#and i truly cannot wait for him to suffer because of it

[swagging-back-to]

so my female housemate ((the one who said 'trump is the more sensible of the two)) told my male housemate that i was crying this morning and the first thing he did when he got back was laugh and mock me asking if im doing better now

then 'tell me you didnt actually cry because trump won'

my response was 'in a few weeks, you will be, too.'

[nebulaafterdark]

A Tale Of Two Dragons

Summary: After suffering a head injury, Princess Y/N forgets the past two years of her life, including her marriage to Aegon. Who will do anything to win her back.

18+ ONLY MDNI Targcest, Smut, Cheesy, Medieval Romcom

Y/N wakes terribly hot, her head throbs and there is something wrapped round her waist. She peels open her eyes…an arm. She flicks it away.

“What is the matter, my dearest love?” A voice grumbles, from behind her. “The maester says you should remain abed for several days.

“Why?” The word is past her lips before she can stop it.

“You hit your head.”

Y/N reaches up toward her throbbing temple, scraping against the forming scab beneath the bandage. Her fingers come away wet.

“You mustn’t touch,” Aegon chides, “let me see.”

Aegon?

Y/N screams at the top of her lungs, rolling onto the floor.

“What is the matter?” Aegon peers over the edge of the mattress. “Does your head hurt?” He springs from the bed, grabbing a cup off the bedside table. “Here, milk of the poppy.” He attempts to bring the chalice to her lips.

Y/N slaps his hand away, the glass shattering over the floor. “Surely poison.”

“What?” Aegon breathes. “Why in the seven hells would it be poison, my heart?”

“Do not call me that.” Y/N snaps, feeling almost sorry for it as his face falls.

“Look at me,” he crouches down to her, cowering in the corner. “What’s happened?”

“I should be asking you! Why are you being kind to me? Why are you sleeping in my bed? Plotting to kill me?”

“I don’t want to kill you.” He huffs a laugh. Back are the sad, crestfallen eyes.

Y/N forces down the urge to punch him. “Why were you in my bed?”

“To be clear,” Aegon says, motioning behind him, “this is my bedchamber.”

Y/N searches the space behind him, he speaks true. This is not her room. “Why would I be in your bedchamber?”

Aegon’s upper lip twitches, “because you are my wife.”

Y/N laughs, “I am your wife.”

Aegon joins in, anxiously.

“You jest.” She wags a finger at him, “that is the Aegon I know. You have outdone yourself this time.”

Aegon’s eyes search hers for a moment more before he hollers, “guards!”

The doors fly open, “your grace?”

“We must have the grand maester.”

Y/N’s eyes track his movements. Pacing and pacing until the maester appears.

“Is your head troubling you, your grace?” He kneels before her. “I left you with milk of the poppy.”

“She needs more.” Aegon insists.

“She can have no more until the morrow.”

“She did not drink it.” Aegon shouts, “she tossed it away because she thought it poisoned.”

“I would never harm you, your grace. Surely you know that.” The maester addresses the princess directly.

“Not you, me.” Aegon throws up a hand. “She does not know who I am.”

“I know who you are and I do not like you.” Y/N argues.

“That is worse.” Aegon laments, “she does not remember our marriage or our-”

“Your grace,” the maester stops him. “Your lady wife has suffered an injury. It is best not to push the recollection of years past.”

“She will heal then?”

“I cannot say, the mind is unpredictable.”

Y/N narrows her eyes at the maester, “am I truly married to Aegon?”

“Yes, princess. For some two years now.”

“Nearly three,” Aegon corrects him, with a hand to his head.

Y/N’s breathing picks up, unable to calm herself.

“Princess, you must breathe slowly now.”

“I want my mother,” Y/N chokes out.

“I will get your mother,” Aegon offers, “just breathe.”

His command is foreign to her. That he would care. The maester fusses about her as they wait. “All is well, your grace, all is well.”

“I may faint.” She warns.

The maester begins fanning her with his hands.

Rhaenyra appears moments later, with Aegon hot on her heels. “What’s happened, my darling?”

“Mother,” Y/N reaches for her, sobbing against her shoulder.

“Hush now.” Rhaenyra cradles the back of her head, smoothing down her hair.

“I do not know how such a thing could h-happen.”

“What?” Rhaenyra begins swaying her like a babe.

“I woke up beside my sworn enemy, claiming to be my husband.” Y/N tells her, “and worst of all, everyone insists that it’s true. Am I truly married?”

“Yes.”

“To Aegon.”

“Yes.”

“And I am happy about it?”

“I’m afraid so,” Rhaenyra smiles. “You are quite taken with him.”

“To what degree is he hung?” Y/N scoffs. He must be-

Rhaenyra throws her head back with laughter, “I would not know, sweet girl.”

Y/N rolls her eyes, “he speaks true then?”

Rhaenyra nods.

“And we are in…” Y/N forces out the word, “love?”

“Very much so.”

Without warning, the princess faints in her mother’s arms.

————————————————————————

“And though all the realm wished for the princess to deliver a son, she blessed the prince with two daughters.”

Y/N comes to, blinking up at the ceiling. Pleased to find that she is in her own bed this time. She nearly finds herself comforted by the voice beside her, before looking over to realize it is Aegon. Seated in the arm chair with a brown leather book in his lap. She sits up, staring him down.

“Don’t,” he slowly closes the book, holding up both hands, “don’t scream.”

“What do you want?” Y/N groans. “I’ve already told you I don’t remember.”

“I’d like to court you.” His lips twitch, nervously.

“Really?” She huffs a laugh. “You, Aegon Targaryen, would rather court me than go find another well suited lady, of high status, to marry you?”

“Yes.”

“You want me?”

“Very much so.”

“More than anyone else?”

Aegon twists his wedding band around his finger. “Yes, more than anyone.”

“Well…what would we do together?” She crosses both arms over her chest, “I can’t imagine we have much in common.”

“Talk, stroll the gardens, fly together on dragon back, whatever you’d like.”

“You told me this morning, I am to remain abed for several days.”

“That’s why I’ve brought this,” he waves the book at her, “thought it might keep you occupied. That or I could dance for you.”

“How well do you dance?”

“Not very,” Aegon admits, “that’s what makes it entertaining.”

Y/N leans up, trying to catch a glimpse of the book’s title. “What book is that?”

“A tale of two dragons.” Aegon pulls it away, “do you want to hear the story or not?”

“I suppose,” Y/N sighs, sinking back into the pillows. “I’ve nothing better to do.”

————————————————————————

For four days he reads to her from that silly book. With each day that passes Y/N finds herself more invested.

“But if a son is expected of the prince, why does he not want for a son?”

Aegon smiles as he closes the book. “That’s all for today, you must rest.”

“I am not tired,” Y/N argues.

“Your eyes tell a different story.”

“Truly, I’m not tired.” She tells him, toying with her marriage ring. “My head hurts is all.”

“Might I try something?”

Y/N scowls, reluctantly closing the distance between them.

His hands cup her face, moving up to her throbbing skull, running his fingertips over her scalp.

It feels nice, though Y/N will never admit it.

“It will help if you stop making such sour faces, Y/N.” Aegon remarks, smoothing his thumb over the furrow between her brows. “My head aches just watching you.”

“You might wear a similar expression after being dealt my hand.” It is odd, her name on his lips. As though he rarely speaks it, save for when he’s angry with her.

“Yes, how devastating it must be; doted on by the man who loves you.” Aegon muses.

“You used to call me a bastard at family gatherings.” Y/N remembers that clearly.

“I used to do a great many things I am not proud of.” Aegon admits. “But the man I am now, the man I am with you…I take great pride in.”

“It will take time, if I’m to trust you again.”

“I have time.” Aegon assures her, “though at present, there is somewhere else I need be.” He presses his lips to her forehead in parting. “Good night.”

Y/N cups his wrist, at the side of her face, for just a moment. “Good night.”

————————————————————————

On the fifth day, the grand maester allows Y/N to leave her apartments, and by the tenth day, she is cleared to fly. Being amongst the clouds always helps clear her mind, mayhaps she will recall something.

“Good morrow, your grace.” Marcello, the dragon keeper greets her.

“Good morrow,” Y/N smiles. “Might you saddle Stormborn for me?”

“At once, Princess. I’m glad you are well.”

Marcello returns a few moments later with the lilac dragon, whining as she nuzzles into Y/N’s hands.

“Issi ao daor biare naejot ūndegon issa, uēpa raqiros?” Are you not happy to see me, old friend? Has something happened between them that she’s forgotten?

Stormborn hums, nudging at Y/N with her head.

“What is the matter with her?” Y/N turns to Marcello.

The dragon keeper lowers his eyes, “she wants for Sunfyre, your grace.”

“She wants-” Y/N breaks off, clunking a fist to her head, “she wants Aegon’s dragon?”

“They are quite close these days.” The man in question says, stalking up behind her. “I heard you were flying out. I thought I might join you.” Aegon explains his presence.

“This is preposterous.” Y/N scoffs, “you mean to tell me we have become so deeply entwined that even our dragons cannot be parted?”

Aegon’s lips turn downward as his brows rise, “yes.”

“What can be done about it?”

“You loved me once, my hope is, you will love me again.” Aegon brushes past her, resting a hand on her dragon’s snout. “There’s naught to be done about it.”

To add further insult, Stormborn leans into his touch, cooing happily.

“I suppose I should pet your dragon.” It’s meant to be a threat, a means to get even.

“Go on,” Aegon encourages, “you’d like that, wouldn’t you, Sunfyre?”

The golden boy begins to serenade her with a low melody. Y/N rests her temple against his head, glaring at Aegon. It is not the dragon’s fault.

“Your dragon understands English?”

“As does yours.” Aegon informs her, “they are highly intelligent creatures.”

“Pōnta issi mēre rūsīr īlva.” They are one with us.

Aegon smiles, “indeed.”

“Do you not speak-”

“Nyke kostagon emagon naejot…vestragon mirrī.” I can have to…say a little.

Y/N bites back a grin, “I could teach you.”

He starts to say something else, but she covers his mouth with her hand.

“Later,” she leans in, pressing a kiss to the back of her own hand. Had it not been there…it would’ve been his lips. Which means nothing, muscle memory, surely. “I’m sorry.”

He catches her wrist, bringing her hand away.“Don’t be.”

————————————————————————-

Y/N enjoys evening strolls with Aegon in the garden, but on occasion she walks alone, outside the walls, wandering near the woods.

“Wait!”

Y/N whips her head around to see Aegon charging at her, knocking her backwards before the steel trap snaps closed near their feet. Two rows of long, jagged teeth, meant to catch animals. She stares at him, in disbelief.

“They doubled the number of traps round the castle in these past years. I did not know if you’d recall.” Aegon explains, still holding her in the safety of his arms.

“You…imbecile!” Y/N returns the awkward embrace.

“Please, call me husband.” Aegon smirks.

“You could’ve been maimed.”

“Better me than you.”

Y/N groans in frustration, “quit doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Charming me.” She pulls away enough to see him.

No, not the sad eyes.

“I should like to know you better first.” Imbecile, she curses herself.

“What do you say we go back to your rooms and I will read to you?” Aegon suggests, “I’ll even bring cake.”

There it is, that tugging in her chest. “I do love cake.”

“When you were-” Aegon trails off, “there was a time all you would eat was cake.”

Y/N presses a hand to her head, “when I was what?”

“In due time, my dearest love.” Aegon smiles, sadly. “The grand maester says we mustn’t push, you’ve made great progress already.”

————————————————————————

She recalls a great many things over the next weeks. Trying and failing to teach Aegon High Valryian, eating cake with him and laughing until their sides ache. But there are a number of things she cannot recall.

“Where is it you go?” She wonders, “when you are not with me? You said,” Y/N closes her eyes until the words come to her, “you said you want always to be with me.”

Aegon’s eyes widen, “yes, I did say that. You remember?”

“Not nearly enough, just silly things.” Y/N admits, “sometimes…I think I might’ve been with child.”

Oh.

“That’s it, isn’t it? We’ve a child.”

“Two actually, daughters.”

“One after another like clockwork, then?” She arches a brow, resting a hand over her empty womb, “you’re late.”

Aegon grins, “both at once.”

“Efficient.”

“Well, we are nothing if not thorough.”

“With the way you look at me, I’m surprised there are only two children.”

“The birthing bed was not kind to you. I would love any child of ours, but I would not inflict such suffering upon you again.”

Y/N sighs, “you are so in love. I wish desperately to remember.”

“You could love me again.”

“What if it is different than what we shared? What if it does not please you as much?”

Aegon shakes his head, “then it will be different and I will be glad for it all the same.”

“Might I come with you to see them?” Y/N asks, wringing her hands.

“They should like that very much, they’ve been asking for you.”

“What are their names?”

“Dahlia and Visera.” Aegon tells her, “it might be difficult for you to tell them apart at first.”

“Dahlia is a Strong name.” Y/N whispers.

“And Visera was named for Viserys. If we would’ve had a son, we might’ve named him-”

“Laenor.” She breathes, recalling the smile on Aegon’s face as they’d discussed it, over the prominent swell of her belly. Subsequently leading his kisses to trail lower…her cheeks heats up.

“Yes,” Aegon swallows. Mayhaps he is recalling the same conversation.

The twins are playing happily on the floor, with their maids when Y/N enters the room behind Aegon.

“Papa!” They race to him, waiting to be taken into his arms.

“Hello, my darlings.” He holds one in each arm, kissing their little silver heads.

The child on the left sees Y/N first, blinking at her twice, to be sure. “Mama.”

The little girl on the right follows her gaze. “Mama!”

Y/N reaches for them out of instinct, hugging them to her as they are transferred into her arms from Aegon’s. “My girls.”

————————————————————————

Time passes, Aegon and Y/N have long since accepted she will never remember everything. What they share now is different, but wonderful, nonetheless.

Aegon and their children fill Y/N’s days with joy, though she still feels a bit guilty for the life she forgot.

She and her husband sneak out of their daughters’ rooms once they’ve found sleep. Walking back towards Y/N’s apartments with their arms linked.

Aegon bids her good night at the door, with a gentle kiss to her cheek.

“Stay,” Y/N insists, turning her face enough to catch his lips.

“What are you-” Aegon smiles against her mouth.

“It hurts to look at you and not touch you.” Y/N murmurs, reeling him back in and burying her hands in his hair. “If you mean what you say, and you will be happy with me even if I am different, I want to be happy with you.”

“It pleases me to hear you say this, my darling. But are you certain?”

“I want you in my bed, always,” Y/N whispers. “Or to lie with you in yours. To wake with you each morning and spend each night at your side. Though right now there is nothing I want more than your cock in me. Is that certain enough for you?”

Aegon chuckles into her mouth, “that’ll do it.” He pushes open the door, leading her deep into her rooms, until they reach her bed chamber. He unlaces her gown with practiced hands. “Gevie.”Beautiful.

She works him out of his robes, kissing the underside of his jaw. “Gevie.”

He smirks, moving her to the bed. Positioning her sweet head against the pillows, stroking wayward hair from her face. Taking a long moment to look upon her, their gazes locked. Aegon kisses the tip of her nose. “Let us see if you remember this, shall we?”

