daughter of Vietnamese immigrants, discovering that her longtime mentor, a man she had trusted for years to help advise her career, had been caught discussing a desire to curb America's population of immigrants.) although she spins her firsthand knowledge and exhaustive list of contacts to start reporting on the right for liberal outlets, Nguyen remains skeptical of what she perceives a critical lack of organization among the Democrats, which I can certainly forgive her for. I have a bit more side eye for Nguyen's reluctance to fully condemn some of her old colleagues; in particular, she goes to lengths to emphasize that Carlson was a pretty chill boss. idk, maybe it's hard to cut ties that completely, even with people who turned out to be monsters. overall the memoir is lacking any especially artful prose but is a bitchin' gossip piece with some decent insights into how the right organizes.

Minor Feelings: An Asian American Reckoning (Cathy Park Hong, 2020) - it's always so momentous when a book actually lives up to the hype. Hong blurs memoir and essay for a resonant and painful examination of all the ways Asian American identity gets tangled up in shame, including her own. this book is potent, and by far one of my favorite nonfiction reads of the year. I think @zaricats recommended it like 700 years ago so thank you for that!

Crazy Rich Asians (Kevin Kwan, 2013) - it's. fine. it's literally just fine.

The Nightmare Before Kissmas (Sara Raasch, 2024) - not fine, this one sucked shit so bad it gave me a headache multiple times. how do you squander a premise as silly as "the Christmas Prince and the Halloween Prince are in secret gay love"? how do you make that boring? why was this mostly just a book about workplace politics with a little tinsel on top? unfortunately I WILL be reading the sequel in March, but only to complain.

Doppelganger: A Trip Into the Mirror World (Naomi Klein, 2024) - a dizzying work that ties together an astonishing number of ideas, beginning with Klein's own frustrations with being mistaken for disgraced feminist writer turned vaccine conspiracy hack Naomi Wolf to the chaotic and reactionary political landscape that so many of us find ourselves struggling to make sense of. it's a heavy and heady book, dense with well considered observations and expertly articulated thoughts despite Klein's own acknowledgement that her "research" often veered into unreasonable levels of obsession. despite Klein's long career this was my first time reading her work, and now I am Listening to anything and everything she has to say.

Delicious in Dungeon Vol. 12 (Ryoko Kui, trans. Taylor Engel, 2023) - I truly genuinely can't say anything about Volume 12 without saying that, by the time I'm posting this, I have also read Volumes 13 and 14 and finished the series and man. man man man. this story is just so GOOD. genuinely I love Dungeon Meshi so much.

Buzz: A Stimulating History of the Sex Toy (Hallie Lieberman, 2017) - a very fun and interesting history of the sale of sex toys in the US, including some very appreciated love for unsung heroes of the sex toy field like Jewish ventriloquist Ted Marche, Black disability activist Gosnell Duncan, and all of the women who pioneered sex stores that prioritized woman as their clientele. granted, that last group of second wave feminists comes with all the accompanying second wave bioessentialism you'd expect, and I'd be remiss not to note that the book also takes a frustratingly cissexist approach in the way it talks about man = penis and woman = vagina. I don't think Lieberman sought out to be deliberately transphobic (there is, briefly, a mention of a trans woman taking over one of the sex toy companies the book follows, and she is recognized as a woman even if her transition is shoehorned in rather awkwardly) but simply out of her depth with knowing how to address trans people in the very binary historical narrative she constructs. it's grating, but also unsurprising for a book published in 2017. if you can handle the cis weirdness and you, like me, are interested in how sexuality and pleasure are litigated, I'd really recommend checking this one out; I've already added it to the official sex witch library. it's worth the read for the surprising history of Adam & Eve alone.

[baldval]

ART DECO PART 2!₊˚⊹♡

characters: valentino x gn!reader

wc: 1.7k

warnings: cursing, canon!valentino (he doesn't mind vox's bad actions towards other people), insanely angsty.

series masterlist!

You're half awake and disorientated. Valentino got up to find out who was at the door 10 minutes ago, and frankly, you're getting worried.

Against your better judgement, you throw on his shirt from the night before and make your way out of the bedroom.

You enter the living room to be met face to face with Vox.

Shit.

You briefly wonder if you can play it off, fabricate a story, tell him it's not what it looks like!

Apart from, it's exactly what it looks like.

Someone from Vox's assistance team saw you and Val enter his room together after the meeting. And now you're here, in his living room, wearing nothing but his shirt. And your shoes are by the front door. And there's a wine glass abandoned on the counter.

There's no getting out of this one.

Valentino wants to scream, yell at you to go back to his room. He wants to pick you up and throw you out of sight, praying Vox hasn't noticed all the tell tale signs. But it's too late. He has.

"Okay. Uh - what the fuck is going on?"

Vox asks the question while looking between the two of you like some sort of cartoon character doing a double take. It doesn't require a genius to figure it out, but he needs to hear one of you say it out loud.

"Listen, Vox-"

"Vox, don't get mad-"

You both speak at the same time, verbally tripping over each other. You've never actually discussed what you'd do or say if you got found out. You both just always naively assumed it wouldn't happen.

You sit down on the edge of the couch, and look at your boss earnestly.

You had earned his respect with all the years you'd been working for him, creating and animating shows for the Vees.

However, you knew it could all disappear.

It would be a lie to say you didn't see it coming, what was true is that you weren't ready for it.

"Vox, I'm not going to sit here and lie to you. It isn't fair. But you can't get mad when I tell you the truth."

"I'll be the judge of that," he mutters sassily.

"Will you come and sit with me, please? The standing is making me nervous. I feel like I'm on trial."

"You might be. I haven't decided yet."

You can't tell if he's joking. He's certainly not smiling.

Vox moves to sit down next you. Val follows, perching himself on the opposite end to give you space. Close enough if you need him, far enough that it won't upset your boss more.

"Start talking," he commands, still confused.

"It's... well I - we - me and Valentino, we're -"

"Together," Val finishes for you. Vox glares at him, and he decides he'll keep his mouth shut for a while.

"Yeah, we're together," you continue. "We have been for over a year. It isn't just sex, or anything. I'm like- in love with him."

It's weird to finally bear this truth after keeping it a secret for so long. It feels wrong, but also refreshing - like a bitter lemon on a hot day.

Vox is scarily silent.

"You're... kidding, right?" he asks, finally breaking through the quiet.

Your silence is enough answer for you as he looks at you incredulously.

"You're so fuckin' naive." He turns over to Valentino. "How can you sit here and act like this doesn't change anything?"

Val tries to speak, but he continues.

"You lied to me, first off. Both of you. For God knows how long-"

"Vox-"

"Let me fucking finish."

You shrink back into the couch, hoping it would swallow you.

"You both lied to me. You broke my trust... and uh, that fucking hurts, actually. And then there's the business side of things. They work for me, they work for the Vees. And, I don't know if you remember, but you are a Vee. That's a conflict of interest."

Val scoffs at him, but then realises he's deadly serious.

"... A conflict of interest?"

"It's against company policy. How am I going to trust you? How is anyone? Information might get leaked. What if I tell you something, and then you tell them?" He points over to you. "And then they tell whoever friends they have, and they post about it on social media, and all of a sudden nothing is private anymore. I. Can't. Trust. You."

Tears are welling up in your eyes quicker than you can control. You're trying to take deep breaths, begging yourself not to cry in front of Vox.

"You do get this is my life right? I get to choose whoever I date," Val whispers.

"Yeah? Well, it's my life. And they're MY worker. And I get to choose whatever I'll do to them."

A choked sob escapes you, and the floodgates open. Fresh, hot tears sprint down your cheeks, landing in your lap.

Vox doesn't care about your suffering, he just wants to punish Valentino through you.

Val can't stand to sit and watch any longer.

"Okay, Vox, that's enough. This isn't fair."

"What's not fair is that two of people I trust the most both lying to my face for a year. That's what isn't fucking fair."

With that, Vox stands up and strides towards the front door, slamming it behind him as he leaves. The minute he's gone, Valentino is wrapping his arms around you, pulling you into his chest.

"It's okay, darling," he murmurs, stroking your hair. "He'll come around. We'll be okay. If we stick together, we'll be okay."

His reassurances are only making you cry harder, sobs escaping you uncontrollably. You eventually exhaust yourself, falling into a restless sleep in Val's arms on the couch.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

You wake up in bed. You've temporarily forgotten the events of the morning, before it all comes crashing back down around you suddenly. Distantly, you can hear Valentino in the kitchen, talking on the phone. You look around the room, and know what you have to do.

You leave the bedroom with a bag in hand, throwing it onto the ground as you grab your shoes. Val clocks you, and hangs up the phone.

"Can I call you back? Thanks. I'll see you tomorrow."

He runs over to where you're slipping your heels on, precariously balanced against the side of the couch.

"Honey, where are you going?" he questions, panic washing over him at your frantic state. "Wait, have you packed a bag?"

He's trying to catch your eyes, but you keep looking away, desperate to avoid his unrelenting gaze.

"I'm going home."

A pause.

"... This is your home."

You knew he'd say that. It hurts just the same.

"No, Valentino, this is your home. My apartment is across town."

"You haven't been there in months. All your stuff is here. Baby, talk to me. What's going on? Did Vox get in your head?"

"He has a point!" you shout, trying to pick up your bag. Val gets there first and grabs it, flinging it behind him, out of your reach.

"About what? He's just in shock, baby! He's confused and he feels betrayed. You don't owe him fuckin' anything. Not after everything that he has put you through."

"But I love my job, Val. I can't lose everything I've worked so hard to achieve!"

"You love that piece of shit job? Yesterday you literally had to get up at 6 am just to get here and get yelled at for an hour and a half. Look- I love Vox but he's not a good boss. Hell! I don't even care about that, I just can't stand to see him abuse you and treat you like you're close to nothing. You're better off without him and you know it. You're just too attatched to what you have."

Subconsciously, you know he's right. You're trying to convince yourself he isn't.

"You don't get it though."

"Except I do. Do you think I don't know about Vox's methods? I understand that it's what he needs to do to get the job done, but... I just can't stand him treating you like that."

"You heard what he said! He won't trust you anymore. No one will. Besides, I know it's shitty, but my job is important to me. I can't be forgotten. Known only as an old failed artist."

"Trust me, honey, you're the least likely to be named a failure."

"That's not the point! You're not listening to me. I come from the bottom, I've had to fight for respect every fucking day of my life. I'm finally where I deserve to be. I can't throw it all away for... for love!"

Valentino flinches like you've punched him in the gut. He takes a step back and leans against the kitchen island, trying to keep his balance.

"What happened to 'you and me against the world', huh?" he murmurs.

"I think I got too wrapped up in this - in us. I was stupid to think it could work. We both were."

"I wasn't," he replies defiantly. "I knew exactly what I was getting into. I knew it would be really fucking difficult and I loved you anyway."

"I'm not sorry for loving you," you whisper. "I'm sorry for a lot of things, but never for loving you."

"If you meant that, you wouldn't be giving up."

You turn your head around, unable to look at him any longer.

"This isn't giving up. This is... quitting while we're ahead. If we keep going, we'll just end up having a huge, horrible, public breakup," you stop, and take a deep breath. "I think we were always doomed to fail."

Valentino thinks about the diamond ring that sits in a box in the top drawer of his nightstand. Doomed to fail.

You finally look up at him, and all the air leaves your lungs. You've never seen him look so defeated, so vulnerable. You're the cause of this. And you hate yourself for it.

You pad across the kitchen and pick up your bag from where he threw it, before stopping in front of him.

"I don't regret you, Valentino. I never will."

With that, you stride out of the front door, closing it gently behind you. Val is left, cold and empty, in a room that no longer feels like home.

[jamorbital]

Mailbag III ✉️

Wow, there were a bunch this time. Thanks everyone!

@theloramir:

Me! 😷

If that doesn't count… Hmm. Cynthia from Pokémon? Or maybe Tifa?

@scout90-again:

I've been interested in it for as long as I can remember. Even when I was really little, I liked to tie up dolls with string and put pieces of tape on their mouths. A bit more on that in an earlier ask here.

(MORE UNDER THE CUT)

@noteverysaurisadinosaur:

Uhhh... I'm gonna say... Golden Toad. I like Dodos too, but I'm guessing that's the "everything but country and rap" of this question.

@directivexero:

Aw thanks!

Lately I've been slowly making my way through The Great Ace Attorney Chronicles! I play it in bed each night to settle in before I go to sleep. It's like a good book. The fickleness of the jurors always makes me laugh.

Another recent one I liked: Thank Goodness You're Here! It's basically a little interactive animated movie. Matt Berry is in it. I once saw it described as "Untitled Twat Game"

Deadly Premonition is the worst game I've ever played by conventional standards, but I'd still recommend it because it's bad in really fun ways. Bring some friends and a case of beer.

I like games that provoke a strong reaction. I'd rather play something like DP than a "good" big-budget game that's smooth and pleasing but not all that memorable.

Also on the topic of weird games: This is the secret best channel on YouTube. The more you watch, the better it gets. I mean idk, maybe other people don't see it and I'm just deranged. Still though. I've cried laughing at some of these.

@patientbard:

Summer! Lots of happy memories from childhood. I like to swim.

@nixalegos:

I don't often try to go for a specific texture, but when I do it can be tricky. In real life I love soft jersey knit fabric. Despite my best efforts, I haven't been able to nail it in 2D in a way that really scratches that kinky itch.

In general, my drawings rarely come out the way I pictured them in my head. (I think that's how it is for most artists?) If it's looking really off then I might redraw a character or body part from scratch, but for the most part I just go with the flow.

@accretion-disk-anxiety:

To eat, crab; to not eat, turtle.

@damianblack:

I'm not really into furries, but I like furries as people. They seem like fun and I admire how welcoming and liberated their community is.

For a while I've had "draw an anthro character" on my bucket list. I think it'd be a fun challenge and drawing a gag for an anthro snout could be hot tbh.

@onidrills:

What was that thing from Jurassic Park with the big neck thing and the venom? Dilophosaurus?

Aw man...

@goodboynijian:

Thank you!

For proudest: Maybe animation loops?

They're not as elaborate as some other stuff I've done, but seeing an animation come together just feels so satisfying.

For hottest: I gravitate toward a certain weirder type of piece where I draw myself (or "myself") with super-exaggerated proportions and/or humiliating captions:

It feels exciting to just go totally off the wall. I get turned on not just by drawing these, but also posting them. I guess it's kind of a public humiliation/exhibitionism thing. (Actually, that's exactly what it is.)

I used to put them up on Twitter, but it got a little too weird and embarrassing. Now I keep them behind the safety of the paywall.

@t-oppenheimer:

Smash if that counts! I used to attend locals weekly and was decently competitive at my peak. I stopped going in 2020 due to covid and never got back into it after that. I still play with friends here and there though. I'm a Wolf main. 🐺

I've also done a little SF6, but I'm still in The Cursed Zone on that one.

@microfoamgaglover:

Yes

(old pic!)

Thanks again to everyone who sent in questions! I'm feeling better now than I was this morning. If I didn't respond to you, it just means I couldn't think of anything interesting to say. I appreciate it all the same.

[koshkamartell]

No One But Me

previous chapter

masterlist

chapter warnings: reader has a panic attack, death of a side character, manipulative!Joel, mention of pregnancy

When Joel had returned to Jackson and trudged through the door of his house for the first time in weeks, he immediately smelt the sticky sweet scent of honey in the air. Ellie had made him shut his eyes as she tugged him through to the kitchen by the cuff of his sleeve, demanding he not peek or else he would ruin the surprise. And although Joel grumbled about hating surprises and just wanting a hot shower and some rest, he was holding back a smile. He had missed Ellie so much that he would do just about anything if she asked him to.

Then Ellie instructed him to open his eyes, trilling a theatrical "Tada!" She lifted the tea towel that lay on the kitchen counter to unveil the cake she had made with you. "Welcome home!"

Straight away Joel knew that you were involved in the creation of this surprise. Ellie could not have done this alone and you were the only person Ellie would have felt comfortable enough to ask for help with learning to bake something. He also recognised that it looked exactly like one of your honey cakes - his absolute favourite.

Joel felt a twinge inside his chest cavaity upon seeing the pretty cake perched on top of his kitchen counter. It was an overwhelming mix of emotion that he couldn't quite identify; something akin to gratitude and love and pride. All because his adopted daughter cared enough to make him a damn cake to welcome him home. Because it was you who helped teach her.

Joel swallowed the lump in his throat and gave a short laugh of astonishment before gathering Ellie into an embrace.

"Thanks, kid," he whispered into the crown of her head. "Looks good. And ya didn't burn the kitchen down."

"Yeah, ha ha, so funny," Ellie rolled her eyes. "Your lady friend supervised me so I didn't forget to turn off the oven or some bullshit. Which, by the way, happened to Mrs. Myer last year and almost torched her whole house."

Joel and Ellie cut two slices of cake and ate them standing in the kitchen, Ellie rambling about the random mundane happenings that had occurred in Joel's absence. He looked at Ellie as he slowly chewed bites of the delicious spongey cake, only half listening to her. Although Ellie could be exasperating at times, Joel enjoyed seeing her like this - garbling about Maria's houserules around a mouth full of sticky cake, animated facial expressions embellishing her story.

