#an event that happened in their youth that still affects them to this day

[its-a-goddamn-ass-race]

Y’know, if I had a nickel for every time I had a favorite character be referred to as two-faced and was also a lawyer…

I would have two nickels.

[shesjustanothergeek]

The Gods We Can Touch Chapter Seven: Ending Anew

|Aemond Targaryen x Strong!Reader|

Masterlist of Series

Summary: The older twin of Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, you were a picture of the maiden, untouched and untainted by man's sins. At least, that was what Alicent Hightower believed when she held you in her arms moments after her old friend's labors. You were her shining light, her dream. Though you were never hers, she believed you were meant to be.

What will become of you as time passes and the Queen's shining light grows within the blackened darkness? Will her eldest son's morbid fascination with the light burn the realm? Or will her second son's obsession with the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen change the course of the Seven Kingdoms as we know it?

Author's Note: Thank you for your patience and understanding with the uploads. I've been working six days a week and have only one day to myself where I can do basic necessities like wash clothes and clean. My bedroom has certainly paid for it and so has my hobbies. (Or lack there of) I hope y'all enjoy this seeing young adult Aemond and reader! (⁠ﾉ⁠◕⁠ヮ⁠◕⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧

Chapter Warnings: sexual harassment, dubious consent, bastardphobia, implied mental illness, lots of sexism.

The distinction between those we love and those we hate can be subtle. Both emotions are directed towards an individual based on their inherent qualities. Despite this commonality, they are often perceived as opposites. Loving someone entails wanting them to thrive while hating someone involves wishing for their suffering or transformation. However, love and hate can coexist despite their seemingly contradictory nature.

Six years ago, you experienced deep affection for an individual during your youth, believing that their sun-kissed hands epitomized kindness. However, after enduring years of distress, you discovered the unexpected capability to harbor animosity towards this once beloved person. This realization perplexed you as you contemplated whether he endured similar inner turmoil.

You hated Uncle Aemond for hurting your brothers the night at Driftmark many years ago and for not responding to your countless ravens who sought to apologize and keep broken promises. But because of the love that never ceased beating in your heart, you continued to create reasons for yourself to loathe him. Despite realizing your uncle would never respond, you still sent him letters with the blind hope that someday you would have one addressed from King’s Landing, though if one ever did come, they were from Queen Alicent, and in which you promptly fed them to the fish-eyed billy goats on Dragonstone.

The contents were of anything and everything you could think of. Sometimes, you retold important events like leaving to study at the Citadel and becoming a lady of Queen Esabella of Dorne as a temporary peace bargain for what happened in the Stepstones. Other times, it was your interests, such as a new plant or a medical technique, that you learned and thought would help him with his… ailment. 

Though you heard nothing from Aemond, that did not mean you knew nothing about him. You heard rumors that he took to putting a sapphire in his empty eye socket, and while the idea was sure to inspire fear in the hearts of many, it fascinated you, wondering if the gem was smooth and round or jagged and sharp, much like your uncle’s personality. It seemed like him to fashion something such as that as he was always a bit odd, though you never minded it. You imagined the discomfort his wound might cause despite it becoming scarred. From what you understood about those with similar injuries, the person could feel the severed nerves and tissue healing themselves, the sensation like a thousand hot needles in the skin.

It was no wonder why he was gossiped to have such a cold demeanor. You hoped one day you would be allowed to see it yourself, even if you were on the receiving end. 

Some of you worried that Aemond never received your letters, thinking you abandoned him and all the promises made in secrecy. Queen Alicent wouldn’t be the one to bar them from him as she most desperately wanted you to visit the Red Keep and mend the bond broken on the night at Driftmark. You didn’t understand why it had to be you to be the one to do so. These were matters created by the ruling adults in your life, and they should have sought to fix them.

Nevertheless, neither you, your parents, nor Queen Alicent tried to mend what occurred between the family. Still, that lack of effort did not extend to your relationship with your uncle. You still wanted to fly with him as you promised some years ago.

“The Conqueror and his sisters sailed with a great army,” Jacaerys translated from High Valyrian, his words proud but still holding a certain waver to his voice now that you weren’t there to assist him.

You stood by one of the tall metal-paned windows in the Chamber of the Painted Table in Dragonstone, the ancient seat of your family, silently mouthing the words of your ancestors’ histories spoken by the Maester in your mother tongue. 

The thick, gray clouds outside cast a dull light into the room, creating a somber yet peaceful atmosphere. You and your brother understood that your imposing maternal presence made him nervous and hindered his concentration. Over the years, you developed the habit of speaking over Jace during your studies. 

This hadn’t gone unnoticed, leading to reprimands from Maester Gerardys and your mother for not giving your twin a fair chance to learn. You only wished for Jace to be the best version of himself he could be. He was to be your King when Mother passed.

“Se Blākuata Rāsho drāñot vilinio viartis,” (And made landfall at the mouth of the Blackwater Rush) Maester Gerardys conveyed, his words slowed and accent thick to convey their meaning. 

The resounding echo of the chamber doors opening filled the air with the unmistakable clang of metal. As they parted, a graceful figure emerged—your mother, adorned in a flowing, vibrant red dress that complemented her regal presence. She moved with a poised and graceful stride, her hand tenderly skimming over her gently swelling belly, radiating an undeniable sense of maternal warmth and affection. Catching your gaze, you offered her a tender smile, and in response, she bestowed upon you a fleeting yet soft expression that spoke volumes of her boundless love without the need for words.

“Drāñot,” your mother asked Jace to repeat, but he stared at her wide-eyed, the words slipping from his mind.

Meeting your mother’s strides to greet her, you answered for him with a bright and eager-to-please smile. “The mouth.”

She flashed a tight-lipped grin and scrunched her nose, lightly nodding as Jace slouched in self-directed disappointment. “Mouth! I knew that, sister. You needn’t answer for me,” he expressed with disappointment, stomping his foot on the ground.

“If you keep speaking for your brother, he will never learn,” your mother lightheartedly scolded as she kissed the top of your head. You have heard those words for the past six years.

If Jace knew the answers, you wouldn’t have to help him, you thought reproachfully. 

You did not rush to pay attention to your twin as you knelt beside your younger brothers Aegon, Viserys, and Joffrey. Instead, you focused on the youngest, Viserys. With great tenderness, you gathered him into your lap, the book Elinda brought for them cradled in your hands. 

Leaning in close to your half-brother, you whispered. “I will teach you our mother tongue once you learn to speak,” as you lovingly smoothed the silky strands of his blonde hair.

“Drāñot. Drāñot,” your brother repeated, as if the meaning of Maester Gerardys’ words would magically appear in his mind.

“And made landing at the mouth of the Blackwater Rush,” you whispered under your breath so no one would hear, answering for him. 

You and Jace were the same age, two bodies with one soul, yet different. You could have helped him more if Mother had not sent you away. You never understood why she separated you instead of betrothing you to Jace. She constantly danced around the notion of marrying for years, which was incomprehensible, seeing as the match was the only option that would make sense. You would rule together, and the realm wouldn’t have the same unrest they did with your mother.

“Perhaps that is enough for today,” your mother offered as Jace became increasingly frustrated with his inability to master High Valyrian.

“No!” He exclaimed ardently, holding his arm as if to stop the suggestion physically. “I-I want to keep going.” 

You smirked and flipped the page in the picture book you showed Viserys as he babbled nonsensically, his tiny fists grasping the bound leather. As you touched his plump cheek, he smelled like tallow and lavender.

Your mother allowed Jace to proceed with the bob of her head as Maester Gerardys began again. “Guēsi ropakakson Āegon ūndas.”

“Aegon gave orders for the trees to be felled,” you responded as if the question was directed toward you. Your mother quickly snapped her violet eyes in warning. You were used to that look and continued to tend to the babe like nothing happened, as Jace answered with stutters. 

“Aegon… ordered that the trees should be… killed,” he stated proudly. You released a puff of air through your nose that sounded like a laugh as Viserys took the tome with tiny, curious, grabby hands. 

“Felled. ‘Tis a related word,” your mother gently corrected as she clasped her hands behind her sturdy back. “I don’t expect you to learn High Valyrian in a day, Jace.” 

“A king should honor the traditions of his forebears,” your brother steadfastly declared as you turned with your brows raised, spine cracking. 

“That sounds like something your sister would say,” your mother expressed with a slight tightness in her tone. Pursing your lips with guilt, you returned to Viserys, acting as if you weren’t paying attention. 

That was precisely what you said to him before your lessons today. 

“Unless you plan to depose your mother, you have plenty of time to study,” she teased with a grin like she always did, her happiness becoming contagious as you returned the look over your shoulder. Jace did not share the same enthusiasm as the chamber doors opened again, revealing that of your stepfather strolling down the steps. 

You looked to Daemon grimly as he met your mother with a grave expression on his time-worn visage. She declared that you all leave the room as he entered without looking further at you and your siblings. Jace called the young Joffrey to follow him, and you and your mother’s lady took Aegon and Viserys. As you passed your stepfather, he brought his hand out, noiselessly ordering you to stop while handing your mother the sealed letter in his fingers. He traced a calloused knuckle over his son’s cheek and placed a kiss on his crown, purple orbs piercing your dark ones.

He knew of your distaste for him ever since he wed Rhaenyra mere days after your father’s death, refusing to leave your rooms unless necessary. While you never felt like the Velaryon side of your family liked you, they agreed with the unspoken sentiment that Daemon had something to do with your father’s death. You disagreed with the idea that your mother did. She loved your father in her way and, in your mind, wasn’t capable of plotting the murder of her children’s father. 

You didn’t outright disrespect Daemon; after all, he was still a prince, but he would never be someone you looked up to or went to in times of strife. He would never be your father, not even as he irritatingly called you daughter and played with the new pearl and sapphire necklace your mother forced you to wear today—a gift from your stepfather. 

You understood Daemon only did these things to irk you, refusing to play with the ruse like usual. With no sentences exchanged between you, the Rouge Prince sent you on your way with his offspring wrapped securely in your arms.

“Another raven from Dragonstone, Your Highness,” a Steward announced, holding a rolled piece of parchment sealed with a delicate blue ribbon. 

The One-Eyed Prince sat in a green armchair by the hearth, seemingly unbothered, his lithe form in thought and leg crossed over the other. He did not move. His violet eye trained on the flickering orange and blue flames. No words of acknowledgment were said, and the servant placed the letter on the Prince’s foot table as he took a long sip from his goblet in hand. 

You were always stubbornly loyal to whoever you cared for, and he thought it rather pathetic, especially when you still sought contact from him after you were met with uncaring silence. 

On more than one occasion, his mother attempted to uncover what you said to him, Aemond discovering her rummaging through his writing desk drawers. He met her with an anger he had never felt before, as if she had stolen his most prized jewels. 

The Prince told himself that he didn’t care if passersby discovered them. They were inconsequential items containing meaningless ink, and he thought they were a waste of paper until she almost found them. Although he loved his mother dearly, this was something that was Aemond’s, untainted by neither her nor his grandfather’s fingers. 

He spent many hours pouring over the subjects you wrote as he battled with the urge to burn your writings, yet desiring to fly to Dragonstone atop the Mighty Vhagar and ensure the oaths you declared in the refined loops of your High Valyrian were indeed true. Aemond never did, only having gotten as close to Driftmark and spotted the glinting silver roof of High Tide before the suffocating feeling inside his chest took hold.

Blood, screams, and horror on your face as he clung to your chest before you crushed the childish hope of being different from the rest of them.

As the Prince grew, he found solace in places he never did before, frequenting the Keep’s gardens and Godswood with Helaena when he wasn’t on the training grounds. He was never fond of the outdoors, preferring the company of a good book curled next to a simmering fire, but he discovered that spending time in those areas brought a sense of contentment, though he was uncertain as to why.

Taking one last sip of his wine, Aemond sat his silver goblet and replaced it with the rolled parchment, licking the sticky remnants away from his lips as he untied the soft satin ribbon. 

“Uncle Aemond,  I hope this finds you in good health and spirits, as I cannot say the same for myself while writing this. I have overcome a recent bout of melancholia, as Maester Gerardys calls it, and now I’ve heard that Lord Corlys was gravely wounded during an ambush in the Stepstones. Insultingly, Ser Vaemond Velaryon has petitioned the Crown to declare him my Grandsire’s successor upon his passing. This infuriates me to no end. I know if my father were still alive, he would have protected him with his life, and we wouldn’t be having such a discussion. My younger brother will be the next Lord of the Tides since our father is gone. While we may disagree on specific lines of heritage, Luke is my father’s son, and I am his daughter. I find it ironic, however, that a place that haunts him, and you, he will now have to preside over. He shall be forever reminded of the great misdeed he infringed upon you, and I do find a sort of justice in it, but I would never dare to voice such a thing aloud. Luke is my brother, after all. I love him with all my being, but a part of me will never forgive him for what he did to you. I’m sure you feel the same.  Mother said we would attend the petition to affirm my brother’s long-decided succession, but we both know the actual cause behind this. I do not enjoy discussing these matters. It boils my dragon blood whenever the false rumors surrounding my birth are brought up. Laenor Velaryon is my father and loved me as such. ‘Tis a fact that will never change no matter what lickspittles and gossipers claim.  Oddly, despite its negative connotation and history, I eagerly await my arrival at the Red Keep. Do not think I am forgetful of you. You would not believe me if you knew how often you are in my heart and mind. I hope to see you in good health and that my recommendations for your eye, which I’ve mentioned in previous correspondence, have proven useful.  Until we meet.”

Aemond did not know whether to throw your letter into the smoldering fire and watch the flames engulf the tan pages or to rip it into a dozen tiny pieces. He hated you. He loathed you with his entire being as he dangled the parchment over the orange and yellow embers, yet he could not will the rage in his heart to drop it as the heat burned his fist. Aemond welcomed the discomfort, the pain. He grew accustomed to and welcomed it until he felt the water beneath his flesh bubble. 

You were no more than a dirty bastard, a daughter of a whore, yet you flaunted riches like a Targaryen princess, unbefitting of your actual status. Aemond did not want to see you ever again, lest it be you groveling on your knees for his forgiveness. It was you who broke the vows and betrayed him, choosing your filthy, Strong brothers over him. He would never forgive you, though seeing you knelt before him as your pretty tears decorated your plump cheeks would be a lovely sight. The Prince felt his cock impulsively swell at the image. 

He abhorred you, yet Aemond meticulously placed your letter amidst a collection of others in an exquisitely crafted wooden lockbox adorned with intricate carvings of dragons. As he savored a deep gulp of wine, his gaze fixated on the flickering light evoked by your memories. It brought to mind the recollection of your unique grace, a quality that remained unmatched despite the countless attempts made by him and Aegon to find women of similar allure. The sharpness of his eldest brother’s words and the acrid scent of his breath lingered in his memory as Aegon leaned in on his thirteenth nameday.

“Worry not, brother. We’ll find one that looks like her for you. Time to get it wet.” 

Without hesitating, he flung his drink into the fire, extinguishing its voracious flames.

The ground was cold beneath your fingers despite wearing gloves as you pruned the small plot in Aegon’s Garden. Budding crocus dotted the moist area with tiny bursts of purple petals and green stems, withstanding the late winter season. Spring was a moon away, but winter refused to release its clutch on the land, leaving the dirt to keep the frigid dampness that few things could grow in. 