His lips trail down her neck, across her collarbones to her breasts. Licking and suckling at the entirety of them before bringing a sensitive peak into his mouth.

“Fuck,” Y/N holds him to her.

“Mmm,” he hums, in approval as her hips buck up against his. “Anything coming to mind?”

“I’m afraid not, husband.” Y/N whines as he pulls away, “you’ll need to keep going.”

“Of course,” Aegon latches happily to the opposite nipple, flicking the first between his fingers. Lower and lower his mouth goes, swirling her navel, skating over the skin of her sex.

Y/N nearly faints as he parts her with his thumbs, exposing her pearl to his starved tongue. “Oh!” Her memory of this particular act, does it no justice.

He sighs against her, as though he’s waited the whole of his life to be in this moment with her.

She does not know how to be loved that way, or to give such love in return. But she wants to learn.

Aegon coaxes her through one peak to the next, relishing her breathless giggles as she shoves at his head.

“Enough,” she covers her face with both hands, “enough.”

Aegon chuckles, pressing a feather light kiss to her cunt before retreating, back up to her face. Caging her head between his elbows, hovering over her. “Still nothing?”

“Not a thing, perhaps if you continue.” Y/N reaches between them, taking his cock in hand and stroking, lightly.

Aegon shakes his head, “of course.”

She positions him at her entrance, feeling him slide into her with ease. As though he belongs there. Her hands find his face, stroking his cheeks, reeling him in for sweet kisses or to pant against his mouth. Committing him to memory.

“I love you,” he says, pressing kisses to her fingers, “we’re going to make new memories together, you and I.”

“I love you.” The words fall from her lips, without hesitation. “I love you.”

“I have gone too long without your touch, I will not last.” He warns.

“That’s alright.” Y/N assures him, “I’m nearly there.” Still sensitive from his tongue.

It’s all he can do to hold off until he feels her walls pulse around him, “good girl.” He groans, emptying his spend.

Y/N nuzzles her nose against his. “Aegon?”

“Hmm?”

“Happy anniversary, my love.”

His eyes open wide, meeting her gaze. “You remember?

Y/N nods, feeling tears prickle at the back of her eyes. “I am so sorry, I’ve no idea how I could forget you…us, our daughters, this life together is the world to me.”

“It was not by choice.” He rests his forehead against hers. “If I ever sustain a head injury, I’ll expect you to court me in return.”

“Mayhaps I will court you now, just because.” Y/N wants nothing more than to shower him with affection. “That story you read to me was ours, how did you get it?”

“I wrote it.” Aegon tells her, “to share one day with our children and their children’s children, their children’s children after that.”

Taglist: @21-princess @ladyriverasafepace @oh-you-mean-me @niyahnotnia @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @donalesaa @cookiesnfeesh @barnes70stark

[battlekidx2]

Alastor Episodes 7 and 8 Thoughts

These two episodes really gave us a lot in regards to Alastor and I cannot wait to see where they go with him in season 2. What I find most fascinating about what they established with him in these episodes is how I think this perfectly sets up Alastor to directly challenge the show’s main themes of redemption.

Alastor is the only character in the main cast that I think could effectively challenge Charlie’s idea of redemption by making her face the question of “where the line for who can be redeemed and who is too far gone is?” 

Even Vaggie and her past as an exorcist couldn’t challenge Charlie’s ideals in the same way because Vaggie so clearly wants to be better and is trying to be better. She could only challenge Charlie’s idea of who could be redeemed. She couldn’t truly challenge the line of when someone is too far gone unlike Alastor. 

And to explain this I'll just jump right in.

It’s clear these two episodes were meant to show a shift in Alastor and Charlie’s relationship in some capacity. It’s a bit more of a subtle shift than with the other characters, but I think it’s setting up this future conflict well for the limited time the show has. 

At the start Charlie doesn’t think Alastor cares and calls him out on this. She directly states that she believes he enjoys the suffering. He refutes her idea of him by stating she doesn’t know what he feels. He purposefully hides his feelings behind a smile as a sign of control. (The first shift. It tells her there’s more beneath the surface)

Then Alastor helps Charlie enlist cannibal town and says he wants to mentor her in the song. This is more than the initial indifference and humor he got out of Charlie at the beginning. There’s an interest in seeing Charlie grow and being a part of it that wasn't there before. And, with Alastor helping Charlie here, trust is being built (at least on Charlie's end).

Then Alastor talks to Niffty (who he is clearly fond of) and admits he finds the group enjoyable to be around. He says he could grow accustomed to them after Niffty says she really likes them almost in agreement with her. He's very candid with Niffty and doesn't seem to feel the need to hide his emotions around her. They appear to be on the same wavelength.

And finally, Charlie is upset when she thinks that Alastor died against Adam and hugs him happily when he returns. In Charlie’s eyes Alastor has been helpful and risked himself and his power to protect the hotel. This is a true shift in their relationship on Charlie's end.

This bond is necessary because if (at the very least) Charlie doesn't care about Alastor then he won't be able to truly challenge her idea of redemption and the show implies it doesn't just go one way. It's just obscured.

To explain what I mean I want to look at Alastor's role in the final battle and that moment when he is alone after he escapes.

At the beginning of the battle he felt like the trump card he should have been. He makes the exorcists, before Adam destroys his shield, look like a joke. And he gives Adam a run for his money before he becomes overconfident and lets his guard down. He didn’t expect Adam to bounce back and have that much power left to show. He was caught completely off guard and paid the price. 

And instead of staying to face the end with the rest of the people in the hotel Alastor opts to save himself. He places himself first. When he leaves he seems almost smug, spouting off a one liner and smiling as he sinks into the shadows. It seems calculated and calm, but alone is a completely different story. This moment shakes Alastor and that moment alone puts his fight against Adam and decision to flee in a different light.

In this moment when he's alone he starts to lose it, saying there has to be a way out. This isn’t where things end. He will come out on top. 

He can feel his control over the situation slipping. His power and notoriety has been challenged left and right this season. First Vox, then Lucifer, then the loan sharks, now Adam. It’s one right after the other. And Adam almost killed him.

He’s struggling to grasp onto what little control he has left by forcing himself to keep on his smile and it calls back to the beginning of episode 7 when he says to Charlie that just because she sees a smile doesn't mean she knows how he really feels. His smile is a sign of control. And even in this moment you can see that last bit of control slipping. And it’s left him even more desperate for his freedom than before.

The Radio Demon was introduced almost as if he was an all powerful entity and now he is being brought back down to earth and he’s raging against it, barely keeping it just below the surface. 

But there’s even more to his breakdown than just his pride. The lines “Great Alastor, altruist, died for his friends. Sorry to disappoint that is not where this ends. I’m hungry for freedom like never before. The constraints of my deal surely have a backdoor.” strongly imply that he really does care for the residents of the hotel more than he wants to admit even to himself.

He is freaking out because he got too close to dying trying to protect and help people that he never thought he would care at all about and he’s doubling down on his plans from before. 

His immediate desperation to be free implies he is at the hotel because he is forced to be there, but he’s desperate to get out of the contract because he doesn’t like how it’s changing him. Alastor has always put himself first and here he is almost dying trying to protect this hotel and it's rattled him even more deeply than the blow to his pride.

I feel like they know exactly what Alastor can mean thematically and they want you to know he’s a villain while seeding hints there could be change under the surface (ones that Alastor himself is afraid of and wants to double down against). There’s a balancing act going on with him and it seems they really do want to challenge the idea of redemption with him. Not just Charlie’s, but his own as well.

Alastor is still in my opinion the best written character in the series. There’s just so much to unravel with him and he’s the most fun to try and dissect to me. I can’t wait to see what they have planned for him in season 2.

[princessbellecerise]

Worth The Wait

──── ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧ ────

summary | Jace spends your entire courtship denying you the pleasures of what you really want. Now that it’s the night of your wedding, he has every intention of making it worth the wait

warnings | husband!jace, first time wedding smut, creampie

this is an eighteen plus fic. minors please do not enter

divider by @princessbellecerise

Jacaerys never let himself have his way with you until your wedding night.

Before that, he’d always cut you off, not letting anything get too far because of his honor. He was so righteous that it nearly made you blind with rage every time he stopped you when you were right there, so close to having him inside of you but stopped every time by his last minute morals.

Jacaerys was a good man and you suffered for it; always being left aching and denied what you truly wanted. But of course, as heir, he knew he couldn’t touch you until your wedding night. The gods, his mother and his reputation frowned upon it. Jacaerys would do not such thing as dishonor you, so he waited.

And waited.

And suddenly, it was the night of your wedding feast and Jacaerys could not bring himself to think of anything expect for you. How good you looked in your gown, the lights seemingly adorning your face.

Marriage looked so good on you that he can hardly contain himself. He grows desperate with each passing minute, strained smiles and polite yet brief words being exchanged with everyone that approaches to congratulate him. A few people even make him laugh and like the future king he is, Jace does not show his true emotions.

He does not show how desperately he wants you, his wife whom he’s denied pleasure so much. He keeps his composure but Jacaerys is suffering, agonizingly and and eagerly awaiting for the sun to go down.

Of course, you take note of his angst and worry that something is wrong with your husband. Or worse—that he’s unhappy to the point where he doesn’t even want to eat.

He hasn’t touched his food since it was brought out and worriedly, you lean over to ask him about his lack of appetite.

You have to admit; you weren’t expecting the response that you got. Words from his mouth that send pure heat through your body and made you feel hot from your heels to your head.

“I am fine, my princess. I am simply not hungry because it is not roast I wish to feast upon right now,” He tells you, and suddenly everything makes since.

Why he’s so tense. Why Jacaerys looks like he cannot wait to leave this damn dinner. And suddenly, your mouth drops into an ‘o’ shape. A smirk slowly adorning your lips because now Jacaerys knows what it feels like. He knows what it’s like to be left waiting, wondering and lusting for the opportunity.

In a way, it sort of makes you satisfied that he has to wait.

Only when the sun goes down is it proper for him to finally announce your fair wells, grabbing your hand and all but dragging you towards your now shared chambers.

Everyone is looking at the two of you, cheering and congratulating you both as you walk though the congregational of people. Friends and allies alike clap Jace on the back and wink at you as your grip on his hand tightens.

With a strained smile, Jace politely nods back but does not entertain their jesting. You’re grateful, because even though what you’re about to do is an open secret, it’s still embarrassing.

Thankfully, there would be no bedding ceremony, Jacaerys way too much of a gentleman to let that happen to you. Instead, it’s only you and him and the flames of desire that grow between the two of you as you walk through the halls.

It burns—it really does. The heat and the longing between you two is almost unbearable as you finally make it behind closed doors, barely locking it before Jacaerys grabs you and jumps you.

You’re surprised, yelping when your husband scoops you into his arms and kisses you without so much as a word.

His hot mouth covers your groans and while it is unexpected, you welcome it.

His kiss is fierce, so passionate that it nearly knocks you to your knees. Jacaerys has clearly grown desperate during the hours of waiting, the future king nearly rabid as he pokes and prods at your clothing.

Never have you seen him in such a way, so ungentleman-like as he drags you to the floor. You don’t even make it to the bed because Jacaerys is so needy, getting you naked in no time while also landing sloppy kisses on your neck.

It ignites an unimaginable fire in your belly to see him so frantic for you. To see him finally give in and want to fuck you like you’ve previously begged for.

Now that his honor isn’t at stake, Jacaerys is not holding back. He’s adamant about what he wants and he wants you; all of you.

You two lay bare before one another and then it’s time; Jace settling himself at your hole and running his cock head against your slick folds.

He’s done this many times before. You’ve been here before, and every time this was the moment that Jace pulled back. Just when he was about to push into you, his sense would smack him in the face and off of you he went.

This was always the stage of stopping but this time there was no return. You found yourself almost opening your mouth, so used to having to beg him for friction.

“Just the tip, at least the tip. Please Jace.” Is what you used to beg for.

Now, it shocks you when he says nothing. Does nothing to pull away, only kisses you so hard it makes your head spin and your lips throb from where he cut it earlier.

He’s so feverish that it hurts, hurts so good to know he finally desires you. To know that this will be the time he doesn’t stop, the time you don’t beg.

Now, it is him that is at his wits ends as he lays his forehead against yours. When it’s time to push himself in, Jacaerys finally speaks. Brown eyes blown from desire, the future king is barely able to hold himself back, but he does.

“Do you wish for me to warm you first, sweetling?” He asks, and it’s not so much as an offer as it is his morals shining through. Jace wants absolutely nothing except to fuck you into oblivion, but he’s kind.

He asks before taking your maidenhood even though he’s shaking at your entrance, will power faltering the longer you contemplate your answer.

He almost cries when he sees you shake your head, breathing a sigh of relief and pursing his pink lips together while nodding. He understands.

“They’ll be time for that later,” You tell him and he’s relived. Back to the mission of penetrating you before you suddenly get an idea, finding yourself stopping him one last time just to be cruel.

“Wait!” You take the role of Jacaerys, and he you as he stares at you with wide eyes. Hungry eyes that are confused and frustrated as you look at him.

“What is it, my love?” He asks slowly.

A crude smirk falls upon your lips. “Maybe we should wait,” You tell him bashfully, loving the way he reels back. The bewilderment in his expression is finally enough to satisfy your revenge for a lifetime, and you want to laugh when he finally feels what you feel. “Maybe we shouldn’t…dishonor ourselves this way. We should wait for marriage, you know? That way—”

You gasp to the high heavens as your cruel joke is suddenly cut off by Jacaerys pushing himself inside of you. In no mood to jest, he takes what he wants and finally eases himself in your core.

You were being cruel to him, he justifies. Jacaerys is a kind man that does not take lightly to cruelty.

You moan out as pleasure graces your lower regions and stare at your husband in shock as his face shows all seriousness. Out of all things, you weren’t expecting for him to do that. To take control in way he’d never shown before.

“Do not jest with me, wife. Not tonight of all nights. Do not deny your husband such pleasure,” He growls in your ear as he finally stills.

Still stunned, you simply lay there and relish in the feeling of him on top of you. Seven hells, you have half a mind to cry with relief but you don’t want him to mistake yours tears for pain.

In fact, it’s quite the opposite and though you told yourself no more begging, you find that you do it anyways as you wrap your legs around him. Pulling him close so that Jacaerys is really and truly inside of you, just as your husband should be.

“I’m sorry, my love. Please forgive me—I won’t do it again,” You whisper desperately, desire clawing at your every atom. You need him to move, you need him to finish what he started; to complete what you’ve craved for what seems like forever now.

It would only be fair after denying you that pleasure for half a year.

“Good.”

Jacaerys growls this and that is when you feel him start to move, his hips snapping into yours as his lips find your own. You moan as his cock thrusts his way through your unexplored folds, reaching depths and pleasures you never thought possible.

You clench around him and move your lips, loving the way he groans and pants into your mouth. Your legs still find themselves wrapped around his waist, enticing your love to go deeper, faster, harder.

You need him and he needs you.