When they finished eating, Joel went upstairs to shower before going to sleep. He stood infront of the mirror to undress, his limbs feeling progressively more leaden with each passing minute. Despite his body aching with fatigue, his mind was overrun with ceaseless ruminating.

With sadness in his heart, Joel thought about how quickly Ellie was growing up, how time was slipping through his fingers and stealing away more moments of their life lived together. Ellie was still the same sarcastic, witty girl she had always been, but living in a safe and equitable community had given her the opportunity to grow and thrive in ways that would have never been possible in the QZ. She had blossomed into an optimistic and confident young woman with goals and aspirations, a daughter Joel was incredibly proud of.

But with Ellie's advancement in age and maturity came fear and dread that seeped into the marrow of his bones.

The fear of his own ageing, of his own inevitable demise slowly approaching. Joel was acutely aware of his age and the increasing limitations that it came with. His joints and muscles ached from a lot less physical strain these days. He was self conscious of the hearing loss in his right ear and worried that it would worsen. Joel dreaded becoming an old man without family surrounding him, with nothing to live for. He dreaded the possibility of experiencing the devastating agony of loss again.

Sarah. Tess.

He couldn't handle losing Ellie, too.

She was already exercising her independence and slowly detaching from the exclusive life they led together - and it fucking hurt him so bad. She was even spending more and more time out with her friends and at sleepovers, leavong Joel alone at home most of the time.

But Joel still felt guilty for lying to Ellie about what happened at the hospital with the Fireflies; so there was no way he could deny her the right to the pursuit of happiness in Jackson however she saw fit, including distancing herself from him. However, the gradual distancing still felt heartbreaking.

The notion of Ellie not being in his life made Joel's brain buzz with panic. A tightness seized his chest suddenly and seemed to squeeze the air from his lungs. He had to grip the edge of the bathroom sink with both hands in order to steady himself.

Fuck, no, not again.

Joel bowed his head and screwed his eyes shut in an effort to concentrate on keeping his knees from buckling underneath him. He gulped in breaths of air and expelled them in shuddering puffs while swirls of dread surged through his mind and body.

It's okay everything is alright Ellie is still here safe just keep breathing---

The internal monologue blurred into one continuous train of thought and quickly became a comforting sort of mantra to Joel. He remained still with his large hands wrapped around the porcelain of the sink while the dialogue rushed through his brain. He stayed like that for several minutes, until the tense coil inside his body slowly lessened and the panic eventually drained from his mind.

When Joel opened his eyes and his vision settled into focus he was confronted with the haggered image of his reflection in the bathroom mirror. The bags under his eyes were more prominent than usual and his lips were chapped from the cold wind. His crown of curls were tousled and smudges of dirt marked the tan skin of his face. He looked wrecked. Like an old man.

It was at times like this that Joel wished he could swallow a cocktail of pills and chase them down with whatever liquor he could get his hands on. Anything to knock him out for a few hours, just like he did at the QZ. Joel hadn't experienced a panic attack for quite some time - infact the previous one, precipitated by you trying to leave, had been the first one in more than a year. 

Joel would never admit it, but he had spent a great deal of time thinking about you while he was away from Jackson. It was always in the quiet hours of the night, after the patrolmen had settled somewhere to sleep until daybreak. He struggled to fall asleep in the open wilderness, both his body and mind too wired with adrenaline to ease into a state of slumber, and so he spent alot of time reflecting.

Joel dreamed of your pretty face, the sensual curves of your body, the sound of your breathy voice saying his name when he fucked you. Fuck, he couldn't wait to get back to you and kiss you all over and fuck you again. He imagined slamming into you over and over until you screamed and begged him to stop.

Joel recalled how needy and anxious you had been the night he left, how perfect you looked crying when you heard he had to go. He knew you loved him still, even after hurting you with the belt, sweet little thing you were. Yes, you had tried to leave. But you were his and you belonged with him. He had managed to make you stay and you still loved him. And he loved you, truly, in the deep rooted core of his splintered heart. Even if he thought he could never confess it to you in this lifetime.

The elation you felt when Joel returned to Jackson was short lived. It was eclipsed by the passing of Maude, the librarian and your friend, just four days after the team had concluded their mission. She was found laying in her bed by her housemate, having died peacefully in her sleep at the age of 73. Her death was unexpected but not altogether surprising, given her age and the ailments she dealt with each passing year.

Maria had knocked on your door that morning to deliver the sad news. She sat with you on your sofa as you cried, encircling you in her arms as the waves of anguish hit you. You had known Maude since you had first arrived in Jackson as a young teenager and her enduring presence in the periphery of your life gave you a sort of comfort that you never consciously acknowledged. She had come to symbolise consistency and normalcy just by being visible in everyday life; like the baker who you saw display buns and loaves of bread each morning, or the man who sat outside the barbershop and whittled wood each day.

To you, Maude's death signified more than just the loss of her as an individual. It was also a harsh reminder that the shadowy hand of death could come to claim anyone you cared about at any time. Just like it had stolen your parents away from you, leaving you orphaned and all alone in the cataclysmic nightmare of the apocalypse, so distressed that you wonder how you hadn't died of a broken heart.

You never allowed yourself to ruminate too much on this truth, though. The pain was far too complex for you to willingly analyse. Instead, you simply cried for Maude and the fact that you'd miss her.

Maria held you silently, patient and gentle, until your cries eventually died down to shuddering sniffles. She asked if you would prefer to stay home from library duty for the day, in order to give yourself space to grieve. You shook your head stubbornly.

"I'll be okay," you assured Maria as you wiped your nose with a tissue. "I need to keep busy and the library will help."

So will seeing Oscar, your mind randomly chimed. You hadn't seen him for the last few days and you missed him. The soft cadance when he spoke, the crinkles around his eyes when he laughed, his stories and jokes. You needed Oscar right now, positive that he could lighten the weight on your heart with nothing but his mischievous grin.

When you pushed through the library door later that morning, Oscar was standing infront of the counter with his arms crossed, his mouth downturned with melancholy. He was already looking at you when you finished kicking off your boots and you glanced up at him. The sorrow reflected in his brown orbs was so raw that you couldn't suppress the sob clawing up your throat, or the impulse to rush over to him.

Oscar spoke your name softly and opened his arms open to catch you. You crashed into his chest and wrapped your arms around his waist. Oscar enveloped you against his body and squeezed your frame. You wept into his shirt while he cradled the back of your head tenderly.

"I know," Oscar whispered into your ear as you cried. "I know."

You stayed like that for what seemed like forever, basking in the warmth of his embrace as your tears poured relentlessly from the cracks of your heart. Oscar held you tightly, seeming to absorb every single drop of sorrow you expelled without complaint. It felt comfortable, so natural.

But Oscar knew your cries weren't just for Maude. Without you admitting so, he knew that there was a torrent of emotion inside you that had been desperate to break free for so long. He could identify it in the way you hesitated before revealing something about yourself, regardless of how trivial it was. He saw how quiet you became after the mention of certain subjects, eyes glazing over as you fell into contemplative silence, the gears in your brain working tirelessly. Grief plagued your soul, just like it did with all survivors, just as it did with himself. Oscar wished he could express that he understood, that he wanted you to share your secrets and fears with him and he would keep them safe, tucked securely inside his own wounded heart, just to give you some kind of solace.

Oscar knew but he did not speak, not except for the occasional whisper of comfort, hoping to God you couldn't hear the pounding of his heart in your ear. Your tears eventually subsided and you composed yourself enough to detach from his body, wiping your nose with the back of your hand. When his eyes met your beautiful watery orbs, he was sure he felt a zap of electricity between you. But then you went rigid and your eyes widened, almost like you were panicked. Oscar wondered if you were embarrassed, either by your display of emotion or the realisation of your physical proximity, or perhaps both.

"I better get to work," you quickly mumbled, averting your gaze.

Oscar smoothed his warm hands over your shoulders, willing you to look at him. He said your name and when his voice escaped his lips it sounded like a plea. But you pulled away from him wordlessly and disappeared into the solitary space of the storeroom to resume the job you had been working on lately. Oscar sighed and scratched the side of his cheek, his fingernails rasping over his beard.

He didn't want to pressure you or push you in any way, but he wanted you to share your feelings with him. He wanted to hear about your worries and fears and sadness. But maybe it was time for him to share himself with you as well.

Oscar kept his distance from you for the next few hours, letting you have some space to relax until you felt ready to talk. At around 12.30pm Oscar went to the mess hall for and returned with a small sack filled with sandwiches and fruit. He gave a small knock against the doorframe of the store room as not to startle you. You were knelt on the floor with some books and cleaning rags scattered around you.

"Got us some lunch," Oscar said tentatively, leaning his head against the doorframe. "Ready to come eat?"

"Thanks," you said without looking up. "But I'm not really hungry."

You hadn't said that for months, not since that first time working together when you insisted you weren't hungry but he served you food anyway - food that you ended up devouring with gusto. Lunch time then became something you both looked forward to on your subsequent shifts, a designated time when you could take it easy for a while and enjoy the companionship you built. While your resfual to eat concerned Oscar, he did not want to overstep any boundaries.

"Would you like to be left alone today?" He asked gently. "I have some odd jobs to do, so if you wanna have some peace and quiet I can work in the corner of the library."

You sighed and shook your head slowly before looking up at him. "Oh Oscar, you're so lovely. I'm sorry, I'm just...really sad."

"I understand, you don't need apologise." Oscar offered you a little smile.

"But I'd like you to stay close by, if that is okay?"

Oscar tried not to show just how relieved he felt to hear your request. Ofcourse he could stay close to you. He would happily remain by your side for as long as you wanted. But he just nodded and pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "Of course."

"Thank you," you whispered, looking down at your hands in your lap. "I haven't....lost someone, for so long. It brings up a lot of memories."

Oscar slipped into the storeroom and lowered himself to the ground to sit a few feet away from you, directly opposite the spot where you were kneeling. He hummed to convey that he was listening, to encourage you to keep speaking. You had never spoken about these things to anyone before - death, mortality, your parents, your own grief - but now it seemed like the words and emotions wanted to tumble from your mouth on their own accord.

"Maude...." you began, voice wavering, your gaze focused on your fidgeting fingers. "I knew her since I came to Jackson...everything always seemed so safe here. I guess I just never really...thought about someone dying inside the gates."

Oscar watched you silently with his chin resting in the palm of one hand. He waited for you to continue.

"And it makes me think of my life. Like what if I end up alone? What if I die without starting my own family?" Rivulets of tears were beginning to stream down your face and you speak so softly that Oscar has to lean forward and strain his hearing.

"J-just like my m-mother and father, how they didn't escape...but I did," you wept, gently shaking your head. "I survived but I didn't want to without them. I survived but I'm so scared."

Oscar's soulful brown eyes watched you intently as the raw emotion poured from you. He longed to cradle you in his arms but he knew you needed this, this cathartic like confession without any disruption.

"I shouldn't have." You croaked, covering your eyes with your hands like you were hiding from the truth of your own words.

"Shouldn't have, what?" Oscar reached over and gently touched your forearm.

"I-I shouldn't have lived," your throat was thick with your tears. "I don't deserve to. I should've d-d-died."

Oscar whispered your name and fell forward on his knees to crawl close to you. "Hey, listen to me. Don't ever say that, okay?"

He enveloped you into his arms gingerly and cradled the back of your head with his palm. "You do deserve to live. You deserve to live here, safe and happy. You were meant to survive. And your parents would be so happy that you made it here. They would be so happy and proud of the woman you are today."

You continued to sob and sniffle miserably but you allowed Oscar to hold you. The vague scent of cinnamon filled your nose when he pressed you closer to him. You both stayed like that for a long time, until your cries died down and became tiny sniffs and sighs. Oscar remained still as he embraced you. It was only when he was sure that you were somewhat tranquil that Oscar chose to speak.

"I survived, too," Oscar whispered. "And I spent so many years hating myself for it."

You pulled away from his arms just enough to peer at his face. His mouth was down turned in that pensive frown from earlier and his eyes, usually so warm and twinkling, were now downcast and full of woe.

"She...my wife..." Oscar's voice choked. "She was bitten before I could stop it, before I could protect her. I should've been right by her side but I wasn't." He swallowed thickly.

Without thinking you instinctively raised your hand up to Oscar's face and gently cupped his cheek. His eyes fluttered shut at the contact and a single tear slipped out from under his thick eyelashes.

"Oh, Oscar..." You whispered, staring at him closely.

He shook his head ever so gently and sniffed, then brought his own hand up to enclose over yours. He opened his eyes and met your gaze.

"But I came to learn that hating yourself for surviving isn't the right way to live." Oscar stated solemnly. "There's no point in living if it is in misery. It kills your heart and your peace, slowly."

Oscar slowly removes your hand from his scruffy cheek and lowers it to his chest, where he cradles it reverently with his own, still looking directly at you.

"We owe it them to continue living. To live as best as we can, to allow ourselves happiness and love - because that is what they would want, and because it honours their memory. And those feelings we have...that hate for ourselves...that guilt...it does nothing to help us. It may never really go away, but holding onto it so tightly...it makes life impossible to live."

You nod ever so slightly, totally enrapt in the truth of Oscar's words and the conviction in his tone. You've never heard someone speak in such a way that penetrates your heart like this, never identified with someone else's insight so deeply before.

"If we let the hate and hurt eat us alive, then we won't ever be able to remember the good memories. I will never forget my wife, I promised myself a long time ago that I would keep her memories close to my heart. Her smile...her laugh..."

Another tear rolled down Oscar's cheek but he did nothing to wipe it away. Your eyes were still locked on each others.

"And they remind me that life can be worth living, that she would want me to keep going. I bet your parents would, too. And so would Maude."

You can't stifle the sob that escapes your lips and you find yourself lunging into Oscar's body to hug him once again. He hugs you back, sure that you can both hear each other's heartbeats.

That night you sat crossed legged on Joel's bed cocooned in his blanket. Just as he had requested (or rather, ordered) the previous night, Joel wanted you waiting at his house for when he finished his patrol shift. As he sat on the edge of the bed to remove his boots, you told him the news about Maude's death.

"She lived til an old age," he said brusquely, letting his boots drop to the floor with a clunk. "Longer than alotta people. Ain't not use mournin' someone whose time is up."

You knew he was right; Maude had lived a long life by apocalypse standards, and many of them had been spent within the comfortable confines of Jackson,

but the coldness in his words still stung. Joel's pragmatic nature was clearly vastly different from your more emotional disposition, but he also had more life experience than you, you reminded yourself. Maybe it was better to be a bit more like Joel for the sake of self preservation.

You sighed and hummed a halfhearted agreement.

The mattress creaked as Joel stood to undress. You pulled the blanket tighter around your shoulders and watched Joel wordlessly as he removed his jacket and flannel shirt. Your eyes wandered over the expanse of his thick shoulders and broad back - you could see the light scratches on his flank from where you'd dug your fingernails into last night when he'd pounded into you. You smiled softly to yourself.

You loved to watch him in various stages of undress; whether it was after a long day at work or right before he fucked you, the display of his bare body evoked a hunger inside your lower belly that made you ache for his cock. Even with the litany of scars covering his skin, nothing could detract from how sexy he was.

Joel pulled off his t shirt and tossed it and the flannel onto the floor by his dresser. He glanced at you and caught you shamelessly gawking at his half naked body. He smirked ever so slightly.

"What're you starin' at, little girl?" Joel teased.

You blushed and hid your shy smile behind the tips of your fingers. "Just you, how sexy you are.

Joel chuckled under his breath padded over to the closet to hang up his jacket. When he returned from the closet and slowly paced toward the bed, your heart skipped a beat to see that he's cradling the Polaroid camera in his hands. It's the same one from the shoe box that was hidden in his closet. The one you snooped in.

Shit, you hope he hasn't found out that you went looking through his stuff. You were sure you had returned it to the correct spot, had it angled in the same position you'd found it in on the shelf.

You swallow thickly and watch Joel's face cautiously. He is quiet and concentrated as he rubs the pads of his thumbs over the plastic black exterior of the camera, examining it as if he has never used it before, as if he's not entirely sure if it even works. It is worn but in good condition; a relic from the past, now a rare tool that was used to capture and eternalise scenes and faces before the end of the world. You briefly wonder who it belonged to once upon a time.

You chew your bottom lip as you watch him come to stand a few feet away from the bed. He looks up at you and holds the Polaroid up in his hand.

"Know what this is?" Joel asks.

You nod, and even though you do know what it is, you still sound slightly dubious when you respond."It's a camera, right?"

"'Thats right." He nods and turns it around to study the front of the lens. "Found it a while ago on a mission. Was gonna give it to Ellie but seems she's...more interested in her comics, or somethin'."

His voice trails off into a mutter at the end. He almost sounds sad, or disappointed. You feel bad for him, knowing he would be struggling to accept Ellie wanting to move out of home.

"It's a very thoughtful gift to give someone." You smile at Joel, trying to appear upbeat. "I think it is really cool. Have you taken any pictures with it?"

Joel shakes his head. "Nah, ain't tried it out yet." His eyes flicker up to you and he tilts his head, regarding you with a kind of curious contemplation. You raise an eyebrow at back at him.

"What?"