Aegon’s Garden was where you found yourself in strife, seeking peace and distraction in your passion. Now, with your mother’s nerves upon hearing that Ser Vaemond Velaryon decided to challenge the line of succession to the Driftwood throne, you felt the heavy burden of the future on your hunched shoulders. You felt bad about the whole situation, from your Grandsire Lord Corlys’s serious injury to the unspoken notion that Vaemond bringing this petition to the Crown was that Lucerys, and by extension, you and Jacaerys were illegitimate. The truth did not matter, not really. It was what those believed or those in power seats told those to think, and it was that you, Jace, Luke, and Joffrey were the offspring of Laenor Velaryon and Rhaenyra Targaryen.

As the King declared, you were next in line to the throne after your mother and Luke for Lord of the Tides after your Grandsire. His word was law, but it was no longer that of a King who sat on the throne but a Queen. 

“You should be readying for the journey, Princess. Your mother wants to leave at first light,” Edwina, your most loyal lady, stated. She stood with her broad shoulders squared, hair tucked underneath her white maid’s cap, and hands clasped behind her back. Though she was barely a few years your senior, she acted as if she had decades. 

You sighed, rolling your dark eyes in annoyance and sitting on your haunches. You supposed Edwina’s mothering was not unfounded, as your impulsiveness tended to lead you into regret. “I will not be joining my mother and Daemon on the ship. ’Tis much faster on dragon back,” you quipped.

“The Princess wants you all to arrive together,” your lady expressed, taking a few steps closer to show her seriousness. 

“To show a united front. Yes, I know Edwina. I could not go,” you teased, smirking, removing your leather gloves finger by finger. “I have no love for the Red Keep, my extended family, or them for me.” 

Edwina knew that was a lie. It was evident how she saw you pour over letters addressed to King’s Landing. The maid knew not who the intended recipient was, but there was someone who held a secret place in your heart. The Karstark often wondered if it was Aegon, seeing as a betrothal was whispered in the past, though that idea was quickly squashed after you had an uncharacteristic fit when she voiced it. 

“I understand, Your Highness, but duty is sacrifice. Those of your standing must do things in service to your House and family that are against your wants. I do not envy that,” Edwina offered with a half smile of pity as the pair of you entered the benevolent brimstone walls of Dragonstone. 

In response, you hummed, linking her strong arm in yours and lowering your head with a look mirrored hers. “This a small price to pay to live a life of privilege.” 

The lady nodded in acquiescence as pictures of the poor folk in line for their food rations showed in your mind. Your travels gave you a perspective that your family did not have, forcing you to confront privileges you were unaware existed until they were thrown into your face. You held a sinking feeling inside when you thought of it for days after, guilt gnawing at your heart every time you were draped in lavish dresses of Velaryon blue and adorned with lavish jewels. It sparked you to grow your plot in Aegon’s Garden when you finally returned home and give to those less fortunate despite the odd looks your family gave you. 

A similar heavy, sinking weight inside your gut returned as you thought of going to the Red Keep, seeing your uncles and Queen Alicent after what happened at Driftmark. Your guilt and shame felt as prominent as if you were the one who sliced into Aemond’s eye. You tried to reason that he deserved some form of punishment for hurting Baela, Rhaena, and your brothers, but it never worked. Your conscience was too steadfast to allow lies like that to blind you. 

Your mother planned on staying in the Red Keep for a night to spend time with her father and to renew her place at court. There was no joy in your heart to learn of her plans as you chose what dresses and jewelry to wear before supper. Though King’s Landing was once your home, it no longer held the wonderous warmth that came with a place of rest. Childhood memories spent there did not come with a smile when you thought of them. Instead, misery came to mind with lingering stares from adults and Aegon and Aeomnd’s relentless teasing regarding your birth. 

The cold, briny halls of Dragonstone were your home. Everyone loved you and your kin here, and there was no whispering behind silk fans wherever you went. The only gossip was if you would become with child before or after Princess Rhaenyra betrothed you and Jacaerys. 

After you supped with your brothers, mother, and Daemon at night, you lay within thick furs that threatened to let the frigid midnight air in. When you woke to leave, the ground would dust with the crystalline covering of frost, and you knew how Gaeli despised the cold. He would fly at your command regardless, but you would undoubtedly feel his displeasure until he resided in the heat of the Dragonpit.

This petition felt like a dark cloud looming in the distance of a clear sky, promising its threat of a storm as you soared over Blackwater Bay. Despite your mother’s insistence that you ride on the ship with her because of her pregnancy, you choose to take Gaelithox across the water. In turn, that caused your brothers to want to take their dragons to King’s Landing and leave your mother to make the journey with only the comfort of her husband, which you were sure she didn’t mind. 

It was customary for the family to make an entrance together and be greeted by the host’s kin, but when you emerged from the wheelhouse that took you from the Dragonpit, its dark caverns still the same, you were greeted by only guards. The lack of forethought and the apparent insult of the Green’s absence sent an icy feeling into your gut, causing you to itch at the skin beneath your black dress. 

The gown was not your typical style choice, as it was your Velaryon blue and pearls, but your mother wanted you to wear one of your garments fashioned in the Targaryen colors of black and red with a golden linked belt and rubies to match. She planned to present a united front before the Court and the Greens and, without it said, further solidify her and your siblings’ legitimacy to the throne.

As you stepped out of the carriage with an encouraging inhale, Jace, Luke, and Joffrey, along with the nursemaids carrying Aegon and Viserys, followed after a chill running through the air. You brought your fur-lined cloak closer to your goose flesh arms, shuddering as you observed the Red Keep in all its grandeur. It was as big as you remembered, looking at the tall pale red stone towers, windows, and colliers. You felt small, the unmistakable burn of tears under your eyelids, your nose beginning to run as memories from six years ago flashed inside your mind’s eye. 

Luke and Jace came to stand behind you, taking note of your trembling lip and pink cheeks. The youngest of the two was filled with the same anxiety as you and quickly took his hand in yours—a united front. They did not know why you were shaking in your riding boots, squeezing Luke’s fist for comfort as Lord Caswell led your family inside the front gates. 

While the red and black banners of House Targaryen were raised on the Keep’s walls, it seemed to be House Hightower that occupied the castle. The Seven-Pointed Star was everywhere you looked throughout the halls that once were Harold with the tapestries of flying dragons, riders bounding with their mounts, now those of the Seven, holy pictures of the Crone and her guiding light, the Maiden with her pure, ethereal beauty, and others of religious importance.

It reminded you of your time in the Citadel in Oldtown, the ancient seat of House Hightower, who aligned themselves closely with the Faith of the Seven. Your family’s relationship with the Septons and Septas was strife until the late King Maegor ruthlessly crushed the Faith Militant Uprising. However, during your stay, you heard whispers from passing Lords and Ladies that the animosity supposedly vanquished long ago was still there, simmering below their fear of House Targaryen and their dragons. 

While the Seven did offer you something to soothe your soul in times of unease and explain unanswered things, it didn’t provide you consolation seeing it paraded around grotesquely in place of your House’s history. It churred the feeling of anxious dread in the pit of your stomach as your brothers eagerly left your side to explore the long-forgotten Red Keep. 

“I would say it’s nice to be home, but I scarcely recognize it,” your mother said, a slight lilt to her melodic voice and sharing a knowing glance with Daemon. 

You stood closely by her side, moist lips tucked in concern as you observed your stepfather’s butter smirk walking before the two of you. You and your mother stayed unmoving for another moment to allow the situation to settle. The abrupt raven, Lord Corlys gravely injured, Princess Rhaenys traveling to King’s Landing, Luke’s legitimacy loudly called to question all happening within a few days was more commotion than you had within the entirety of your stay at Dragonstone. It was a wonder you hadn’t plucked at the hairs of your Crown, your digits twitching and coming to scratch at your scalp.

Suddenly, you felt a shift in the air, unable to name the sensation as you turned to your mother, whose beautiful violet orbs were trained on a series of portraits of your kin. While your King grandsire, stepfather, mother, Queen Alicent, and her children were there, your siblings were not, leaving only the elegant, rectangular golden frame of your countenance in the places of your brothers. You felt your heart drop and glanced at your mother with wide, curious eyes. 

This meant too many things. Not only was it an insult to your mother and siblings to have all but their pictures, but the fact that it was only you there out of the six of you. It was no doubt Queen Alicent’s doing as you forced yourself to swallow a lump in your throat. The tears you kept at bay reemerged as your fingers dug under your black mesh veil, rolling the fine dark hairs at the nape of your neck between the pads of your thumb and forefinger.  

Swiftly, your mother took your wrist, soothingly rubbing your knuckles as she gave you a brief yet wistful smile. “Why don’t you find the Godswood, yes? I shall meet you there shortly.”

You bobbed your head stiffly, willing your tears and trepidations to quiet as you rubbed at your damp lashes. “Yes, Mother,” you responded in kind with a sniffle. 

You found yourself within nature as you always did in times of strife, gazing up into the crimson leaves of a Weirwood, the soft rustle of branches reminding you of inaudible whispers. They were hard to make with the sky’s brightness, only to see the fuzzy outlines with the gray clouds, but they comforted you. The Old Gods watched you with their unseen eyes as your fingertips traced the rough bark grass crunching beneath your boots.

The Godswood was the only place within the Keep’s grounds that did not cause you significant stress, as only fond memories of your times with Helaena catching insects and playing games with Jace and Luke filled your mind. You had no desire to return to King’s Landing despite being away for so long. It felt as if no time could heal the irreparable wounds caused within these walls and the person who did it. 

Many rumors spread throughout the realm and to your little island of Dragonstone from the smallfolk, whispering that Prince Aegon’s appetite for depravity did not curb after his marriage to Princess Helaena. The people said it increased tenfold as the Prince was spotted frequenting the gambling houses, brothels, and illegal fighting pits. It seemed fitting for your eldest uncle’s character to become the worst of something he was supposed to make the best of. 

You could only think of the innocent children sired into this world without their mother’s consent and then put into the fighting pits so that Aegon and other highborns could have their entertainment. When you are Queen, you shall kill every man or woman who dares to share the same interests as your uncle. You would not willingly allow such depravity under your rule. No amount of coin from such establishments could be worth it to keep the economy afloat.

The soft crunching of late winter grass caused you to jump, tearing from your thoughts as you turned to see your grandmother, Princess Rhaenys. You bestowed her with a deep curtsy and smile, coming to greet her with open arms. 

“Grandmother!” you called with unspoken joy in your tone. “Tis a pleasure to see you after so long.” 

She extended a tight-lipped smile that looked like a grimace, and you felt deflated. “I wish I could share the same unwitting joy you do, seeing as my Lord Husband lays battling with the Stranger.” 

You lowered your arms with chagrin and took a few paces back as you felt the sting of tears resurface. “Apologies, my lady. I did not mean for my joy at seeing my father’s mother to make light of the gravity this day brings.” 

She chuckled wryly at your words, shaking her head as she looked to the Weirwood tree behind you. Following her gaze, you moved from her path as she took steps forward. There were so many things you wanted to say to her, to scream to her how much you loved your father and wished for those involved with his death to pay as you twirled his signet ring on your middle digit. 

Princess Rhaenys looked to you in the serene noiselessness of the Godswood, the chill in the wind causing you to shiver, gaze drifting to where you worked the gold around your knuckle. She said nothing with her mouth. She needn’t, as you could see it written plainly in the deep wrinkles lining the corners of her eyes. The Princess felt the same but would never admit it aloud to a… bastard. 

“I shall leave you in peace, Princess,” you bowed again, walking with less brightness into the Keep as you left the one person you could speak about your father to.

You felt like an imbecile for what you said, even though any grandparent should feel the same glee you did at their grandchildren’s arrival. A hot wave of embarrassment seared your insides, causing you to dig the heels of your palms into your eye sockets, ripping your veil off in anger. You didn’t care about the beautifully plated hair your ladies created, scraping your nails into your scalp to feel the threadlike texture of your bothersome strands that ached to be released as you ran blindly through the stone halls. 

There had been times when Aemond had forgotten who you were, your smile, your laugh, your eyes, who your birth father was, and the sweet kisses you bestowed on him alone in his chambers. That is why he reasoned that he was surprised to see a woman grown and no longer a girlish figure with a short, flat torso and legs. Instead, it was a lady with the slope of your neck dripping with rubies and dragonglass barely hidden beneath the crevasse of your swelling bosom. 

Your eyes were all he could think about from the moment you emerged from the second wheelhouse. A scared, almost dovelike look to them as he watched Luke and Jace come to your side. 

Good, he thought. You all should be terrified. Yet he did not hold the same conviction as his stare drifted back to you.

The Prince thought you were so small and fragile from a distance as he observed you leave the Godswood, an arch to your dark brows that seemed to be in pain. He thought there should be nothing within your perfect ideal life to be so torn about and wanted to give you a reason to be upset. Aemond planned to spit all the vitriol he held within these six years as you rounded the corner, and yet, as Aemond held you within his bruising grasp, you stared at him with such fire beneath unshed tears. 

The passageway Aemond cornered you into carried a chill seeping in from the outside as he saw your cheeks redden in ire. Your moist, plump lips slightly parted to breathe as he dug his blunt nails into your biceps. He felt his breeches become impossibly tighter as you swallowed, darting your pink tongue out in nervousness, much to his frustration.

Aemond was no longer the sun-kissed Prince with wide amethyst eyes full of light. His plush, boyish face had slimmed in the time lost and turned into one of hardened maturity with a sharp nose and chiseled jaw that came to a point with thin pink lips. His countenance resembled the statues you saw in Dorne as you felt his strong hands dig into your muscles like he wanted to tear at your essence. You felt your body weaken against your will, succumbing to the emotions you felt for your uncle in your youth, but resolved to stay firm against his intimidation. There were still hints of the Aemond you briefly knew in your childhood, the one that kept that night a secret still to this day.

“Unhand me, Aemond!” you spat as if he had swiped filth across your face, a deep wrinkle on your forehead.

Aemond wanted to laugh despite your seriousness as he pressed you further against the pale red stone wall, uncaring if Princess Rhaenys heard your cries. You dropped your headpiece in your struggles and attempted to retrieve it before your uncle’s piercing grip righted you again. 

“Must I?” he quipped, his stomach churning with excitement as the familiar scent of citrus and something darker wafted into his nose. “You’re a strong lady. I’m certain you can overpower me.”

Aemond allowed his gaze to roam over your face as you scoffed with a squirm. He wanted you to be ugly, for you to become the personification of all the wrongs your family committed against him, to be the picture of the betrayal he felt for you choosing them over him on that dreadful night. Up close, he unwillingly realized you were what the smallfolk claimed you to be. The picture of the Maiden though he knew you were anything but. Aemond wondered what they would think should the people discover your true nature.

“You believe yourself a true Velaryon, do you not? The Old, the True, the Brave,” he asked, his voice low and menacing. His face was so close to yours that you could see the intricate stitchings of his brown leather eyepatch. You wondered if he wore his sapphire today. “Your hair is decorated with gold and pearls, fingers adorned with jewels, and wrapped in lavish dresses. Yet beneath all the decadence you wear, you are still nothing more than Strong.” 