His strokes are those of desperation, chasing every feeling he had ran away from you. Chasing those previous nights where he had denied you his cock, denied himself of the pelasure that he was feeling right now.

The feeling of you wrapped around his cock was one that was indescribable. If anyone ever asked, which he doubted they would (expect for Luke, maybe) then Jacaerys would simply have to stare at them, mouth open like it was now.

For what could he say, other than his beloved was inciting things from his body that he had never felt before? Providing him with pleasure and ecstasy that took his breath away more than his first dragon ride.

These feelings lifted him higher than that, higher than Vermax souring through the clouds and he screwed his eyes shut as he saviored the flavors of your cunt.

Soft and wet and warm and his prison that he’d gladly rot away in. If Jacaerys could spend the rest of his days inside of you he’d be a happy man. He’d give up the iron throne, burn the skies and every village if it meant feeling your warmth.

He’d do it all.

He would give you his all, steadying his pace so that you might taste the same drops of pleasure he was experiencing. So that you might throw your head back in ecstasy like he did, identical moans leaving the two of you as you came undone.

For you, it came in the form of clenching down on Jace’s cock, crying out as your peak hit you violently. You panted, biting into his shoulder as he did yours and rocking your hips to the sensation.

For Jacaerys, it came in the form of hot spurts, coating your walls with his seed like a good husband should. Like a good king, who would surely need to provide heirs one day.

You were all too willing to compete this task, sucking him in, milking him of his children until Jacaerys had nothing left to give. Until he was an empty shell above you, eyes closed and utterly exhausted as he rolled to the floor beside you.

It took a few minutes for anything expect for your heavy panting to fill the room. Both you and Jace were dazed, still out of it and not quite sure what had just happened. Still experiencing the bliss from your first night of marriage. One, that if anything, indicated that a good marriage was on the horizon indeed.

For you, the night had been everything you hoped for and more. Worth the wait, which you were sure that Jacaerys appreciated now that his honor and his cock reminded satified.

Perhaps the two could co-exist now, you concluded. Staring at your beloved as he turned to face you too, a small smile peaking at his lips.

“Iksin ziry worth se umbagon syt ao pār, ñuha jorrāelagon?” He asked, as shallow breaths overtook his body still. (Was it worth the wait then, my love?)

You grinned as you looked into his brown eyes and eagerly nodded, reminiscing on your peak that had happened only minutes before.

You were still dazed, still hazy but your mind was clear enough that you knew your answer before you uttered it. You loved this man, and you knew that you had made the right decision.

“Kessa, īles worth se umbagon indeed, ñuha jorrāelagon,” You promised softly, using the High Valerian he had taught you. Gazing into his eyes that had gone soft for you. That held love for you and silently promised you that this was it, that Jacaerys would always be worthy of anything till the end of your days. “Kesā va moriot sagon worth ziry naejot nyke.” (Yes, it was worth the wait indeed, my love. You will always be worth it to me.)

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

okay okay rapid fire spider-verse thots fresh out of the theater, trying to minimize spoilers but jesus

da Vinci-looking Vulture... very cool

the art on Gwen's earth in general is SO cool

in general the animators were just SHAMELESSLY showing off with this one and it rules so hard

Rio Morales animated milf of all time

truly do not understand what all of you see in Miguel tbh that man suuuuuucks!! kill!!

Peter B is also on my shit list tbh. Gwen going along with this is understandable, she's literally a homeless teenager in a bad position to fight against adult spiders making decisions, but Peter... come on dude...

truly they HAD to leave Pav out of the middle of the movie because he would have sided with Miles (you think he would want Inspector Singh to die!! fuck no!!) and he's perfect so he would have just effortlessly swept the floor with every other spider-person

Gwen is flirtatiously trans coded and responds to Spider-Man at least once, congrats to her on the fun gender

Jessica's design is so cool but they made her such a cop... god I hope she's coming around in the next movie

cannot wait to see gifs of this movie slowing down every frame to point out every individual background spider-person

the fucking. the family of it all. Miles' parents afraid to let him grow up and Gwen's dad unable to accept the truth about his daughter and Miguel trying to raise a daughter who wasn't supposed to be his and Peter B's baby girl and Jessica Drew's visible baby bump and the spiders' collective miserable certainty that they are DEFINED by the trauma of losing someone they love.

something something Miles' parents and the spider society have the same problem - being afraid of change from what they thought was The Right Way To Do Things - but Miles' parents love and trust him to make the right choices beyond their understanding while Miguel and the other spiders are too hurt by their own traumas to imagine someone else thriving without it

also fuck all of them the boy's uncle died in front of him after trying to kill him HAS HE NOT SUFFERED ENOUGH

Hobie's soooo annoying (affectionate) but also right about, like, literally everything AND good with babies to boot

the whole ending is so ‼️‼️‼️‼️

the thing with Miles and Uncle Aaron at the end... you know the thing... DELICIOUS au right there tell me everything about that shit

the fucking end man

I've NEVER been in a theater where everyone collectively screamed @ the end of a movie fuck fuck fuck. there's cliffhangers and then there's THIS

[ashwhowrites]

So excited to see your requests open!!! My first request since I found you!! So I was having a hard time deciding what to ask for and then I thought why not do a dice roller on the prompt list with the categories!

And I got love confessions 7, and then under fluff 11. Honestly it sounds cute as hell! And that’s all, full author control of the set up and what have you.

And clearly I’m very indecisive tonight so I rolled for who to ask for it with, between Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson. And the dice gods decreed Steve and I cannot wait to see what you do with this!

You are chef’s kiss, shining star, ten million fireflies lighting up the world as owlcity fell asleep.

Lol, basically you’re great and your writing is great and thank you so so much for doing requests as much as you do! it really just makes it easier to get through the miasma that is life when I can check here for new goodies on fic days. Your effort is so appreciated babes. XOXO

“I’m going to need you to stop for one second because I just find it so incredibly rude that you think I’m not head over heels in love with your stupid, oblivious ass. Are you a brick? Because you’re dense as fuck.”

“Our kids are gonna be *mwah*!”

A harsh confession

Steve was a helpless romantic who never wanted to give up on his relationship with Nancy. But it was clear she didn't love him and a part of him was scared to admit he didn't love her. They were high school lovers and he figured she'd be the one until the end, simply because it was the easiest outcome.

And then he met someone else, Y/N. He met someone who made him feel things he had never felt with Nancy. It scared the shit out of him. To make matters worse, it was his new coworker. Someone he would always see and spend time with. Then he'd go back to Nancy and try to get Y/N out of his head.

But she never left. She haunted Steve's head and he couldn't escape her. He didn't have the heart to tell Nancy, so he planned to suffer for the rest of his life in a convenient relationship. Nancy had other plans, she fell in love with someone else too, but she wasn't going to stay for Steve. One drunk night and all her feelings came to the surface. Steve was hurt but man was he relieved.

~~~

Steve walked into work as a new man, a bright smile on his face. He was free and that meant he could go for Y/N, the girl he truly wanted.

"What's got you in a good mood?" Robin asked

"Nancy broke up with me," Steve said, but he didn't sound upset about it, and that confused Robin

"Isn't a breakup supposed to be heartbroken and supposed to be crying in your bedroom and not showering for days?"

"I'm not a girl," Steve scoffed, which led Robin to give him a glare and roll her eyes. "It was needed, neither of us was in it anymore," Steve explained.

"Morning, guys," Y/N smiled as she walked through the doors. Steve smiled upon hearing her voice, his stomach fluttering as she walked past him and he inhaled her perfume.

"Morning, Y/N," Robin smiled

They followed her with their eyes until she was out of sight.

"That's why you aren't upset. You got your eye on someone else," Robin teased, nudging Steve with her elbow.

"Yeah, but the question is, does she have her eye on me?" Steve sighed

~~~

Now that Steve was single, he tried to charm Y/N's socks off. It seemed to work, she'd smile and get shy. Sometimes she'd flirt back and it made Steve's head spin.

He felt too nervous to straight out ask if she was interested in him so he hoped his flirting and consistent interest told her how he felt. But were girls ever that easy? Nope.

She liked Steve, of course, she did. He was gorgeous with his sweet eyes, perfect smile, and flowy hair. She had feelings for him the second she met him. But he was with Nancy so she never went for it. Now he is single and seems to flirt with her more than he ever did with Nancy.

Y/N wanted to give in but she was scared to be his rebound. She liked him too much to date him so fresh out of a relationship. She couldn't tell if he was interested in hooking up or interested in being together. She could have asked him but she felt like she would sound way too pushy about it.

She gave it a week or two and Steve never asked her out so she gave up. A random boy she met asked her out and she accepted the date. She wasn't exactly interested in the poor boy but maybe it would make Steve move forward a step.

~

"SHE'S ON A DATE!" Steve screamed as he walked into Robin's bedroom. His hair was a mess from the amount of times he ran his hands through it. He was beyond frustrated and a bit hurt.

"What?" Robin asked

"She's on a fucking date, Robin. Clearly, she doesn't like me," Steve huffed, collapsing on her bed with a dramatic sigh.

"Well, have you thought about asking her on a date?" Robin sighed, already knowing her peaceful night was going to be spent on Steve's feelings.

"Obviously!" Steve groaned

"Okay, did you ever ask her?"

"Well, no,"

"How do you know she doesn't like you if you've never asked her out?" Robin sarcastically smiled

"Because she's currently on a date with a guy," Steve said back in a duh tone.