Joel's lips quirk into a sly little smile. "Wanna give it a go, see it in action?"

You can't hide your intrigue as you sit up straighter. The blanket slips off your shoulders. "What do you mean? Do I wanna take a picture?"

"I mean, how 'bout I take your picture?" Joel explains. The tone of his suggestion sounds more decisive and less of a request. He sees the uncertainty on your face and quickly clarifies his words. "A picture of you for me to remember you by. For when I'm at work, or you ain't here."

The sentiment behind his idea makes your cheeks warm. The idea is sweet, romantic. Perhaps Joel is more sentimental than he appears, you think. Your eyes light up and you smile eagerly.

"Okay!" You giggle. "Lemme stand up and get dressed."

"Nah," Joel shakes his head. "Just stay like that. Don't need to wear anythin'."

Your brow creases with confusion and you gesture to your body, still clad only in your bra and panties. "But Joel, I'm almost naked."

Joel sighs - a small sound that borders on mild exasperation. He looks at you with an expression of reproach that makes you feel small and a bit foolish, like you can't quite comprehend something and it frustrates him. You expect him to reprimand you or revert to being curt, like how he spoke about Maude just a few minutes earlier. However, when goes to speak next his voice comes out gentle.

"'S just me, darlin'," Joel assures you smoothly. "Ain't no one gonna see these pictures except me. And I think you look perfect just as you are right now."

Your lips curl into a tiny smile at his praise but you cannot disguise the indecision in your eyes. It isn't that you're ashamed of your body - it is the idea of being half naked and captured, eternalised in a physical medium like a photograph, that makes you slightly uneasy. It almost seems obsence and lewd, as if you're giving a sacred piece of yourself away permanently.

Joel can see your hesitation as clear as day. He narrows his eyes at you and speaks in that rich Texan drawl that sounds so sweetly coaxing, firm yet loving. "Babydoll, you got no reason to be shy. I just wanna have a picture of my pretty girl to look at whenever I want, that's all."

He smirks and gives you a cocky wink. It sends a hot rush of desire to your pussy and you giggle shyly. That's all it takes to win you over.

"Okay, okay, hold on." You clear your throat and wiggle a little to get comfortably posed, back straight and shoulders relaxed, fingers toying nervously with the blanket that covers your legs. Joel watches you, still smirking.

"Good girl. Now show me that sweet smile."

You look directly at Joel and manage a coy smile. He holds the camera up to his eye level and presses the little button to take the picture.  The camera flashes for a second and makes a short whirring sound. You're momentarily stunned but laugh. A square strip of white film slides out of the camera and Joel pulls it out.

"That's it? It's all done?"

"Takes a minute to show up," he explains. He sets it on the window sill to develop. You grin and lean back on your palms.

"I hope I look okay."

Joel turns back to you and there is now a hungry, dark look in his eyes. One of his hands still hold the camera while his other hand hangs by his side, flexing slowly. He stares at you silently for a few beats and his jaw ticks.

"How about we try somethin' a little different," Joel murmurs. You recognise that sultry lilt in his voice, the silky drawl that you know means he is thinking of something dirty. "Somethin' a bit more...private, just for me."

You chew your bottom lip, not really sure where his train of thought is leading to. Joel swaggers the few paces over to the bed. You watch the softness of his tummy as he moves, the growing bulge at the crotch of his jeans. You can feel yourself starting to get wet.

Joel stands before you and tilts his head down at you. His hand reaches down and he drags his thumb over your shoulder in soft circles, his eyes roving from your face down to yours breasts, then back up again.

"Uhm, what do you mean?" You ask hesitantly. You're not quite sure what he's alluding to.

Joel smirks. "Well, when I don't got you around, I get a little lonely. I start missin' what we do together...start missin' more than just that pretty face."

You tilt your head to the side so your hair hangs over your shoulder and you grin playfully at him. "Ooooh," you giggle, "what else do you miss?"

"Well, I miss those perfect tits." Joel purrs, his fingers toying with the strap of your bra. "I think about how they feel in my hands, how gorgeous they look bouncin' around when I'm fuckin' you."

His hand shifts down and cups your breast in his palm, his thumb brushing over your nipple underneath the material of your bra. A shiver skates over your body and you moan softly.

"Let me see 'em, baby," Joel commands, slightly breathless. "Take it off and show me."

Joel seems to possess you in these moments, robbing you of rationality and lucidity, consuming and devouring your body until all that is left is a soulless vessel completely fucked out and used. You reach your hands behind your back and unclip your bra. You slide it off your shoulders and discard it on the side of the mattress. Joel inhales audibly and groans lowly at the sight of your bare breasts.

"So gorgeous, sugar." He ghosts the pad of his calloused thumb over one of your nipples, making it pebble. "And all for me, ain't that right?"

"Mm-hm," you nod. Joel gives your nipple a light pinch and you moan again. Your cunt throbs with rapidly growing desire.

Joel takes a step back and nods to the camera. "Gonna take a picture of these pretty titties, baby girl. Play with 'em, want you to feel good while I'm doin' it."

You obey and bring your fingers to tease your nipples, staring up at Joel with your eyes glazed with lust. Joel's own pupils are blown wide as he watches you intently. He grips the hard outline of his cock straining in his jeans.

"Fuck yeah, thats it."

Your heart swells to witness Joel in this moment. It is because of you, because of your body and actions, that Joel looks how he does right now. Hungry, feral, undeniably aroused. The knowledge of this makes you feel powerful and sexy and wanted. It also deepens your own desire for him.

"Take the picture," you purr seductively to Joel.

A growl rumbles in his throat and he holds the camera up once again and directs it at you, then clicks the button. It flashes again and deposits another white square of film out for Joel to accept. This time he holds the picture and watches as the image slowly develops on the page. A wicked grin eventually spreads over his face and he licks his bottom lip.

"Hot little slut for me," Joel rasps. His eyes lift from the photograph back to you. "You like makin' me happy, don't you, babydoll?"

You nod eagerly and squeeze your tits in the palms of your hands. "Yes, daddy, I do."

"Look how pretty you are." Joel holds the picture out towards you and you sit up on your knees to reach over and accept it from him.

You gasp when you see it. You are instantly shocked. But God, you're also so turned on. The photograph shows you sat on the bed but only from the waist up, omiting the blanket covering your lower half so it appears you're completely naked. Your eyes twinkle and your mouth is parted slightly, somehow exuding wanton sensuality and natural sweetness all at once. Your breasts look round and soft while your fingers play with your nipples. It's fucking hot.

"I look good," you whisper incredulously.

"Told ya, baby." Joel chuckles. "Don't stop now. Gonna prove how fuckin' sexy you are, how crazy you make me."

You would have never dreamed of doing such a thing before. It is debauched and so exciting, like a dirty secret, and you feel emboldened by the boost of dopamine. You toss the picture on the bed and flip your hair over your shoulder.

"Show me, daddy. What do you want me to do now?"

Joel does not reply. Instead, he strides to the bed and swiftly grabs a hold of the back of your head to pull you into a passionate kiss. It takes you by surprise but when he pushes his tongue into your mouth with desperation, you moan with pleasure and wrap your arms tightly around his neck. Joel's tongue laps at yours in thick strokes, moaning low and growly as he savours your taste. You crumble against him, surrending once more to his will.

He is more than happy to show you, to prove to you how much he desires you. How you will always belong to only him.

In the couple of days following his return, Joel noticed subtle differences about you that had developed during his time away. He noted the tint of colour on the apples of your cheeks. He could feel the slightest bit of extra softness to your flesh, as if you'd been eating a little more lately. You were smiling more often, too.

If Joel didn't know you, he would've guessed you had been fucked really good and had some kind of post orgasm euphoria. But he did know you, and he knew that wasn't a possiblity. You were his good girl.

You couldn't be pregnant, either. Joel loosely tracked your cycles along with you so he knew when you were ovulating and when he would have to settle for a blowjob instead of risking impregnating you. He knew the changes in you weren't due to any kind of pregnancy glow.

So just why you were more spirited than you had ever been before, he wasn't sure. Maybe it was because that stupid wedding you were so excited about was happening soon. Or maybe it was because Christmas was approaching. Joel remembered how much you liked baking during the festive season, how much you relished gifting your friends homemade treats like gingerbread men. Whatever the reason, it didn't really matter. Pretty soon, Joel was going to make sure you wouldn't be preoccupied with anything else except pleasing him.

taglist - @sofiparallel @harriedandharassed @kewwrites @romanarose @fan-fiction-floozy @anoverwhelmingdin @unknownsuser101

[silentcryracha]

❍ ‗ Love Language (Skz - Maknae line) ‗ ❍

Pairings : Jisung x reader, Felix x reader, Seungmin x reader, Jeongin x reader

Genre/warnings : They all start fluffy and fun and end up smutty, You've been warned. 18+. (eventual specific warnings will be at the start of the paragraphs)

Summary : Specific situations in which I think skz would go feral in. Very easy. Half headcanon/half scenario.

Word count :

A/n : As promised here is the maknae line! Also just wanted to specify that many members may share the same hobbies/passions but of course I tried to switch it up a lil lol. The summary and title suck I know apologies, just read to understand lol Anyways have fun!

ps: There could be errors. Do NOT repost on other socials. Leave feedback if you feel like it, otherwise enjoy! ♡︎

Hyung line here

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Jisung ‗ ❍

Jisung is a nerd (affectionate <3), everyone knows. Now, he seems to be pretty proud of it, and I genuinely get the vibe that he would dislike people who picked on it for no reason. Like, why do you hate fun dude?

And that's exactly why he does like people who are able to have fun with these pop culture/nerdy things like he can. You're automatically a cool person to him. And imagine if on top of that, you maybe even share his tastes AND you're hot?? Then it's settled, you're his.

Watching anime, dramas, movies but also reading manga, manhwas (and so on), but in general indulging into this type of content seems to be both a hobby and a comfort activity for Jisung, so it's natural that he would love to share this with his s/o.

You'd recommend things to each other, both to watch together and separately, or maybe keep up with the same things and then discuss them and your opinions. It would definitely be something that would connect you more on a personal level, too, I think.

Especially since you can learn so much about a person simply by understanding their likes/dislikes, what makes them cry, what makes them laugh ( or *aroused*).

It becomes a natural thing between you two to use this common interest as a way to connect even more and lift each other's mood when you need it. Maybe one day you're being a little sad or disappointed for some reason, and Han would just either drop a very specific reference that would make you laugh or simply suggest spending some time together and relax.

Of course, it would be a mutual thing. You'd absolutely use these little infos about him, like having a particular preference/crush for a character, at your advantage. I feel like that would get him more flustered than he'd like to admit.

This little game would absolutely turn somewhat kinky in some way, at some point. Like role play kinky. It could be in a very random moment, for example you two could be watching something and one of you would go "That was hot. Want to make out?" and then you'd end up fucking on the couch at 4 pm on a Sunday, just because.

Or it could be a planned thing. "I prefer the villains anyway" you'd randomly say during a talk, shrugging casually. And man, would he take notes. Next thing you know he's going to randomly pin you against the wall, a hand sliding lightly up from your chest to your neck, "Do you trust me?" you eyes wide, a little confused but excited, you'd answer "Yes". He'd smirk, proceeding to tell you all the filthy things he was going to do to you.

I am a firm believer that Jisung is a switch so yes the situation could 100% be reversed.

Felix ‗ ❍

With Felix the options could be multiple, but for now let's focus on his 'nerdy' side. In this case it leans more into computers/electronics and gaming, which I think is a bit more specific than something like watching anime.

It's more a relaxing activity and a hobby (one of) than a passion in my opinion, so I don't think that he would search specifically for a s/o was also into these things, but if you were then it would be very cool.

Nonetheless he would let you into these things pretty easily, and you would be happy and eager to hear all about it, of course. At the end of the day seeing him getting excited and enjoying his time was the thing that mattered the most, and you felt good knowing that he cared enough to the point of wanting, or maybe even involuntarily, talk about it with you.

It would probably take a little for him to actually be completely comfortable, meaning that I see him as someone who would not hide his hobby but would try to make it 'cool'. Like, "Me? losing? never" and you'd be like "Sure sweet cheeks" and then just watch him get his ass beat up by the other players. Of course with time you'd earn his trust and confidence enough to be allowed to roast him whenever you wanted to (lovingly ofc).

But you would also be his number one fan! He would love to have you present as a 'lucky charm' or ask a kiss for good luck, to bet with you jokingly, to comment and complain about the game itself or other players and so on. Felix would love to have you around in general to be honest. It would greatly help his mood whenever he got frustrated or nervous for some reason.

He would also find it extremely cute when you got a little clingy, like laying your head on his shoulder or hug him from behind just because you felt like it. He loves getting attention and physical contact with his loved ones, so of course he'd appreciate it a lot.

But of course like all things between couples that are fun and cute, could also very quickly turn into heated situations. "This damn game is pissing me off! And that guy just keeps being so annoying, shit" he'd complain, waving a hand in the air in annoyance. You couldn't help but be just a little amused seeing your cute boyfriend get all worked up, the frown on his face just about as threatening as a kitten hissing.

"Mmh" you'd hum, getting up from wherever you'd be sitting, "I'm going to take a shower now. How about you get a rematch, beat that annoying dude and win for me? Then we can celebrate" his mouth would go slightly agape and his eyes wide looking up at you. You'd just chuckle and get his headphones back up on his head before walking away.

Not even five minutes into the shower he would burst in, undressing himself on the way and join you. "Did you win already?" you'd ask in amusement. He would shut you up with a feverish kiss "No, I got distracted" he'd smirk in between kisses, "Besides that cunt can go fuck himself, I got better things to think of"

Seungmin ‗ ❍

Seungmin would love to have an s/o that matched his vibe. He also has side hobbies outside of work, so for example he would love to get you involved in them. But in general of course you'd make sure to always support him and share his excitement.

That one baseball team that he absolutely dies for played a game and won? Suddenly you become fan number two. Do you give a fuck? Maybe not. Does he know? Of course he does but that's why he'd be ten times more happy if you decided to play along. Also knowing how fast this man can switch vibe, you would trul just wouldn't know what to expect next.

"Didn't you say that you can't stand sports?" you'd roll your eyes at him dramatically, "You little sh-" he'd just laugh and kiss your cheek as a silent thank you. I feel like he would genuinely value that a lot, especially if he knew you only did it for him.

Seungmin would be beyond entertained in a situation in which he was being a little shit to someone and you'd just, play on his team. Either of you could casually drop the most out of pocket comment about something and the other would throw back a smart response and then you'd just keep going. Literal partners in crime.

Again, he looks like a man that has range. From cute, to serious, funny, sarcastic and even sexy. And an s/o that could put up with it and be able to respond perfectly to his mood would make him thrive, I think.

He also seems like someone who wouldn't enjoy having his boundaries messed with, though. If he was mad or seriously anxious, he wouldn't like someone acting off and maybe undermining his feelings. But he'd like someone that would take him seriously and tried to help in practical ways.

This boundaries could also imply physical touch or specific words/behaviours. For example, you could decide to play with his hand in public rather than getting all over him and kiss him. Or again, I feel like he wouldn't be the number one fan of being too cheesy in front of other people, but could very well appreciate it when you're in private.

He definitely has a romantic side to him, so you initiating stuff with him would make his heart flutter like crazy, in the right situation. There could be some exceptions, though. Imagine you're out with a group of friends, and you decide to tease him a little.

You'd lean in and whisper, "Seungie, I'm bored". He'd raise an eyebrow at you, genuinely confused at first, "Is something wrong? Do you want to go home?"

You wrap your arm around his, your head resting on his shoulder "No, I didn't say that. I would just rather to do something else" he was eyeing you a bit suspiciously now, carefully asking "Like what?".

You'd try to hide a smile and respond very casually, purposefully making him even more flustered. "You?" he'd absolutely have to control himself from making too obvious expressions, making you chuckle.

He'd silently curse you for getting him worked up in such a situation, but then after a few minutes he'd casually say that it has gotten late and you should go, or straight up make up an excuse. Now, what happens after and its consequences are gonna be on you and you alone ;)

Jeongin ‗ ❍

Jeongin would probably love to have a s/o that is similar to him. Meaning that he'd probably way more inclined to want spend time with someone that he can share anything with, emotionally, physically, habits wise.

I feel like he values communication and understanding a lot. He would like to have someone who knows him well and with whom he could maybe create some sort of routine? He also is someone who may be a little hard to read, but definitely has different range depending on whom he's with. That alone implies a great sense of trust.

You'd undoubtedly have to keep up with him, though. He seems to be generally a pretty quiet person, but could absolutely get a little crazy sometimes. Like, one evening you'd be quietly having a relaxing time at home and then the morning after, when you wake up he'd randomly go like "So, how about we take the train and visit this place today?"

You'd kind of just impulsively go and have a great time. Regardless. Could be raining, be tremendously hot, super windy. You could lose the train or the bus, drop your ice cream on the floor, literally anything but it wouldn't ruin your day. Because you both have that kind of positive and carefree attitude that makes you match so well.

I feel like he wouldn't ask for anything specific except someone that can keep him in a good mood and be there for him when he needs it. You'd just be a safe space for each other, honestly.