His insults meant nothing as you realize your uncle felt the same inner turmoil. Why else would he speak such prose of your being? He loathed and loved you in the same breath, something he fought to keep inside.

“Do not hide behind cruel words, Aemond. I see you as you are.” A delicate hand came to cup his marred cheek, the smooth pads of your fingers tenderly stroking the plunging indentation through his skin. You wished to get through to him, to tell him that despite the rift between your families, you cared for him. He could still be your Mors Martell.

The Prince felt himself crack, an unconscious twitch of his lip that he disguised as a sneer. Aemond felt a sensation he fought to keep at bay since he was disabled, struggling to hide the way memories from long ago clouded his mind. Instead, the Prince focused on how you inhaled a sharp breath when his hand left your arm and came to your face, jerking it towards his as Aemond lost your tender touch. He would swear upon his death that he saw your eyes dilate a fraction too much for it to be the shadow of the torchlight. 

Wondering then if the rumors were true that you and your twin had a closer relationship, he brought his other fist to encircle your waist, trailing it down the back of your plump thigh until he forced it to wrap around his hip. A part of Aemond was sure you would scream for help as you did when he found you with Aegon, but no words escaped your moist lips.

“You hurt me, my light. Can I not simply bask in the presence of my long-lost dream?” he mocked and realized that he might have gone too far as he felt your body stiffen and face blanched. The expression on your visage reminded him of the times he saw wounded soldiers return from minor village uprisings, the bloodshed changing their perspectives. 

The Prince understood that there was no returning from what he said, seeming to have flipped an unseen switch inside you at the mention of his mother’s petname for you. Your lips began to tremble on their own volition, and you abruptly noticed the striking resemblance between Aemond and his older brother. The most venomous expression you could muster curled onto your face, hiding your fright and not allowing him to hold power over you any longer.

“Don’t insult my intellect, Aemond. I know what disgusting thoughts play inside your mind, and they intimidate me for naught. You are more alike to Aegon than you allow,” you jeered. You knew what to say to wound him, to compare him to his wastrel of an older brother who raped innocent serving girls and his kin.

Unable to help your wandering eyes, you watched how your uncle’s pink tongue moved within his mouth, how the wetness glistened with the flick of his ire. 

“And what of you?” Aemond rebuked. “You cannot simply only be close siblings. The dragon’s blood runs thick and even more so between twins.” 

You were silent, leaving only the faint rustling of nature in the distance wrapped around the pair of you like a rope, tightening against your skin and pulling you and Aemond closer. Despite the frigid weather, it became hot, sweat collecting on your upper lip and nape. All Aemond could hear was the fierce rhythm of your breathing, his eye wandering down to the elegant necklace perched on your chest.

“You spout baseless, vile accusations of your kin that have made lesser men lose their lives,” you rebuked, fists coming to clutch at his jerkin and wrapping your digits in the green leather as if you meant to fight him.

“Perhaps,” he breathed with an air of superiority, “but I don’t believe it to be treason to question your morals,” he replied coolly, his light brow quirking with his tone of practiced impassivity. 

The Prince was stunned into silence when your tiny, delicate palm echoed off his marred cheek. It was not the force that shocked him, but rather the notion that you did it despite the threat of violence.

For a brief moment, white, hot pain seared at his left temple and into his skull as he turned to you and saw an expression of regret. Aemond felt the heat on his cheek and smirked. He knew you intended to hurt him by striking him on his injured side and now understood how to cripple you as Luke did him. It would always be your beloved family—your weakness.

The lamb bit as fiercely as the wolf, Aemond mused. You may not be as frail as he thought.

Excitement curled the Prince’s toes at the whimper that escaped your lips as he used his strength around your throat, perfectly styled hair fraying on the stone. Your once flat irises now burst with life as they darted across Aemond’s lean form in brief terror, a proud grin wrinkling his eyes.

“You ignorant bitch,” he declared, pressing himself closer, his hand firm around you despite attempting to pry them off. His other limb reached down, shifting you to the tips of your toes as he dropped your leg. Though fruitless, he reveled in the terror that washed over your features as you attempted to fight him. He wouldn’t dishonor you, but all that mattered was that you did not. 

Aemond felt disgusted at his actions, believing for a moment that you were right about him, that he was indeed the same as Aegon, yet in different colored clothes. 

“I’ll scream. Just as I did that night.” 

“Then do it and let the whole Keep think worse of you,” the Prince mocked, bearing his white teeth. “I shall say it was you who seduced me, and who will they believe? The King’s second son or the bastard daughter who fucks her brother?” 

He could feel your humid breath against his face, fanning the spot where you had struck him. Aemond stared at this vicious yet adored creature in his grip as he concealed his insecurities with the intimating tilt of his head as if examining a new book. His violet eye traced the ink, waiting for your next move. The Prince would have you think him to be Aegon if it meant fucking his spend into you no matter how undeserving you were of it. Perhaps you would finally see what the true seed of a dragon looks like. Aemond grinned with his unspoken words and felt satisfaction with the anger he stoked in your eyes. 

“You will let me go. Now,” you demanded, pushing against your uncle as you struggled for purchase.

“And then what will you do? Run? Men in King’s Landing are not as kind as I when they see a distressed lady.” Your jaw ached, feeling like a rabbit cornered by a fox as a familiar and unwelcomed primal warmth blossomed between your thighs. 

You wanted to threaten him, to say that you would feed Aemond to your dragon or poison him in his sleep, but nothing came to mind besides the smell of too-sweet wine and the taste of dried dates. Memories came from that night, as you felt yourself becoming faint, the will to fight to leave you just as it did with Aegon as powerless tears welled on your lashes. You were a fool to think Aemond would see past his injustice for the sake of the past and resign yourself to whatever fate he chooses for you. 

There was no point in fighting. Once again, you were at the mercy of your uncle, and you only prayed that this one would be gentle.

The Prince no longer felt proud of his actions as he watched your body recoil into itself. There was something in your eyes that Aemond couldn’t name as he looked between them, feeling himself slowly pulled into their depths as he did the night after Aegon. The Prince wasn’t going to hurt you, not really. He was young and foolish, but not to the extent that he would commit an act of one of the highest sins.

As if the mother herself took mercy on you, the soft murmur of voices down the hall echoed into your and Aemond’s ears. You could not hide your smirk as he stared into you with a deep scowl on his porcelain face. Whatever plans he had, they crumbled like dead leaves underneath your boots as your mother and step-sister came. Taking his momentary distraction to your advantage, you shoved against the hardened planes of his chest, your sudden rush of strength knocking Aemond off balance as you retrieved your forgotten headpiece. 

Soon, they came into view, their destination no doubt being that of the Godswood as you fixed your disrupted attire. You couldn’t help the grin that pulled at your plump cheeks as you saw your uncle’s scowl, taking a few paces to reach them. You seemed the proper princess to the outside, greeting them with a quick embrace and your chin high.

Rhaena acted like Aemond wasn’t there. Only the uncomfortable shift of her shoulders revealed she noticed him while your mother extended a short but polite acknowledgment before he stalked away without proper dismissal. 

“What did he do to you?” your step-sister pointedly questioned, scanning your form for any injury.

You looked at her in what you hoped was a confused yet grateful expression and not one of guilt. “Prince Aemond merely wanted to make amends for the lack of presence at our arrival. I do not believe him to be sincere.”

Your mother smirked her delicate peony lips, releasing a scoff of disbelief as she shook her styled hair. She closed the space between you and tenderly grasped your shoulders as she scanned your form for injury.

“Do not let them get to you. They seek only pride and glory,” your mother declared steadfastly, a vibrancy you had never seen before in her amethyst eyes.

Nodding in acquiescence, you extended another brief embrace before you excused yourself, wanting nothing more than for this day to end as you went to search for your brothers. 

You needed Jace—to feel the comfort only your twin could give after facing the scars of the past. Before reaching your destination, you felt an iron-like grip across your upper arm, pulling you into a secluded alcove. You feared the worst, that someone planned to harm you and that your last words to your mother would be lies.

“You are quick, niece,” Aemond whispered haughty into your ear, causing you to drop your headpiece in fright, “but that quickness will do you no good in King’s Landing. Your whore mother has no hold here.” 

Just as quickly as your uncle took you, he released you with a shove. You wanted to bite with some clever or witty remark but thought of none. Tears of embarrassed frustration welled in your eyes as you spun on your heel, ignoring the tickle on your wrist like something had touched it.

As Aemond watched your womanly form retreat, dark eyes trailing over your curves, he did not feel the satisfaction he believed the interaction would create, spotting your discarded veil on the flagstone floor. He stared at it for a long moment, tracing the intricately sewn beads as he picked it up. 

Unsure of what came over him, he brought it to his nose, the scent of citrus flooding his senses and into the blood that engorged his cock. He was able to appreciate the feminine quality of your fragrance fully. Your aroma was refreshing and rounded, sweet but complex and deep simultaneously, similar to the limes that garnished drinks during the Keep’s summer gatherings, but with floral, herbal, and resinous undertones.

With a guttural noise, the Prince tightened his grip on the headpiece, channeling all his hatred towards your family into his clenched fist and tucked it into his jerkin. He swiftly went to the training session with Cole, hoping the knight wouldn’t see through his façade before witnessing the impending downfall he believed your family deserved. 

Masterlist of Series

Spotify Playlist

Sooooo, what did we think about their reuniting? Just two mentally ill and horny young adults. XD I originally wanted the whole meeting with Aemond again, the petition, and the dinner scene to be all in one chapter, but that was waaaaaay too much. I split them up to get those infamous scenes in the next chapter. I'm excited. It's gonna be juicy!

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Thank you so much for reading! (⁠ ⁠´⁠◡⁠‿⁠ゝ⁠◡⁠`⁠)

I wanted to briefly give credit to @targaryenrealnessdarling, and their fic The Blood is Rare for inspo of the setting when Aemond and the reader meet for the first time. However, I did change things to make it my own. They have a lot of Aemond fics that will surely quench your thirst as y'all wait for the next chapter. (⁠◠⁠‿⁠◕⁠)

Tagged Peeps: @millies0bsimp, @britt-mf, @marvelescvpe, @haikyuusboringassmanager, @discofairysworld, @lottiemsgf , @nessjo @fiction-fanfic-reader , @qvnthesia , @hotvillianapologist , *@p45510n4f4shi0n, @theendlessvoidofdarkest , @readerselegance , @gothamgurl2024 , @aleemendoza2425-blog , @vaylint , @ln8118 , @prettyduckling22 , @primroseluna

*bold means I can't tag you for some reason ｡⁠:ﾟ⁠(⁠;⁠´⁠∩⁠`⁠;⁠)ﾟ⁠:⁠｡

[atinystraynstay]

My View - Lee Felix

Synopsis: Felix was a hard-working guy. He never thought he would be able to achieve his dreams of being a performer. It was even better that he got to experience this journey with his best friends and his biggest supporter, you, his significant other. That doesn't mean Felix doesn't have his bad days.

"If only you could see things from my perspective right now."

Pairing: Idol! Lee Felix x reader Genre: Angst - frustration from rehearsals, established relationship, comforting Felix, fluff towards the end. (I would seriously go to war for Felix)

Word Count: 2.2k

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Pulling up to the JYP building always filled you with excitement. Every time you step through the front doors, you never knew what was awaiting for me. Part of that was due to the eight rowdy boys who called the building their second home. You often heard them before you saw them.

Felix and you have only been together for a few months now. You were still an unfamiliar face walking around the building, which the boys used to their advantage when they wanted to pull pranks and get into trouble. Well, seven of them were always up for causing chaos. Chris preferred to watch from afar and quickly clean up any messes that popped up before anyone noticed. Such a great leader.

You were easily becoming a part of the Stray Kids family. The younger members looked to you as a shoulder to lean on, someone to give advice. Felix’s hyungs approved because they saw how much joy you brought to their sunshine. You were never shy of showing you affection for Felix, always reminding him of your pride in not just being his partner but watching him do what he loved the most. You helped bring normalcy into their lives where they were just a group of guys in their 20s living their best life. They just happened to have high profile careers.

You, on the other hand, worked in the nonprofit sector. Your job focused on education opportunities for immigrant youth. Ironically, your job occupation is one of the many things Felix found attractive about you. Not only was he captivated by your beauty, but he admired your drive and compassion. It takes a lot from someone to do the work you do, but you made it seem so effortless. It just showed how much you cared.

It was late on a Thursday night. You and your team had been prepping for a fundraising event which was taking much of your attention and energy. Nobody really understands how much goes into a nonprofit until they work in one.

Today was one of the days where you two felt like you were pulled in different directions. Felix has been busy the last few days with dance practices, so you knew he had late nights as well. You two would send texts to each other throughout the day, checking in and supporting each other the best you could. Saturdays were reserved just for the two of you for date nights though, so you were relieved knowing you’d see him soon.

The only thing on your mind was ordering take-out and sleeping. That completely changed though when you got a call from Chan. That's odd. He never called me.

You picked up the phone as you put your keys into the apartment door, about to unlock it. "Hey Chan, what's up?" "Y/n? Are you still at work?" "No, I actually just got back to my apartment. What's going on?" "Come to the studio. Now. It's Felix."

Your heart dropped at the mention of Felix. Your mind began racing through all the possibilities of what could be wrong. Was he injured? Did something happen? Whatever it was, you knew you couldn't waste anymore time. "Y/n?" "Sorry, I'm coming," was all you said.

Just as quick as you unlocked it, you yanked the keys out and slammed the front door shut. Your feet carried you quickly down the steps leading up to your unit and straight to your car in the parking lot. You had this sickening feeling in your gut that something was wrong. Especially by the urgency in Chan's voice. He was not the type of guy to sugarcoat anything.

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By the time you got to the JYP building, Hyunjin was upfront waiting for you. That's not a good sign. You parked your car in the guest parking lot before jumping out with your keys, forgetting about your pursue. All that mattered was how quickly you could get to Felix.

"Hyunjin-ah, what's wrong?" "I don't even know. I was just told to wait up front for you, so I could make sure your car is locked. He's in the practice room."

You tossed your car keys to Hyunjin before you took off running towards the practice room. You noticed that five of the other boys lined up the hallway outside of the room. Chan must be in there with Felix. The sight made your heart drop.

Your heavy breathing and footsteps gained the attention of the five members outside. They both looked concerned yet relieved to see you. You didn't have enough time to ask questions before making your way towards the door. All of their eyes were trained on you.

Very gently, you knocked on the door. You didn't want to cause anymore stress, regardless of what might be happening on the other side of the door.

"Changbin, I know you care, but we just need y/n," Chan shouted out from inside. "Chan, it's y/n. I am here."

Silence filled the hallway as everyone seemed to listen in. You could hear footsteps from the other side of the door. You didn't even know you were holding your breath as your mind spiraled to what could be happening on the other side.

The door opened slowly. It revealed Chan who seemed to be a bit revealed. But looking into his eyes, you knew that there was something wrong.

"Guys, listen, I know we all car about Felix, but he only wants y/n right now," Chan explained. His voice was scarily calm yet also quiet. You were always appreciative that Chan looked out for his members, his brothers, his kids. Especially always looking after Felix.