"It's a date, Steve. She isn't getting married," Robin said as she rolled her eyes, "ask the girl out."

~~~

The next day Steve pulled her aside at work. She was confused but followed him into the back room.

"What's up?"

"How was your date?" Steve asked, he crossed his arms and leaned against the wall

Y/N was surprised he cared to ask, "It was alright. Is that what you wanted to talk about?"

"Will there be another date?" Steve asked. He tried to sound nonchalant but his tone was clearly snippy.

"Being debated," Y/N shrugged.

"Well is he cute?" Steve asked

"Yes, Steve he's cute. What's going on?" Y/N asked

"Just catching up with my friend," Steve shrugged.

Y/N felt her body deflate at the word friend. She rolled her eyes and headed for the door.

"Where are you going?" Steve asked, pushing off the wall to follow her

"To work, Steve. This conversation seems to be pointless." She snapped

"Talking to me is pointless?" Steve scoffed

"It seems like it!" Y/N huffed. "I mean we barely have conversations. We flirt and that's it. Now you call me your friend and try to get the inside scoop of my dating life. What do you want from this conversation?"

"I want to know why you went on a date with that guy!" Steve exclaimed

"Because he asked me out!"

"But why would you go when we were...you know flirting," Steve argued

"I'm sorry I didn't know flirting meant we were exclusive. You never said anything about actually liking me!"

"Well, I do!" Steve fought, "I like you and I want to ask you out but it's clear you don't like me that way. I mean you already have dates lined up so I guess I shouldn't waste my time." Steve went for the door but Y/N stood in front of it. Steve looked down at her, it was clear he was angry but didn't want to lose his cool.

"I didn't want to be your rebound!" Y/N admitted

Steve's face softened, "what?"

"You and Nancy just broke up. I've always liked you but I didn't know if you were flirting because you like me or it got your mind off Nancy. And you never did anything more than flirt so I have a feeling it's the second one." Y/N spat, her eyes went into slits as she glared.

“I’m going to need you to stop for one second because I just find it so incredibly rude that you think I’m not head over heels in love with your stupid, oblivious ass. Are you a brick? Because you’re dense as fuck.” Steve laughed with no humor behind it.

"Hey you don't have to be so ru- wait you love me?" Y/N asked, her anger disappeared as shock took over her body.

"I've been in love with you, even when I was with Nancy. I should have gotten to the point and asked you out. But you also never said how you felt!" Steve argued, "But we know how we feel now, so where do you want to go with this?"

Y/N didn't have to think. She closed her eyes and pressed her lips against his. Her hands dove into his hair, it was softer than she ever dreamed. She loved feeling his hair and his lips, she knew she'd never get tired of it.

Steve kissed her back, his arms wrapped around her body. He pressed her against the door and kissed her harder.

The door pushed back against them and they quickly jumped apart. Robin kept pushing open the door until the two came into view.

"Got a job to do lovebirds," Robin said

"Right!" Y/N said, her body felt like it was on fire as she raced out of the door

“Our kids are gonna be *mwah*!” Steve said a dazed smile on his face.

"Oh Lord help me," Robin sighed as she went in the direction Y/N went.

[tombofthemummy]

THE WHITE PHARAOH

This man (The WHITE PHARAOH) is the one being that I hate the most in the world.

His horrific antics exceed any kind of annoyance I have ever felt towards anyone, HUMAN or otherwise, LIVING or otherwise, PHARAOH or otherwise, WHITE or otherwise. His existence is an atrocity on the concept of being a PHARAOH.

1: HIS UNJUST WAYS

I myself am an EVIL MUMMY, often killing people for fun and to defend my TOMB. However, the WHITE PHARAOH does far worse things for far worse reasons. His continued enslavement of people with MINIMUM WAGE for the sole purpose of building more PYRAMIDS is awful, and he likely thinks of himself as a good person.

2: HIS IMMEASURABLE GREED

Any PHARAOH will tell you that all you need is 1 good PYRAMID. So why does he want more? My one PYRAMID has a COMBAT ARENA, a GIANT PIT, a BAR, a SARCOPHAGUS CHAMBER, a PUZZLE ROOM, and much, much more. What more could the WHITE PHARAOH want from hundreds of PYRAMIDS? He is going to sell CHARCUTERIE BOARDS and WINE in shops in the PYRAMIDS? He is going to sleep in 100 TOMBS? It sickens me. His GREED for PYRAMIDS is horrendous.

3: HIS LIES

I know for a FACT that the WHITE PHARAOH is not, will not be, and has never been a real PHARAOH. His HEADDRESS was stolen from a TOMB, and he has never been to EGYPT. His insistence that he is The WHITE PHARAOH comes from a twisted view of EGYPTIAN SOCIETY that he wishes to appropriate. His OBSESSION with PYRAMIDS has spurred him to build an EMPIRE of LIES so he can control more of the world in unjust ways.

4: WHITE

The WHITE PHARAOH says things like "aw shucks," calls people "Pal," and is always eating some CHEESE AND CRACKERS. It isn't morally reprehensible, but it is very annoying. There are few people WHITER than the WHITE PHARAOH in his irritating mannerisms of the ANGLO-SAXONS. Normally, I would be okay with someone being so WHITE, but in conjunction with his AWFUL PERSONALITY and EVIL WAYS, it becomes far worse.

5: HIS MUMMY DISCRIMINATION

Some may recall that in a PRESS CONFERENCE, the WHITE PHARAOH stated that he would not be MUMMIFIED because it's "gross and ugly." As a MUMMY, I found myself terribly offended. But to make matters worse, he constantly alludes to his HATRED OF MUMMIES elsewhere. In the televised HOMEOWNERS ASSOCIATION MEETING of the WHITE PHARAOH'S EMPIRE, he gave an entire speech about how PHARAOHS should not be MUMMIFIED, and every PHARAOH that is now a MUMMY should be unraveled and buried in a CEMETERY like "normal people." He mentioned ANIMATED MUMMIES as one of the worst things of all time, and said that every MUMMY who is alive in any way (like ME) should be KILLED. I need not elaborate how terrible of a person this makes him.

THE WHITE PHARAOH SHOULD BE HATED BY ALL

I know that when the WHITE PHARAOH dies, for a reason that I hope is me KILLING him myself, or some other extremely painful event, ANUBIS will be waiting for him. When his HEART is placed on the SCALE, it will be so heavy and drop with such force that it will immediately SLAM into the GROUND, shaking the EARTH in the LAND OF THE DEAD and catapulting the FEATHER into the sky.

The WHITE PHARAOH deserves nothing that he has. His POWER, his WEALTH, his HEADDRESS. He is worthy of none of them. The WHITE PHARAOH is a truly horrible being and I wish nothing but the most painful suffering on him for eternity.

I hope each and every one of his PYRAMIDS falls and crumbles into SAND scattered across the houses of the UTAH SUBURBS.

Words cannot describe how much I hate the WHITE PHARAOH.

[gabessquishytum]

The ask about alpha Dream dicking alpha Hob so good he not only becomes an omega but gets pregnant has not left my brain. Like, at all.

Add to that my love for beefcake omegas and we get Dream suffering because Hob's already glorious chest is even more glorious now that he's in the late stage of pregnancy, but he cannot do anything about it because Hob keeps complaining about how sensitive his chest is :(

Hob meanwhile is googling how many hints can you drop about wanting your alpha to play with your tits until you just have to outright tell him without making it weird because your relationship is new and not exactly clear.

Or less googling and more like starting a reddit thread because this is a niche issue but he needs advice damn it.

- 🍃

Deeply obsessed with this actually!!!!

I can imagine that the reddit thread goes a little like this.

morpheusalpha: I (35M, alpha) accidentally bitched someone and now he (33M, omega) is pregnant. At first we weren't together, but we have decided to pursue a relationship and we are very happy together. However, he is now reaching the late stages of pregnancy and I have become unreasonably obsessed by his breasts. He is now very well endowed and generally very uncomfortable (due to soreness) and I do not want to make him feel worse. How should I approach this issue?

----------weirddreammer: bro how do you accidentally bitch someone wtf

----------yourfavouritelibrarian: hello! i would recommend asking your omega partner how best you can help him. he may be very glad to have your attention on this newly developing part of his body! good luck to you both!

-----------newomega1389: omg I'm in the exact opposite situation to you!! I recently became an omega via bitching (best thing that ever happened to me btw) and I'm currently pregnant!! Tbh I wish my alpha would be interested in my tits, I'm a little shy about them but I really want him to touch and I'm super horny but I don't want to scare him off haha. Hopefully we both find a resolution!!

It takes them an unreasonably long time to work out that they're talking to each other on the same damn reddit thread. At least Hob can blame pregnancy-brain, Dream has no excuse for being oblivious. Except maybe that he was distracted by Hob’s new boobs...

In any case they finally have a chat about the issue, and both of them are thoroughly satisfied with the outcome. Hob feels truly like the happiest omega in the world as Dream kneads his full, sore tits and covers the newly burgeoning flesh in kisses. This is the life he was meant for. He can't wait for his milk to come in, so that he can provide for his child... and maybe let Dream have a suckle now and then. As long as he gives Hob a good long knotting in return!

[lenasai]

this is one of the campaigns i spotlighted a while back. ghazi's campaign is progressing, but very slowly - too slowly for the circumstances he and his family are living through. €500-€1000 short term goals are taking an excruciatingly long amount of time to reach.

his situation, in his own words (emphasis mine):

When the war on Gaza began on October 7, 2023, my relatives and uncles took refuge in our house, thinking that it was the safe house, and 5 days after their displacement to us, the occupation carried out a brutal and violent bombardment on the neighborhood next to us. On the morning of Friday, 10/13/2023, the Zionist occupation called my older brother, asking him to escape, evacuate all the buildings of the entire neighborhood, and head to the south of the Gaza Strip. It was very suspicious and scary and we didn't know where to turn. We had to evacuate. I had to flee with my family to a safe area, leaving behind my neighborhood, my home, my shops, my work, my memories, literally everything. We took refuge with our relatives in Al-Maghazi camp, and 12 days after we were displaced, on 10/25/2023, the occupation bombed the bakery opposite the house in which we were displaced, and I was injured in my foot. On the left side and an injury, my brother suffered minor burns to her face, and the house became partially destroyed, but it is the only shelter we have, so we restored what we could to live in the house as much as possible. On November 4, 2023, warplanes targeted the bakery after it was destroyed again. Thank God, none of us were injured, and nothing was done here. We were able to restore, but we cleaned and sat down because there was no other place, and on the morning of Wednesday, January 3, 2024, the occupation made a sudden ground entry into Al-Maghazi camp, and here we were surrounded and we could not leave the house. There was no water, food or any other necessities of life. We just sat and heard the sounds of shelling, bullets and missiles. We are waiting for our turn to come. Until Sunday morning, January 7, 2024, we miraculously managed to leave Al-Maghazi under bombardment and took refuge in Rafah. I had no one or relatives there, and we built a tent to shelter me and my family. On May 28, 2024, we were displaced for the sixth time after nights and days of violent bombing on tents in Rafah’s Mawasi. They were displaced and we did not know where to run. I cannot describe the situation adequately; I think you've seen enough on the Internet. I lost my home, my shops, my family's source of income, and I was left with nothing. I have lost many friends over the past four months. However, I feel nothing but complete helplessness and inability to help my family. The feeling of helplessness is humiliating and painful, as negative thoughts dominate your thoughts, such as thinking about suicide or wishing for death to escape this feeling. But here I am breathing again and thinking of positive solutions in the face of crushing death. I'm trying to cling to life.

today, ghazi made an update: his campaign finally reached its €9,500 short term goal. the next one is €10,000. let's help him reach that goal by the end of next week! i think it's completely doable, but he needs your help. even €5 helps, but if you truly cannot donate, then please spread his campaign in the hopes that it will reach someone who can.

this campaign has been featured on the @gazafunds website and i trust its legitimacy.

€9,629 / €10,000 (short-term) - €371 left to short-term goal

€9,629 / €50,000 total

please share this post so other people can see this campaign!

[farieofshampoo]

THE WOLF & THE DRAGON (3/?)

warnings: mention of sexual harassment

series masterlist, chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 4, chapter 5, chapter 6

summary: To dance with dragons is to play with wolves. After surviving her own assassination attempt, Alarra Stark endured a large scar across her face, slicing her face in half. For years after Alarra was now known as "Alarra The Fierce" due to her ferocity at the young age, defending herself valiantly at merely thirteen-years-old. After then, she spent years training with her older brother, Cregan Stark, so that one day she could avoid the pain and suffering of anyone in her family; including herself. But, after those years spent training with men much larger than her, she is sent away and betrothed to Joffrey Velaryon for alliance towards the rightful heir to the Iron Throne: Rhaenyra Targaryen. Accompanying the family to Kingslanding, Alarra realized maybe marrying the young Velaryon boy wasn't so awful. But that was until she met a peculiar "one-eyed" prince.

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Stark!OC

word count: 3.6k

tags: slow burn, forbidden love, canon Aemond, enemies to lovers, long fic, original characters, war, arranged marriage

rating: 18+, !MDNI!

Breath of Fire

A Stark has been betrothed to a Velaryon.  

The word had slipped, spreading quickly among the Seven Kingdoms, the engagement reaching the ears of Aemond Targaryen. But, not to just any Velaryon: the youngest child of Rhaenyra Targaryen. 

Aemond didn't know why it had angered him. Why the thought of a Stark girl ruining the Targaryen line made him so furious. But, Rhaenyra had already done that bedding the plain featured man, he figured. Aemond remembered Rhaenyra had proposed the idea of Jacaerys and Helaena but his mother was quick to turn it down. 

“Aemond dear, what has plagued your thoughts?” Alicent’s sweet voice rang through the room, and Aemond was brought out of his running mind. 

“Nothing, mother.” Helaena was next to him, braiding Jaehaera’s hair. His fingers drummed mindlessly against the arm of his chair, staring at a doll with blonde hair on the ground. Aemond didn't realize how deep his scowl had become until Helaena pulled him from his indignation. 

“I had a dream about you brother,” She started, still braiding the hair of Jaehaera. Aemond turned to look at her from across the room. “Wolves bite and Dragons take flight.” Helaena whispered, her eyes unwavering.

Aemond had learned to ignore his sister's questionable inquiries, but this one intrigued him. Alicent’s gentle voice broke through the silence once again that enveloped the room. 

“You're always so pensive these days, my son.” Alicent waited a beat, her eyes studying her son and his cold demeanor. 

“My thoughts are only bare, mother.” Aemond muttered, before he glanced at Helaena again. Aemond was lying. His thoughts were never naked. His thoughts consumed him. And only one thing was on his mind.

“Did you hear?” Ser Criston Cole was standing next to the prince, breathing heavily from their training minutes before. “The cunt of Dragonstone has sold her bastard son to a wolf.” He rang, snorting. 

Aemond paused, turning his head to look at the Knight. 

“Princess Rhaenyra,” Criston Cole paused, his eyebrows scrunched together as he stared at the prince. “She is still a princess and you will address her as such.”

“I apologize my prince I-” 

“And yes, I had heard the rumors. So, they are true, yes?” Ser Criston Cole slowly nodded his head, adjusting the plate on his chest. 

“Alarra the Fierce is what they call her, my prince.”

Alarra the Fierce. 

Aemond had heard that name before. He had heard of her strength as much as her beauty. But she was a Stark, with rough features and dark hair. She was no Targaryen. 

“And is this Alarra truly fierce?” Criston Cole laughed, shaking his head. 

“She cannot be…she is a woman.”

“I wouldn't underestimate her because of her birth. If the stories are true…” Aemond pondered remembering hearing the story of the Princess who Lived at a young age. He never believed it, but if it were true…

“If the stories are true, then I will resign!” Ser Criston Cole joked, laughing again. 

But, Aemond had a feeling that the wolf from the North would bare her teeth at the dragons. 

It had been three days since Alarra’s visit to Castle Black when they received the Raven from Rhaenyra Targaryen. 

“The Princess and her family are to be in King's Landing with her father…” Cregan read, his eyes scanning over the letter again before he looked back up at Alarra. “She requests your presence at Dragonstone immediately.” Cregan’s voice was wavering, like he was uncertain. His fist was holding the paper tightly, his eyebrows furrowed into a singular line above his eyes. The further he read the more tense his face became. 

“Why so sudden?” Alarra questioned, leaning forward to glance at the letter, but Cregan ripped it away from the table. “What is it?”

Cregan remained still, his finger beating against the table. 

Thump, thump, thump.  

“Leave me, Alarra.”

“But-”

“Leave.” Cregan had started to gather a fresh piece of paper, ink and a quill. Alarra sat there for a moment before she slowly stood quietly leaving the room.  

Alarra was brushing one of the many horses in the stable, something she enjoyed doing. It was a way to calm herself and stay collected. She brushed one of the brown horses, a small smile on her face as she whispered to the animal, receiving no reply. Alarra was too focused, letting her guard down, and she didn't notice a figure standing behind her, watching. 