Kinda feel like he's secretly quite affectionate, especially with an s/o and a few other exceptions (kids and animals, lol). Jeongin is clearly a very sweet person in general, but I do feel like he holds himself back a bit when he gets anxious about 'exposing' himself too much emotionally.

Still wouldn't 100% be a very clingy or cheesy person in public, but would allow toned down PDA like holding hands, leaning your heads on each other, sharing smiles. Something a little more specific, is hugging or being closer to each other in a crowded place like the subway, an event, a square and so on.

He would very much appreciate conversation. A kind word, some encouragement, a joke or just you being calm and trying to influence your good mood on him would be more than enough. He would probably be really touched by it.

I feel like you'd have 'your' thing. Like a couple ring, necklace charm, bracelet. Something small and private that only the two of you would 'get', and find great comfort in it.

Let's not forget about his silly side though, this man could be the sweetest angel in one moment and start joking around/teasing you in the next. You'd laugh a lot together, and those would most likely also be the situations in which things could get heated.

Even in sudden moments, just out of pure love. For example, while you're roaming around the city, having fun and just being so full of life and love that at some point it would feel almost...overwhelming.

You'd just look at each other, feeling such intimate connections that you'd probably just spend the whole way back home giggling and exchanging super lovey-dovey eyes. Until you do in fact reach home, and that's where the magic would happen. Could be slow and romantic, undressing sensually and smiling type of vibe, or it could turn into something a lot more passionate and frenetic. You're just going to have to find out day by day with him :')

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

[cerastes]

The more we watch crappy high school romcoms or high school wish fulfillment shows where the ostracized-slash-lonely main character is actually a super genius and never misses with the gang, the easier it becomes to appreciate Oregairu, which even without the context of being in part explicitly a parody of the genre is already a good show, but it becomes even better the more you understand what genre it is mercilessly ripping to shreds without coming across as a *anime youtuber voice* deconstruction high on the smell of its own flatulence. To put it in other terms, while it is in fact a parody of the usual High School Loner Genius Romcom/Harem formula, it also actually cares to deliver a good story with its own themes and depth beyond “parody”.

Hachiman’s 4-D chess seemingly works at first, but it’s explicitly shown to be simple stopgap measures that don’t fix anything and may even make things worse in the long term, and throughout the story, it takes actually realizing that he’s burning bridges that he desperately wants and that he’s not some Loner Genius high schooler The Joker that has it all figured out, and only then does he actually start working his ass off to properly solve the problems in front of him through what is a refreshing combination of sheer humane, considerate solutions mixed with his inherent cunning, with the long term in mind. Yukinoshita is the genius hot girl that is good at academics and sports, but she is so utterly incapable of making meaningful connections with people that it doesn’t really help her at all because, well, not just in school but in life, you really need to know how to handle people and work together with them, no matter how intelligent or capable you are, and this weakness overshadows her strengths, completely negating her advantages. Yuigahama is the preppy popular girl that is charismatic and good looking, but pretty naive or even ‘dumb’ sometimes, but then it becomes clear that not only is she incredibly mature emotionally, she WILL be ruthless and assertive when she actually needs to be and isn’t some selfless little goober, but at the same time, she also doesn’t have anywhere or anyone she feels she truly belongs at or with until she meets these two other strays, whose bluntness and sincerity she appreciates greatly.

Then, a third of the story in, we are introduced to Iroha, who represents the cunning younger student that is always this beloved, charming girl who actually is a pretty cunning and even malicious trickster that always gets what she wants... Except, NO ONE falls for it for longer than maybe a few seconds, and then it turns out that she and Hachiman are just really compatible, and they become good friends in that sort of caustic, vitriolic way that is only natural for the two of them, cynic duo that they make.

And needless to say, Hachiman’s sister, Komachi, is immediately, frame one shown to not only have a perfectly believable relationship with Hachiman in that they dunk on each other on sight, but also REALLY wants Hachiman to start dating a girl already and actively tries to get him to grow closer to any of his lady friends. The closest to a siscon joke in Oregairu is when someone reacts to Hachiman’s (grounded and not exaggerated) protectiveness of her by asking “oh, are you a siscon?” to which he replies “what in the fuck are you talking about, no, I’m worried about my sister because she’s my sister, don’t be weird about this”.

Oregairu has this habit of consistently showing you tropes and archetypes you will very clearly recognize from formulaic anime and novels, and then immediately humanizes them, not enough to fully remove them from the context of “you are watching anime or reading a light novel”, and just to remove them from “you know exactly what to expect from This Character”. It’s at that point where the narrative mix-ups, as it were, begin: Is this character going to at all follow the usual role you’d expect from them in a romcom or harem, or is this character going to go off the rails and pleasantly surprise me?

And it always goes off the rail when it matters with Oregairu. It’s always a pleasant surprise with Oregairu.

[valleyof-goldenlilies]

Skori Zaldrizes Ropagon (When Dragons Fall) [Jace Velaryon x Reader]

HOTD Masterlist | Main Masterlist | 

Warnings: nothing explicit, just lots of character deaths, as in F&B canon

Word Count: 10k+

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Reader

A huge, huge, HUGE thank you to @asa-do-your-thing for the lovely artwork provided in this fic! I love both the collages you created for the teaser and the actual fic itself, and bless you for putting up with me and my slow responses 💕 this fic is dedicated to the both of us, and I hope you will enjoy it even though I was a complete hot mess struggling with writer's block when I came up with it haha. Special thanks also goes out to @ewanmitchellcrumbs for putting together this Big Bang! I'm honoured to have been a part of it.

A/N: This is the first part of my new fic, Skori Zaldrizes Ropagon, submitted for @hotd-bigbang! The rest of the parts will be released sometime soon, as I was only able to write the first part of my fic in time for the deadline haha. It's my first time writing a Jace x Reader fic, and it is rather lacking in romance, most unfortunately. Still, I hope you enjoy the fic. Thank you for supporting my mess of a writing!

Prince Jacaerys Velaryon was aged only ten and two when he heard the prophecy for the first time. 

Ever since his mother had decided to relocate their family to the ancestral seat of the Targaryens, Jace had spent much of his days with nothing but the same foreboding walls he was slowly growing tired of. He swore he knew every single crook and cranny in Dragonstone by now, having spent much of his youth traipsing through the home of his forebears, poking and exploring every inch of it. 

Dragonstone was a sleepy island, which did little to quell the young Jace’s thirst for adventure and exploration. But once every six moon turns, the inhabitants of the village located on the rocky shores of Dragonstone would come together for a festival of foods and goods. It was initially a small affair, but upon Princess Rhaenyra’s moving of her household to Dragonstone, many merchants and revellers from all parts of the Realm had flocked to the island like sheep, hoping to curry the favour of the numerous Targaryen royals currently residing at the island, or various nobles who visited the island to pay homage to their queen to be with their goods. 

And the festival was exactly where Jace found himself on the cusp of his thirteenth nameday. Sick of the constant gloomy atmosphere of the castle, he had snuck out after bribing one of the stablehands, disguising himself in the simple raiments of a peasant, along with a satchel of various coins concealed in his cloak. He had thought of bringing his dagger for protection, but he winced as he recalled the incident on Driftmark, and decided to leave it in his chambers. He wasn’t expecting any trouble tonight, anyway. All he wanted was a bit of harmless fun, and freedom, under the cloak of anonymity. Just for one night. 

The festival painted an animated and cheerful scene, so refreshing in contrast to the rather dismal air in the fortress. For a moment, Jace thought he had been transported back to the streets of King’s Landing, where the nightlife atmosphere was second to no other place in the realm. Fascination lit up his brown eyes as he bought samples of snacks from the street food vendors. Many of them were varieties of whatever fishes that could be caught in Blackwater Bay, but due to the expensive nature of imported spices from Essos, the food was seasoned rather simply. Jace enjoyed it however, the whole experience felt liberating. Here, he could just be among the commoners, someone unnoticed. 

Even though their relocation to Dragonstone after the Driftmark incident had brought some reprieve, deep down, Jace still felt tormented by the rumours of his parentage. Harwin Strong was long dead now, and so was his father, Laenor Velaryon, yet Jace still felt affected by their passings, though his mother oddly didn’t. One was his…his sire, the other the father Jace had been brought up to believe as his for his whole life, and though both men had not been present for nearly half of Jace’s life now, Jace still missed them. He remembered Laenor’s smile, his guffawing laugh, his warm touch whenever he herded them back from the Dragonpit and back to the Red keep. And he remembered Harwin’s presence - detached, as a respectful nobleman would keep in deference to a royal, but also warm and more constant than Laenor. Daemon was oft far too occupied with his mother to pay attention to him, Lucerys, and Joffrey, though he seemed polite enough to Jace. 

But what Jace craved deep down was for the presence of a fatherly figure: strong, brave, caring. And ever since his mother and Daemon have had little Aegon, Jace oft found that those fantasies of his were becoming more and more impossible to come true. Especially now, when he was coming of age soon, and was expected to bear the brunt of his duties as future Prince of Dragonstone, and heir to the Iron Throne. Little sentiment can be found in his world. 

Jace sighed, milling around and mingling with the smallfolk, trying to purge those thoughts from his head. And that was when he caught sight of it.

A caravan sat in a corner of the street, its dark red and blue exterior a stark contrast against the earthy cobblestones of its surroundings. The caravan was beautiful, even in its age, and Jace let his eyes trace over the woodwork and craftsmanship of the carvings of various celestial bodies and strange creatures on the caravan. A simple wooden sign hung outside the bright blue painted door, ‘Come have your fortune divined on this joyous day. Should you choose not to, you might not live to see the next day.’. 

Jace chuckled at the words, feeling some derision upon knowing what craft the inhabitants of the caravan possessed. He was not a faithful man, by any means. He worshipped the Seven, like any future crown prince of Westeros ought to, yet he felt no connection to those gods. His mother held a reverence for the gods of Old Valyria, and Jace had inherited that, but fortune telling? It all seemed a bit absurd to him. No one can see the future after all, He began to turn his back on the caravan. 

However, Jace was seized with a sudden urge to go inside the caravan. It felt like an invisible force was pulling him towards it, despite his disdain for such practices. What is wrong with me? I am a Targaryen prince for god’s sake- But it was like he was under a spell, as his legs moved on their own accord, much to his dismay. 

‘You know what, I came here for a night of relaxation after all. This might prove more entertaining than I expect it to be.’ 

With that thought, Jace found himself knocking tentatively on the door of the caravan, as the door swung open to reveal the dim interior of the caravan. He found it strange that there was no one behind the door, but shrugged it off, taking in the plush furnishings. Gas lamps and candles lit the small space up, giving the interior an inviting glow. Colourful tapestries depicting the sea were hung on the walls, and thick soft carpets covered the floors - such that Jace felt bad for wearing his dirtied boots into the caravan. But all those thoughts of guilt vanished from his mind as he laid his eyes on what was possibly the most beautiful woman in his life. 

She didn’t even look old enough to be considered a woman, no, this was a girl so beautiful, he thought that maybe he was looking at the form of the Maiden himself, descended upon this land to grace him with his loveliness. 

“Welcome, my prince.” Her voice was soft, nearly encasing him deeper into the spell that was her, until he realised how she had addressed him. Shock surged through his veins, along with a faint uneasiness. “You know who I am?” The fortune teller tilted her head, lowering the hood of her dark red cloak. The colour of spilled blood. “Of course. My god knows the true faces of all people who enter this caravan. And their fates as well.” She motioned for him to sit in front of her, and Jace obliged, sinking down on the cushion, unable to take his eyes off her. It felt like all coherent thoughts had left him. The fortune teller studied him back, her eyes glowing with the knowledge of endless possibilities. 

“My god senses some doubt in you of my abilities, my prince.” Jace was startled by her words, but he quickly recovered, a sheepish smile on his face. “I must confess I don’t quite believe in these things.” 

“And yet here you are.” “And yet here I am,” Jace echoed back. The fortune teller slid a cup of tea to him, and he wondered how he didn’t see her preparing it. He eyed the steaming tea, debating on whether he should drink it. 

“Relax, my prince, I have no reason to poison you, if that’s what you fear.” Jace was growing more unsettled, it seemed like the fortune teller was reading his mind. Was his thoughts really that obvious? He caved nonetheless, lifting the cup to his lips. Its taste soothed his nerves, and he felt some of his former rationality returning. “If I may ask, who is the god you owe your powers to?” 

The fortune teller shook her head with a smile, tapping the crystal ball between them lightly. “Does it matter, my prince?” “Well, it does, if you want me to have some faith in your readings.” The fortune teller looked amused. “You will believe what you want to believe, my prince. And my god prefers to withhold his true name from non-believers.”

Jace wanted to roll his eyes a little at that. It was clear this girl was a con-artist, but suddenly, her eyes grew sharp as her crystal ball filled with dark smoke. Jace drew back instinctively, nearly spilling the cup of tea. “W-what’s happening?” 

“My god is revealing your future,” the lightness in her voice was gone, replaced by a sort of seriousness. As sceptical as Jace was, his eyes were fixed on the swirling dark smoke. He was entranced by it when he suddenly felt a warm grip on his wrist. His eyes widened when the fortune teller tugged his hands towards the crystal ball, a slight flush in his cheeks. “Put your hand on the crystal,” her voice was filled with urgency. “There is something you must see.” 

Gripped by curiosity, Jace did as she said, placing his palms against the cool surface of the crystal. The curiosity vanished in an instant, replaced by a morbid horror as the scenes were seared in his mind. 

The sickening smell of blood. Fire everywhere, the distant roars of a dragon roaring and the screams of soldiers on the battlefield. Two opposing armies, one bearing a quartered banner with the Targaryen, Velaryon, and Arryn sigils, the other bearing a golden three-headed dragon on a black field, clashed with each other. Corpses littering the shores of a river. Three dragons lashing at each other in the sky, as one fell to the Earth with an agonised screech. And now Jace was in the sea, watching as ships were set aflame and a dragon that looked like Vermax falling from the skies. The sky was glowing with the colour of freshly spilled blood, smoke filling the air. Jace felt like he was on fire, as the soft, solemn words of the fortune teller reverberated throughout the horrific scene of bloodshed before him. “As dragons battle with each other, and fall from the skies, kin shall betray kin, kin shall murder kin, and Westeros shall burn alongside House Targaryen’s power.” 

Then, fire engulfed Jace as he jolted away in shock. The sound of a teacup clattering on the ground pulled Jace from the nightmare, and he was back in the caravan: far away from the smoke, the screams and the flames. He was still shaking as he recalled the searing sensation of fire on his skin, scorching his bones. The dark tendrils of smoke had seeped out of the crystal ball and were creeping up Jace’s fingers, and he hurriedly pulled away and shook his hands until the smoke had dissipated, feeling sick. “What in the Seven Hells was that?” His voice was tremulous with fear. 

The girl’s eyes were grim as she fixed her gaze on him. “The future of your family, and House Targaryen.” Now Jace was shaking with something much more than fear: anger. “You must be mistaken,” his words were not as steady as he had willed it to be, and he tried to correct the quiver in his voice. “Your god is a sham. All that was just illusions of the mind. You’re lying.” She must be.  

Now it was the girl’s turn to look incensed, and it was like the fury of a thousand sea storms crackled behind her eyes. “Do not dismiss the abilities of my god because of your fear, Prince Jacaerys. You know that war is inevitable between your mother and your uncle, and you would choose to play ignorant?” Her words struck him as he winced while recalling the scenes he had seen. Despite the cool night air flowing into the caravan through its small windows, Jace couldn’t shake off the dreadful feeling of being on fire. 

“...it just can’t be possible,” Jace murmured to himself, running his hands through his hair in distress. The scenes plagued his mind like a disease, and the smell of burning flesh was still ever present, making him nauseous. He reached out and gripped the hand of the girl desperately, “You said that there would be a war. My mother wins, right? She’s the rightful heir after all.” The girl looked troubled, “I cannot divulge more than what my god has allowed you to see.” 

“Not even if I paid you a golden dragon?” Jace pressed. The girl’s nostrils flared with indignation. “The visions granted to us by my god is something none of your paltry money can buy, my prince.” 

Jace was gripped with despair, as he tightened his grip on the girl’s hand, pleading, “Fine, forget about money. Just please, tell me if my family survives. I need to know, please.” Jace could see the girl’s eyes softening, and he tried to implore her even further. “Please, miss. I just need to know that. Your god has already been so merciful to show me so much, surely one more tiny bit of knowledge will not hurt?” 

The girl bit her lip, and looked downwards, as if contemplating. It was true that the prince’s future was bleak, and she knew of his eventual ending, but she must not go against her god’s limitations. And yet, she felt compelled to tell him the truth, to tell him of the bleak fate that awaited him. So she prayed to her god for leniency as she locked eyes with Jace again. Her voice was quiet as her reply echoed through Jace’s mind: which would prove to soon be his source of torment that plagued him for his next years. 

“No.” 

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For years, after being told the prophecy, Jace felt like he was no longer in control of himself. His sleep and dreams no longer belonged to him. Instead, they fell victim to the visions and the prophecy that had plagued every one of his senses since that night. His attempts at seeking Maester Gerardys out discreetly for doses of Essence of Nightshade had only succeeded in eliciting the alarm of his mother and brothers, so he had stopped taking them. He found no reprieve in the dreadful tea anyway. 