The rest of the guys nodded their heads. They stepped back to make Sur they weren't overcrowding the doorway. All of them cared for one another, so they would do anything for each other.

Chan slowly opened the door, granting you access. He smiled at you as you swapped positions. You were now inside the room where as he joined the rest of the kids out in the hallway. The door closed behind you which caused you to turn fully towards your beloved.

He was sitting on the floor of the practice room, his head in his hands. Of course, some practices got Felix frustrated. You were always there to comfort him, to help him work through any of the choreography to the best of your ability. He always managed to work through it, seeing those frustrations as motivation. This was different.

It was eerily silent in the room. The only thing you could hear was soft sniffles. Each one causing cracks in your heart.

"Lixie?" You called out. You didn't want to make things worse and startle him. You also were aware maybe that he needed space, so you didn't want to violate any of his personal space.

He picked his head up, looking straight ahead. Your eyes met in the reflection of the mirror. A trail of tears was marked on his cheeks, the light catching the wet trail. His eyes were a bit red, which you weren't sure if it was how long he'd been crying or from his hands pressed into his gorgeous face.

"Y/n."

His eyes didn't leave yours. He needed you.

Without running over, you walked to him. You knew sudden movements would make matters worse. In this room, it was just the two of you. You moved with urgency across the practice floor until you were in front of him.

Once you were in front of him, you took a seat on the floor in front of him. You were sitting criss-crossed, your hands gently reaching out to his. You offered a gentle smile. His hands slipped into yours. It was a start. "What's going on, love?" You asked gently.

Now, you weren't sure if Felix wanted to even talk about what he was dealing with. However, you knew it was better to offer than say nothing at all. Felix always knew he could vent to you whenever, but you still liked to remind him that it was safe to do so. You would wait here all day if need be, if that is what Felix needed.

"I'm not good enough," he murmured.

Your heart shattered hearing his self-doubt. There were times Felix got frustrated because he was just so passionate about performing. This is the only thing that he thought he was meant to do in this life. Sometimes you wondered if he thought back to when he got eliminated during their pre-debut days.

However, you knew how hard Felix has overcome to set that now minor setback. He was one of the most recognizable idols in k-pop, proving that to be true with his impressive vocal range and his impressive dance skills. He was born to be on stage. Yet, that didn't mean he didn't doubt himself.

"What happened?" "Lee Know was showing us new choreography he wanted to learn. It acquires a bit more acrobatics than what we usually do. I thought it would be no problem for me, but-"

You could see tears swelling in his eyes again. Some fell but he tried to quickly blink the rest. Letting go of one hand, you squeezed the other to show you had no intentions of leaving. With your now free hand, you reached forward to gently wipe the tears away that were falling onto his cheeks.

His head gently tilted into your thumb. Taking note, you let your full hand cup his cheek. He sighed at the feeling of the warmth of your palm. You smiled gently to see him responsive to you.

The last thing you would want is for Felix to feel like he is doing this on his own. He had his members, his family supporting you and he also had you. Felix always uplifted you on your worst days, helping to remind you of your self-worth. And you would always do the same. This was one of those moments where you needed to reemphasize your role as his significant other. "But I just can't get it. I can't move my body correctly which makes it feel like I'm not trying hard enough," he murmured. "Like I'm failing. You hear groups coming and going, how things can shift overnight. What if I'm the reason stays don't stay and why Stray Kids becomes just a memory and not a legacy? I don't want to disappoint you or the boys."

For a moment, you remained silent. You already were working through the words to say. While you weren't an idol yourself, you didn't want to invalidate Felix's emotions. You knew that the music industry was brutal and there were a lot of risks involved.

What you did know for sure was just how successful Stray Kids is, how successful he is. He was facing a challenge, like he had before, and he would overcome it. Felix just needed to believe in himself. "Baby boy, this is the first day of learning this choreography. It's not going to be perfect no matter how much you wish it was," you sighed. It was the truth. It was frustrating, yes, but it required practice. "I know for a fact though that the boys would never allow you to fail. Maybe you can keep practicing with Lee Know, or maybe you guys change the choreography. The guys will never let you feel like you fail because you guys are one team which means that you help each other out."

Felix nodded his head gently. He was slowly starting to accept his words but he couldn't quite ignore his personal demons yet. That is where you come in. You weren't going to leave his side until your sunshine returned.

"I don't want to disappoint you either." "Felix, love, that is impossible. You are my life, my love. I am impressed simply by your existence."

He raised an eyebrow at you, confused yet encouraging you to continue speaking. You gladly will praise him as much as he needs to hear, or how much anyone was willing to listen.

"I have never met someone as compassionate as you. Even when you are tired, you go out of your way to show your appreciation not just to your fans, to stay, but to the members, your family, and even me. You always are there to lend a helping hand because you care about everyone else sometimes before yourself. It is true you radiate sunshine because you capture everyone's attention, you can make everyone smile just by being in the same room as you."

For the first time since entering the dance studio, he smiled. His forehead leaned forward until he pressed against yours. You smiled up at him, just happy to see him feeling the slightest bit better.

"I am so lucky to have you even when I'm silly and can't regulate my emotions." "Felix, it's normal to feel frustrated. You know better than anyone that I get that way too. But that's why I'm here. I'm here to support you on your best days, your worst days, and the days in between."

You pulled back gently from him. You tilted your head up until your lips pressed against his forehead lingeringly. At the acton, he could feel his ears turn red but also his smile grow. His eyes fluttered shut, just to take in the moment.

He was the luckiest guy in the world to have you, and you felt like you were even luckier.

[soulntes]

THREE : THREESOME <3

ROMANCING PANDORA EVENT

TSU'TEY X OC X SO'LEK

many na'vi have experienced their chance of a lifetime in bonding and mating with their partner they've had set their eyes on. getting to know them on a spiritual and and friendship level to remember their likings and passion to gain a smile and slight touch of their hand on theirs.

to experience the life of youth with love and happiness alongside your mate.

for so'lek, it was different.

a young, well respected warrior's life changed drastically when he lost his entire clan. ever since he didn't want to seek out a potential na'vi for his liking because he swore revenge on his people.

after planning to live alone in the wilderness, one na'vi decided to persuade him to stay. not a na'vi, a dream walker who eywa has chosen to live in her na'vi body.

selena. jake sully's sister.

he highly respects jake but not knowing he had a relative made it more difficult.

the second his eyes laid on her, his heart stopped then it accelerated from her friendly smile and wanted to talk with him. the way she moves differently than other na'vi women, her strong presence before him had his knees buckled, her overwhelming scent filling his nose. the hair style and wardrobe she put on fits her right in with the rest of the na'vi. her slender but built figure is so alluring.

she made him weak. she was the first to have him experience these new things. the first na'vi who gave him an experience.

selena caught him off guard when she hugged him all of a sudden that his tail wagged and his body tensed, "i'm sorry for what happened with your clan. if there's anything you need you can ask jake or you can stay here with the omatikaya. the other clans have decided to stay."

so'lek couldn't speak but he had to so he wouldn't weird her out, "i am alright. i don't need to merge with your clan. i am planning for revenge against the sky people if they return. i must take my leave." he felt guilty and stupid for passing up an opportunity to know more about her.

she nods with a sad expression, "of course. i understand. what's your name?"

his ears perked at the mention of knowing his name, "so'lek."

she smiled more and held his hands, "that's a nice name, so'lek. i hope to see you some day." with a kiss on his cheek, she left him alone with his thoughts as he touched his cheek where she put her lips on. he began to fluster madly at the affection.

the na'vi warrior brushed it off, gathering his things and left to venture off alone into the forest.

that was years ago when he felt a void in his heart and a vacant soul ever since. knowing he'd regret coming back and decide to follow his heart when he found a tree of voices, he returned to find the hidden clan.

many clues and traces passed when he saw a couple of hunters hunting the area and flew up the hallelujah mountains.

upon arriving at the hidden spot of the omatikaya, he was surrounded by them with arrows and guns pointing at him for questioning. he wanted to explain when selena came into view with her brother.

so'lek pointed towards her, "you know me. remember."

selena's ears perked when she heard his voice and stood in front of him with a smile, "i'd known you'd come back, so'lek."

there it was again. that same feeling. his heart began to thumping rapidly and his palms started to sweat. "yes i guess i came for you."

his answer shocked her but she continued to smile, grabbing his hand to pull him somewhere, "i'll show you around."

he didn't know where they were going but he knew by the new scent of hers, she wasn't alone. she was mated with another.

by the time he stayed with the omatikaya, he learned she mated with the infamous and brave warrior that survived a big fall and bullets to his body.

no matter that she was mated and bonded with another, he still desired her and wished to taste her and tsu'tey noticed this.

tsu'tey knows the lust and smell of hormones reeking of this young male na'vi wanting his tanhi. he wants to show this stranger that this woman was his alone but he saw how his mate expressed herself with the young male.

selena talks about him whenever she gets the chance and she was starting to smell like him from showing him around.

his mind went to imagining the possibilities of seeing her get her pussy rammed by another man's cock while looking at him, begging him to put his in. kissing her lips while he fucks her pussy and so'lek wanting to do the same but he can't, her lips are his. rubbing her clit hard while the male fucks her hole just to see her squirt and sucks on her nipple.

tsu'tey decided to bring up the topic of bringing in another person into their relationship and she was surprised since he's hostile and possessive when it came to his mate.

in the end, they agreed to have so'lek in their relationship in a poly and selena couldn't wait.

this is where they are now.

so'lek was sitting with selena sitting on his cock reverse cowgirl with his hands on her thighs, spreading them wide for tsu'tey to admire. tsu'tey went down to put his mouth on her clit to suck on while so'lek fucked her relentlessly because of good she felt when she clenched on him.

"so'lek....oh so'lek!" selena moaned with her tail wagging and found his tail to wrap around it while she turned his head to kiss him tenderly but passionately. the young male grunted against her lips and sucked on her tongue as he thrusted desperately into her pussy. tsu'tey was getting a little jealous of their intimate moments so he went to put her nipple in his mouth and swirls his tongue around the bud as he rubs her clit slowly and harshly to edge her.

selena whimpers against so'lek's lips feeling tsu'tey's rough tongue on her bud giving her the pleasure of recovering this kind of treatment from both males.

"ma tanhi, you are not paying attention to me." tsu'tey says in an annoyed tone but selena reassures him with caressing his ears and hair.

she separates her lips from him and kisses him and uses her hand to jerk him off and guide his cock to her pussy. she wants both of them.

"ma tsu'tey....don't be jealous. i love both of you. put it in, yawne." she says in between breaths and gasps from the tip of tsu'tey's cock rubbing her clit. tsu'tey slightly pushes his cock in and hisses at the pressure added with pleasure when it's inside with another. so'lek whimpers, continuing to push his deeper and faster so desperate to cum from her pussy alone.

so'lek thought this was impossible but now, it is not. he doesn't want to push it when they've barely begun as a poly relationship. either way he wants to take the leap.

so'lek grabs his queue and shows it to selena and tsu'tey to indicate what he wants. with his other hand around her waist and his lips nibbling her ear, "please....bond with me....i want to feel it."

selena didn't think twice, grabbing tsu'tey's and her braid, showing their tendrils to connect with so'lek's. tsu'tey didn't mind, he was going to share with the other male and willing to accept him as a mate as long they got along.

all three of them connect with each other and a surge of love and passion connects them spiritually as they drown in their love. both males thrust into their mate and take turns in kissing each other. so'lek felt happy and at ease at finally not having one but two mates who will cherish him. he's not alone now.

all three of them came together and lovingly nibbled, kissed, and embraced each other with the warmth of their bodies with their queues still connected.

NOTE : i think i want to make a so'lek fic with tsu'tey after this came to mind 👀

TAGS

@eywaite

[coquetteriddle]

i feel bad for not posting in so long so here's a short fic/idea i had!! i know people write a lot of riddle and harry sharing dreams, but i love the idea of voldemort having to watch memories of riddle & harry through his dreams 🖤 this may or may not be in my fic, but here's the scene

When the blurry image behind his eyelids stabilizes, Voldemort realizes he is dreaming. He dreams very rarely, but whenever he does, they are simply the events and ideas he has been exploring in the real world. A clinical look into his own mind, his subconscious simply digesting and comprehending the events of the day.

This is different, because he can not control it. He is adept at lucid dreaming, but there are no reins to grasp, to reel his consciousness back in. He is seeing through his eyes in the way that a child looks through the windshield from the backseat.

His body is different. Shorter, his hands pale, but not the starkly white they had become. He dons not the rich black robes he's become accustomed to, but his Slytherin uniform, the green and silver tie in the corner of his eye.

There is something else even more disconcerting. A presence next to him, far too close. The person is shorter than him, with a messy mop of black hair. He is curled up against Voldemort's side, holding onto his arm and resting his head on his shoulder.

This surely cements this as some stray figment of his mind. Not a single living being, other than Nagini, would be allowed this close to Lord Voldemort, touching him like this. Even when he was a child in Hogwarts, he did not allow for physical contact like this.

But his emotions are secondary from this perspective. Instead, there is an overwhelming sense of calm and an unfamiliar feeling of…fondness.

Another sensation. Something tracing its way against his skin, slightly dull, but metallic.

A knife? Why is he not reacting?

His other self (because this surely cannot be himself, Lord Voldemort) only chuckles lowly, the sound deep in his throat. He realizes with a flash of surprise that it is the voice of Tom Riddle.

But this is not a memory from his youth. So why is he dreaming of this?

"What are you doing?" his youth asks, laughter throughout his question, looking down at the shorter boy curled up against him. The boy's face is turned downwards, so that Voldemort cannot see his appearance.

"Hold on, I'm almost done," the boy says, his voice familiar in a way that makes a rushing anger and hate flow through Voldemort's body. But surely not?

Riddle rolls his eyes but there is still that fondness underneath. What is happening? He has never felt like this.

"Okay, there!" the boy says, lifting his head and pushing Riddle's arm back towards him. Riddle does not take this opportunity to look at the boy's face, however, instead glancing downwards to look at his forearm.

It wasn't a knife. The boy was tracing a quill over his skin.

His robes and shirt sleeve have been pushed upward. Drawn in ink, there is a messy doodle of a snake and a lion together.

Voldemort thinks it's one of the most idiotic, childish things he's ever seen.

Tom Riddle melts at it. A flood of affection and slight amusement appears, along with a teasing smile on his face. He laughs, carefreely.

What is happening?

At his laugh, the boy turns around, finally, to face him. Voldemort's stomach drops as he stares into the bright green eyes of his enemy.

But this is an expression he has never seen on Harry Potter. He's grinning, his eyes squinting in amusement. There is no semblance of fear or anger or hatred in his gaze.

"I'm a fucking artist, Riddle, they should put me in the Louvre."

While Voldemort seethes internally at the boy's casual use of his old name, Riddle only laughs and buries his hand in Potter's hair, messing it up further, the two boys laughing and shoving at each other.

When they have ceased their incessant laughter, the two of them are somehow even closer than they were before, Potter tucked into his side underneath Riddle's arm.