“Alarra.”

Alarra jumped, becoming alert, turning around to find her brother approaching her. His face was pale, and he looked like a boy at that moment. Not the lord of Winterfell, not the king of the North but her brother. He looked like he did when they would play in the creek, splashing water until the sun fell beneath the trees and their father would tell them that night time was not safe. He looked like himself. 

“Cregan.” She replied, turning around to face him and her back towards the horse. He stepped towards her again, slightly skeptical, like a fox approaching a bird. 

“I seem to always find you here when you are upset.”

“I find solace in the most accepting creatures,” Alarra started, turning back around to pet the horse’s face with her palm, and it moved towards her hand, inviting her. “Horses are kinder than humans.”

“I am…sorry.” Cregan began.

“Now you are sorry?” Alarra’s tone was steady and calm, no trace of being indignant. She wasn't angry nor was she upset, just curious. 

“It was an irrational decision- I…” Alarra stopped petting the horse to turn back towards Cregan. He was staring at the floor of the stable, thinking. He looked back up at her before he continued. “But it was necessary.”

“You say that a lot.”

“What?”

“You think that every decision you make is justified because it benefits you or our house. Every decision, every choice you make is based on one emotion, whether you like to admit it or not,” Alarra paused, smiling lightly and Cregan’s shoulders sank, a breath of relief leaving him. “You're scared.”

“I just want to keep you safe. That is all I want.”

“And you can't do that here? In Winterfell?”

“Alarra you have to understand that I am your brother. I am your protector from all things evil. I am your guardian. Father bestowed upon me that I keep you safe. Always. I almost failed him that day- the day that the Gods almost reached you.” Cregan’s eyes were watering, and Alarra knew how he never let his emotions get the best of him. She knew he loved her, as much as he didn't say it, he showed it. He never let himself cry. Cregan sniffled, his lips forming a thin line. 

“You know that I-”

“I know, Cregan.”

“Everything I do is for you.” Cregan’s voice cracked at the end, as he stared at Alarra most likely fighting the tears. The last time Cregan cried in front of Alarra was when she had almost endured the end. When she almost died. And after that day, Cregan never let her leave his sight, unless she was under supervision of Ser Wildrow of course. It pained him as much as it did her for her to leave him. But, Cregan knew where his duty lay; where his morals sat. And Cregan had regretted it the moment the approval left his mouth. The moment he agreed to give his little sister away to a child. “And the last thing I want is for you to leave, hating me.”

“It's alright, Cregan, truly. I do not resent you for it. I will learn to accept it. And besides, it will be a dutiful task, no?” Alarra smiled again, her eyes glossy. And Cregan sighed, pulling Alarra in for a tight hug. 

I love you.

“Be safe.” Cregan whispered into her ear, not pulling away from the embrace just yet. Not ready to let go of his little cub.

“Always,” Alarra rested her head on his shoulder, breathing in his scent of leather and smoke. “I am Alarra the Fierce after all.” She spoke into his shoulder, and he pulled away from her his hands stationary on her shoulders. 

“But, if anyone lays a finger you-” Cregan’s eyes were hard, piercing into Alarra’s face as his hands gripped her shoulders firmly. “I will pursue them myself, fuck the arrangement. They will meet the Wolf of the North.” Alarra smiled, nodding because that was the Cregan she knew. The Stark she had known all her life. 

“They would be utterly stupid to even try, brother.”

That night, Aemond dreamt of a girl he had never had the pleasure of laying his eyes upon before; a girl with red hair. A girl named Alarra Stark. He dreamt of her long hair, her blue eyes, her sword swinging in the air, her freckles. He awoke in the night, gripping his sheets, seething. And he lay awake, the rest of the night, angrily staring above him, his thoughts corrupted of a girl he never knew. And that is what angered him more. 

Alicent noticed the way Aemond stomped into the hall that morning, his composure radiating pure hatred. The way he hastily dragged the chair out from the table. The way he ate in silence, stabbing at the food on his plate. The way he left without a word, no announcement upon his arrival or leave. She didn't question him, as she assumed he didn't get enough rest. It wasn't until he had brought that mood into a visit with his father, that she approached Aemond. 

“Aemond, what is the matter?” Alicent’s eyes fanned over him, her eyebrows furrowed, worriedly. Alicent and Aemond had quietly left the king’s chambers, standing outside his door. Aemond turned towards his mother, still tense. His mind flashed, going back to the red haired girl. The beautiful red haired girl that poisoned his brain and made him feel so angry he could vomit. So full of hatred he felt utterly sick at the thought of her. 

“Aemond?” Aemond blinked, staring at his mother again. She was gripping his hand tightly, and he pulled it away. 

“Nothing. I am fine. Just tired.” Aemond responded quickly, feeling as though his mother could see through his lies. And she could, like looking through glass she could see his emotions clearly. Aemond was unsure of how to tell his mother what was really bothering him. 

Enraged by a dream? A figment of a woman who walks in his sleep? Oh, how he imagined she'd laugh. 

“Aemond…” Alicent prodded, stepping closer to the prince. 

“I shall bid you goodnight.” And that was the last thing Aemond said for the night, before he left for his chambers. Sleep was not his friend that night, and when he did enter slumber, his dreams were again overtaken by the Stark girl. 

Alarra was not ready to leave Winterfell. As much as she knew she had to, she did not want to. Cregan had hung onto Alarra, not ready to let go of her. Not ready to let her leave him and his sight. Cregan squeezed her one last time before ruffling her hair and kissing the top of her head. 

“I'm only a raven away.” He said, smiling at her, still gripping her shoulders. 

“And so am I!” Alarra laughed as he hugged her again, lifting her off her feet. He was hugging her still, his hair in her face. 

“Just promise to take care of yourself. Please.” He said into her ear, and Alarra laughed again, pulling away from him. 

“I always do. You know this,” Alarra patted her thigh, where her dagger always sat, hidden. “Just in case.”

Cregan laughed, admiring his sister and the woman she was becoming. And that he would miss out on the bigger parts of her life. He wouldn't see her for years he supposed. Wouldn't see her blossom into the beautiful woman he knew she'd become. 

“You are destined for great things, Alarra.”

Before she got in the carriage she hugged her brother one last time. And she watched as her brother got smaller and smaller, his frame no longer visible. And then Wintefell was gone, only trees surrounding her.

Alarra had just gotten done laughing at a joke Eyla had made, and could barely get a sentence out. Through her laughter, Alarra questioned her. 

“And how do you know that this servant boy was staring at your…” Alarra snorted, her eyes trailing to Eyla’s breasts. 

“His eyes were not meeting mine, my lady.” Eyla let out a short laugh, and after their shared laughter the carriage became quiet again. 

“Does that not make you uncomfortable?” Alarra questioned, her cheeks red from laughing and a smile resting on her face. 

“No. I am used to it. You forget how long I have been in this realm, my lady.” Alarra never questioned Eyla about her life in Essos. She never had reason to; it was her business and her business only. Eyla and Alarra had shared respect for each other; they were friends. 

“You shouldn’t be used to it.” Alarra stated, mourning slightly for the woman. 

“As women-”

“No, no excuses because we happen to spill milk from our breasts,” Alarra was getting heated now, her face red because of her irritation. 

“Alarra, it is how things are here-”

“Well, things can change. The color of the sky changes, why can't we?” 

“I cannot answer that, my lady.” Silence encased them again, before Alarra spoke up, shaking her head.

“Sometimes I wish I were born a boy, like my brother,” Alarra confessed, her voice meek. Like it was a terrible thing to say. But truth holds so much more meaning than a lie. “I wonder if I would even be fierce, if I would even have to prove myself fierce.” Eyla was quiet, never looking away from Alarra, her face frozen and eyes a dark void before she spoke. 

“Women don't just earn a place in the realm from birth…we must take it,” Eyla paused, her voice proud and mighty. She had a determined look on her face but quickly covered it up with her usual airy smile. Alarra always noticed how Eyla’s accent thickened whenever she was extremely passionate. Whether she was angry or excited, Eyla knew how to use her words. 

“And that is exactly what makes us different from men.”

Dragonstone was much more different than Winterfell. Alarra noted quickly how the air was much warmer, much more salty. She noticed how the sun was blocked by clouds of gray and the wind wasn't as harsh. Alarra was terrified, but she chose not to acknowledge her fear because it would only encourage a scared Alarra; and Alarra was to be fierce, not tuck her tail between her legs. 

When Alarra arrived, the first person she met was Rhaenyra. Rhaenyra was wonderful, truly. As much as Alarra hated that she was there, away from her brother, Rhaenyra brought a certain comfort to the girl. Rhaenyra then introduced her to her oldest son, Jacaerys, and he was as handsome as the people said. Maybe even more than the rumors. Alarra then was introduced to Lucerys, he was lively like his older brother and Alarra noticed that he had a confidence about him. She then met Rhaena and Baela; both beautiful and elegant. And last, she was met with her betrothed. The only person missing was the rogue prince.

The little one, presumably Joffrey, was hidden behind his mother’s dress, staring at Alarra’s face. At her unmistakingly large scar. Alarra frowned as he just continued to stare, his face contorted into one of curiosity. 

“This is Joffrey.” She said, and Alarra looked down at him as he hid behind his mother.

“How old is the little one?” Alarra questioned, meeting the gaze of Rhaenyra. Rhaenyra looked down at the bashful boy, petting his head with her hand. 

“Seven.” She said, swallowing as she said it. Alarra hadn't realized how young he was, how long she would have to stay in the castle, locked away for years and years awaiting the Velaryon boy. What a fool her brother was. A fool. 

Three moons with the Blacks had already come and gone, and Alarra was starting to enjoy her time spent with the Velaryon boys. She was in the courtyard, playing with the youngest boys, Joffrey and Lucerys. Joffrey was somewhere running around but Lucerys had been talking to Alarra, asking her questions. 

“Do you miss him? Your brother.” Lucerys asked innocently, a sad look upon his face. Lucerys could never imagine being without his brothers. 

“I miss my brother…but dragons are much more fun than wolves.” Lucerys giggled, his face now bright and teeth shining. Alarra laughed with him as he sat closer to her, eyes wide with wonder. 

“What is Winterfell like?” Alarra stared at the boy, her eyes glimmering with thoughts of her home. Her old home. Winterfell was home, she wanted to tell him. She wanted to tell him how much she missed it, how much she missed her stubborn brother, how much she missed teasing Ser Wildrow, how much she missed her horses, how much she missed the cold air and wearing thick clothing. But, she opted to tell the young prince this:

“Winterfell is nothing like Dragonstone. Instead of dragons we have horses. Instead of gray skies we have blue ones. Instead of warm air we have cold air. Instead of Targaryens we have Starks.” Alarra teased, poking Lucerys lightly on the chest and he whined, pushing her hand away and running to find Joffrey.

“My brothers seem to like you, lady Alarra.” Alarra turned to find Jacaerys watching as Joffrey and Lucerys ran around the courtyard, playing like children. 

“I would hope so.” Alarra rang, not trying to jester but Jacaerys let out a small laugh. 

“Do you like it here?”

“I am managing,” Alarra didn't know why she was being so honest with the boy. Maybe it was because he reminded her so much of her own brother: of Cregan. “You resemble him. Cregan.” She muttered, smiling as Lucerys and Joffrey sat on the grass playing with the leaves on the ground. 

“They remind me of…” Alarra paused the words stuck on her tongue, pushing to leave her throat. Alarra saw herself in both of the boys. Their liveliness and their innocence. So young and little. Jacaerys moved to sit down opposite of her on the bench. Alarra turned towards him, putting her hands in her lap. She was about to speak when Rhaenyra appeared, walking towards them hastily. Alarra stood quickly, bowing her head.

“Princess.”

“Lady Alarra,” Rhaenyra smiled at the girl, before she quickly turned to her son addressing him. Jacaerys stood, glancing at Alarra. They both bid her goodbye before he followed Rhaenyra out of the courtyard and Alarra was left alone with the two little princes.

The first time Alarra met Daemon Targaryen was before they were to depart to King's Landing. Alarra was excited to leave the castle and travel to a new one. She was finally going to explore Westeros, however long it took her. But she was most excited to meet the dragons. Rhaenyra had assured her that she would be fine as a passenger on Syrax and had nothing to worry about. But, Alarra was still skeptical as she was curious.

Daemon was not what Alarra expected. She expected a brute and confident man: someone she would not like. But he seemed closed off and quiet, mostly keeping to himself. Until he approached Alarra, standing next to her as she took in the large dragons before her. She had only heard stories of dragons from her father. And now she was standing in front of the creatures she was taught to hate. 

“First time seeing a dragon?” Daemon spoke first, the wind was howling now and Alarra shivered. 

“What do you think, my prince?” Sarcasm dripped from Alarra’s tone, and Daemon's eyebrows raised. Alarra feared she had offended the prince until he smiled at the sky letting out a small laugh. 

“I forget you Stark’s are warm-blooded.” Daemon muttered, it sounded like an insult but Alarra looked at Daemon for the first time laughing. 

“Funny. I would say the same yet your blood runs cold.” Alarra laughed again and Daemon just stared at her and the only thing that they heard was the wind and growl of dragons. 

“Usually people run and cower and hide yet you're…” Daemon started, looking back at the dragons. 

“I was always scared of dragons because of the stories my father would tell me…how they were horrible beasts with breath of fire,” Daemon was quiet, just watching Alarra as she gazed at the dragons in front of her. She hummed before she spoke up again, reminiscing. “‘Little flame, you are the one that should breathe fire’ he would tell me,” Daemon watched her, his eyes calculated but a small smirk made its way to his face as he snorted. 

“And do you breathe fire, lady Alarra?” 

“Fire is meant for dragons,” Alarra turned her head to look at the rogue prince.

“And I breathe ice.” 

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! This chapter might have been a boring one and slightly rushed just because this was to set up the bulk of the rest of the story. And Aemond and Alarra will meet in the next chapter so I’m super excited about that! I'm going to miss Cregan but he'll be back...

[eloise175]

Live reaction of chapter 145 brought to you by yours truly on one half working neuron ✨ (some spoilers here and there from upcoming chapters so beware!)

Penelope looks so sickly, the bags under her eyes are so unsettling, no wonder Callisto lost it and tried to drag her to the palace when he took notice of her condition

She stayed up all night overthinking and couldn’t catch a moment of sleep after confirming her suspicions that Ivonne is indeed the Laila and she wasn’t mistaken on Soleil…she is exhausted and ready to give up, free my girl she went through enough 😭

I didn’t think it would be possible but her wrists are even thinner than last time…PENELOPE GET BEHIND ME. I’ll protect you from these stinky men eugh🤺🤺🤺

Callisto tends to be really headstrong and protective when it comes to Penelope, but despite being very over the top on different occasions he was not exaggerating with this one. He had a good reason to lose it *sobbing*

like. her wrist are shaped like scrawny twigs 😭 Penelope I love you, but please eat

FEAR NOT CALLISTO IS HERE TO SAVE THE DAY 🗣️🦅

I really like that she actually called Callisto by name instead of his title again, this is the first time she calls him by name out loud 🥹

And it’s always his golden hair that she notices first, she’s so real for that. Penelope probably has a hidden fantasy of running her fingers through his hair, who wouldn’t tbh

AUGH he looks so soft here, I cannot comprehend how Penelope managed to restrain herself from yanking him down and kissing him, in her place I would’ve done that a looong time ago

It’s this scene from chapter 161 of the novel, I can’t believe we’ve come this far, this scene is finally getting illustrated. Still feels like a fever dream 😭😭

Snippet from novel chapter 161:

Arm still covering my eyes, I called irritably, "I said to let no one in."

"Does that include a member of the imperial family?"

The voice belonged to someone I hadn't been expecting to hear. I quickly lowered my arm, the sudden light stinging my eyes. I could make out his luxurious golden hair and ruby-red eyes, even as my vision blurred, trying to adjust.

"Callisto?"

I wondered if I was dreaming as I stared blankly up at the man in front of me. His ruby eyes suddenly darted downwards until they were much closer to my face, and his golden hair was tickling my forehead.

He scrunched up his nose, "I can't have you waking up already. I haven't even kissed you yet." His laughing baritone was loud and clear thanks to our close proximity and his words jolted me to attention.

I will print this panel and plaster it on my wall so it can be the first thing I see when I wake up. Father and mother are back to serve us the most delicious, toe-curling, gut-wrenching angst