Instead, Jace tried to find solace in other mediums. The library at Dragonstone had essentially turned into his bedroom now, along with the yard where he and Lucerys trained at arms. He toiled through the histories of wars and conflicts, pushing himself until blotches of crimson began to dot the ancient tomes. 

He trained at arms diligently, in an almost ruthless, cutthroat manner. Lucerys had since long given up on duelling him in arms, and the knights that had trained the both of them since they were old enough to pick up a sword had pleaded with Jace on numerous occasions to exercise more leniency on his younger brother. Jace’s only response to that was, “Will leniency be afforded to you on the battlefield, Luke?” 

To Rhaenyra, Lucerys and the rest of Jace’s family who cared deeply about him, it was admirable that Jace was pushing himself so hard. He clearly wanted to prove himself worthy of the title as future heir to the throne. But Rhaenyra could see far deeper than that. She recognised a reflection of her youth in her eldest son: the constant, debilitating need to prove himself. However, Rhaenyra did not know to whom he was trying to prove to. She had told him countless times of how proud she was of him and his prowess, but it was never enough. 

Rhaenyra had not seen a genuine, happy smile grace her son’s face since his thirteenth nameday. 

Jace could see his mother’s concern, could feel the worry of his brothers, the anxiety of Baela and Rhaena. He knew his refusal to open up had caused a slow, but increasingly noticeable rift between their relations, but how could he allow his family to witness his demons? To see the darkness that had been eating away at him like a parasite since he stepped foot into that godsforsaken fortune telling caravan? 

He couldn’t. 

He wouldn’t let the darkness taint his family’s joy, no matter what. This was a burden he must endure alone. 

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The day of Vaemond Velaryon’s petition brought out Jace’s paranoia which had been slowly building up over the years, like an ugly mountain of coal, to the forefront. 

But as it always was, fate rendered Jace’s promise useless when they received word that the Greens had repudiated the succession and crowned Aegon as King of the Seven Kingdoms in sight of the smallfolk. 

Jace nearly tore himself apart in rage, agony, and horror, at both himself and at the usurpers. How could this have happened? Jace’s mind was numb as he listened to the pained screams of his mother echo through the halls of Drgaonstone. How could he have failed so utterly in his promise to defend his family? 

He felt like beating himself up even more when he failed to get Daemon to at least accompany his mother during her labours. It seemed like such a triviality to be angry at, given their circumstances, but watching his mother’s vacant-eyed stare at the corpse of his dead sister just made him want to bash his head with a rock. He felt like a complete failure: he had failed to control his temper around his uncles and to behave in the calibre which the future heir to the Iron Throne should have acted as, he had failed to foresee and prevent the Greens from usurping his mother, and he couldn’t even effectively convince his stepfather to be there for his mother. 

And his snowballing of failures had led to the continuous, ominous echoing of the prophecy in his head. The constant feeling of being burnt alive. 

But then, the Seven, or whatever capricious deity that held the strings to his miserable life, shone a beacon of light into his life again. When his mother gave him and Luke the task of going as envoys and renewing the allegiances of various lords and ladies in the Realm, Jace was determined to use this mission to make amends. He would not fail his mother no matter what, he told himself as he swooped through the clouds, Vermax rumbling under him, as though sensing his rider’s fierce determination. 

He had landed first in the Eyrie, where he had initially received a frosty reception from the Lady Jeyne. With skillful persuasion and a reminder of the lady’s own familial ties to his mother through his grandmother, and the promise to send dragonriders to the Vale, Prince Jacaerys had just successfully completed his first envoy. 

He didn’t stay for long however, flying off the next day upon a restless sleep in the Eyrie’s chambers. Time was not on his side when it came to the prophecy, and Jace dreaded to think that every single second he took to idle or dawdle would cost his family their lives. He didn’t want to see the vacant-eyed stare his mother had at his sister’s funeral mirrored in her death. 

He then flew to Sisterton, then to White Harbour, and each time, he spoke with the lords firmly, yet charmingly, persuading them to his mother’s cause with promises and betrothals and reminders of their oaths. Jace found that he might yet be a fluent speaker in the language of diplomacy. 

However, now, despite his continuous successes, Jace never felt more nervous as he and Vermax soared above the snowy expanse of the North. Enervated grunts sounded from Vermax, and Jace felt sympathetic to his dragon. He clearly does not take well to the cold. But they couldn’t stop now, not when Jace was so close to completing his mission to his mother. He couldn’t disappoint her now. 

Cregan Stark was a man with a reputation, and not necessarily a helpful one to Jace. he was known to be stern, formidable, but the Northmen were known to be men of their word, and to have never broken an oath. But the Northern lords always had little interest in Southron politics, and Jace feared that the Wolf of Winterfell might take a stance of neutrality in the conflict instead. 

However, he couldn’t turn back now, and it wasn’t like he would do it if given the choice. The prophecy lingered over his head like a dreary cloud as of late, and Jace’s nightmares had intensified in its vivid horror. Vermax let out a shuddering grunt, as if in sync to his rider’s perturb. 

I can’t fail. I won’t fail. Jace thought to himself firmly, as Vermax’s leathery wingbeats began to slow as the structure of Winterfell loomed in the distance. ‘There has to be a way to stop the prophecy’s events from coming true somehow. There must.’ 

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Jace’s initial reception at Winterfell was as chilly as the climate in the North, even with the heat from the sauna emanating from the walls. Cregan Stark had lived up to everything Jace had been fearing, a stern, formidable man of few words, and seemingly disinterested in the brewing conflict. “The North has no place in Southron politics, my Prince,” Cregan had told Jace. Jace had a feeling he was trying to convey a sort of sympathy in his words, but the man’s face was unyielding as he spoke. 

A sentiment that Cregan had expressed had given Jace a small sliver of hope, “However,” the imposing man said, clinking down his cutlery. “Tis’ true that my late father swore an oath of obeisance to your mother. And House Stark, and the North, will honour that oath no matter what.” 

Jace had attempted to seize on that to leverage Lord Cregan’s support, but the man seemed adamant not to interfere. Jace spent the next moments picking listlessly at his meal, trying to decide the next best course of action. The Northern lord seemed as unyielding as stone, much to his growing frustrations. 

“If I may say something personal, my Prince,” Cregan’s low, thoughtful voice broke the silence. Jace’s heart leaped at the voice, coming to life with the hope for negotiations again. “Please, speak freely, my Lord.” “You remind me of my late younger brother, my Prince.” Jace tried to shove down his spike of disappointment, instead feigning politeness as he asked, “I am flattered. Do you hold fond memories of him?” Cregan nodded slowly, his eyes studying Jace’s every move like a hawk. “Many of them, in fact.” “May I ask in what way do I remind your Lordship of your late brother?” Jace inquired, out of courtesy more out of genuine curiosity. 

Cregan fixed his flinty gaze on Jace, the corners crinkling a little in memory. “The burden. The feeling of all the weight of the world on your shoulders.” 

Jace didn’t quite know what to answer to that, shrinking uncomfortably into his seat as Lord Stark’s gaze penetrated through him. He suddenly felt more aware of his age than ever. 

No other words were exchanged throughout the rest of their dinner. 

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Cregan had seen men driven by many things before: greed, anger, power, but he had never met someone quite like Jace Velaryon. A strange sense of urgency enveloped his every move, like he was racing against an invisible foe better known as time. Every one of his muscles always seemed taut in tension, his eyes broody, his mind clouded with a thousand storms of struggles. 

Perhaps it was this sense of oddity that drew him to become more sympathetic to the young prince’s cause. He had noticed that the young prince had grown more dishevelled ever since their dinner in the hall where Cregan had refused to lead troops in Queen Rhaenyra’s name. He looked like a petrified animal, leg stuck in a trap. 

Over time, Cregan began to warm up to the young Prince, taking his meals with him as Jace covertly tried to persuade Cregan into contributing his troops to his cause. Cregan was amused, but remained otherwise unswayed. 

And then, the raven from Dragonstone arrived. 

Cregan didn’t see Jace for a few days after that. The guards he had assigned to the young Prince had reported him looking nigh delirious, refusing to take more than a few bites of his meals, his eyes sunken in, and the occasional sounds of weeping coming from his chambers. 

It seemed the young Prince had been truly broken. And who wouldn’t be, with the death of their younger sibling? Innocent blood spilled at war, Cregan shook his head as he reread the letter from the maester of Dragonstone. Kinslaying was a taboo among Westeros, and rightfully so. Even Cregan had been hesitant when dealing with his power-hungry uncle a few years ago, choosing to imprison him instead of carrying out the sentence meant for treason: execution. 

When a week had nearly come and gone and Cregan had not caught sight of the Prince, he began to grow worried. The letter Cregan had received had requested for the immediate return of Jacaerys to Dragonstone, but the prince seemed to have no signs of moving in his mourning. 

Cregan was startled to see the young Prince appear while he was breaking fast in his solar on the morrow. While he had sent the young Prince an invitation, as courtesy bode, the sudden appearance of Jace had him unnerved. Jace appeared detached, polite, every inch the prim and proper Prince he was. But what sent a chill through even the hardened Northman’s heart was the look in Jace’s eyes. 

They looked steely determined, yet devoid of life, like he was a soulless shell of the person he was. The Prince before him was no man, but a wraith, worn thin by his inner turmoil.  

As Cregan offered his condolences, Jace had only smiled faintly, thanking Lord Cregan emotionlessly. “I can only hope that the usurpers will be punished by the Gods for my brother’s death,” Jace’s eyes glowed with an unearthly sort of fury, Cregan noted with concern. “My brother committed no act worthy of such a gruesome death. And for the act of kinslaying, my uncle must pay with blood.” 

“Justice will prevail, my prince,” Cregan reassured Jace, his black eyes filled with certainty. But what took Cregan aback was the hard look in Jace’s dark brown eyes: it was like wildfire, blazing and ready to consume everything in its path. And what unnerved the young Lord of Winterfell even more were the next words out of the Prince’s mouth: ‘What I desire is no longer just justice, but vengeance. I will rain fire and blood upon those usurpers who have harmed my kin, mark my words.” 

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Ever since receiving the missive informing Jace of Luke’s murder over Shipbreaker’s Bay, Jace felt like all time had ceased to exist. When once he fought to race against the clock to prevent the prophecy from coming true, now it seemed like nothing mattered anymore. 

Somehow, he managed to secure an alliance with Lord Cregan, having moved the man enough for him to pledge himself wholeheartedly to his mother’s cause. Jace should have felt relieved: that the task he had set out to do was accomplished, but now, he felt naught but a gaping hole where his heart had been. 

Luke had always been his baby brother. Joffrey was his youngest brother, but he was filled with an impish sort of charm and self-assuredness. Luke had been none of those. He was always the more serious, more sensitive of the three brothers. Jace had watched his mother place his dragon egg in his cradle. The first baby Jace had ever held in his arms was Luke. His precious, lovable, younger brother. 

And now he was gone, his remains lost forever to the sea. Along with poor Arrax, and the remnants of House Baratheon’s allegiance. With Luke’s death, it was like Jace’s heart had hardened into cold, unyielding stone once more, like it did when he had feared for Luke’s disinheritance and potential punishment during Vaemond Velaryon’s punishment. 

Dragonstone was an even drearier place now. The lingering feeling of despair that had been left in the aftermath of his mother’s stillbirth seemed to have increased tenfold, seeping into the walls and hovering above everyone in the fortress like a cloud of anguish. 

Rhaenyra had swept Jace into her arms when he had returned. Too tired to even receive her son at the doors, both mother and son held each other and cried in Rhaenyra’s chambers as they mourned Luke, their sweet boy. 

But after that, there was no time for tears. At least not anymore for Jace. Though he was still prone to walking into his younger brother’s room every morning to wake Luke up for their daily sparring sessions, he always halted in his path when he remembered. Luke was dead, and there was no coming back for him now. 

Perhaps it was this constant feeling of gloom that began to drive Jace back into his old patterns of neglecting sleep. With Daemon gone, and his mother barely a fraction of what she used to be, Jace had to take charge as the future heir to the throne. He initially felt miserable, finding it useless to fight with one part of his heart having been stolen away and smashed to pieces. 

Yet the echoing of the prophecy never ceased, and neither did the ticking of time. No, now was not the time for grief. There was still someone left to pay the price for Luke’s death, and Jace vowed that he would kill Aemond One-Eye with his bare hands, along with the rest of his traitorous kin. 

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The Hall of the Painted Table was in tumult, voices shouting over one another, loudest and most outraged among them was the voice of Lord Corlys, Jace’s grandsire. 

It had been hours after the Battle of Rook’s Rest, and the Black council was in chaos, as Lord Corlys raged and screamed at Rhaenyra, who looked passive and sickly despite being seated at the head of the table. 

“It should have been you,” Lord Corlys had screamed, his face a tangled mess of pure unadulterated rage and grief. Even Jace himself could not find the courage to stop his grandsire’s tirade, having experienced the death of Luke not too long ago. But an uncomfortable tingling plagued him as he watched his grandsire hurl curses at his already frail mother. He wasn’t sure whose side to take in this argument, so he kept silent, despite his reluctance. 

The Battle at Rook’s Rest had not been the only blow they’ve suffered. Earlier, Ser Erryk had been slain, by the hands of none other than his turncloak brother, Ser Arryk. The bloody discovery had sent jolts of alarm through Jace, as he soon came to fear for the safety of his younger siblings, who were vulnerable should Dragonstone be infiltrated by any more knights such as Ser Arryk. 

The seeds Jace had scattered on his laborious trip as an envoy had begun to bear fruit, and not a moment too soon. Quickly, Jace made arrangements for Luke’s betrothed, Rhaena, to make way to the Vale. going with her would be Joffrey, along with his mount Tyraxes. Too small to ride, yet Jace found a greater purpose in sending him as part of his promise to Lady Jeyne. The Vale was the most secure place in the realm, Jace had reassured his petulant brother, who did not wish to be apart from his family. When that did not work, Jace had instead convinced Joffrey that he was being sent to the Vale so that he may defend it against any of the usurper’s dragons, to which Joffrey eventually reluctantly acquiesced, though with a pout. 

Barely had Joffrey and Rhaena been sent away then did Jace start making preparations to send both Aegon and Viserys away as well. Both of them were even younger than Joffrey, and should be kept the in the safest and furthest place possible, lest the usurper tried to use them as hostages. This time, Jace enlisted the help of Lord Corlys, mending the broken bonds between them by naming his grandsire Hand of the Queen, a position Jace knew he had long coveted. With his grandsire’s help, they had made arrangements to send Aegon and Viserys to Pentos. It was more secure than anywhere else in Westeros, his grandfather had reassured him as they sent them both off. 

All this had been accomplished within the matter of a few days, yet Jace still felt restless. An unpleasant knot had formed in his stomach at Joffrey and Rhaena’s send off, and it only multiplied in its discomfort as Aegon and Viserys set sail. But I’ve done it , Jace thought, trying to console himself. That fortune teller can’t get all of my family now. I made sure that they were sent to the safest places in the whole of Westeros and Essos. I’m safe. We are all safe. 

Convinced, Jace had settled into bed that night, shutting his eyes with a grim sort of victory pumping through his veins. See how your god is a falsehood, he wanted to taunt the fortune teller, triumphant in his victories. 

He didn’t feel so victorious, however, when he fell into a deep slumber, and came face to face with the fortune teller’s face. This time his dream was tranquil, with no signs of fire anywhere. Jace had nearly hollered in sheer, utter relief, thinking he was free from the nightmarish landscape of that night’s visions at last. 

A slender hand reached out to Jace, and Jace levelled a baleful glare at the fortune teller, who only serenely shrugged and continued holding out her hand. “It is rude to refuse a lady’s hand, my Prince.” That voice that had once enticed him, that had been the source of his dread for the past few years. 

He couldn’t tell whether he wanted to throttle the woman or kiss her. 

She had looked much unchanged since their encounter in the caravan, Jace thought as he took her hand, slightly relishing in the warmth of it. That certainly didn’t feel like a dream. He looked around, registering nothing but rolling grass fields of an unnatural blue-green hue and trees with leaves of the same colour. Frosty pink roses dotted the landscape ever so often, and their sickly sweet nectar wafted through the air. 

“Is this real?” The woman tilted her head, and Jace’s eyes couldn’t help but follow the movement of her neck. Damn, he cursed himself internally. He needed to get a hold of himself. Keep himself focused on whether this was reality. 

“It’s as real as my god deems it to be, Prince Jacaerys,” she informed him, and a harsh laugh rolled off Jace’s tongue. “Your god, is nothing but a falsehood, my lady,” Jace informed her, his voice dripping with venom at the thought of what he had lost. Luke. His mother’s joy and happiness. His mother’s and his rightful birthright. Though Jace knew it was the greed of the Greens that drove them to such straits, Jace couldn’t help but feel resentful to this unknown, eldritch god who had driven his paranoia for the past few years. 

The woman’s face did not show any visible indicators of outrage, but a thunderous flicker in her stormy eyes made Jace feel a little cowed. He did not believe in the god that this woman did, yes, but he knows that there is something unearthly about the woman before him. Her eyes already narrated such an expressive story, Jace wondered about what would happen if all the power swirling in her was put on display in its full fury. 