The burning mixture of anger, disdain, confusion, and disgust Voldemort feels is washed away by something else. An overwhelming force so strong he feels almost physically weakened.

There is something burning inside of Riddle that nothing in Voldemort can compare to. A warmth that comforts Riddle like a fireplace but harms Voldemort like the uproar of a wildfire evaporating everything in its path.

Voldemort tries to speak, tries to force his way into the dream, trying to break out of the cage of his former self. "What is this?" he tries to shout.

Riddle doesn't say anything. He simply nuzzles into Potter's hair, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head.

Almost as if answering Voldemort's unspoken question, one of Riddle's thoughts rises to the surface, clear enough that he can hear it even through a dream.

This is love.

[kuoukyeee]

Sekibayashi Jun sfw alphabet

Spoilers!!

Tw: drinking

Gender neutral reader!!

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

He is on the more affectionate side out of all the fighters. He wont hesitate to swing his buff arm over your shoulder and brag about you, his wonderfull s/o, to anyone who will listen. Hes not afraid to snog you infront of others and tease them for being single if they comment . He wouldnt discourage you from initiating affection.

However, I feel like there would be a difference in the affection he gives in private and in public places. In private he would be more mellow and tender with his affection, taking it slower and appreciating the more inimate moments. Though still containing small undertones of playfulness and teasing in his voice and actions.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

He probably met you at a match of his, or through an aquaintace. His charisma and positivity definetly reeled you in.

He would be the best hypeman and shoulder to cry on. He literally trains a whole gym of dudes in omega, so at times he can feel kind of a mentor. You guys definitely gossip and have inside jokes which crack you guys up every time.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Big guy likes to squeeze you as close as he can to himself, its almost as if he wants to wear your skin.

He likes when you wrap your arms around his neck and hold the back of his head, smooching him. If youre tall enough you guys are chest to chest , or he bends down and lifts you up to reach his face . Nevertheless smirking and leaning into your kisses.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

He's not actively searching for a longterm partner, he probably only casually dated in his youth, focusing on his pro wrestling career, but as he gets older he realises its something he would like to have.

Its canon that he's a good cook. In the mini comics in ashura he literally made cosmo a full course meal and was proud when he ate everything, even Wakatsuki thought he was like a grandma. We can also see in omega that he cooks a mean curry. When it comes to cleaning he probably doesn't like it much, but it has to be done yk?

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

One day he realises you guys cant continue your relationship anymore and approaches you. His signature smile is replaced by a serious almost worried look. He crosses his arms and sighs, uncharacteristically quietly , he tells you that he wants to break up.

He probably wouldn't end things on a bad note, you guys still being friends. But its never like before, you guys feel tense near eachother.

He would cook for two only to realise you're not there.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

He likes being a free man, so I think that marriage is not a must for him. Not minding if you guys stay dating or if you guys move onto marriage, its mostly your choice. However he does want a partner and to grow old with. So he always keeps an eye out for any potential candidates.

He would probably get married maybe after 6 years(idk?). He's not in a rush.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

He's very playful, but as an older man he knows his limits when handling you.

Mentally, he's very attuned to other peoples feelings and can definitely read a room. He will try to not sugarcoat what he says , but if you're feeling off, he will try to find a way to tell you something as to not upset you.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Hes neutral about hugs. I dont hink he initiates much hugs. Unless he's dating someone, at a special event or something amazing happens. But he never fails to hug you back.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

I don't think he says it fast, he probably shows his love through doing things for you.

He probably said it after a match. Maybe after realising that the only thing he was focused on was your cheering for him.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

He would get angry at the perpetrator. He wouldn't tell you he is jealous, but he would act sassy-er with you. When you ask him what you can do to make him feel better, he gets this big grin on his face and taps his cheek until you get the message and kiss him.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

They leave you breathless and flustered. Your whole body is hot, and if you didn't have a skeleton you would be a puddle on the floor. (You cant tell me this guy doesn't have experience at kissing people).

He'd probably like to kiss you on your lips, stomach and thighs, he would smile into the kisses and blow raspberries into your skin if you're ticklish to make you laugh.

He likes it when you kiss him on his cheek, it make him feel giddy like a schoolboy. He also like when you kiss his adams apple or his collar bone, it makes him feel manly.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

He would deffo play princess tea party and let them put lipstick on him. He would play hide and seek with them and hide in a really shitty place and pretend to be upset when they find him.

If this man ever has kids youre gonna see them running around and laughing all day. When they do something naughty he will half heartedly scold them before he tickles them mercilessly. He would also cook them food and he would melt when he has to plate mini portions for them. He's a natural when it comes to looking after kids. They love him and he loves them.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

You probably wake up in a mess of tangled limbs, with your face smooshed against a random muscle of his. Most of the time you guys kind of wake up at the same time. If both of you are free you guys just laze around in bed, cuddling and talking about random stuff.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

He likes to go drinking at a bar with you, wakatsuki and sakura. You guys would sit as a group in a booth, just talking and laughing.

Otherwise I can see you guys guys staying at home and eating a home cooked meal.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

He would open up as you open up. He would first tell you about his grandma and then about his training. He probably tells you this in big chunks.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

I cant see him getting angry. I see him getting frustrated.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

He would deffo remember a lot . But he forgets unimportant things.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Probably the first match he had after you guys were official. Its his favourite as you were no longer cheering as a friend, but as his s/o.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

He knows you can handle yourself (hopefully). He would only be protective if someone insulted you or tried to hurt you. He would snap back at them with a witty quip or punch them so hard that it would send their jaw spinning and them seeing stars.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

He has experience with impressing people and he is also very charming and charismatic, so he knows what makes someones jaw drop.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

He wouldn't take some things seriously/he wouldn't be serious, this can make you feel like he's not listening or hes absent.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

I don't think he's that concerned with his looks tbh, he seems quite self assured.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

He wouldn't necessarily feel incomplete but he would always have this feeling in the back of his mind. He has lots of friends and he's very extroverted, but i feel like he would get lonely at times without you.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Sometimes he spoon feeds you. When he does he always pretends the spoon is a train or an airplane. He would release one of his hearty laughs before saying 'open for the airplane' or 'choo choo'

He has a dad sneeze.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

A party pooper.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

He has a death grip on you when you guys sleep, the only way to get out is to wake him up. At times he can smack you with his arms when he turns in bed. Sometimes when he sleeps on his back he starts snoring.

[sparklebeamx]

I realized I haven’t posted any of my other wynncraft characters here. So I’m starting off with Skyris cause it’s a crime on my part for me not sharing her sooner. I love her so much QwQ

Some doodles

Some info about her down below

Also to note that this is the wynncraft counter part of her.

Skyris Nariyama

Age:25-26

Pronouns:She/Her

Height:5’8

Family: Altair(Older Cousin),Electra( Younger Cousin)

Voice Head canon: Dorothea (FE3H)- Allegra Clark

Class:Mage (most likely riftbender archetype)

Skyris is a traveling songstress, but she wasn’t always one to begin with. Being the daughter of a captain back in Detlas,her teens were spent training to be a soldier.But years later, she decided that being a part of the army wasn’t for her.

Skyris always had a love for singing and writing her own songs. After leaving the army , she became a traveling songstress, hoping her music will bring joy and even raise the morale of others. She wasn’t alone, as Altair, Cyrus, Tavaris and Adrian tagged along with her. The five of them traveled through Wynn and Gavel. Despite traveling with a group it doesn't mean there wasn't any hardships, one night,her and the others almost fell to a sudden ambush of corrupteds. They fought for their lives, Skyris fighting alongside Tavaris to make an opening for the group to escape and eventually they did. It was a night survived, a moment that Skyris and the others will remember.

Though, the group would have one more event that still affects them to this day. Tavaris, one of Skyris’s closest friends since youth and fiancé, was severely injured during a mission of theirs. Skyris stayed by his side, taking care and healing him to make sure he survives, making sure that he stays with her a bit more.

One day when Skyris came back from a supply run, she and the others were met with an empty bed. No signs of Tavaris. No letters. Some personal items are missing. He was gone. Skyris broke down that day, running rampant to nearby areas TRYING to find him. But she didn’t…her love was gone. The others and eventually her, believed that Tavaris didn't want to pass in front of them and went off to do it on his own terms.

It took her years to heal from that day,from Tavaris…

Years later, she decides to give herself another shot at being in a relationship,perhaps… It was time to move on . During a time in Gavel, a certain soldier caught her fancy, It was Elphaba. The two of them didn't get along at first ,which led to a bit of rivalry. Skyris enjoys this , messing and teasing Elphaba any chance she gets, only because she wants to see her again. Eventually the two get to talking and actually get to know each other. Putting their little rivalry in the past, they get into a relationship . Skyris is glad to have a partner to love , though at the back of her mind she hopes the same thing doesn't happen again.

Other notes:

•Born and raised in Wynn

•Skyris also likes to do some tailoring , even does custom orders

•Skyris is the one that thought Electra how to tailor clothes

•Don’t let her looks fool you as she can be quite the scary one to deal with if you’re not on her good side

•She can and will beat your ass

•Likes to make fun of Altair whenever she gets the chance

•Her staff is based off of Robin’s( from HSR) mic

•Lowkey would be the type of person to sing the most beautiful ballads and then listen to music the complete opposite to that. Deadass would listen to heavy metal

•Main element is air

[sephirthoughts]

Father: Verb

Summary: 11 year-old WMD Sephiroth is assigned a new handler/bodyguard, named Vincent Valentine.

rating: teen and up (prev chapter and ao3 linked at bottom)

Chapter 8: The Belly of the Beast

“You keep saying things that don’t make sense,” Sephiroth said angrily. “I can’t tell if you’re trying to confuse me, or if this is some kind of attempt at a joke, but—”

“You claim not to believe me, but you felt it, did you not? His pull on you. Your connection to him.”

He swallowed hard. “I don’t…know what you mean.”

“Never try to lie to me. I know you better than you do,” the older version said, with that softly inhuman smile of his. “That child is the reason I was able to find you, here. The reason I still exist, despite my body’s death. He is…an anchor point, in four-dimensional space.”

“Why? What’s so special about him?” Even as Sephiroth asked the question, he felt a thrill of numinous familiarity, as if he was on the verge of recalling some profound truth, that he’d forgotten.

The older version’s smile widened. “That’s right. Remember. Remember him, on your own.”

“No. No, I can’t,” Sephiroth insisted, shaking his head. “How can I? I’m not you, yet.”

“But you will be. The reason you remember that child, though you never saw him before, is because souls are not governed by time and physical space. They navigate by anchor points in the liminal space, created by events of great emotional impact, or a deep attachment to another human soul.”

Sephiroth frowned. “But why that boy, then? If it’s about attachment to another soul, shouldn’t our anchor be Vincent?”

“Vincent is not human.”

“Are you saying that Vincent…doesn’t have a soul?” Sephiroth said, aghast.

“He does not have a human soul,” the older version explained. “Chaos is woven into his being and has changed his nature, entirely. Cloud Strife, on the other hand, has a super-human soul.”

“What is that?”

“The only thing I can liken it to, is him carrying a brighter light, than most. Because of this light, he is able to draw people to him. Compel their loyalty and adoration. Make them attached to him. He has no idea he is doing it, of course, nor do others.”

“He must be pretty charismatic, then.”

“Not really. He does not seem particularly special, at all, at first blush. Outwardly, he is…rather small, and a bit too pretty, for a boy. His looks make him appear unimposing and even vulnerable. Inwardly, he is a morose, solitary, single-minded youth, in constant mental and emotional chaos due to a laundry list of traumas. And yet, everywhere he goes, he collects allies and admirers, like a sun drawing worlds into its orbit. That day he ran into us in the bakery, we began to be affected by his gravity. But something peculiar happened. He attached to us, as well, which he has never done with anyone else. That mutual attachment is what has enabled me to retain my sense of self in the lifestream, and overpower its desire for reunification. It was no accident that you met him precisely at the turning point of your entire life. His attachment to us drew him to you, at our moment of greatest crisis, and our attachment to him guided me here.”

Sephiroth arched a dubious eyebrow. “Are you seriously saying it’s all thanks to true love?”

“Love? What has love to do with two souls being bound together in eternity?”

“Can you hear yourself, when you talk?”

“I see we haven’t yet developed a sense of humor,” the older version chuckled. “No matter, you will have time to grow, in all aspects. You will become the man we should have been. The man we could have been, had fate taken a different turn.”

“You keep calling this a turning point, but I don’t understand why. What’s so significant about this moment? Why not go back further, to before all of this even happened?”

“We cannot go back, to before Cloud Strife existed. Even if we could, all we could do would be to prevent our own birth, which would defeat the purpose. This moment is the first hinge upon which fate turns. Not only for us, but for this world. Together, we will alter the crucial condition, and change the fate in which Vincent kills us.”

“It must be Vincent. But how do we know for sure? And how will we know we’ve changed our fate?”

“I represent a second pivotal moment. When we altered our fate, in that moment, the future timeline collapsed, and future versions of us ceased to exist. Now, my own time, which is your future—and by extension, me—are only potential outcomes. Once the path is truly severed, everything will be erased, all the way back to you. We will know, because I will cease to exist. Then, you will finally be free of our fate. Free to choose who and what you are, what life you will lead, and who will be by your side.”

“If that’s all true, why don’t you do it yourself? What do you need me for?”

“In my current form, I can only affect this reality in minor ways. I need a physical body, through which to channel my power. Your body, to be exact.”

Sephiroth balked. “What? Why?”

The older version laughed. “I am extremely powerful, little fool. Any body but our own would be destroyed by the force of the energies I command.”

“You want to…possess me? But doesn’t possession push out the original soul, and effectively kill the host?”

“Were I to possess a body that is not my own, that is how it would work. However, the universe makes no distinction between you and I. Since we are one soul, I can enter your body and coexist with your consciousness. If it eases your mind, I will only borrow control, when necessary.”

“Why should I trust you?”

“Aside from the fact that I am you?”

“Because of the fact that you are me. If I was a time-traveling ghost, and I wanted to steal myself a body, this is exactly what I would say.”

The older version leaned down, and spoke into Sephiroth’s ear. Gradually, his blue-green eyes went wider and his lips parted.

“I—I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever it takes.” He looked up resolutely into his future self’s face and spread his arms. “I’m ready. Come inside me.”

The older version choked. “Please…do not say it like that.”

“What? What’s wrong with what I said?” Sephiroth frowned.

“Nothing. Nevermind. Before we begin, I must warn you, when we are connected by a body, some of my memories will intermittently overflow into your consciousness. It will be…painful. But this is the burden you must bear, to re-create the world.”

Sephiroth made a face. “The burden I must bear, to re-create the world? Gods, how did I ever wind up talking the way you do? You sound like a villain from a stage drama”

“Ha. One day, you may find out.” The older version smiled and held out his hand. “Come. Let us defy destiny together.”

Sephiroth hesitated, then reached out and took it.

Instantly, his vision went black, and he felt like he was spinning wildly in a soundless, lightless void. After a second or two, the extreme vertigo stabilized and his senses returned. He was still standing in his quarters, facing the kitchen. But the older version was nowhere to be seen.

“Are you here?” he asked, half under his breath.

I am here. Can you not feel me ins—ah, I mean. Feel my presence?