There’s a certain appeal in knowing we’ll get Callisto in shambles in the next chapter. He will be so angry too, can’t wait for his new range of expressions, Suol is going so hard with these last few chapters, literally feeding us with masterpiece after masterpiece ✨🤭

Y’all better get your ibuprofen ready because we’re suffering from now on, and it’s only suffering, hurt no comfort type of thing. The coming of age scene where Penelope collapsed will be in about 7/8 chapters at most so we’ll be served angst continuously ✨🫶

[okkotsuus]

MARTYRDOM (satoru g.) !

features: satoru gojo

contents: MAJOR SPOILERS (236 to 261). death. major character death. heavy angst. grief. crying. blood. bile mentioned. self-inflicted wound (knuckles). set in sukuna raid. hurt no comfort. some fluff if you go blind. i'm sorry. 1.8k words

notes: i'm actually gonna commit i hate gege so much. @saexy because ur my fav and u have to suffer with me! <333

the december air has always found a way to work it's chill deep into your bones. it makes your teeth chatter and a trill run up your spine. but there was an unusual heat burning in your sinuses.

sitting in the observation deck, huddled around a projection of the battlefield with the few people who understood what was actually happening in the world. your eyes burn, having been too devoted to whatever image was displayed to take a second to breathe. lungs stuttering and beginning to claw up your throat for single shred of air.

but you don't move.

no.

you cannot move.

there's a faint ringing in your ears, pounding louder and louder until a scream rips through the deafening silence. you don't even recognize it as your own, nor do you feel your kneecaps colliding harshly with the stone floor.

there he is. satoru gojo. the man you have loved for as long as you can remember. unmoving.

oh.

wait...

he just moved.

false alarm. it was just the top half of his body falling from the world-cutting slash that sukuna had just used to kill the strongest sorcerer of the modern age.

hot tears run down your face as your body moves instinctively to try to shatter the screen, held back by the clammy hands of kusakabe. your chest heaves in a gasping breath, only drawn in to fuel the wails erupting from your throat.

out of the corner of your eye, you can see yuta wincing, eyes drawn away from the scene of you crumbling. no one speaks, seemingly just as shocked as you. yet no one else cried.

it feels as if you are the only one left out of an unknown message, a warning that foretold of the events playing out in front of you.

because why would they tell you?

weak, pathetic, non-sorcerer you. you who can only see cursed spirits when in high stress because of an unfortunate accident with a sorcerer as a child. you who has no cursed technique, no ability to even harness your own cursed energy in basic imbuing. you who was possibly the weakest, the only one crying for the strongest.

teeth scrape against your tongue as the metallic taste of iron begins to fill your senses, going limp in kusakabe's hands. he lets go. your ears ring, the sounds of their hushed, urgent whispers escaping you.

you see yuta leave out of the corner of your eye, it doesn't register. you watch, numb, as kashimo and hakari charge into battle. the electric reincarnation is killed like fodder the second sukuna takes flesh.

for a long while, your sight is blurry, phasing in and out of reality in moments, recalling everything you loved about satoru gojo.

"satoru, who do you always wear your sunglasses when your not at work?" your voice asks, much softer and higher, a memory of youth. the two of you are maybe nineteen years old: young and stupid.

the white-haired man's blue gaze peeks over the rim of black lenses, confusion evident. then he remembers that you aren't like him, you don't know what it's like to constantly see filth crawling the streets. sweet y/n who doesn't even know that there's a flyhead buzzing around the room like a gnat.

you're untainted by this world, not ruined by jujutsu. you know it exists, only because of him and a run-in with a sorcerer when you were eight. but you don't know what it's like, and you never will: which is the greatest blessing satoru could ever wish you to have.

"i just like how they look, i am a natural beauty after all." he hums, eyes rolling as a grin parts his pink lips. because if he could help it, you wouldn't ever have to know what the world was truly like.

a clamor disrupts your thought, hearing shoko rushing out of the room. your eyes widen, stumbling shakily to your feet, catching your balance against the wall. maki mumbles something to try to get you to say, but you don't hear her.

chasing after the sound of peach-heels clicking against tiled floor, you catch a glimpse of white hair under a bloodied sheet. then a stainless steel door is slammed shut.

"shoko, please, let me see him..." you plea, hand fumbling with the knob, only to find the exam room locked. tears burn hot behind your eyes, sweaty palms pressing against the cold metal: fogging it up. your heart stops as you realize the possibility that gojo planned for his death.

deep down in your heart, you knew he wouldn't let himself rest, even when his life had long-departed his corpse. it makes you desperately knock against the door, mind remembering the pseudo geto that had trapped satoru in the prison realm.

"shoko, you can't do this to him, you can't just use him like this. you of all people should know what this means..!" your voice is shaky, panic rising in your veins as you remember the night staoru shared his broken heart with you.

"what kind of question is that? you can be both." your voice is older now, aged twenty-seven. white hair is strewn over your thighs, deft fingers carding through snowy tresses. satoru hums, eyes closing.

he reaches up, finger flicking teasingly against your forehead. "no one but you thinks that, angel. to the world, i am either 'the strongest' or 'satoru gojo.' that is simply how it works for me." his tone was even, nonchalant even. as if this was a reality he had co,e to terms with through a long life of turmoil.

a pout curls your lips downwards, looking into pools of serene blue as satoru stares right back up at you. a sigh puffs from your lips, hunching over to press a kiss against his forehead, pushing strands of ivory out of your way.

"to me, you'll always be my 'toru..."

memories fade away like dust in the wind when the clatter of metal jars you back into reality. it'ls likely shoko setting her instruments against her steel tray, likely preparing to operate on the corpse of the man you have never been able to love as much as you wished.

"shoko, please. please let him be human before being 'satoru gojo' or 'the strongest,' let him rest." the words fall from your lips like a prayer, desperation dripping in your tone. sinking to your knees, back pressed against the door, head in your hands. "you know i can't do that, y/n..."

the world moves to fast to allow grief to process. and fate was a cruel mistress. she had a penchant for kicking the weak while they were already down. which was why yuta okkotsu was being rushed behind the door you were restricted from entering: a large laceration running diagonally along his stomach.

the same wound that killed satoru, simply shallower.

but the difference was that yuta was conscious and alive.

he met your eyes for a moment, a weak smile on his face. and that same steel door was slammed against you once again. but you heard what the boy had said before it clicked shut and locked.

and the words shattered you further, if at all possible.

"i'm sorry, y/n, i'll try to bring him back to you in one piece."

it was so quiet, so faint, so soft that you just barely heard him. but it sent a wave of heat through your body, fists pounding against the steel with a reckless abandon, no matter the blood smearing over it, nor the pain pulsing from your knuckles.

deep down, you knew what was about to happen.

a part of you knew the second they retrieved gojo's body. you weren't enough of a fool to think it was simply for a proper burial. but the foolish part of your heart wanted to believe it so desperately.

you didn't need to speak, heavy sobs coming out of you, throat rubbed raw from screaming far too much in far too little time. they were going to stuff a child: yuta into your sweet satoru's body. like some sort of marionette puppet. just so the man could die for them twice.

"why did you start teaching, satoru?" again, younger, stupider, twenty five and beginning to thrive. he looks up from the small stack of papers in his hand, legs kicked up on his desk: the least teacher-like way to sit.

for once, he's serious, blue eyes looking straight through you, as if you weren't even there. it sent a chill up your spine, frozen in place. the man hums, eyes closing in thought and you can finally breathe.

finally he speaks, voice certain and doubtless. "i am going to teach the next generation of jujutsu, so that they will never have to bear the burden of being the strongest alone. and one day, they will succeed me. no one should be allowed to take youth away from young people."

you recognize the familiar look in his eyes, one that trancended this plane: that went beyond his own mortality. satoru gojo had never once been afraid of death, as if the concept entirely was foreign to him.

he doesn't react when he burns his hand on the stove, just running it under cold water and returning to what he was doing. he doesn't see a crash and think how it easily could've been him. he doesn't feel his throat begin to close up when death is narrowly avoided.

it was as if satoru gojo had known he would die a martyr since the moment he was born.

and there was a possibility he did.

footsteps without the click of a heel sound behind the door, sending bitter bile up your throat that burns against the rawness from your wails. tears well up instinctively, as if to blur your vision to prevent you from seeing what you knew was inevitably coming.

the lock clicks open, and you nearly die.

there stands satoru gojo, the same as before he left this morning.

but everything is wrong.

the way he stands. the rhythm he draws breath. the order his eyes scan over your face. the pattern he steps in. the way his hands feel when grasping yours.

"i'm sorry, miss y/n, but the fate of the world rests on this."

it was all wrong.

you couldn't even bare to look satoru- no. yuta in the eyes, knowing you'd have to see yourself in those crystalline irises, and you'd have to see the state that the world's treatment of your one and only left you in.

okkotsuus 24

[up-in-flames-writing]

I feel like we never talk about how hard it is to be a trans immigrant. We never talk about how escaping from a country that persecutes you does not free you from suffering & bigotry.

I may not be able to attend my own graduation ceremony. I worked so hard these past three years to achieve something, to be the first person in my immediate family to finish uni, get a degree, & then be able to actually do something with it, to pick my own life course & not stray from it. I reinvented myself during these last three years so much, from the shy, dysphoric kid with no friends to a man who maybe isn't doing the best in life, but who has a hope for the future. I worked hard to present myself in the best way I could, & yet I won't be able to see the fruits of my labours.

And, sure, the reason is real silly. I can't legally change my name, so the name on the degree will be my dead one, & the Vice Chancellor will read out the corpse of my old self in front of all my teachers & peers, everyone who knew me as Booker, & Booker alone. And they will expect to see a young lady in a dress climb the stage, only to be met with a boy who isn't quite a man yet, who is still forced to live under a girl's name.

And why? Why! Because I am an immigrant who feared for my young life when Brexit was happening, who has been teased & bullied for being an ESL student, who never quite belonged. Because I am an immigrant transman who could be imprisoned in my country of birth for the crime of wanting to reinvent myself, who has to walk on eggshells around the man who reared me because he grew up Polish & catholic & who knows how he would react if I told him I was his grandson & not his granddaughter. I am an immigrant who has to hide behind their parents because who knows how my extended family will react to me, who is still not allowed to tell his cousin, his little sister whom he adores, his real name despite the fact I was her age when I started questioning my own gender & I somehow wasn't too young to be in pain!

I am an immigrant who cannot safely return home, but the country that took me in isn't quite the safe haven either. Because I need a passport to prove that my name has changed, but a passport cannot be issued to me under a name my birth country does not approve of. Because to change myself fully, I need to become a citizen to a country that abandoned my homeland after the war & looked away when it was being subjugated during it. Because I need to know how many of the swans in London belong to the Crown for the state to consider me a citizen of this dying empire, despite the fact I've lived here for so long, I can't remember what my childhood home back in Poland even looked like! I cannot truly remember what my room in that flat in a small, backwater Polish town looked like anymore, except for the bed that we now have in our guest bedroom, & the bookshelf that cradles all of my books on transness & queerness & feminism.

Because I am an immigrant from a country who hates me, I am forced to live in a country that hardly tolerates me, & to live as my true self I have to subjugate myself for the sake of an old empire that lost its touch. I have to submit myself to a personal sort of colonisation, to be able to walk onto that stage at graduation with my real name on the degree. But I can't do that, because I don't have the money, because I spent the last three years breaking my back proving to people that the little girl with behavioural problems who was always bullied, was able to become something greater than the sum of her parts. Because I now don't have the time or the patience to tell you exactly when the Union Jack was created, or at what hour of the day is tea time, & I don't have the time to wait for a passport to be sent to me, only for me to return it to sender with a plea of changing my name upon it.

Because my transmacs friends in college had their names changed at sixteen, while I'm already done with my undergrad & still have to contend with the question of what citizenship I would rather have. Because I will sooner be on hormones & growing a beard than I will be able to change my name.

And in all this I find it so ironic that I was named after an angel, & like everything else in my life, I reject the goodness & the easy way out, I reject the things that once made me, me, to become my own god & rebuild myself out of the scraps left behind by a life of turmoil.

And still I am just some immigrant bitch stealing jobs from good, hardworking Britons, & I'm still just a transsexual fag taking women's rights away, & I'm still just some freak of nature manipulating the kids into sin & immorality. And no matter where I go, where I turn to, I don't feel all that angelic at all.

[breakfastteatime]

Well, instead of fixing the political landscape of the US and the rest of the world, how about I let everyone take a sneak peek at a fic I'm working on?

This is unedited, untitled and very very very unfinished...

***

Cere stares at Cal.

Cal stares at Cere.

BD, Merrin and Greez stare at both of them.

No one speaks. A faint wind blows across the clearing, carrying the scent of sea salt.

BD twitches. Merrin grabs him before he can do or beep anything. Greez seems to be holding his breath.

A lightsaber ignites, a soft buzz in the dawn light. Cere moves first.

Cal blocks. 

Cere's jabs are short, sharp and accurate. Cal moves fast, single-blade meeting Cere's every time.

BD cheers Cal on. Merrin marvels at Cere's form. She’s so much more refined than Cal, not a single movement wasted. Greez covers his eyes with his hands, then covers those hands with his other hands. He cracks his fingers and peers through.

Cere pushes Cal hard, forcing him to tighten his forms, rely more on real Jedi techniques and less on improvised flashiness. Probably because Cere has his second blade and gave him strict orders not to attempt to pull it from her hand. That, she told him, is a cheap trick and not one he should ever rely on. She is wise. And devious. Merrin admires her greatly.

Cere is holding back; not because Cal cannot match her (although Merrin would absolutely bet against him), but because there is a lesson to be learned here. One perhaps Merrin needs to learn too. Flair is arrogance. A Jedi should not show off. They must set their sights on their target and deal with it as succinctly as possible.

A Nightsister can do the same, but only so when she does indulge, her enemies are all the more stunned by her power and prowess.

Honestly (and Merrin will never share this with anyone), she thinks the Jedi needed to cut loose once in a while.

The fight continues. Cere never falters, her relentless lunges and jabs seeking every gap in Cal's defence. He has the endurance to withstand Cere's prolonged offence, but he doesn't have her experience, and when she does eventually break his guard and land a blow, Cal seems delighted to have held out as long as he did. 

He is a very strange person.

"Can we please have breakfast now?" Greez pleads.

“Of course,” Cere says, looking bright and light on her toes. She pats Cal on the shoulder, returns her borrowed lightsaber, and tells him to put some bacta on the burn, and heads aboard the ship. “We need to finalise the supply list.”

BD’s list of demands is lengthy. Cal nods. “Yeah, that’s what we’ll do first, and I’ll get you the best oil I can find.”

“It’s not all about what you want, BD!” Greez hollers.

Merrin wishes she understood BD. She’d love to understand all that beeping and why it’s making Cal laugh like that.

After breakfast, they head into the nearby town armed with destinations to visit and lists from Cere. Merrin can’t wait. She’s never been anywhere like this, Built into the cliff, the people here have two main trades – fishing and mining, and the mining is largely done at the behest of the Empire. Merrin suspects Cal wants to shut the mines down. She also knows Cere won’t let him. The planet’s entire economy relies on those mines just as much as they need the fishing for food. Personally, Merrin can barely wrap her head around galactic economics, but she knows enough to understand they can’t make things worse for ordinary people. They see it time and time again; planets apparently thriving under the Empire, the people completely unaware of the suffering being endured elsewhere in the galaxy. Merrin cannot understand it. For all the cravenness they see, sometimes she simply has to accept that the Empire is very good at controlling their own narrative and nothing they do will convince people the Empire isn’t the best thing that ever happened.