“I’m sure you thought you’ve evaded sailing into the eye of the storm,” the woman began to walk. Jace stared after her, perplexed, but began to walk with her nonetheless. The sweet smell in the air began to dissipate, and Jace felt a wave of nausea in his abdomen as he began to smell burning flesh again. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by the more calming scent of something like honeysuckle. 

“A man seized by fear may do something moronic in the spur of the moment.. A man who allows fear to take control of him is as good as dead.” Anger bubbled in Jace, though he tried to tamp it down, worried that if he broke the serenity of their talk, the nightmarish scenes of fire consuming everything in its path and the dead faces of his family would return. Not that. Anything but that.  

“Had your god not shown me those visions, do you think I would have become a man ruled by fear?” Jace retorted in a calm voice, as they strode into a meadow, dotted with red roses. Jace was desperate to keep this conversation going, to know if he had been successful in tricking the heavens. He knew this woman held the answers to his success in the palm of her hand. He just wished he could stop his eyes from wandering and admiring her visage instead of the scenery. 

“Every man is ruled by fear, my Prince,” the woman’s voice was amused. “And are you telling me you regret seeing those visions? Would you rather have remained blissfully ignorant?” 

“Maybe,” Jace reached out to pluck a blood red rose, admiring its crisp petals. “Perhaps if I did, then I wouldn’t have to watch the ones I love die in my dreams, slaughtered by our enemies. Maybe then, I wouldn’t have to watch my worst nightmares come to reality, to see Lucerys die and be helpless to stop it.” 

“But it’s over now,” Jace and the fortune teller turned to face each other. Her impassive look unnerved Jace slightly, but still, against his better judgement and by some raw, magnetic pull of the universe, he tucked the rose he had plucked free of thorns in the woman’s hair. 

“Joffrey and Rhaena are in the Vale, the safest place there can be in the realm. And Aegon and Viserys are in Pentos. Or soon to be.” He tilted his head upwards cockily. “I have beaten your god. And he would never be able to get the rest of my family. Not now, not ever, and if he wants to, he’ll have to spit on my dead, cold corpse.” 

Jace had intended to provoke the woman, to goad her into admitting that he had played his cards right and well, but her next words caught him off-guard. 

“And what of King’s Landing? The Greens and their dragons?” She reminded him. “The murderer of your brother and unborn sister still remain at large, and the usurpers will live to breathe another day, the same as the rest of your family. Tell me, is your happiness truly just relegated to the safety of your family?” 

“You know you desire more, Jacaerys Velaryon.” 

The meadow filled with an eerie silence. The fortune teller’s eyes pierced through Jace’s, as if extracting all his deepest secrets with just a single, searing glance. 

“...you’re right,” Jace gritted his teeth. “It’s not enough. And I will raze the usurpers to the ground, every single last one of them, for conspiring against my mother. For murdering my brother.” 

“But if it’s a choice between vengeance and the safety of your family?” The woman’s voice was playful, a stark contrast to the subject matter they were discussing. “Is that your god’s way of telling me that I am doomed to follow one path or the other?” Jace asked sarcastically. He noticed that when he got more worked up, the familiar smell of burning flesh became stronger, before being quickly suppressed by a sickly sweet scent. 

“Mortals cannot have it all, Jacaerys Velaryon. We must make compromises.” Jace thought of Luke, poor, sweet Luke, losing his life at the hands of their uncle, thinking of his mother and the pain she had suffered through his miscarriage, hot white anger blinding him. But he also thought of Joffrey, Baela, little Aegon and Viserys, his mother, his grandsire, and Daemon. For all the wrongs the Green had wreaked upon them, if Jace ever came to the position where he had to choose between taking off Aemond’s head with his sword and protecting Joffrey, say, would he hesitate? What would he choose? 

“Not any more,” Jace forced out. “I will be controlled no longer by your god’s visions. By the fear he had instilled in me.” 

“My family has the power. We have the dragons and strength in numbers,” Jace’s voice rose in conviction. “The rest of my family are safely stowed away. What’s to stop us from raining blood and fire upon the usurpers?” The overwhelming smell of burning flesh was overtaking his senses again, and not even the sickly sweet scent of the meadow could hide it anymore. “I will prove your god wrong, my lady,” he informed her, a crude sort of determination in his voice. “The Targaryens are closer to gods than to men, after all.” 

The roaring in his ears grew louder and louder, and suddenly Jace was back in the battlefield of bodies again, the sky filled with shrieks as dragons plummeted to the ground. It was as if the fortune teller’s god was striking him down for his challenge to it. The hellscape blistered with smoke and fire, but Jace was insistent, continuing to yell. “You’ll see! You’ll all see.” 

Jace fought back the urge to flinch as he felt the burning sensation of fire engulfing him, forcing his screams of pain down his throat. That nightmare again. So he hadn’t escaped after all. His breathing grew heavier, as the flames grew greater in intensity and temperature. He could barely see anything now, and it felt worse than all the previous nightmares he had had. Was he wrong to have challenged the fortune teller’s god so boldly? To want to turn the tides of fate? 

“I will prove you and your god wrong!” Jace shouted, thrashing and trying to wrangle himself free from the prison of flames. “You will not touch my family no matter what! No more of them! I swear this on all my ancestors of Old Valyria, that you will have my family’s lives only if you spit and step on my dead body! Just try it!” 

A fiery burst of flame blinded his eyes, and Jace let out an agonised scream as he felt himself being burnt alive.

And then he was falling into an empty pit, his limbs outstretched and his heart seized by terror. 

A figure bolted upright from the lavish four-poster bed in one of the more secluded rooms in Dragonstone, gulping in the fresh air greedily. His sheets were stained with sweat as Jace wearily wiped a hand down his face, dismayed but not surprised to see a patch of scarlet stain his palm as a steady trickle of blood dripped from his nose. 

His heart thudding, Jace tried to recollect himself as his heart thudded in his chest. Yet again, the fortune teller’s calm, flowing voice filled his head as he recalled the last words he heard while he was hurtling through the empty vortex. 

“Dragonseeds.” 

A warning, Jace started, or another prophecy. But what does it mean? 

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Jace couldn’t quite find the steely strength that used to take hold of him every morning as he walked down to the Hall of the Painted Table. His vivid dream and talk with the fortune teller the night before had not yielded his intended result, to say the least. 

His grandsire was holding court as usual, and they immediately settled on their newest problem now that the younger children were away and out of the castle: the problem of their dragons. While the Blacks did have strength in numbers, having Syrax, Caraxes, Vermax, and even Baela’s Moondancer, as she insisted, against Aemond One-Eye’s Vhagar, the battle to retake King’s Landing or to withstand an assault by Vhagar would be a risky one. The loss of Meleys had been a devastating blow for the Black council’s earlier plans to take back King’s Landing as soon as possible, for it remained a key symbol of legitimacy that supported Aegon the Usurper’s rule. 

Jace sat stoically in his chair as Baela and his grandsire fielded suggestions and assessments on the risk factor of taking King’s Landing with their current dragons, lost in thought. His mind was focused on the dream he had last night, of death and battle and destruction that somehow felt more real and close to any dreams he had in the previous years, but also because of that fortune teller. 

That darn woman. With her mysterious words, her expressive eyes, her solemn wisdom falling from her very kissable lips- 

“Jace.” Jace wanted to kick himself for even thinking about such thoughts, when his betrothed was right next to him. Baela arched an eyebrow, clearly noticing how distracted he was. “My apologies, did you address me?” Jace murmured lowly to her, averting his grandsire’s disapproving gaze. 

“I asked what you thought about attacking King’s Landing with our current forces,” Corlys’ lips were pressed in a thin line, looking slightly displeased that his grandson had been caught lacking in his duties. Jace was about to repeat just about what everyone in the room had voiced out, when the fortune teller’s words from last night rang through his mind. 

Dragonseeds. Wild, untamed dragons on the island. 

Seven fucking Hells. 

“I would like to make a proposal.” 

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Lord Corlys had been dubious but intrigued about the plan of the Sowing of the Dragonseeds, but the Black council, including Baela, had seemed receptive to the idea. Particularly the Council. Jace wondered if he had made the right call when he saw the shifty looks on the various councillors’ faces, clearly hoping to claim a dragon of their own. After all, the Targaryens boasted their dragons as their might, should they be lucky enough to get the chance to bond with one…

The gold and knighthood Jace had planned to offer along for anyone successful enough to tame the dragons would pale terribly in comparison to a dragon. 

Jace was alone on the balcony with a view of the eastern slopes of the Dragonmont, musing, when he suddenly heard the doors slide open. His eyebrows shot to his hairline and his heart pounded with delight when Rhaenyra Targaryen emerged on the balcony, garbed in black. She had only been wearing black ever since Luke’s funeral, or the makeshift one they were forced to arrange without his remains. 

“Mother,” Jace greeted, moving to bow, but Rhaenyra halted his movements, moving to take his hands. “Oh my son,” she murmured softly, stroking Jace’s hair like she used to do when he was younger. “My strength and my consolation.” 

Jace felt a fluttery feeling in his heart, but also a deep pit of longing and sadness in his stomach. This was the mother he had missed sorely, not the one tucked away behind the vacant-eyed stare, face subdued during council meetings and always looking preoccupied with her own thoughts. 

“Mother. Have you heard of my plan about the Dragonseeds?” Jace asked softly, a warmth spreading across his cheeks as his mother gently stroked his hand with her thumb. His mother smiled, “I have. I think it is a sensible plan. More dragons on our side is never a bad thing.” Her eyes glittered with pride as she reached out and cupped Jace’s face in her hands gently. 

Taken aback but not at all averse to the gesture, Jace let himself be soothed, letting all the nightmares, that nonsense about the prophecy be evaporated into thin air. All he needed was his mother’s comfort. 

“Oh, my sweet boy, how I have let you down,” Rhaenyra spoke tenderly, sorrow in her voice. Jace felt something in the spell break, Rhaenyra was speaking to Luke. Not to Jace. A bit of Jace’s happiness gave way to sadness. 

“You haven’t let me down, Mother,” Jace tried to reassure her, but his voice came out a little croaky. “I should be fighting for you. It is my duty as your son and heir to the throne.” 

A little of the vacantness slid back into Rhaenyra’s lilac eyes. “I’m glad you know that, Jace,” she said quietly, but it broke Jace’s heart to see how far away she was. How her heart never fully repaired after Luke. 

But for now, Jace was content in acting as a placeholder for Luke, if it meant that his mother would return to him bit by bit. How long it took did not matter, he just wanted his family to be able to heal, to survive. He would shoulder a thousand burdens if it meant he would see them all safe and sound. 

The prophecy rumbled through his head again, but he tamped it down, not wanting it to poison his moment with his mother. 

“You’ve grown skinnier, Jace,” the pads of Rhaenyra’s fingers gently traced under Jace’s undereyes, where his eyebags were more prominent than ever. “Are you well? You need not feel too troubled, you know. We will win the war, because I am the rightful heir to the throne. The rightful queen of the Seven Kingdoms.” His mother’s voice was so full of conviction, so much like the mother he had known, that Jace didn’t have the heart to tell her that conviction did not win wars. 

Whomever favoured fate did. 

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The Dragonseeds plot had worked its magic, and soon enough, four of the six wild dragons had been tamed. While Jace had not come to trust them just yet, he felt a little abashed. Was he just treating them with mistrust just because they were of bastard birth? He knew he had no prerogative to think in that shameful manner, after all, wasn’t that being a little bit of a hypocrite himself? 

There was no time to dwell on guilt however. With the sowing of the Dragonseeds, Jace, Rhaenyra and Corlys had been advancing the plan for the taking of King’s Landing at breakneck pace. Jace felt a warm relief spread through him as he began to see his mother participate more actively in council meetings, and he could see how much it invigorated the council too. The former self-assured, rosy glow his mother had would never quite be the same, but Jace was content to settle for this for now. 

Alas, all good things did not last. 

They had underestimated the strength of the Greens’ alliance with the Triarchy, as demonstrated when his younger brother, Aegon, returned on a faltering Stormcloud, in terror after having been attacked by Triarchy warships in the Gullet, and losing his younger brother, Viserys in the ensuing melee. 

Rhaenyra turned pale as soon as she heard the news of Viserys’ disappearance, collapsing into her chair and no longer speaking another word. Still, she listened and watched as Jace and Corlys began discussing plans to counter the threat of the Triarchy, knowing that if House Velaryon’s hold on the Gullet broke, it would be a resounding strategic win and gain in resources for the Greens. 

Thus on the fifth day of the new year of 130 AC, a flurry of dragons and ships departed from Dragonstone, all headed for the Triarchy. Jace commanded Vermax, along with the other Dragonseeds, his lips pressed in a thin line and eyes haggard with lack of sleep. His nose had been bleeding oft as of late, even now, as they drew closer to the Gullet, but Jace only wiped it away with a fierce look on his face. 

It was his first battle as the heir to the Iron Throne, and he was going to show those Triarchy bastards they had chosen the wrong side to back. 

Swooping down on a line of Lysene warships, Jace narrowed his eyes as he heard the alarmed calls of “dragon!” among the crew. Good. 

“Dracarys!” Hungry dancing flames licked the wooden remains of the Lysene warships, as chaos broke out throughout the fleet of Triarchy warships. “Hold your formations!” Jace could hear the soldiers scrambling, but more frenzied shouts began filling the air, as the shapes of Vermithor, Sheepstealer, Silverwing and Seasmoke appeared in the skies. 

“Fire!” Jace barely had time to react before a Myrish crossbolt had nearly struck Vermax’s underbelly. His dragon let out an enraged shriek as it swooped for the offending vessel, burning it to ashes. Jace gritted his teeth, they had clearly learnt this tactic from their time in dealing with Daemon in the Stepstones. 

Egging Vermax on with a roar, he bade Vermax to destroy as many vessels loaded with crossbolts as possible. Already, some ships were beginning to turn, a good sign for them. Jace was confident that the battle would end in a resounding victory for them. 

Just then, he flew past Seasmoke, whose rider, Addam Velaryon, looked ashen. Jace’s gaze shot to where he was staring at, where the ships were headed straight for Driftmark and Dragonstone. Fuck. 

“Stay here!” He yelled a command to Addam, already directing Vermax to head back to defend Dragonstone and Driftmark. “I’ll handle this. Burn every ship that has one of those fucking crossbolts, and don’t fly too close to the water.” 

With that, Vermax’s leathery wingbeats headed for Dragonstone once more. Please, Jace begged, hoping to make it in time. No more of my family. Not my mother, or little Aegon. Please no. 

Perhaps if Jace was more careful, more alert, he would’ve noticed the squadron of ships, veiled by the smoke of the fires Jace had set earlier. Perhaps if he hadn’t chosen to fly so close to the edge of the water, hoping to conceal Vermax’s presence and sneak an attack from behind instead of from above, he would’ve noticed the crossbolt aimed at Vermax’s eye. 

A loud roar filled the air, one which could be heard all the way across from Dragonstone. Vermax shrieked and flailed, as both squadrons of ships attacked at the same time, loosing crossbolts at him. Jace panicked, trying to redirect him to fly up, to escape, to flee, but a horrific screech erupted from Vermax as a crossbolt pierced his eye. Jace was gripped with fear as he began to unbuckle his saddle as Vermax careened for the waters. 

In his frenzied fury of pain, Vermax loosed several fireballs, which hit the ships in front of him, destroying the back of some of the squadron headed for Dragonstone. The ships splintered into pieces as they exploded, and the remaining ships shouted orders to row away from the firing range of the dragon. 

As Vermax hit the waters with a loud crash, Jace finally got loose of his saddle. Spotting an adrift, large shipwreck near him, he leaped free…

And landed on the shipwreck, barely clinging on in the freezing waters. He struggled to keep afloat as Vermax continued thrashing about in the waves, and his heart ached as he watched his beloved dragon suffer. 

Then, a sharp, excruciating pain filled his left chest, and Jace looked away from Vermax to see an arrow lodged in his chest, piercing his dragonriding leathers. 

Fuck. 

Jace tried to make himself look smaller, anything to seem less conspicuous, but a volley of arrows were shot in his direction. Most of them missed in the dark, but the pain was blinding to the point where Jace’s feeble grip on the wood slowly loosened, and he thrashed about wildly in the cold sea waters, gasping for breath. The weight of his dragonriding leathers and scarce amount of armour did not work well in his favour however, and the treacherous waves soon dragged him down, into the deep dark depths of the ocean. 

I cannot die now, Jace thought, sputtering for air desperately. My family, my mother needs me. She cannot lose another son- 

The currents were getting harsher and harsher, as Jace bled out helplessly on the water. Armour, he needed to dislodge his armour- he frantically attempted to remove it, but as he lost more and more blood, his limbs grew number and number, and soon, he could barely retain consciousness. 

‘I’ve failed. I’ve failed them all.’ was Jacaerys Velaryon’s last thought as he was pulled beneath the currents by invisible tendrils of water, into the murky depths below. 

‘I’m sorry I failed to protect everyone.’ 

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In his dreams, Jace was at the meadow again. The woman was nowhere to be seen, but he could feel her presence all around him. A light, serene sort of happiness filled him, and he felt the phantom feeling of warm arms wrapped around him from behind. 