“I can, now. What do we do, next?”

Give me control. 

Sephiroth consciously slackened his will and let the other take over. He was immediately assailed by that dizzy numbness again, but not nearly so badly as before, and he retained his sight this time. The other spun them around and jerked their head up, looking up at a spot in the ceiling.

Found you. 

A serpentine smile spread across Sephiroth’s face. At the same time, there was a loud bang. The room went dark and the whole building seemed to shudder, as hundreds of electrical circuits blew out simultaneously. A moment later, the backup generators kicked on, and the emergency strips along the floors and around the doorways cast the room in amber light.

Sephiroth felt his limbs and torso warp and stretch, and saw their perspective move much higher up, as the other shifted his body into his own adult form. The door blew off its hinges with a bang, slamming into the wall across the way, as they stepped out into the dim, emergency-lit hall. In response to the noise, a patrol of helmeted Shinra guards came running, weapons drawn.

“Intruder! Identify yourself!” the leader barked.

The older version waved their hand. Purple bolts of lightning crackled down the hall, zapping the entire troop of guards, at once, and causing everything made of glass to violently explode.

“Whoa! When do I learn to do that?” Sephiroth asked, excitedly.

In Midgar, during your SOLDIER training. 

That dizzy disorientation spun his mind around, and suddenly the scene before him had shifted. He was standing atop what seemed to be a massive, industrial supercomplex. The wind was blowing in his long, silver hair, and the sun was setting, in a riot of brilliant golds, over the sea.

“…is the gift of the goddess. We seek it thus, and take to the sky,” a voice was saying, behind him. A voice he’d never heard, and yet knew as well as his own. Achingly familiar, and somehow far away.

He turned around, to see two people. A big, burly young man in black, and an exceptionally beautiful young man in a burgundy coat, with auburn hair. He knew them. Genesis, the redhead, was seated on the bulkhead-like steel housing, reading aloud from a book, and Angeal, the man in black, was leaning against it, beside him.

These were his friends. His best friends. And yet, there was an element of bitter pain, in the joy that welled up inside him, upon seeing their beloved faces. These were people he had loved…and lost.

“Ripples form on the water’s surface. The wandering soul knows no rest,” Genesis concluded.

“Loveless, act one,” he heard his older voice say.

“You remembered,” Genesis said, snapping the book shut and hopping down from his perch.

“How can I not, when you’ve beaten it into my head,” he replied, in a bantering tone.

With that, weapons were drawn, and battle stances assumed.

“Don’t take Sephiroth lightly,” Angeal advised.

“Noted,” Genesis snorted, then they rushed in to the attack.

Sephiroth had no control of this body, in the memory, but he could feel everything, as keenly as if he were really there. As blades clashed and sparked, it became quickly clear that these two were superhumans, and that they were no match for him, even together. He blocked everything they threw at him, even their coordinated dual attacks, with perfect ease. What kind of monstrous strength was this?

As the fight progressed, high into the sky, full of exploding firebolts and deadly arcs of sword-light, that sliced the giant industrial complex to ribbons, Sephiroth realized with a dawning sense of wonder, how far he had yet to go, to be as strong as his older self.

Just as the simulation fell apart, around the three young men, and it became apparent this was a training arena, he lurched out of the memory, back into the present.

“Your friends,” he said breathlessly. “Genesis and Angeal. What happens to them?”

They are both gone. Maybe, one day, you will find them again, for my sake.

“I will. I promise. I will save everyone, this time.”

Sephiroth looked around, to see that they were just stepping out into the main hall, where the elevators to the other levels were. More troops of guards came rushing up and were tossed away, with a wave of his hand. Purple lighting crackled along the walls, and non-uniformed Shinra staff were screaming and running away, as fast as they could.

Your turn, little fool. Deal with them.

Sephiroth regained control of his body, which shifted back to its usual, teenaged form. With a flick of his wrist, a wall of flame tore through the Shinra Manor main hall, burning the woodwork black, and incinerating everything in its path.

All the sudden, a wave of nausea struck him. There was something…something about a wall of fire, just like this…

Focus. Shinra has dispatched its army. There are squadrons converging on the manor, with airborne support inbound, from the north, south, and west.

“Ugh, you take over,” Sephiroth groaned. “I’m…dizzy. I think I’m gonna—”

His vision went sideways again, and he was plunged headfirst into another memory.

This place wasn’t like anywhere Sephiroth had been, in the manor. But there was something eerily familiar about it. It was dark and musty, with stone walls and ceiling, like it was underground. A forest of huge, ancient bookshelves reached all the way to the ceiling, and were piled haphazardly with old books.

The aisles between them were narrow and cramped, and everything was strewn about and disordered, with books lying all over the floor, almost as if someone had dumped them off the shelves. He was seated in the center, at the large, mahogany desk, reading by candlelight, of all things. His black gloved finger scanned the lines of a project journal, written by hand, in ink.

“Sephiroth?” a voice said, from the center aisle.

He glanced up. It was a good-looking young man, in a black uniform, with spiky black hair and bright-blue mako eyes. Something about him made Sephiroth think of Angeal. That’s right. Angeal was his mentor. This one’s name was Zack. Another pang of bitter pain. Another one he’d lost.

“Uh. What you got, there?” Zack asked, uneasily.

Before Sephiroth had a chance to reply, the memory flickered and blinked, as if someone had switched the channel on an old cathode-ray television, and the scene changed.

Vincent staggered, clutching his abdomen, where a long, thin blade impaled him, all the way through, sticking out of his back. He stumbled forward, as Sephiroth yanked the sword out. Sephiroth caught him, before he fell, and Vincent leaned heavily on him.

A sea of flames billowed and roared all around them, accompanied by screams and wails, and the muffled thunder of explosions in the distance.

The sword wounds all over Vincent’s torso were oozing a black, tar-like substance, that must be his blood. The ragged holes in Sephiroth’s chest, torn open by shots from Cerberus, had already begun to knit back together.

“Vincent…do you love me?”

Vin—cent—do—y—love—

The memory spat him out abruptly, back into present, where his older self had turned the central area of the manor into an inferno, the heat of which made his eyes sting. Amid the calls of soldiers, from outside, and the sound of windows being smashed on the upper levels (probably by people trying to escape), Sephiroth stood, unmoved.

“What were you reading, in that book?” he demanded. “Why did you feel so…manic and strange, in that memory?”

It’s none of your concern. None of that will matter, after tonight.

“Wait, are you switching the memories, intentionally? Are you controlling what I see?”

There are things it will only hurt you to know. Things I wish with all my heart I could un-know. We are giving you a chance to live unburdened by all of that.

“What about Vincent, then! You said he kills us, but I saw you stab him! I saw you hurt him! Why did you do it? Why didn’t you tell me the truth?!”

Because we knew you would not understand, and that you would react the way you are reacting now.

Sephiroth wrested control of his body back from the other, with a violent wrench, and refused to move an inch.

Do not be childish. There is no time for—

“No! I’m not going another step until you tell me what you’re hiding from me!” he shouted, over the thrum of helicopter rotors, right above the manor’s roof, by the sound of it.

You will regret knowing.

“Not as much as you’ll regret not telling me,” he shot back.

Very well. But we warned you.

Once again, the vertigo overtook him, and he was plunged into the sea of memory. Before, it had been gentle. Linear. Coherent. This time, it was a rapid-fire cascade, thousands of tiny points of light in vivid colors, scene after scene, flashing by within milliseconds.

He saw Jenova in her true form, Hojo, Lucrecia, Vincent, Glenn, Rosen, Genesis, Angeal, Zack, Lazard, Rufus Shinra, and hundreds of other faces. This older version was far more than just him, from eleven years in the future. The others were all within him. All the future versions of himself, up to the last one. The one who learned how to reverse it all. How to reject destiny and rewrite fate.

He saw the last one choose death. Saw him navigate the lifestream, in defiance of the will of the universe. He saw all those futures, folding back on themselves and collapsing, as each turning point was ignited, like a fuse burning down. And his was the stick of dynamite, that would blow it all sky-high.

The claws of these potential realities had caught hold of him, and began to tear at his mind and gouge his flesh. He was bleeding. Coming apart. Losing himself in them. They were so much stronger. So much older. He was only a child…

Then he saw Cloud Strife. Saw him in brilliant blue and gold. Saw him as a child and a young man. Saw him cold, hateful, cursing, silent, angry, grieving, helpless, pleading, terrified, wounded, full of worship and admiration, and always so achingly, heart-piercingly beautiful. In that sea of darkness and chaos, he was the only constant, shining like a pole star. Guiding him back to himself.

Sephiroth grasped onto Cloud and finally managed to drag himself back from the sea of memory. But living an entire potential lifetime in a matter of seconds, was no easy thing to withstand.

When he emerged, he fell to his knees, clutching his head and curling into himself, screaming hoarsely. A visceral roar of unfathomable, wordless agony, that cut through all the other clamor and noise, like a sawblade.

The riot gear-clad soldiers outside in the courtyard faltered, looking alarmed and confused. No one had reported that any…creatures had got loose, but everyone knew the rumors of what went on here. Their commander ordered them to hang back, while he radioed CQ for advice. These units had never fought monsters, after all, and were ill-equipped to do so.

Inside the manor, a little boy was crouched on the floor, sobbing amid the flames and wreckage. But he never cried, Sephiroth told himself, frantically trying to wipe away the tears, as they welled up and overflowed, streaming hot and unchecked down his waxen face.

Do you understand, now? Some wounds can never heal. Some wrongs can never be undone. We had to erase all of those years from existence. To rewrite them, from a blank page. To do that, each of us had to die, to go backward, to find the next anchor point, and transmit our purpose to the next self, before we ceased to exist. You are the last. You are all of us. You are the one who will move forward, into the unknown future. 

“I am all of us,” Sephiroth repeated dazed and wavering. “I am all—”

He broke off and fell forward onto his hands, dry-heaving, spitting foamy saliva all over the sooty, debris-strewn floor. When the fit passed, he pushed himself back up, panting and pale, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I am…all of us,” he said weakly. Then again, with a little more energy, as he staggered to his feet, his voice growing louder and steadier with each repetition, drowning the others in his head. “I am all of us. I am all of us! But you are only parts of me! You are phantom limbs! Echoes of a future that no longer exists! You’ve given me our knowledge, now give me our strength! I will forge the path you all died to create! I will rewrite fate, once and for all!”

Ah…no longer a little fool, we see. As you wish. All the power we accumulated, till the day the last of us died, is now yours. Use it well.

A prickling electric sensation rushed through his body from head to toe. His mind cleared and his senses became hyper-acute. Time slowed in his perception, as his power surged and pulsed, making his hair float, like he was underwater.

His black wing burst from his back, shedding inky feathers and glimmering, purple sparks, as it unfurled majestically, behind him.

He held out his hand and the great blade Masamune appeared, keen and cold and bright. Bloodthirsty as ever (also a good deal longer than he was tall, in his juvenile form). In his other hand he gathered the darkness—the agony, bitterness, hatred and rage—from the earth itself, drawing it into a jet-black orb of whirling shadows, in his palm.

Just then, the beleaguered Shinra forces finally stormed the manor, with a cacophony of shouts, and the hurried thumping of heavy boots, on the wood floors. At least a hundred soldiers, all told, surrounded the one boy, with glowing red targeting lenses in their helmets, like mechanical spider-eyes, and automatic rifles raised and ready to kill.

“Asset, drop your weapon!” the commander shouted. “If you do not comply, we are authorized to use lethal force! Stand down, now!!”

Sephiroth turned his head, to look at the man, and the ring of soldiers took a few anxious steps back, in unison, widening the circle around the silver-haired child.

There was a tense beat, like an indrawn breath.

Sephiroth smiled.

The spinning orb of darkness detonated, with the force of an atomic bomb. The earth quaked and the sky trembled. The soldiers were obliterated, the manor walls exploded outward, and the roof was quite literally blown off. The spherical shockwave that followed, immediately after the flash, reduced most of the outer wings of the building to ruin.

The helicopters flying overhead were knocked away by the blast and went careening out of control, streaking through the sky like dizzy meteors, before they smashed into the ground and the outbuildings.

Amid the falling masonry and flying glass, in that hell of destruction and death, Sephiroth walked calmly on, to the pile of twisted metal that had been the bank of elevators. Tossing away the destroyed elevator car, he uncovered the shaft; a yawning pit, that lead to the belly of the beast.

More helicopters were inbound, as well as more armored transports, in the distance, carrying Shinra troops. Spotlights were shone on him. Voices amplified by bullhorns demanded his surrender. The one-winged angel ignored them and stepped into the elevator shaft, vanishing from their astounded sight.

He closed his eyes, freefalling into blind darkness, till the last second, when he flicked his wing to slow his descent. His boots touched down lightly, on the worn, rust-stained concrete. Black feathers fell around him, like nightmare snowflakes.

That way. This storage area leads to the secret archives, and then the laboratories. That’s where the old man is keeping our genetic material. We’re going to destroy it all.

“Vincent first,” Sephiroth growled, through his clenched teeth, as he waved his hand and blew a huge steel door open, with an echoing boom.

Of course. They’ll have him in that lab. If he’s not in the arena.

“Arena?”

He’s the worst of the abominations they created—well, aside from us. They use him to dispose of all the others.

Through the door was a narrow passage, which led to the secret archives hall. It was exactly as he’d seen it in their memory, only a lot less uprooted and tossed about. For a moment. Then a tempest of flames swallowed this room, and all the dirty secrets it contained, and the god of destruction moved on.

Next was a large, dirty, mostly empty area, that looked like it had been used to house vehicles or heavy machinery, at some point. On the other side, was a concrete wall, with a heavy, steel door, and a much larger, garage-style door in it. A lazy swing from Masamune, and both doors collapsed, along with the entire wall, cleanly sliced into a hundred geometric pieces.

Sephiroth stepped through the dust cloud into what looked like a Russian base from cold-war-era spy film. It was so comically dark and industrial and outdated, he could hardly believe it could really be in use. There were even exposed pipes all along the ceiling, some spitting out clouds of steam. At the intersection of three hallways, he paused, tilting his head to one side, as if listening to some distant noise.

Then his eyes ignited with green fire, and a venomous smile curled the corners of his perfect lips. “Ah. It seems I’m not the only monster, here.”

THE AUTHOR HAS SOMETHING TO SAY genesis: are you fucking serious? we came all this way and we only get a cameo?? genesis: SEPHIROTH YOU SPOTLIGHT STEALING BITCH YOU WON'T GET AWAY WITH THIS zack: i'm just happy to be included! thanks everyone! angeal: angeal: who the hell are you guys talking to?

link to prev. chapter

[rebel-moons]

The worst mass shooting of the year, and it’s barely a blip in the national news coverage. Americans have become so desensitized to this kind of tragedy that the loss of 18 lives - 13 more injured, 8 still fighting for their lives in intensive care - doesn’t even make national noise anymore. This man is still out there - considered armed and dangerous, going on day 3 of this manhunt - and still, just another Friday in America to most people. There are people who aren’t even aware this happened!

This is my community. We are grieving. This has affected us across the state - cities and towns in lockdown, schools are closed, businesses are closed. It’s a beautiful warm fall day, the weekend before Halloween, and my state is a ghost town. Other than tourists, everyone is home. All events, sports and celebrations and parties, have been cancelled.