Sometimes, she truly misses the simplicity of her life on Dathomir.

She also misses the warmth. She’s wearing several layers and it’s still not enough. And then, when they reach the town, there are signs everywhere for an ice rink. Cal forgets his list and the shops Cere told him to go to.

“Merrin, we gotta go!” Cal’s eyes light up.

“What is an ice rink?” she asks.

“You skate! On ice! You’ll love it.”

“Stores and supplies first,” Cere says before Merrin can tell Cal ‘no’. “Potentially limb breaking activities later.”

They split up and go their separate ways with a promise to meet up at the ice rink later. Merrin moves through the streets, staring openly at what she sees. Shops carved into the cliffs, others bolted on and towering into the sky, all of them thrumming with people of all species and genders. Cere specifically chose a busy time of day for them to enter the town so no one would notice them. They’re just another batch of tourists come to marvel at the cliff city of Turrey, mid-rim gateway to the stars (according to all the posters she sees pasted on streetlights and mounted on store walls). She likes this world, likes its energy. The people here are hard-working, proud, honest. She can feel it, is empowered by it. Not that she’ll be wielding her magick for all to see while they’re here. Not unless the Empire decides to do something exceedingly heinous which, given that she has yet to come across a single stormtrooper, seems unlikely.

Once she’s gathered up the supplies on her list (various foodstuffs, some ingredients that will suffice for her potion craft, a local tea she thinks Cere might like), Merrin heads to the local café where they’d all agreed to meet. It’s built into a cave, huge glowing orbs hanging from the ceiling, soft bass music playing under the current of conversation and busy barista activity. Cere is there already, sipping caf and watching the world go by. Merrin orders herself a very elaborate juice, complete with ice, froth and a little umbrella, and joins her at the table.

“What do you think?” Cere says. “How does this world rank with all the others you’ve been to so far?”

Sipping her juice, wincing at the sharp sweetness, Merrin lakeers for a moment. Cliff city, chilly weather, sunny though… “If we can finish what we need to do without encountering a single stormtrooper, it will rank highly.”

Greez, Cal and BD join them a short while later, both laden down with supplies and caf. BD is the first to launch into a lengthy explanation about… something. Merrin still does not understand him. Cal translates.

“The people here kept telling me to ‘mind my droid’ as they tend to be unreliable and prone to malfunctions on this world,” he says. BD blurts out something else. “I know, buddy, you’re fine. No malfunctions detected.”

“Malfunction how?” Cere asks.

“Unreliable memories, a tendency to lie, that kind of thing,” Cal says. “It’s probably why most of the droids we came across in the stores we went in didn’t have vocalisers.”

“Eh, wouldn’t be the first world we’ve been on that doesn’t like or trust droids,” Greez says. “Anyway, enough about that. What’s next on the agenda, and please tell me it’s chilling out and having a good day.”

Cal immediately talks about the ice rink, raving about how it’s actually a large lake on top of the cliff outside the town hall and the river its connected to runs all the way through the mountain and down to the sea. He’s so excited, Merrin feels like she’s talking to someone much younger. She wonders for a moment if this was what he was like as a child, happy and excitable. If he is, no wonder he and BD get on so well.

“…heard anything I said, Merrin?”

She blinks, stirring her drink with the straw. “We will go to this ice lake rink you speak of. I would like to see you skate.”

BD giggles and tells Cal something that makes Cal roll his eyes and jab BD’s chassis. “I’d like to see you do any better!”

They go back and forth, teasing each other, although Merrin can only pick up one side of the conversation.

“We’ll drop everything off on the ship, then come back to watch Cal go flailing across the ice,” Greez says.

“Merrin too unless she’s too scared,” Cal says, sing-song, teasing. BD provides backing vocals. “We can race, see who can get from one side of the rink to the other the fastest.”

Merrin is never one to turn down a challenge.

When they head up to the top of the cliff later, Merrin is amazed at the sights. The town hall is as immense and sturdy as the ground it looks as though it has grown out of. Beyond, Merrin can see the entrances to the mines, the hovertrain lines busy with cargo and passenger vehicles.

“Don’t get any ideas about taking a ride on one of those,” Greez tells Cal. “One train rescue is enough for an entire lifetime.”

“You didn’t exactly rescue me from the train,” Cal says.

“Almost,” Greez says. “We almost rescued you from that train.”

“Wish you had.” Cal’s hand rubs his chest. “I wouldn’t have broken so many bones.”

“Wait, you broke bones?”

The ice rink stands at the heart of the town square, a space easily as large as the swamps of Dathomir. Cal pays for tickets and skate rental. He only pays for himself and Merrin, and he leads her into a small, benched area where people are changing in and out of skates.

“Here you go!” Cal hands her the skates.

Dubious, Merrin stares at the boots in her hand, boots with thin blades bolted to the soles. She stares at Cal, who has already switched his regular boots for these skates. "You have ice-skated before?" she asks.

"Nope! Not like this. I’m not sure I can count sliding down frozen rivers on Zeffo as skating."

BD beeps. Cal scoffs. "No, you haven't! It doesn't count if you're not the one actually touching the ice."

In response, BD hops down and onto the ice. Merrin watches him slip and slide in the ice rink, barely avoiding the skaters. People dressed in warm clothes zip by, some with skill and confidence, others poised like they're terrified they might fall through into the water below.

"I'll have some hot drinks waiting for you when you're finished," Greez says.

"You do not have so far to fall," Merrin says. "Would it not be better for you to go skating?"

He laughs so hard he nearly crashed into the people walking by. "No, no way. This is a young person's sport."

An elderly couple whizz by. Merrin raises an eyebrow.

"They're Human! Totally different." Greez waves her away. "Go on, go! Have fun!"

Merrin looks to Cere.

“Not a chance,” Cere says. “I’ve got the med kit on standby.”

Accepting she has lost this argument, Merrin removes her boots and tugs on the skates, lacing them as tight as she can stand. Cal waits for her on the lake edge, BD back in his usual place. Apparently, he also decided against skating.

“Ready?” Cal asks her, hand held out to her.

She takes it. “If I go down, you are coming with me.”

He laughs and slides onto the ice, tugging her along with him. She keeps her balance, as does he, and she watches the more confident skaters, how they keep their heads held up and move with confidence. She can do that. How hard can it even be?

She releases Cal’s hand and pushes off, movement steady and confident. Her speed picks up, the cold air whistling by. She moves past slower skaters, eyes locked on the path ahead. She can do it. She’s doing it!

A small child whizzes in front of her, oblivious to the oncoming danger. Merrin’s instinct is to teleport out of the way. She resists, instead accepting the inevitable crash. The child, however, is faster than expected, and launches into a twirling leap, trailing glee and pride in her wake. Merrin is impressed, and she skates on.

“You gonna try that?”

Cal’s sudden presence behind her nearly sends Merrin failing to the ice. She saves her balance just in time. Cal cackles. She turns (it is not graceful) and gives him a hefty shove. He slides backward, with more grace than she mustered.

It’s times like she is reminded why she did not like him when she first set eyes on him on Dathomir.

“Go,” she tells him. “Show off. I will practice here and beat you at our race.”

“Didja hear that, BD? Merrin’s still up for the race!”

BD does his own twirl across Cal’s shoulders.

“Let us know when you’re ready!” Cal calls as he glides away.

He even does a little spin.

“The child’s was better.”

He sticks out his tongue as he skates away with the confidence of a pro.

By the time Merrin feels ready to race Cal, the ice rink has quietened down. She meets him on the far end. “I will race you,” she says. “No powers.”

He nods. “No powers.”

“BD? No help from you either.”

Whatever BD says in response causes Cal to laugh. She ignores them both. “On three.”

“One – ”

Merrin crouches, ready for launch. “Two…”

“Three!”

Cal takes off, BD squealing. Merrin digs deep and pushes hard, ignoring the voice in her head reminding her she doesn’t know how to stop. Cal is far ahead, weaving around people with obnoxious ease.

If only she could teleport. Then he’d lose. But she already knows Cere and Greez (especially Greez) would prefer if they kept their heads down unless they really needed to –

The lake quakes. The mood changes from joy to confusion. Merrin slows without stopping. People slow to a stop, looking at each other.

From somewhere off to the side of the ice rink, a voice shouts. “Get off the ice!”

Another quake, worse this time. Several people are thrown off their feet.

The ice cracks with strange twangs and pops Merrin has never heard before.

Cries go out, people no longer skating smoothly and instead flailing, trying to keep from falling off the chunks of ice and into the water.

Merrin falls to her knees, her balance lost. A man ahead of her skids to a stop, turns back and holds out his hand. “Let me help,” he says.

Thanking him, Merrin accepts his help. “What’s happening?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know. We need to get off the lake.”

They move, hopping from ice floe to ice floe. Merrin catches sight of Cal and BD, Cal on his knees and reaching into the water. Merrin doesn’t have time to see what he’s doing, not when she and the man have to jump over a chunk of ice that has rolled onto its side. Turning to look again, she sees Cal dive into the water. Pulling her hand free from the man’s, she tells him to keep going.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“I have to help my friend,” Merrin says. “He’s in the water!”

A look of unfathomable terror goes across the man’s face. “It’s too late.”

He flees without another word.

Confused now, Merrin no longer holds back. She teleports to where she last saw Cal, a terrible chill emanating from the water.

A chill and something else.

Something worse.

A presence.

Large.

Angry.

Cal resurfaces, BD on his back and a child in his arms. It’s the same child who’d leapt and twirled across the ice wish such ease earlier, only now they are limp and unconscious. Cal looks, spots Merrin, and thrusts the child at her. “Hurry,” he says, eyes narrowed with a particular focus Merrin recognises so well now. “There’s something in the water.”

Merrin grabs the child. She isn’t moving. She might not be breathing. Knowing Cal and BD can take care of themselves, Merrin teleports herself and the girl off the lake and onto dry land. People stare in shock.

“Help me!” Merrin shouts at them. “The girl needs you!”

A cry goes out and a woman rushes forward. Merrin senses the bond between woman and girl. Mother and daughter. “She’s not breathing!” the mother cries.

Merrin leans over, begins compressions. She senses Cere and Greez approach, but she doesn’t look up, not until the child coughs and stirs. Her mother wails with relief, scooping the child up.

“Thank you,” she says to Merrin. “Thank you so much.”

She dashes off, heading for local emergency workers racing their way. Merrin doesn’t see any stormtroopers. She sees Greez, puffed up, proud, and carrying Merrin’s boots. The sight almost makes her laugh. He hands them over. “You’re gonna need ‘em. Hurry.”

Grabbing them, Merrin wastes no time changing into them. Cere has already moved beyond them, blaster in her hand, headed to the edge of the lake. The water churns, waves slapping the banks.

Neither Cal nor BD are anywhere in sight. Merrin can’t see anyone else in the water too. The rink has nearly emptied out, only a few stragglers hanging around to stand and stare. Something else rings in her mind. That energy she’d felt earlier. The world’s industrious energy. It’s gone, replaced by something new. Something strange.

Whatever it is, she doesn’t have time to dwell. The water’s currents change, all the water pulled into the centre of the lake.

“It’s coming,” Cere says. She looks to Merrin, devoid of emotion. “Be ready.”

“Greez, get these people out of here,” Merrin says.

While Greez does as he’s told, pushing back a crowd of onlookers, Merrin joins Cere. Cere’s hand tightens around her blaster, finger on the trigger as water explodes into the sky. Merrin watches, her mouth dropping open, as three things emerge from the spray.

Cal.

BD.

And a creature out of a nightmare.

Grey and black, covered in thick scales, it resembles a snake, albeit one double the size of the Mantis with teeth as long as the ship is tall. Unlike a snake, it possesses four legs, each one bearing claws that could eviscerate any organic matter with a single swipe. It could probably grab the Mantis and eat it in one bite, and that thought clangs around Merrin’s mind when she watches a blue blade ignite. Cal flips around and lands on the monster’s back, scoring a lengthy wound in its scaly hide. The creature roars, its pain screaming through the Force.

Merrin can feel it, an untamed mind pushing at her own, pressing a sense of calm, of stillness, even as it shakes Cal off. He plummets again, BD’s boosters flaring as he tries to catch up. They’re going to hit the water, and the creature is already turning to go after them.

Merrin wonders if she should be more worried about that, but it all seems a bit far away now. She should just stand here. Stand here and enjoy the sights. She likes this world. It’s so pretty, and the sea is so vast, the mines so deep. What a lovely place this must be to live in.

Cere’s hands rise. She grabs Cal and BD with the Force, slowing their fall, but not enough. They both hit the water, because Cere’s pushing back against the creature, stopping it from diving into the lake.

“Get Cal and BD!” Cere shouts at Merrin, voice straining. “Hurry!”

“If you insist,” Merrin says, although she’s really not sure it’s necessary. She teleports from ice floe to ice floe, keeping her balance, reaching the spot where Cal and BD sank. BD appears first, shaking his head. Cal appears a moment later, looking dazed and frozen.

“We are going,” Merrin announces, grabbing both and teleporting back across the lake. She doesn’t hear either complain about their sudden movement. She doesn’t really hear much of anything except a song in her head that tells her peace, Merrin, be at peace. She reaches another patch of ice, right beside dry land where Cere’s shouting…

Merrin thinks she’s shouting. She can’t hear the words.

Peace, Merrin. Peace.

Something tugs on her arm. She pushes it off. Overhead, the creature resumes its fall, its mouth open wide, teeth splayed, its throat a blackhole.

It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay.

She closes her eyes.

Hands, cold and wet, ram against her. She hits the ground hard, a heavy weight falling on top of her. Water smacks into her, so cold she gasps with the shock of it.

The peace shatters.

The quiet too.

Footsteps. Fast.

Hands, grabbing.

“Merrin? Merrin!”

She blinks, looks up, sees the worry in Cere’s gaze. Why? What’s happening? Merrin looks around, finds herself on the ground beside the lake.

“What happened?” she asks.

Cere’s expression tells Merrin that was not the right thing to say. Heart sinking, worry mounting, Merrin tries to get up.

The heavy weight pins her down.

Cere leaves her line of sight. BD’s nearby – Merrin can hear him. He sounds worried. Why? What’s happening? Merrin’s head goes for a loop, pain seeping in. The weight moves, and she’s free to sit up. She does so, bracing herself as the vertigo keeps everything spinning. She breathes through the worst of it, and sees Cere leaning over Cal, fingers checking for a pulse, calling his name.

More footsteps approach, and this time it’s Greez with some locals dressed like medics.

Merrin decides she’s too tired to figure anything out. There’s an alarm sounding out in her head, but whatever’s causing it is lost behind the encroaching darkness. She falls back, only for four arms to catch her.

The last thing she sees is Greez leaning over her.

The last thing she hears is him telling her to stay with him, stay with –

[sleepynoons]

To Hell and Back

Vignettes of mourning and bereavement over a period of two years.

After grieving the loss of your husband for over a decade, is there truly hope for recovery? And if there is, what is the difference between hope and insanity?

ukitake jushiro x f!reader, angst, nsfw?

word count: ~3,600

cw: heavy manga spoilers, death, explicit descriptions of suffering from grief + mental disorders (severe depression, etc.), extreme mental deterioration, alcohol, throwing up + dry-heaving, mention of insomnia, mention of sexual content, allusions to a lack of eating + frail health, hurt/no comfort

notes: lmk if i missed anything in the warnings! first time writing something so heavy, so the warnings + tags may be inadequate.

“UKITAKE-SAMA, YOUR tea is here.” A shinigami you forget the name of places a steaming cup next to you. From a quick glance, you can see a stalk floating vertically in the drink. Jushiro will be pleased to hear about it.

You nod but do not touch the cup. It is rude to drink and eat before your guests, and you are still waiting on them to arrive. Quietly, you watch the snow drift from the overcast sky, flakes clumping together and forming a thick coat over the ground, surrounding roofs, and trees. How many winters has it been?

Around the bend, you hear rapid footsteps. It must be them.

“Ukitake-sama, sincere apologies for our tardiness.” 

Turning your gaze to your left, you see Rukia-san and Abarai-san coming to view, noses and ears tinged red. Smiling softly, you beckon them to relax and sit on the engawa with you. They listen obediently and wait with bated breath for your next move.

“No worries at all. I am glad to see the two of you are well.”

Rukia-san smiles cheerfully. “Yes, we are doing very well.”

“And how are you adjusting to your duties as captain?”

“I am not captain yet, Ukitake-sama.”