It was something he hadn’t felt in years. An eerily calm sense of bliss. But Jace didn’t care, he was too busy relishing in the moment where his mind was free of his demons. Free from worrying about his family’s survival, about the prophecy, and about the war. 

In his blurred senses, he could see someone smiling at him, a tender, playful one. A warm breath grazed his ear and the voice from his sweetest dreams and most horrid nightmares spoke in that calm, flowing manner of hers. 

“The living are not quite done with you yet, Jacaerys Velaryon.” 

And that was the last thing he heard before darkness consumed him once more. At least this time there was no pain. 

The first thing Jacaerys registered when he woke up was the faint scent of snapdragons. He groaned as he awakened, feeling an agonising pain in his shoulder as he tried moving. 

Aren’t I supposed to be dead? Jace remembered the events of the battle of The Gullet, where he had watched Vermax flail about in the sea, screeching as he fought not to drown in the cold depths of the ocean. His heart ached at the loss. Another one of my family gone, in the blink of an eye. And in the sea too. He wondered how the battle ended, did they win? 

But that soon became a minor concern as he began pondering…where exactly was he? He looked around, trying to sit up, but the pain in his shoulder forced him to fall back onto his pillow with a groan. So he was still alive then. Sudden panic gripped him. Had he been taken hostage by the Green forces? But if he had, then he would be in a far worse state than he was now. 

He glanced around the small space, noting that he was in a cottage of sorts. The smell of salt was heavy in the air, and the sky outside was grey and gloomy. Had some fisherman rescued him when he washed upon the shore? And if so, where in the Seven Hells was he now? The Crownlands? He definitely didn’t wash ashore on Dragonstone, or he would have been handed over to his mother. His heart ached as he wondered how his mother must have reacted to the news of his death. Once he ascertained his whereabouts and who had saved him, he would fly home for Dragonstone immediately….Jace sighed when he remembered that Vermax was dead now. He would send a raven or any messenger bird he could find then. 

The sound of the front door to the cottage opening caught Jace’s attention and he tried bolting upright, but yelped when his shoulder pain acted up again. He waited with bated breath as the door to his room opened, and revealed his saviour and possible enemy. However, the sight before him left him thunderstruck.

In that instant, Jace’s heart felt like it had stopped and then had been jolted forcefully back to life again by a tight grip. 

No. No, no, no, it was impossible. He had died, had felt the arrows pierce through his chest near his heart, before he fell prey to the treacherous waves of the Gullet, drowning in his failure. This has to be some false afterlife, set up to torment me. 

And yet, the pain in his lungs was overbearing, and definitely real, as he sat on the bed like he had been bolted to it, tightly clutching the coarse bedsheets in his fists. 

The whole world seemed to stand still as his eyes took in the familiar figure, holding a basket of herbs in her arms. Garbed in simple peasant clothing, yet that did not diminish her otherworldly beauty. 

“ You. ” 

“Me.” An insouciant, wry grin graced her lips, and it was like Jace’s most horrible nightmares and his dreams were blossoming before his very eyes. 

“Welcome back to the world of the living, Prince Jacaerys.”

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published as part of the HOTD Big Bang 2023

Part 2 will be published soon! If you made it this far, thank you for reading! 💗

[sunelia]

GETO X READER : MEMORIES OF US

hi! i’m kinda nervous lol first time i share something here i hope you guys enjoy it!

pairings: geto suguru x fem!reader

cw: female reader - mentions of death - character death - blood - angst - sad ending

synopsis: finally returning home after some time away living outside the country, you decide to come back and unpack your things until you find a box filled with memories inside, memories of who once was the love of your life. He was no longer by your side, and you constantly wondered why your heart was still his and if you were given a chance to see him one last time.

word count: 2.4k

You dropped your suitcase on the floor, exhausted by the trip. It was 10 pm on a winter night and you were finally back in your tiny apartment you were proud to call home. The urge to curl up in your bed was tempting, but you had to freshen up before you could unpack all your things and start anew.

After a long relaxing shower, you put on comfy pajamas and start to tidy up your stuff in your drawers. Your arms were numb from folding your clothes, while your stomach began to make noises. It was time to eat. You hadn't eaten since your flight, but it was late and you didn't have time to run any errands, plus you were tired. Luckily for you, you had instant noodles in your kitchen. By the time you let the noodles cook in the hot water, you had prepared a little space on your couch where you could enjoy them. You turn on the TV and select the first channel you see, leaving it as a background noise.

As you get up to fetch your meal, you come across the small wood table in which where was a box covered by a little bit of dust, cute stickers and a Polaroid sticking out of it. You instantly knew what was inside and couldn’t stop your hand from reaching for it. You take the box and place it on your couch then set off to get your noodles. Back on your couch, the smell and steam of the noodles fills your nose as the moon illuminates the room with a bath of light. You take a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself and blow the lid of the box before opening it. You take and turn the Polaroid over so that the photo is hidden. Inside the box were notes from your high school friends, a collection of interchangeable erasers in the shape of animals or people, and a bunch of other Polaroids. Pictures of you and your friends in all sorts of situations, but also photos of him, smiling next to you. You take a short break, eat your noodles, and realize you've opened Pandora's box.

You lie down on the sofa and take the photo you turned over a few minutes earlier. It was the most meaningful photo of the two of you you kept everyday on your phone and you remembered exactly how you'd put it back in the box that afternoon when he broke up with you, tears streaming down your cheeks. Since that day, you hadn't touched it again.

You take the photo in your hand and plunge years back in time to that day when you were ice skating. It was your way of expressing yourself, of sharing emotions that no words could describe. Geto always appreciated the way you danced, the fluidity and delicacy that emanated from your movements. When you started dating and throughout your relationship, you introduced him to your passion, even though he didn't really know how to stand on ice, he made the effort to enter your world. You spent many moments on ice, you were holding him back from falling, laughing to the point where your stomachs would hurt. It was a bubble the two of you shared and the best moments you spent with him. That photo was taken by the lovely rink cleaner, Geto was holding on your waist while you were making bunny ears behind his head, both of you enjoying the moment. He was looking at you with so much love. This was the hardest picture you possessed because it showed how intimate he was for you to open up about your world.

You let out a huge sigh and turn off the TV. The same pain you felt back years ago was still there. Even when you both parted ways, even when you left the country to grow strong and live a new life, it was still there. Your hand unconsciously stroked the photo as you realize your gesture. Despite all the anger and pain you felt towards him, you couldn't stop carrying him in your heart, wondering why he'd cut you out of his life the moment he felt so lonely, loosing his subtle smile, dark circles under his eyes. You wondered if he was well surrounded, if he had eaten, and sometimes you thought about being ever included in his true ideal. It was enough for your poor mind, you let the box remain opened as you started to walk in your bedroom, wiping your silent tears.

Morning came fast, you were still saddened by last night. As you walk past the sofa, you close the lid of the box.

“Nah! Not today sir” you mumbled.

Today’s plan was to go out to buy some groceries, and so you did, but you also had to meet someone. You were still close with old friends like Satoru Gojo. He was Geto’s most trusted friend and best companion. You both kept in touch after Geto left, and he wanted to see how you were doing. But deep down, you knew he was going to tell you something important. And so, here you are talking with him at the highest point of the park.

“How was life outside?” Gojo asks

“It was nice i guess? I mean it did change me. I needed to go somewhere else i couldn’t bear to stay here. But thanks to that, i learned more about occult energy and trained really hard. Sleep, training, work, it became my new routine. I was staying at my father’s family home so i could work and pay the rent for my apartment here because i knew i would eventually come back i can’t just simply run away.” you let out a fainted smile

He looks at you, “But something was missing” he tells.

You looked back at him, he could read you like an open book, there was no need to lie to him and to yourself — “You know who was missing Gojo and i think you miss him too.”

He didn't answer, but deep down you knew he was as affected as you were. You handed him a cookie — which he took gently, letting out a tiny smile.

A brief not-so-awkward silence moment falls between you two. The winter wind gently blows through your hair.

“I still don’t understand why he left so suddenly, i knew he was going through something, that his mind began to change, i was there when he talked about it, when he felt so tired of consuming this energy, the taste of curse and anger was unbearable. I tried to comfort him, to be the person he could lean on, i thought everything was going well between us but he still left everyone behind including you and me.” — You paused. Gojo was silent, he knew you had to get this off your chest. You carry on — “I can’t blame him, I didn’t know exactly how he felt and he couldn’t be stopped either, he had already made up his mind and the mass killing attack was one of the most shocking news i could have heard. Love is so complicated, he became who he is and i still can’t forget his face, how close we were, the sweet moments between us, the pinky promises we’ve made. You know, he leaved me in front of the ice rink…” You take a deep breath a sad smile covering your face — “His face looked hurt and we were both crying, i’d like to think he did it because he knew i wasn’t following him into this path that maybe he wouldn’t want me to change. He was genuine that’s all i know.”

Gojo looked at you, he had to tell you in the classy “gojo way” style what happened when you were away, he had to prepare you for the news he was about to tell.

“You know I’m a teacher right?” He says. You nodded. He talked briefly about him being a teacher and having special students in his class when you had i'm on the phone before. You wondered what he was going to tell you but you sensed something was not right.

“As i've told you before, i’m teaching all i can know to my students. One of them possesses something…well, he is cursed by theory by a powerful spirit. Geto came back for this sole reason when he heard about it and tried to persuade him to join his new world. I think he he's searching for something else and i guess it's linked to my student’s cursed spirit. Little guy refused and didn't understand what Geto desired. He then threatened to unleash a huge amount of curses on several locations at the sundown of December 24th.”

You were utterly speechless as you gazed intently at Gojo, astonished by the news. Geto was still alive, which reassured you, but hearing your friend confirm your doubts was harder. The information finally entered your mind as you realized and told him panicking —

“B-but today’s the 24th??”

"I apologize for not calling you sooner, but we must be ready to face him and when i heard you were coming back, i needed you to be be strong enough. He won't give up, and we both recognize that he is unstoppable".

You hated when Gojo was right. You've been wishing to see your past lover one last time, and that day is approaching faster than you thought.

“Let me go with you.” You answered

He hesitated a second,he knew you wanted to see him and he couldn't do that right after what he just told you. He then agreed. He takes you to his students and all the school’s exorcists, ready to fight Geto's cursed spirits and his team. The sun was about to set, the rays of light were almost no longer prominent. It was time.

And so the Night Parade, a "war" began. You were with Gojo and the others the whole time while two of his student were somewhere else. After a long battle between Geto's allies and cursed spirits, Gojo realized that something was wrong and that the real battle wasn't here. He called out to you —

“If I'm not back in 20 minutes, come and join me at Tokyo Jujutsu High!” You nodded back in the middle of a fight. You were fighting as best as you can with your pole arm.

It has already been 20 minutes which meant you could finally join him in the battle. You run and jump throught the streets as fast as you can until you land in a silent alley. Blood stains were visible on the ground. A dangerous and difficult fight came to an end here. You arrived too late. You see Gojo far away and someone laying down on a wall, a severed arm laying next to the bleeding body. Not only that, but you knew who he was. Your body responded right away. You began to run until you were finally facing the man you loved.

Geto groans in pain and turns his head until he faces you and freezes of surprise. He couldn’t believe you were here, all changed, and more beautiful than ever. He thought you hated him when he broke up with you in front of your most meaningful place. He thought he did great by letting you go. Hurting you was the easiest way for him as he wanted to spare you from his new worldview.

You kneeled down, completely lost. You couldn’t believe that the cause of your rage, your suffering and also your love was on the verge of death.

“Not the best state and place to meet again don’t you think?” Geto tells with a fainted smile

You couldn’t hold the chuckle that left from your mouth. It seemed like anger and sorrows vanished instantly.

“I see that i still have my sense of humor.” he pauses “How are you?”

“I don’t know…you tell me. It’s kinda hard to meet someone you love in this situation you know?”

“I thought you hated me”

“I did…for some time, i think i wanted to hate you but i simply couldn’t.” — you continued, “You know, i still wished for a chance to meet you once again. I'm glad I got to see your face one last time, even though it wasn't under ideal circumstances..”

“My moral compass is broken. That would have been too selfish for me to keep you while i knew i would have hurt you one day, when i knew you disagreed with my thoughts.” — he tells you while his hand gently caresses your cheek. You hold onto his numb hand covered in blood. You were trying not to cry but you couldn’t stop the menacing tears that were already falling all over your face.

“I’m glad the stars gave me the opportunity to see you once again, y/n.”

“You were in pain, dealing with your own self and goals, and i really hope you’ll get to find what you wanted the most.” you cried

“I think i did” he smiled fondly at your figure

It was the same lovely smile you cherished dearly. The two of you sobbed. You both missed each other's presence. He tries to hug you but he’s in so much pain that it’s impossible for him to move. You lower down and hug him tightly, your face placed in the crook of his neck. His remaining arm brings you a tad closer to his bloody chest and the crimson puddle surrounding you, but you couldn’t care less. His hand strokes your hair and when your eyes meet he gently kisses you for the last time. It was a deep gesture that shared an infinite number of words and love.

Geto was becoming more and more unconscious, the blood never ceasing to emanate from his body. He knew he had to go, and you knew he had made up his mind. And so, he kissed your forehead and whispered “i love you” which you replied between two sobs “i love you too”.

This was Geto's final statement. His chest stopped moving, he was finally resting on your arms.

Gojo came from behind, his students were next to him. He saw the scene. He had to fight his best friend and that was a lot to take in for him too. You turn your head over him and nod to let him know Geto was no longer part of this world. He immediately understood your gesture and tried to smile back empathizing with you.

Coming back yesterday was the best decision you’ve made. You finally got your closure and a chance to move on. The stars listened to your request, you both were finally reunited one last time, united by destiny that day.

hope you had fun reading! (^_-) line divider Dodger blue by benkeibear

sunelia.

[blackwolfstabs]

30 Day Writing Challenge: Day 27

ATTACKED

Continuation of day 17: THE CATCH → for greysandmarvelfan & mlgx on AO3

WARNING!!! contains rape/non-consensual elements. (yes, i live for angst and venting what fucks with me through my writing, this isn't new, and we should shut up and move on ok? k great)

“Holy shit, it’s that psycho girl!”

“That’s her?”

Overlapping comments and laughter burned Sam’s ears as she led the way out of the frat party. Her heart still thumped like it never broke from its adrenaline-induced fit that had come with beating the ever-loving shit out of Frankie. She could feel the eyes of the partygoers studying her like she was a feral, stray dog being walked out of civilization by Animal Control. No matter how close the voices to her were or how deep each word was, Tara’s desperate voice overpowered them all. It was her voice blending in and out of another voice that was even more familiar… her own. 

And the thought of what could’ve been with one and what was with the other made her entire being run hot. Very hot, the touch on her back letting her know she was backed by the Meeks-Martin twins actually feeling cool.

She broke out of orange and purple lighting into the crisp outdoors. Moonlight was considered fraud amongst the lively streets of New York, but she didn’t need any source of it to find her way to her baby sister.

She should’ve known better. She should’ve known that Tara would go to the OKB party anyway. She was impulsive and sick of being chained to the apartment, outside of going to her college classes. Sam had begged her—begged her—not to go. 

And Sam never begged. Only for Tara, did she ever. 

This was why. She couldn’t trust anyone, especially after Richie’s betrayal and her secret about being Billy Loomis’ daughter getting out. Either she was the wolf in sheep’s clothing or someone else was. She thought Tara would feel the same, having her own best friend for years betraying her over the orchestration of a fucking requel. If that didn’t destroy Tara’s trust, what would?

But it didn’t matter. Tara was nearly raped at that party, and as much as it was her own fault for getting herself into that situation, Sam took just as much blame. Had she not been in therapy, Tara would’ve never had the chance to make it out the door of their apartment.

There wasn’t much of a breeze to tame the invisible fire burning beneath her skin as she followed Chad, who’d passed her and his sister up with his longer strides. It was then that she started running.

She couldn’t get Tara’s voice out of her head, and every time she replayed it, her vision turned everything in sight into a more distinct shade of red. Until it was blood red. Like the blood that painted Frankie’s face. Like the blood left on her hands. Like the blood still smeared on her lips. Like the blood lingering at the back of her throat. 

Like the blood that was once shed in a similar situation, at a similar time, but with an opposite outcome.

Having Tara scream her name, be trapped beneath a repulsive human being, and barely escaping what would’ve become another tragedy she’d have to recover from was only half of the battle that nearly had Samantha losing it all. 

She should’ve known better.

Because when she was 20, she had been exactly where Tara had been…

—

(flashback / Sam's past inspired by Tanto Amor: Chapter 62 (14:58 - 17:16))

She hadn’t wanted to get caught up in any of this. She’d been a rebel, on the run, and so good at getting herself in and out of suspicious situations, anyone could code her Houdini. But she did not favor Halloween in the slightest. She didn’t like the idea of people hiding themselves behind masks, costumes, and hours of make-up, so no one knew who they were. They all became characters rather than real-life identities, and with that advantage, came a thousand things they could get away with.

All it took were 2 girls who’d befriended her for a few days. They’d begged her to come to this stupid party. They told her she didn’t have to dress up, just come for a good time that would allow her to cut loose. She cut loose more than she let on but always did it on her own terms. No one was going to bark orders at her like her mother had done. No one was going to pin her down and handle her however they pleased.