Maine has never faced a tragedy like this before. And because of that, I think we feel this hurt so much deeper and personally than the rest of the nation. You may have seen Maine described as “a small big state” and it’s so true. We’re spread out geographically but the sense of community and loyalty we have for our neighbors - 3 mins, 30 mins, 3 hours away - is unmatched. This is hitting our community so hard because we haven’t been desensitized to this sort of violence here.

I don’t want the victims to be just another number lost in the conversation. These were my neighbors, people in my direct social circles - friends and family of the people in my life. Right now, we only know a few of the names. But these people deserve to be remembered, their loss is being felt across the state.

Joey Walker was the manager of the bar that was hit. He grabbed a butchers knife to try to stop the shooter. He died trying to save lives. On Wednesday night, his father, city councilor Leroy Walker, told the local news he knew in his heart his son had been murdered that night. He asks that people keep sharing Joey’s story, “to keep him alive”.

Bob Violette led a youth bowling league at Just-in-Time. He died protecting the children he taught, standing between them and the shooter.

Payton Brewer-Roses loved Superman; he had an extensive Man of Steel tattoo. We would’ve been friends. He was a father to a beautiful two-year-old, who now has to grow up without her loving, funny, caring father.

Trisha Asselin loved bowling and golf and worked at both Just-In-Time and the local golf course. She raised thousands for breast cancer research in her lifetime. She died trying to call 911.

Joshua Seal was a comforting face to so many during the worst of the pandemic. He worked as a sign language interpreter, and made it his life’s mission to end the solitude and isolation of many in the Deaf community. He was there for a Deaf cornhole league - where know at least one other Deaf victim, Bryan MacFarlane, was also attending. Reports say they didn’t know what was happening because they couldn’t hear the shoots.

Aaron and Bill Young, a high school freshman and his father. Aaron loved bowling, had recently received recognition in the youth league.

These aren’t even half of the victims who were murdered on Wednesday night. Over and over again, you hear stories of how the victims put themselves in harms way to save others, because that’s the kind of community we have in Maine. We look out for each other, even if we don’t know you.

They should be alive right now.

Please don’t let them get lost in the news cycle. We can’t pretend this is normal or acceptable. Enough is enough. If the FBI can call Maine “the safest state in America” on Monday, and two days later the worst mass shooting of the year happens, it’s not a matter of IF it will happen to you and your loved ones, but WHEN.

We cannot continue to live like this.

Eighteen lives lost, and countless lives shattered by this night.

If you can, please donate to the GoFundMe for the victims and their families in Lewiston.

[thuan-thien]

Huông and Malignant Hauntings

The recent trend of buying and wearing vintage or thrifted clothes often leaves many Vietnamese parents aghast. Many Asian youths, especially overseas, often write this off as superstitious, but the underlying spiritual concept has been a part of many of our cultures for quite a long time.

𣟂苦 - The local folk term, “huông” is a derivative of the term “khuôn khổ”, the latter meaning a specific structure or pattern. Huông itself refers to the accumulated, malignant spiritual energy resulting from any tragedy, misfortune, or horrible act committed against a person being transferred to an object or place, forcing that tragedy to repeat itself again and again.

圖咕 - The most common cultural expression of this in Vietnam is the aversion to old, second-hand clothes or objects. The khí of the owners who used those objects or wore those clothes is repeatedly transferred to them, so by the time the owner discards them or passes away, their khí and every bad thing that happened to them throughout their life, their abuse, their poverty, their insanity, their poor choices, are all imprinted onto that object, and force all those terrible events to endlessly cycle for those who use such objects, wear such clothes, or visit such places. This is the mechanism by which a curse develops.

圖㵋 - This explains the fixation in Vietnamese, and other East Asian cultures, with only purchasing new things, never used.

𠸥傳 - When my family still lived in Vietnam, my mother and her siblings all grew up during the war, when money was tight, they had to pass down clothes as hand-me-downs. My Dì Út, my youngest aunt, was the youngest of more than 10 siblings. She had to wear the hand-me-downs of hand-me-downs of hand-me-downs. My aunts taught me that wearing and using hand-me-downs are fine as long as they belonged to a family member. However, as my aunt is the youngest amongst her siblings, she had no one in the family to hand her old clothes down to, so her Bà Nội/paternal grandma gave her old clothes to a poor family in the center of Sài Gòn, who had an infant my aunt’s size. After said infant wore my aunt’s old clothes, she drowned in a pond. Once my aunt’s Bà Nội heard of the infant’s death, she immediately bought new clothes for the deceased infant’s entire family, took back the dead infant’s hand-me-downs, and burned them.

𠸥傳 - A story of mine that involves huông is when I got into a car accident in early 2023. I was unharmed, but I was driving in an area that my family felt was affected by huông because of the murders, mugging, and robberies that took place there in the past. So after my sister drove me home from the accident, my parents burned the clothes I was wearing in case it had any huông that would get me into another car accident, or an even worse incident, and they purified me of any huông by forcing me to bathe in a “tea” made from lemongrass and “bát” lime branches.

坭被魔暗 - There is a particular boulevard in my city’s Chinatown that is known to have huông because of the amount of car crashes that happen there, it is a spiritual self-replicating cycle of death. One should avoid places known to be affected by huông during the day, and obviously such places should never be visited at night.

𣟂 - In a sentence, to be affected by huông is to inherit another’s misfortune.

Artwork depicting Ma Rừng, by artist Duy Văn for the series Ma Quỷ Dân Gian Ký

[cursedvibes]

Can I ask your top 10 fav fics ever (from any fandom, if you don't mind)?

Also, just curious, is there a story behind your name "cursedvibes "?

I called myself "cursedvibes" because I thought that's the kind of impression the fics I want to write give off. My first beta reader @kaitakushi agreed (hehe) and so it was decided. As for fanfics, I'm not really gonna rank them but more list them by fandom...

JJK

Complicity by SenZen_Travers

Mahito/Kenjaku and my favourite fic of their ship. The characterization is really good and this might sound silly, but I'm glad Kenjaku is allowed to bottom here for once (very rare with Kenjaku ships in general unfortunately...)

King's Ascent by Acromos

Unfinished, but best Sukuna/Uraume fic I've ever read. Uraume is asexual and nonbinary. Love the world building and general prose here. Most of the chapters are focused on how the two grew up and they only really meet in the last one, but it's still incredibly good.

CSM

Well Prepared by Gay_as_fuck

Fic about Santa Claus and Tolka, his feelings for her and how she used him and gradually turned him into a weapon. There are only two fanfics about Santa Claus on AO3, but I'm glad this is one of them, it has exactly what I'm looking for. It's sweet, but also eerily creepy.

Houseki no Kuni

Shards of the Two of Us by undeadrabbit

Technically Kongo/Phos, but their love is platonic. Absolutely wonderful, kind of like someone wrote down all my thoughts about what happened between scenes or you got some additional canon material. Very heartbreaking to see them slowly drift apart and hurting themselves and each other despite still caring about the other.

Naruto

xenograft by Misfit_McCoward

AU where Sakura becomes Orochimaru's student while he's in Konoha and they do lots of experimentation together, on humans and animals alike. I like how Sakura slowly gets sucked in deeper in Orochimaru's machinations and loses any moral qualms she would otherwise have about the research they are doing, going so far as to compromise her own health for it. Just the sort of Mad Scientist story I like.

Be It Ever So Humble by Orochimartyr (ffnet)

A civilian enters one of Orochimaru's abandoned bases and inspects what has been left behind. I love stories that show the horror we are often familiar with in a story from the perspective from an outsider, especially if it involves the discovery of medical malpractice. There's a creeping sort of terror as we discover with this person what happened and piece together what horrible acts have been committed here. It actually really influenced my writing and was what I always aspired to write as well.

JJBA

can you tell that I like the Pillar Men?

I'll Follow You by Opus_Love

A Kars and Pillar Men origin story with Fix-It elements to it, since this is the 37th version of Kars we follow and this time he has the chance to make things right and not lose everything only to be cast into space. I especially love the slow development of Esidisi and Kars relationship and the little tidbits of information we get about the society they originated from.

We turn that old wheel round again by dratinigirl

AU where Kars lands on Earth again after being shot into space, but it's present day and Esidisi has been incarnated as a regular human, which gives Kars quite the culture shock. Very sweet, a bit angsty, but all ends well.

Youth, Man, and Father by dratinigirl

Another Pillar Men origin story. What can I say, I love the whole culture and society people come up with and I'm a sucker for EsiKars slowburn.

Monster

Five Roads Home by Lindra (ffnet)

Post-canon. Dieter and Johan bond over the child abuse they suffered and how it affects them even now. Johan is being cagey of course, but still more friendly than during canon events. It feels in-character though. Also found it nice to see Johan living as a woman now, but removed from the identity of "Anna".

[blusical]

Ableism in Hockey

[PT: Ableism in Hockey. End PT] Trigger warning: Ableist comments and language, uncensored slur. We already talk about the homophobia, misogyny, racism, abuse and bullying that's almost engrained in hockey culture. However, I don't see many people talk about the ableism that's way too common within hockey. Firstly, what is ableism?

Ableism is a form of discrimination, particularly towards people with physical, mental, intellectual and other forms of disabilities. Ableism towards those with mental illness is called sanism. Some examples of ableism include inaccessiblity, using ableist slurs (such as the r-slur), believing that disabled people are broken and need to be "fixed" or "cured", believing that people with certain mental health conditions are "evil" (ex. the evil alter stereotype towards folks with Dissociative Identity Disorder or believing that everyone with Narcissistic Personality Disorder is abusive). Ableism within hockey fandoms.

Some of you are already familiar with the "blind/deaf ref" joke. Almost everyone has made such jokes at some point (or at least laughed at one). Well, earlier today I was watching an Instagram reel featuring a league of blind hockey players. The comments, while most of them surprisingly supportive, also showed that such jokes aren't exactly harmless...

Worst part, I only saw two people take issue with these comments. TWO. Ironically enough, one of them was a referee who just so happened to actually be blind! While it's easy to assume they didn't know better (and they probably didn't, considering this joke is unfortunately way too common), it kind of serves as a reminder about how we view disabled hockey fans, players, coaches and, yes, even refs (especially those that are blind or deaf). And it's not just blind or deaf individuals being made fun of. It's also very easy to go into hockey spaces and see disability or neurodivergent-based buzzwords thrown around, such as "delusional" (or, and this is the only time I'll say this willingly, "delulu"), without the people saying it even realizing the harmful affects it could have on those who do genuinely experience delusions or psychosis (such as those with schizophrenia).

Ableism within the sport itself.

Within hockey, some youth organizations still use the m-word (shown below so people know what I'm referring to), despite it being considered an offensive term (and even a slur to some) towards people with dwarfism. In 2020, Hockey Canada dropped the term, but some organizations still use it, including USA Hockey.

Ableism by the players is also something we should address. In 2022, the Boston Bruins signed Mitchell Miller, a player who's infamous for bullying a black disabled teen (CW: Uncensored r-slur, brief detail of physical violence and unsanitary actions). He was eventually released two days later after backlash from fans (though the contract didn't end until February), however it was not a good look for Boston. (Man, ableism and racism. Talk about a double whammy). Earlier this year, a video surfaced of Carson Briere and a few other individuals pushing an unoccupied wheelchair down the stairs; the wheelchair was severely damaged and had to be replaced. Not long after the video surfaced, Mercyhurst Hockey cut him from the team. Both of the above mentioned have since signed with a team in Slovakia.

And this isn't even getting into the likelihood of ableist slurs being used on the ice. Lastly, many hockey arenas are still inaccessible, with many disabled fans unable to enter access in some, getting accessible seating is a hassle and many unable to buy tickets due to high prices (something that lots of disabled folks have issues with in many events.). Crowds and noise at venues can also be overwhelming to those on the autism spectrum (Like me!) and unfortunately not many hockey arenas have sensory rooms (However there IS some improvement being made on this end!) And unfortunately, watching from TV might not even be an option for some folks, as digital ads have also raised concerns about potentially causing seizures in photosensitive folks.

Disabled folks are considered an afterthought when it comes to fun events such as sports.

That may seem like an exaggeration, but unfortunately it's not. Disabled folks are always viewed as an afterthought in the world, and whenever basic accessible features are requested, they're told to "grow up snowflake" or that the "world doesn't revolve around you". And sports is no different. As the above show, disabled folks aren't taken seriously, especially when it's so easy to see blind and deaf folks become the butt of jokes when making fun of refs, mockery of addiction (alcohol addiction, gambling addiction, drug abuse, etc). And the worst part: Almost nobody is talking about it. Not until not anyway. We discuss the misogyny, the queerphobia and the racism. But we never talk about the ableism within hockey culture. Well, now's the time.

[thegingerwrites]

✨Ficlet: Old Fandoms Not Forgotten

This ficlet was directly inspired by this post about the rest of the galaxy finding out about the events of the OT via meme.

Frannell sets her mug of caf down on the counter too loudly. The clink of ceramic on stone rings in her ears and she knows her kids on the couch and her wife at the sink are looking at her now, to see what caused the commotion, but if Frannell could spare a single thought for any of them, she might be impressed that she is keeping herself together as well as she is.

Because the news—well, the meme staring up at her from her datapad is unbelievable. Her mind might as well be on fire, a hundred thousand thoughts screaming at her all at once that mostly amount to…well, screams.

It’s a picture of a man with a stupid, confused looking face staring somewhere past the camera. The caption reads: “Okay, was anybody going to tell me that Anakin Skywalker and Darth Vader were the same person or was I supposed to read that in the New Republic Senate briefing myself?”

When Frannell closes her eyes, she sees the names Anakin Skywalker and Darth Vader on the insides of her lids. Anakin Skywalker and Darth Vader…are the same person? The Anakin Skywalker and The Darth Vader? Former Jedi Knight and General of the GAR, Anakin Skywalker, posterboy of her youth and Darth Vader, the Sith Lord scourge of all that is light and good? Her brain doesn’t want to hold the two beings in her mind at the same time let alone believe that they are the same person. And yet, even as she has the thought that this is far too insane to believe, the cogs in her brain are already at work piecing together how this could have happened.

He just disappeared when the Republic fell along with the rest of the Jedi. There is a chance he survived. I mean, sure, there were crazier people who thought they spotted him now and again. There’s always been a chance.

“Mom?”

Frannell blinks, realizes she has been staring into the still, brown surface of her caf on the counter with the intensity of a war veteran going through flashbacks. She blinks again and looks down at her daughter, Jeni, who has her backpack perched on her shoulders.

“Isn’t it time to walk to the bus stop?” Jeni asks.

Is it? Frannell looks at the time on her datapad and catches a brief glimpse of the meme again before scrolling, just slightly, away. Jeni is right. She has been staring off into the middle distance for the last twenty minutes and now it is time to take the kids to school. She has wasted the few minutes of free time she gets each day between waking up, taking the kids to school, and going to work. Lovely.

Frannell catches sight of her wife, Lara, and tries to communicate with her eyes that she is currently in the midst of a panic. Lara’s brow furrows in silent question, but she takes the hint.