Until someone did… 

And those 2 girls she thought would look out for her didn’t. They didn’t care. They just knew her standoffish personality and impressive beauty would model a perfect bone for a dog to go chase.

She wound up in the garage, encouraged to go fetch more drinks. And she did it for the sole reason that she could get away from the noise and crowd for a moment. What she didn’t know was that doing so would curse this night into becoming the 2nd worst night of her life, after the night her father walked out on everything their family once had all because of what she did.

She leaned against a long, wooden shelf that was bolted against the wall, holding her head with her fingertips on either side of her temples. Having a drink on a mostly-empty stomach was a stupid mistake, even if she had only taken a few sips. She applied pressure, trying to ease the throbbing pain if she could. 

She just wanted to go home, wherever the hell home was going to be for the night.

Behind her, the door opened, making her pick up her head to look over her shoulder. Her heart skipped a beat. She knew it was a man. He was in all black with the exception of a clown mask covering his entire face. It was white, a tri-brid of yellow, blue, and red paint distinguishing different designs as facial features. Complimenting that were three red horns coming out either side of his face and one at the top of his head. 

He stared at her the whole time, keeping her eyes that did the same. He shut the door and locked it, leaving her to drop her gaze to confirm before looking back up.

Sam instantly felt sick to her stomach, the worst feeling imaginable flooding through her just by laying eyes on him. And it wasn’t because he was in a haunting clown mask. It screamed at her to run, even though there was nowhere to run. As much as she wanted to look away in order to find some form of defense, she couldn’t. Her heart seemed to thump her chest hollow as he began to slowly walk towards her.

She bit back a whimper and replaced it with, “What are you doing?”

He didn’t say a word, just kept coming towards her. That was all she needed to know to figure if she was going to get out, she wasn’t giving him a second chance to speak. He looked hungry for lust. She was young, but she’d been around long enough to know that look anywhere.

She tried to move aside to walk around him, but he did the same and blocked her. She moved the other way, and so did he. So, she did what her instincts were telling her to do. She tried to run.

But he caught her, grabbing her arms and pulling her in, earning a yelp.

Sam felt one arm wrap around her waist, while the other lassoed her shoulder blades, making her grab onto him to get a grip on her stability. But that only lasted for a fleeting second, for he was trying to knock her off balance.

This was when full-blown panic set in, and her rationality was no longer her own. “No! Stop!” She retreated her arm that gripped his shoulder to push away from him. But it was to no avail. 

And still, he said nothing, just fought with her.

“Stop it!” She felt his hold grow stronger around her thrashing. “No-ho!”

Yet, no matter what she did, he handled it better, leaving her struggling whines and whimpers echoing off the walls of the garage.

“No, no!” She began to cry without even realizing it, gripping onto his clothes to avoid falling but still resisting him, nonetheless. 

He caught her around the waist, low enough to tilt her at an angle she had to submit to. The grip he held on her arm was promised to leave a bruise as he lowered her to the ground.

Carpenter tried to brace herself in protest, but she couldn’t, which left her spitting out the only words that she could even process. “Please! No, noooo!” her voice pitched into a squeal as he got her pinned on the floor. 

He straddled her churning legs in the process, leaving him battling for control of her arms.

The burning in her chest and inescapable hurricane running her auto-pilot a million miles per second kept her from putting up the fight she might’ve been able to with a leveled head. She tried to push against him, realizing he was trying to get her wrists above her head. Tears fell from her eyes as she begged him, “No, no, no, no, no, no, no, please…” Her muscles burned out, leaving him to have his way, yet again. “Ple-hease! Don’t do this!”

But he couldn’t care less. He just wanted what he wanted, still refusing to say a word or spare any hint of vocalization. With her wrists secured in one hand, he began to feel down her flank, squeezing at the curve in her hips and filing his fingers to her beltline, where he found the button to her jeans.

“No, no— No-hoo! Nooo!” She tried to buck, to kick, to twist. Nothing worked. “Let me go-hoo!” There was only one other hope she had left. “Heeelp! Help me, pleee-hease!” She knew they were people by the garage door and outside too. Someone had to hear her…

Right?

The man had gotten her jeans undone and moved to clutch the collar of her shirt, trying to tug it down, but not missing the chance to rub his hand against her breast in the process.

This just made her panic even more. “Somebody, please!” she cried, “He-heelp!” She pulled her knee up to make another attempt at kneeing him off. “Get o-hoff of me— Nooo!” By now, she was beginning to sob, which made her words struggle to come out clearly. Her next attempt to shout was replaced by a desperate cry. Even with her arms pinned, she still tried to pull them down. 

But then he stopped feeling up and down her body and raised his fist.

She knew what that meant, and as much as she didn’t want to live what would happen next, she couldn’t let herself lose consciousness. “No, no, please! Please, don’t!”

It came down hard and fast.

Pain blasted through the side of her head, and then her whole world went black.

The next morning, she woke up and couldn’t remember a thing… She could smell blood dripping out of her nose. She sat up, confused on where she was or how she’d gotten there. But then she saw her pants down to her knees and her underwear in an awkward straddle around her thighs. Then, the pain hit her head and privates all at once.

And then she knew. She remembered it all… And she broke down into tears of disbelief, shock, and horror.

The worst thing about it was… they heard her. The people at the party the night before… they knew.

It was just that no one cared.

—

All of the rage and merciless sanctions that had fueled her for the last however-many minutes vanished the second she caught sight of her baby sister hugging her knees and crying on a bench. It was like they were back in the ages of 6 and 11, Sam about to be scolded by her mother for not watching Tara and keeping her out of danger, like she was supposed to.

It was her responsibility. 

She had a responsibility to Tara, to love her and protect her, the same as she’s always had. She didn’t ask to be an older sister, but she didn’t have to. It was built-in. It had been since the dawn of Tara’s time—to watch over her throughout her life, to bark when she was in danger or lunge when she couldn’t outrun that danger, to run and play with her when she was happy, to hold her close when she was lonely, to wipe her tears when she cried or make her laugh when she was about to cry. 

That’s why she was called a big sister. That’s why Tara had called her Sammy. That’s why she was still a Carpenter rather than a Loomis.

She knelt down next to Tara, wanting to place a comforting hand on her leg or touch her in some way, like she always used to do. But she knew she couldn’t… Not right now anyway. “Tara?”

Before Tara could respond, Anika interjected, “We got her asthma under control. She’s just still really shaken up.”

Both, Mindy and Chad, gave the sisters space as they moved over to where Anika was standing with Ethan, who had ditched the party when they were trying to get Tara out of the house.

Sam didn’t look away from her little sister. “Tara…” Her voice had lost all of its darkness and animalistic traces, leaving nothing but concern and softness.

She was shaking. Her baby girl was trembling uncontrollably, and it wasn’t because of the crying. She slowly lifted her face from being buried in her knees to reveal glossy eyes that held regret, hurt, and fear. There was no resentment, annoyance, or rebellion. Just a longing that pleaded for comfort. For rescue. “S-Sam…” Her voice was quiet and delicate, close to breaking with the quivering of her lips.

“I’m here,” she assured her, reaching her hand up to gently caress her shoulder. “I’m here, Tara.” She could feel her own emotions start to get the best of her, but until she certified her sister’s safety, she’d hold them all at bay.

“Sam,” Tara choked out, “You were right…” She had to take a moment to keep herself from drowning in more tears, her breath hitching as she sucked in some air. “I-I never should’ve g-gone…” Then her face creased, and she broke down. “I-hi’m so so-horry!”

But her big sister shook her head, “No, no, no, love, it’s not your fault.” She moved up onto the bench as Tara dropped her legs, showing that she wanted to be held. And Sam did, pulling her in against her chest and feeling her trembling arms wrap around her waist. She shushed her quietly as the younger began to whimper in between small sobs. “It’s not your fault. I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry for not getting there sooner. I’m sorry for choosing therapy over making sure to keep you home tonight. Don’t you ever apologize for what someone else did to you. You did nothing wrong, Tara.” She promised her all of this through a blurry lens of her own tears. Her voice dropped to a whisper after placing a loving kiss on Tara's head, “Nothing wrong at all…”

Tara clung to Sam’s waist, holding her tight as if someone was going to try to take her away. Maybe in another world, she’d have been stopped by Mindy, Anika, or Chad from following Frankie up those stairs. Maybe in another world, Sam would’ve showed up, and she would’ve been completely embarrassed. Maybe in another world, instead of sitting on this bench, they’d be standing-off in the street, shouting about where they’ve been and where they planned to go—how one was able to move on and the other was still stuck.

Maybe in another world, she’d have told Sam that she had to let her go…

Not tonight, though. Tonight, she wanted Sam to hold onto her forever.

“Thank you for coming, Sammy,” she whispered, hugging her tighter. And she felt her head be kissed again, while a comforting hand rubbed her back, the bowing of her guardian angel’s head leaving her long, black hair to shield her face from the rest of the world. She was safe in Sammy’s embrace.

And Sammy replied. 

“Always.”

i don't know whether to apologize for writing this THIS way or not, but i'm sorry??

special thx to @doctorwhoarchive for chatting with me about Tanto Amor (yes, u told me i had a while to go before reaching this part in the show, but there were 3 problems: 1) i'm too curious for my own good 2) i piss myself off for no fucking reason, and 3) i have access to YouTube so I WENT TO FUCKING FIND IT BC STUPID FUCKING ME and so here we are) i don't blame u tho, dw! much love 🩶

All my best ♡ - parker

[beanghostprincess]

Why is shanks/buggy so underrated in this side of fandom? It’s much more loved in Japanese one, one of the most popular for shanks. I feel like this one prefers other mlm options for him and I don’t get it. It got better after OPLA I think but still. Sorry for my English!

Oh! This is actually such an interesting question. I was talking about this the other day and I came to a conclusion with my friend about this. Basically, there are a lot of things to take into consideration here. The screentime, the age of the characters, the chemistry, how they're perceived by the fandom and canonically, etc etc etc.

The first thing I thought about was the screentime, honestly. Shanks and Buggy grew up together and they have a deep bond, however, we've only seen that through flashbacks (one in quite literally episode 8 of the anime, another one in Wano that isn't even about them and they're just side characters in this flashback, and in chapter 1082 of the manga. But it's not even a proper flashback because we already saw that when Shanks talks to Whitebeard about Buggy, it's just Buggy's interpretation of it) and we only have like one scene of them together that isn't even two minutes long. So, quite obviously you'd think "well, the ship isn't as popular as other ships because they barely have any screentime" and I think it's correct but also not quite. And also, this would also have to apply to the Japanese fandom at the end of the day. Fandoms don't give a single fuck about screen time if the chemistry is right, really, but there's always this factor, y'know. Lawlu has less screentime than Zolu and yet it's more popular somehow because people absolutely love their dynamic. Then, if you stop to think about it, both Satosugu (Jjk) and Soukoku (Bsd) have the same dynamic and concept as Shuggy, but they're by far the most popular ships in their fandoms. They're basically the same ships but Jjk and Bsd give them proper development and story because they're shorter series. One Piece is a long show and we still have many things to see, even if we know it's gonna end soon, so I guess that we'll still have to wait to see more of Shuggy. Once we do, I'm sure it'll become more popular. Also, Shanks' personality is very diverse because he's all mysterious and all, so I kind of understand why people don't want to make content because they still don't have him figured out.

But then again, screen time isn't really the problem. It's just one of the factors. If they had more screen time, they'd be more popular for sure, yes, but it's not exactly what makes them less popular in this side of the fandom. Otherwise, it'd be equally as popular on the other sides too. The Japanese side of fandoms is different from this one and tbh they often don't take into consideration things like cancel culture and proship discourse or the standard beauty regarding age because they just post whatever they want and scroll past what they don't like (god I fucking wish we were like that because I am so done with these things). Besides, isn't Buggy like a very beloved character over there, aside from Oda's favorite? At least from what I've seen, they take his character way more seriously than this side of the fandom does, honestly. And it bothers me because he's such a complex and great character, and people never see it because they use him either for memes or to keep saying "omggg turns out the clown is hot!! Can you believe I want to fuck a clow-" yes, Samantha, we know you want to fuck the clown. It's not weird. It's not new. Do you even like the character, at least, or you're just using him to say how kinky and quirky you are? (And I don't even care about the sexualization of characters because, again, fictional characters are fictional characters and you don't have to take everything so seriously. I have tons of characters I don't like that much but only stan because I find them hot and that's alright. But damn, it bothers me sometimes).

Anyway, with this, I wanna say that there are other things to have in mind when talking about this.

Recently (I know it's not exactly new but in fandom years? Recently) there has been a huge thing surrounding the term "old men yaoi". People are so down bad for middle-aged men and they see two of them together and they instantly go "omg they're soo married" but that's- That's it? That's just it. They don't even ship them, they just find the concept of older men hot because "omg he's such a dilf" and they want to fuck both of them. But they never end up doing anything with it. They try to be so groundbreaking like "ohh I am SO woke by shipping these two old men! See? Breaking stereotypes!" because both irl and online, age has always been a very stigmatized thing. Apparently you can't be in a fandom if you're older than 25 because then you're weird, and if there's an actress older than 50 she's instantly useless for the industry.

What I want to say with this is that most people in the fandom are young. They're young and they like attractive, young, hot people and they don't want old, unconventionally attractive men. They don't want them unless it's to give a "hot take" and to be super progressive and woke. Do you know what they like? They like Dilfs. They like Shanks because he's conventionally attractive and good with kids and he's the standard for a Dilf. Because he's hot and mysterious but also silly and quirky and "he's almost forty that is so hot something something daddy kink". And they don't want to see him fucking someone his age because God forbid this man has a personality outside being a Dilf. Younger people in the fandom constantly read y/n fics regarding Shanks because they want him to fuck them and not Buggy. And they can't project in these old men, so they publicly say "oh, Shanks and Buggy are so married" because it's just a fact the fandom made clear, but they don't really like the content. Because liking Buggy sexually, apparently, is just so weird. Or as a character. Nobody wants to say their favorite character is the failguy clown. It's a hot take when you say that Buggy is hot because people keep being all weird about it when... Uh... He's- He's just a clown. Guys. It's not weird. Or bad. Who raised you to think that? God, I find Monet extremely hot and she's half-bird. Could we please normalize these things? They're fictional characters. And also, stop reducing Buggy to his jokes or the fact that he's a clown because his character is GREAT and complex and it just bothers me so much.

This makes me think about this whole "background couple" thing. Which are basically couples that are canon or that are so popular and obvious that people, instead of making content for them (because why would you make content for a canon couple?) just place them in the background instead. There are so many fanfics in which Shuggy is a background couple. Or studies in which, instead of analyzing them, they're used only for parallelisms. This happens with, idk, Saboala? Frobin? Yamace? People don't like couples that everybody agrees on. They don't like m/f ships because they can't be woke!!!!! And queer!!!! (when they easily could but whatever). They don't like ships that everybody likes because!!!!!! They're canon already and why would you write about them???? And so, Shuggy stays a bit more as a side couple instead. For being old and unconventionally unattractive and not having much screentime, but being extremely popular. Not in a "content" way, but in a "knowledge" way. Even the general audience thinks their bond is crucial to the story, c'mon.

One of the differences that this side of the fandom has with the Japanese one, as I mentioned before, is the cancel culture and proship discourse thing. They just don't have that concept. And that's perfect, honestly, I wish we could just scroll past what we don't like too and live peacefully because the discourse is getting tiring. And also you have to admit that, because of the anti propaganda going around, now fandoms have turned into the most puritan thing in the world. Beware! Sex! Age difference between fictional characters that have a consensual and healthy and mature relationship! Oh! God forbid teenagers have sex with people their age! Ohmygodjustshutup. And so, Shuggy isn't a problematic ship. Not even close. But inside the OP world, people do say they are brothers. They keep talking about each other like that, too. And I don't even think it's the typical "we say they're like brothers so you don't think they're gay because they're both guys and guys can't kiss" (I am having flashbacks from the IT fandom). They do have the same parents. Like- We all agree Shanks and Buggy were both raised by Roger and Rayleigh and they consider them, if not their dads, parental figures at least. Right? And you're aware that doesn't make it incest, right? Both things can coexist. Foster families are a thing. Lots of people who grew up together and consider the same people their parental figures end up dating because they don't see each other as siblings. Well, most people don't see it this way and hear the word "brother" and run from it like it's a fucking virus. The Japanese side of the fandom doesn't give a fuck because they're fictional and because they're y'know, not brothers? And even if they were, cancel culture and proship discourse is so fucking stupid to them because they follow the "don't like don't look" thing. But on this side of the fandom, a lot of people see them as brothers and the other half sees them as a divorced couple and apparently nobody knows how to fucking read this manga and have a proper fandom experience without jumping to each other's throats at the minimum disagreement.

So, to summarize: People on this side of the fandom don't like Shuggy THAT much and it isn't such a popular ship in comparison to the Japanese side, because young people don't like older men together, they don't focus on unconventionally attractive characters, are afraid of any little possibility of cancelation, and also, well, Shuggy doesn't have much screentime anyway so there's not much we can do with that.