“I’ll walk you two today,” Lara says, helping Jaxon put his shoes on. She takes Jeni’s hand as they reach the door. Before they leave, she gives Frannell one last troubled look and Frannell shakes her head. There is nothing she can say. She can’t put her thoughts into words just yet. The weight of this revelation is too much.

Absently, Frannell thinks that maybe she should have said something to Lara. After all, this news is of galactic importance and there is no way that Lara has heard about it yet. The timestamp on the meme is dated only a half hour ago. The Senate briefing came out in the small hours of morning on Chandrila and no one but the most diehard reporters has been able to comb through it just yet for important information. Ordinary citizens of the New Republic will have to wait to see how the proceedings will actually affect them.

But Frannell needs to sit with this news for a moment. Because she is not some ordinary galactic citizen—well, in most respects, she very much is. But when it comes to Anakin Skywalker, she is practically an expert, and this news just dropped a bomb onto her whole world.

She doesn’t have to search for her old username and password. A few years ago, she revived her account out of casual interest and a bit of curiosity, to see if anyone she knew still populated the message boards and blogs. It was kind of nice, a warm wave of nostalgia, to see that some were still active and others had taken their place, that despite the slower pace of things there were still people making gifs and edits, even writing fics. There isn’t much new content out there about the old Jedi—in fact the creation of it was somewhat illicit for the longest time, not strictly prohibited by Imperial ordinances but heavily monitored by loyalty officers and outright forbidden on several worlds—but there are still people out there, like her that are obsessed with the Jedi, with The Team in particular.

Today, the site is on fire. Frannell feels like she has just walked into a room, expecting a party only to find everything in flames. Everyone is logged on. Frannell thinks she even recognizes a few usernames from way back in the day, people she hasn’t seen in years.

Anakin Skywalker is Darth Vader AND Luke Skywalker’s father? How does that even work? What happened to Padme? Did he kill her? Anakin survived TCW only to become the Empire’s top enforcer? I don’t believe it! I can’t!

What about Obi-Wan? Luke claims he was there on Tatooine and gave him Jedi training! Yo, can you imagine the kind of grief raising your best friend’s kid involves? Did he know Anakin=Vader?

Mixed in with the screaming are old photos and videos of Anakin Skywalker, Padme Amidala, and The Team. Frannell has seen most of them before but they are such a throwback she spends nearly an hour scrolling through them before realizing she is desperately late for work.

Frannell throws on a coat and runs out the door with her own speeder bus to catch. On the way to the office, she keeps her eyes glued to her commlink. The situation keeps getting worse somehow. There is too much speculation, too many wild rumors flying around, and Frannell cannot keep up. She nearly misses her stop because she is about to argue with some idiot who thinks Padme Amidala must still be alive with the rest of the Jedi Order somewhere on Tatooine.

How can anyone expect her to cope on a day like today? Frannell glances around at the other heads just visible above the walls of their cubicles. Everyone has their eyes down, dutifully focused or at least committed to the act of looking busy. This is galaxy changing stuff! Surely, she can’t be the only one absolutely losing her mind.

She keeps one hand on her datapad at all times throughout the morning. Whenever she can steal a quick look at the message boards she does. Frannell wishes she could pull it up on the dual screens in front of her, surround herself with the sheer chaos and excitement of fandom grabbing hold of new information like a lothwolf shaking prey caught in its teeth.

Her boss nearly catches her speculating that Obi-Wan Kenobi must have known about Anakin’s fall to the dark side and stole Luke away to Tatooine in order to keep him safe. She has her head down with both hands tapping furiously away at her personal datapad when they clear their throat behind her desk chair causing her to bolt upright in alarm.

After that, Frannell puts in about twenty minutes of work organizing supply orders before she decides she can’t take it anymore. She clocks out for an early lunch and spends the entire time fixated on her pad. With droid-like focus and precision, she is trying to figure out if there is any resemblance between the Republic-era holos of Anakin Skywalker, Padme Amidala, and Obi-Wan Kenobi and the few images available of Luke Skywalker. Some absolutely insane person is insisting that Luke must be the product of an affair between Kenobi and Amidala and Frannell has to be the one to prove them wrong.

There’s just no way. Not possible. Obi-Wan Kenobi, the Negotiator, Jedi Master and High General of the Galactic Army of the Republic, would never. He is—was, too noble. Too much the perfect Jedi to carry out an affair. Even Frannell has to admit that a forbidden romance between Anakin and Padme is far more likely. A flame burns in Frannell’s heart for the complicated relationship between Master and Padawan, brothers in arms, but the lengths to which Kenobi would stick to the teachings of his Order above and beyond the call of his own heart is part of what draws her most to the relationship. If Obi-Wan wasn’t going to break his vows for Anakin, there’s no way he would do it for Senator Amidala. There’s just no way. There’s also some fringe theory about Luke being the child of Kenobi and a former ruler of Mandalore, Duchess Satine Kryze, but anyone with sense can see that the timing on that is completely off.

When Frannell returns to her desk—late, of course, it’s just that kind of day—she notices her boss hovering over a coworker’s shoulder a few cubicles down. Promising herself that she will at least focus until they find somewhere to lurk that’s farther away from her desk, Frannell stows her datapad in a drawer and fires up a few neglected spreadsheets, determined to get to work.

But with her mind half on her boss’ head poking above the cubicle walls a few desks down and half on the datapad she can’t see in her drawer, Frannell has very little attention left to pay to the rows and columns of boxes on her screen. None, in fact. She stares at the little white grid until her eyes blur but she can’t seem to make any headway.

Frannell taps her fingers on the arm of her chair. She can’t do this anymore but she can’t just leave. She doesn’t have the sick time or vacation days to simply walk away from her desk. Maybe she could make up some excuse about one of the kids?

Her hand lingers on the drawer handle before she makes up her mind and pulls it open. Just a peek. It’ll take two seconds just to see if anything new and explosive came out and then she’ll put it back and move on with her life. A minute, five minutes tops. And if her boss heads this way, Frannell is more than capable of hiding her datapad away again before they notice what she’s up to.

She opens her account to posts that are mostly keysmashes. For a moment, she thinks the server must be malfunctioning or something. Frannell is ready to reboot the whole thing when at last, she scrolls down far enough to see the post that started this fresh wave of madness.

It’s a different meme format from before but one that Frannell is familiar with: two stills from a semi-popular holodrama with a cult following, two actors emoting heavily for the camera. The first is captioned with the actor saying, “I love you.”

The second says, “Luke Skywalker and Leia Organa are twins separated at birth.”

Not a single thought crosses Frannell’s mind before the decision is made. She powers down her desktop screens, grabs her coat, and waves to her boss as she passes them on her way out of the office for the day. With her datapad firmly in hand, she knows she has work to do.

[burntbiscuitswithcheese]

My Kimetsu Academy Au Headcanons - Shinazugawa Kyogo

----

Previous Headcanons Link: Part 1

{} = Small character details/notes

() = My deeper thoughts or smth

Shinazugawa Kyogo - Like his canon self he did hurt his family at one point. He was a part of the police force but back when the kids were younger he went through a series of events that caused him to go off the rails for a bit.

He failed to save someone from dying and his older brother passed away around the same time. He was receiving countless pressure from co-workers and the media. They were destroying his character and painting him as the fault for what happened to the civilian.

All of these events caused him to delve into drinking and gambling.

This lasted for a few months and caused him to miss the birth of his youngest son. {Something he deeply regrets currently.} He didn’t realize the harm he was causing his family until the day he threw a bottle at Genya and Sanemi. The two received their facial scars from that incident.

It was at that moment that he realized the damage he was causing to himself and his family. In order to prevent himself from causing his family more harm he decided to start living with a friend until he could sort himself out. {A long process of rehab and therapy later…and I mean much later.}

He eventually moved back in with his family. It took some time for his kids and his wife to trust him again but they got there. His oldest children Sanemi and Genya took longer to forgive him? than the younger ones. They were most weary of him but they did forgive him at some point in the future. But not without threatening to get rid of him if he were to slip up again. {Forgive but never forget.}

Kyogo eventually got promoted to police chief despite the horrendous media backlash he received in his youth. He currently has a great relationship with his kids and wife. 

{Alcohol is banned from their home.}

(Just so we’re clear, I don't like Canon Kyogo, that bitch can kiss my ass and die. In my AU Kyogo is meant to be a flawed character that made bad life choices. Just because he had reasons for his mistreatment of his children and abuse of alcohol it doesn’t mean it was okay. Kyogo didn’t get forgiven in an instant nor did he have to be forgiven.)

In my AU Kyogo didn't beat his wife or kids. He drank at home and went out to gamble sometimes so he mostly neglected his children. (Which is still not okay.) He had never laid a hand on them or injured them until the night he threw the bottle at Genya and Sanemi.

To make up for his past transgressions, Kyogo {In the present.} dotes on his children. He doesn’t make it a show to publicly display his affections; he just does it in his own way. {Ex.) He puts in the effort to make characters for his kid’s bentos, gives them extra money, pats them on the head, and cuddles with them.} I legit have no idea if this counts as doting behavior, I'm basing this off my own experiences with a closed-off parent. T-T

Yes. He very much still does this to his first and second born. Sanemi doesn’t let him cuddle him, just head pats if anything but Genya lets his dad dote on him a bit more whenever he visits home. {Especially since he moved in with Sanemi. The white-haired bastard has been cold to Genya recently and the baby doesn’t know why.}

[hiiragi7]

A lot of you have such a black-and-white worldview that you take anyone else's experiences as a direct attack on your own.

No, a DID diagnosis is not inherently a death sentence - But to say that a DID diagnosis cannot ever affect your ability to adopt, get accepted for a job, or anything else is false.

Yes, even if it's illegal to discriminate against someone on the basis of a disability. It happens anyway.

I have been seeing a lot of people saying "I just don't tell them I have DID and it's fine" - Have you ever considered not all of us are functional enough to have the choice to hide it like that?

I do not have direct personal experience with DID specifically affecting my ability to get work or adopt or get into a good school, because I was diagnosed as an adult and have never been employed or interested in adoption - I am too sick to even leave my bed most days.

I do, however, have direct experience with systemic discrimination on the basis of having an autism diagnosis since the age of 6.

Certain schools would not accept us or would make us move schools because they saw autism and did not want to deal with "a kid like that". Our very first school kept suspending us and sending us home and punishing us and refusing to follow our learning plan and eventually just told our parents to move us elsewhere. This was first grade.

Growing up, our autism diagnosis was what justified abuse, which they called "treatment".

It was also used as a tool to question our ability to do things, communicate, and know what we want.

Our autism diagnosis generally either meant we could not possibly make our own decisions or it was played up for the entertainment and feel-good of neurotypicals.

We ended up in news articles and events occasionally as a little kid. They all focused on our autism. Do you know what a big deal it is to neurotypicals when a kid "like that" can deliver a speech to hundreds of people? You end up being the talk of everyone, you're an inspiring story for "overcoming" this "disease" they called autism.

And yet they still will be cautious accepting you into whatever school you wanted to go to because they doubt your abilities and believe your parents must have faked your writing to sound as cohesive and well-written as it did when you applied. We were gifted in english. But we were autistic.

And then they turn around again and use you as good PR.

Your first introduction anywhere you go is "This is X, they have autism!"

"Look at what good people we are for accepting such a child into our program!"

And then they turn around again and mistreat you for that very thing they will publicly brag about.

They will also see your diagnosis and want to use you for free or reduced labor cost. I do not remember anything about this relating to us, but kmow for a fact this did happen to many of our fellow SPED kids in highschool - They'd have programs to employ autistic youth where they paid you solely in "work experience" and "social skills".

You do not get paid - You get "to learn life skills".

I also know of many programs where, while they technically pay you, they make use of disability laws that allow them to pay disabled people less than minimum wage. "They're all living with their parents anyway because they can't live on their own, so it's basically just like an allowance."

Even moving away from us for a moment, we have known people personally who had their ability to parent their child questioned in court because they had one or more mental health diagnoses on their papers.

Do you see what I'm getting at yet?

No, a DID diagnosis does not automatically mean you will be discriminated against on a systemic level and outcast from society - But to say it is not possible at all is to ignore a very massive and glaring ableism issue that is a very real lived reality for many, many people with DID and other disabilities.

It is not "misinformation", it is often not even "fear-mongering" to point this out.

We live in a shitty world - To tell someone with worries of getting a DID diagnosis that "That won't happen, don't worry!" in regards to discrimination is incredibly misleading.

No, do not say that an official DID diagnosis is some kind of monster that forever seals your fate as to how you'll be treated within society and that nobody should ever get diagnosed unless they plan to stay in an institution for the rest of their life or whatever. That's stupid.

But for the love of god please stop telling people that they will not be discriminated against just because you haven't been. You are brushing the experiences of the rest of us under the rug in doing this.

[annaofthenorthernlights]

I want to know more about Dance with Me! Or see a snippet, please! This is for the WIP game :D

Thanks for the ask - and you made me realise that I have only bits and pieces together for this one... but a snippet you shall get - because it´s a precious story that enwraps my heart when I think of it...

It´s a modern ballroom dancing au, where Gaston, Adam, and Belle have been childhood friends, up to their years of youth and young adulthood. They have danced together, Belle either dancing with Gaston or Adam, depending on what occasion they were "put together" by their teacher.

Stuff will be happening, and Adam will be forced by his parents to leave the provincial town to move on as a professional star on the big stages of the world... (or something like that...)

The years have passed, and Gaston and Belle have not heard from Adam ever again. They have moved on, continued to dance for fun, and got married. They have opened a restaurant with dance floor and enjoy a well frequented call of guests who love to eat and dance at their place. Occasionally they organize some dance party, fun competition, but nothing all too fancy. They have had their share of distress on the ballroom floor of competitiveness. The glamour at first sight soon turning into a swamp of intrigues and false affairs only to gain the tolerance and affection of judges and audiences. No, they prefer the coziness of their private circles as they were able to create within their own establishment.

Belle is about to set the tables, together with Mrs. Potts and the music softly playing through the speakers on the wall reminds her of how lucky she is to find herself in a safe environment instead being thrown onto the open arena of rivals. She feels a hand on her hip and turns around, her lips inevitably curling into a smile when she finds Gaston posing in front of her with a rose between his teeth. Belle laughs out loud, remembering the scene now two years ago. They have rehearsed a Tango for the local springtime charity event. Gaston has then planned to propose to her in front of the mingling audience. Only that he´s been that nervous that he´s cracked the rose, biting it too hard. The flower fell to the ground in two pieces, and he stared at Belle devastated. The crowd went wild with shouts of enthusiasm and whistles, and Belle had picked up the pieces and then threw them into the mob. When she turned back to her dance partner, Gaston grabbed her by the waist and whispered his private words of intimate affection into her ear. She had liked that so much better than a public show of his proposal. She had kissed him and earned another wave of applause, the audience oblivious of her reason. And now, they dance their Tango in thought of that day, smiling to the memory of what they share, and quietly savoring the days that would never come back again. The piece that is playing is the one on which Belle and Adam have won their first trophy ages ago. Back then, Gaston had been so angry that the other one had led the girl onto the pedestal. Today, he wishes Adam was still with them.