Abarai-san barks a quick laugh. “She’s already very busy, trust me. The appointment is in a few days, right?”

Rukia-san huffs, and you chuckle. “I am sure the 13th Division will be in good hands.”

A gust of wind passes through the corridor, and you shiver slightly at the biting chill. Jushiro should have reminded you to take a coat with you today.

“Ukitake-sama, please, take this.” Rukia-san removes her shawl and places it over your shoulders. Her hands hover over your frame before she sits back down. “Forgive me for possibly overstepping, but are you eating well, Ukitake-sama?”

What did you eat this lunch? For that matter, did you even eat? How about last night? Hm, for some reason, you cannot recall. You shrug, indifferent. You have always been prone to forgetting your meals without Jushiro reminding you.

A silence falls among the three of you, and the snow picks up. You feel yourself smiling at the downpour of snow. So white, so pure. Jushiro always longed to walk in the snow, but his illness disabled him from spending an extended amount of time outside. While you are sure many of the shinigami are groaning at the weather, you know Jushiro would have found a way to celebrate it.

Abarai-san sighs a deep, hefty breath. “Ukitake-sama, if you’d like, would you join us for dinner? We’re having shabu shabu for the first time this year. I’m sure that’ll warm you up right away.”

It has been a while since the last time you had something so homey. You suppose Jushiro would not mind you spending a dinner with someone else. “I will take on your offer. Thank you for having me, Rukia-san, Abarai-san.”

The two bow before getting up, making their leave. They bid you farewell and several reminders to take care of your health. 

Internally, you scoff. You need to be mindful of your health? Please, you are fine and have always been, aside from nasty injuries gained during training and missions. Besides, the one you all should be worried about is Jushiro.

Ah, but there is no need for that either anymore.

–

You wake up late. You only know because the incessant light of the sun is bleeding through the cracks of the shoji screens. You even got the screens filtered to reduce the morning brightness, but nothing can dim the flames of spring.

As usual, you are alone in bed, wrapped and tangled and curled in the giant blankets of your futon. Jushiro should be coming back anytime now, you think. You roll over onto his futon and blindly feel around for the book that he places by his pillow every night. It is always something different because he can never seem to finish one. You wonder what he is reading this time, but nothing is there. In fact, as sleep escapes you, you realize his futon is fully made.

Untouched.

Sobs begin to wrack your body, but you dare not let your tears and snot smear Jushiro’s bedding. You have not washed it once since, and even now, his scent has almost completely, if not already, faded. If you wash it, more traces of his aliveness will disappear and you cannot tolerate that even more.

He was living, breathing, eating, sleeping, training, laughing, loving. He was – is – more than just a stone headpiece sitting underneath a gazebo, and you feel like everyone around you is forgetting that, only speaking of him in the past tense and as a distant, fleeting spark of a memory. And that makes you deeply, profoundly remorseful.

Because you are also only able to recall him now. How did he smell? You only remember it was a combination of tea leaves, anesthesia, and soil, a poor, inadequate description you came up with when he asked you decades ago. How about his hair length? Jushiro kept it long for centuries, but he always had you trim it so that it never extended past his hip. And the sound of his voice? Not even your memories can imitate the way he pronounced your name, bantered with Kyoraku, commandeered his squad.

Moments like these are arguably the hardest. Not only are you overcome with grief, but you are also frustrated and restless, unable to do anything because there is nothing to do. There is no solution to this mourning. You would never kill these feelings for Jushiro, but that means this torment is inescapable, inevitable. You want this sadness to pass, become the silver lining to some cloud, rejoice instead in the legacy he has left behind. But leaving this phase would mean enough time has passed, and with enough time, you would forget much about him.

You should have recorded more of your moments with your late husband. But you can only sigh and harbor more resentment towards yourself in your heart.

By now, the tears have stopped. You are back in your futon, only to bury yourself under the covers.

–

“Class is dismissed!”

The shinigami disperse, heading to grab their belongings lining the walls of the garden. As you have retired from your post in the Gotei 13, you are now a kido instructor for new court guard cadets. The young ones are promising, you think. 

Surprisingly, the classes of shinigami are growing. You had thought the war with the Quincies would deter future talent, but the damages and casualties seemed to have only bolstered interest. Interest in learning kido has also increased, no doubt due to Aizen’s influence.

Jushiro was plenty good at kido, too, you think bitterly. He just never had the opportunity to demonstrate his strength.

In fact, your first encounter with your late husband was at a kido training session that he was leading. With gentle encouragement and precise guidance, he taught you how to perform the casts you know by heart, and you continued to seek him out with questions and concerns until his appointment as captain. To say you missed your one-on-ones with him was an extreme understatement. You missed his soft laughs in the face of your snarky remarks and the fleeting touches of his fingertips against your tense arms. You did not think he would forget you, but you were not sure if you would ever be able to get so close to him again. Your doubt quickly dissipated, though, when you were accepted into the Gotei 13. It seemed he had chosen you to be placed into the 13th Division under him.

You are brought back from your reminiscing when you hear an angry cry. “Ukitake-sama is our instructor! How can you say that about her?”

The crowd breaks into waves of murmuring at the outburst. You look towards the right wall, and there you see a red-haired little girl being held back by two of her classmates. Like a cartoon character, she is kicking her feet, trying to wrangle her arms free, spewing insults at two other students who only roll their eyes.

This is nothing new. To be fair, ever since Jushiro’s sacrifice, you have only done the bare minimum to contribute to Soul Society, a stark contrast to the committed soldier you once were who went above and beyond. Many were shocked by your transformation and have begun to bear annoyance towards you for being a deadweight. You still receive many benefits for your many decades of service, and you remain in Jushiro’s old quarters in the 13th Division barracks. You are, for sure, taking up more space than a veteran should. But truly, you could care less to be noble.

You appreciate Ichika-chan’s attempts to save your face, regardless. You should give her some of the candies you store in your sleeves on her way out.

“Enough.” Everyone is now looking at you. You stare directly at the two shinigami who defaced you. What should you do with them?

Or rather, what would Jushiro do with them?

The answer is too obvious. You motion them to come to you, and they trudge over with lowered heads. When they come close enough, you sigh because had you acted purely out of your own volition, you would have reacted much differently.

You point at one of the students. “You are much too weak at defense. Please pay closer attention to our lessons on bakudou, and be sure to apply it during your sparring sessions.” Onto the other. “In order to summon the full force of a hado incantation, you have to call it properly. Polish your articulation, and you will experience a stronger effect.”

With that, you dismiss them again. As soon as they leave, Ichika-chan runs up to you, face blushing red (from the heat? embarrassment? or both?).

“Ukitake-sama, thank you for today’s class!”

You chuckle, adoring the young girl’s energy and brightness, and reach to take her hand in yours. You notice small callouses and blisters blooming on her palms, no doubt from practicing with her sword. Grabbing a fistful of candies, you enclose her fingers around the pile. “For you.”

A wide grin breaks on Ichika-chan’s face and she bows. “Thank you, Ukitake-sama!”

“I shall see you in a week, then.”

When all of the students finally filter out of the garden, you sit in peace. For once, the quiet is not eerie or haunting. Rather, it is much needed, a comforting break in between your classes. You still much prefer the sound of Jushiro’s chattering, but this tranquility may not be so bad either.

–

Underneath the gazebo, you bring the sake cup to your lips and down the liquid. The alcohol stings at the back of your throat, a burning sensation that muddles your brain yet pinches you awake. Across from you, a man also takes a swig, releasing a loud, uncouth exhale. 

He holds up a bottle, gesturing towards you with it. “Want more?”

You shake your head. Eyes downcast, you hold onto the cup in your lap with your hands clasped around it, staring into the glossy bottom of the ceramic. You see a faint reflection of your face, but it is too shady underneath the gazebo for there to be a clear outline.

The man downs another large gulp, humming in contentment at the taste. He then sighs and adjusts his large bamboo hat. “Eleven years, huh?”

“Indeed.” You glance up, catching the eye of the Captain General of the Gotei 13. “How are you feeling, Kyoraku?”

“Ha, I should be asking you that.”

“Not a day goes by that I do not think of him.” 

Kyoraku says your name gingerly, as if he is testing the mood of a spoiled, unpredictable child. “I understand. But you also need to live your life. That’s what he would want.”

You cannot hold back your voice. Close by, you know some of the other captains and their respective lieutenants are waiting for their turns to pay tribute. You are also aware that Kyoraku means no harm – in fact, he empathizes with you, something no one else can do. But still. “What he wanted was to live longer and be at peace! Do not dare to speak on his behalf! You may have been his best friend, but I was his wife, and I will not stand another shoving words into his mouth! Perhaps he does want me to live a little, be happy again. But…”

Your face feels hot. Feverish from strain, humiliation, shame. You can still hear echoes of your voice ricocheting off the walls of nearby buildings.

“Kyoraku… How are you able to carry on so easily?”

A torrent of jealousy and frustration courses through you, rushing through your veins and welling up nausea at the pit of your stomach. Why are you not able to move on?  Why have you been robbed of joy and happiness, never to feel those feelings again? Are you to live such a directionless, empty life for centuries more?

Kyoraku moves from his seat to sit next to you. He pats you on the back at a slow, tempered pace. “Because I have to. Because that’s what he would want from me.”

You crumple into the commander’s side, eyes blurring and body shivering. A gust of wind blows through the gazebo, colder than normal, a sign that fall is arriving soon. Kyoraku wraps his haori over you, doing his best to shield and comfort you. 

–

“How is she doing?”

“Much better! She’s been eating more and spending time with others these past two weeks.”

Kyoraku closes his eyes. Is he relieved? Yes. Is it too good to be true? Also yes.

“Commander? Is everything alright?”

Kyoraku puts on the best smile he can manage. “Yes, don’t worry about lil’ ol’ me, Kotetsu-kun. Just keep an eye on her for me, alright?”

“Yes, of course!”

The 4th Division captain bows before leaving the captain general’s office. Kyoraku waits until the doors shut with a resounding thud before he sighs deeply, worriedly. He had just seen you days ago, and it seemed there was much that was plaguing you. The likelihood of you recovering as rapidly as Kotetsu says you are is slim.

He peeks at the stack of files that Nanao-chan handed him this afternoon. But those can really wait, especially when it comes to you. Without you, there will be very few – if not, no one else – who can as vividly and intimately remember Ukitake as he can. He cannot lose the last connecting thread to his best companion. But truly, your state of mind’s very troubling. Stuck in an abyss, you wander, a ghost piloting a frail cadaver, bound to the grounds your late husband frequented when he was live. Often forgetting to eat and bathe and venture beyond your bedroom, you are withering away in real time, little pieces of your soul dying out.

At times, he can understand. Ukitake’s death left a permanent hole in his life as well, bereaving him from anyone he has given himself wholly to. Other times, though, he can’t extend any more empathy or compassion than he already has. How is it possible for you to not have anymore love or care for anything in this world? How can the loss of one person – something everyone experiences at one point in their life – disable you so much so?

But perhaps it’s a privilege that he cannot understand such enduring grief. He still has his niece, friends, and alcohol. Now that he thinks about it, you really don’t have anyone or anything else. Always keeping to yourself, you’ve been razor sharp in words and sight since he first met you; if others hadn’t already avoided you for your intimidating glare, then they were bound to be driven away by your scathing criticism and dry, sarcastic quips. Truth be told, it also took him a while to warm up to you, let alone fathom how you captured the heart of the open-minded, warm-hearted Ukitake. Kyoraku shakes his head. That’s Ukitake for you, he thinks, able to love everyone and everything.

At the end of the day, there’s a singular fundamental difference between you and Kyoraku: he has a reason to keep living, and you don’t.

He rubs at his left eye. He hopes you find one soon.

– 

You have been having horrible dreams recently. More specifically, the dreams are so euphoric that they make you want to throw up when you wake up.

Jushiro appears in all of them. Sometimes, it is a recollection of your wedding day, from the ceremony in the morning to the love he made to you that night. There are also flashes of him bedridden, weakened by the intrinsic sickliness of his physicality. Last night, Jushiro and you were in a field, one so vast that you could not see beyond the rolling hills of low-hanging yellow camellia shrubs.

Both of you were stooping to admire the perennial flowers. You plucked one, tucking it behind his ear, and he laughed, doing the same for you. There was no well-trodden road or path, so the two of you meandered about at your own leisure. Strangely, though, neither of you spoke a word, only listening to the summer wind rustling through the field and the worker bees buzzing about. But you did not care at all. You just needed him by your side, just like this.

At one point, you were entranced by a particular shrub that grew taller than the rest, and while you were distracted, Jushiro had wandered far off. When you noticed the lack of his presence, you jolted up to your feet, eyes frantically searching all around, until you spotted him a couple hundred yards away behind you. He was waving his arm, calling out to you in his bright voice. “Come over here!”

Yet, before you were able to tell that you are on your way, you wake up, cold sweat seeping through your yukata.

The experience is truly nauseating, and you have had to experience it every morning for the past half-month. You would much rather become an insomniac at this point.

Regardless, you know the cause behind such dreams: the Konso Reisai ceremony is coming up.

– 

The lieutenants are late. As per custom, they are to capture a Hollow in order for the ceremony to proceed. You, along with the division captains, surround Jushiro’s tombstone and wait in silence. You notice Rukia-san, who tries to smile encouragingly at you. You nod, stone-faced, barely able to reciprocate her efforts.

You are sure you look miserable. This morning, you were caught dry-heaving into the toilet by Kotetsu-san, who called Kyoraku over when you refused to leave your bathroom. With much begging and pleading, you let the commander peel you from the toilet bowl and off the floor, carrying you over to your and Jushiro’s futons to get dressed. Without the help of Rukia-san and Kotetsu-san, you would not even be dressed properly for the occasion.

Twelve years, and the grief is no less debilitating. You are depression epitomized, the personification of sadness and anger and surrender mushed into a near-corpse. The saying goes that healing is not linear, but you are sure yours is a straight trend downwards, unrelenting and deterministic in nature, never to plateau.

Suddenly, one of the captains, Soifun-san, gasps. “What is this…?”

There are black dewdrops scattered about, hanging immobilized in the air. You jerk as one appears right in front of you. 

You catch a glimpse of Kyoraku unsheathing his sword, slicing a droplet faster than you can see, and then examining the bubbling matter staining the blade. “This is a will-o’-wisp from Hell.”

As he explains the will-o’-wisps and the superstition behind the Konso Reisai ceremony, you feel…

Adrenaline surging through you. 

Goosebumps appearing on your arms and back. 

Expectation bringing you to a dangerous high. 

Hope.

Reishi too potent cannot return to Soul Society? The ceremony is dedicated solely to deceased captains? The only other option is Hell?

Does that mean… Jushiro is in Hell?

Hope.

Hope.

Kyoraku concludes. “I just realized right now that this superstition might have been true.”

Hope.

You are giddy. Ecstatic. Overjoyed at the news.

For the first time since your husband’s death, you are feeling positively abundant. Hopeful. You never thought you would feel hope again.

At first, only your shoulders shake. But your clothes that hang so loosely on you can only hide so much of your shuddering frame, and the other captains begin to take notice. Your hands reach up to hold your face, one covering your eyes and the other failing to mute your laughs. 

You can no longer hold back.

You cackle loudly, hunched over while laughing and giggling incessantly. Someone tells you to shut it, but you simply cannot.

Of course, this is no comedic matter. This is serious – wonderful – news! Because Jushiro’s reishi cannot be deconstructed and digested by Soul Society, it has been sent down to Hell. His soul is still intact, from what you understand. That means, in essence, he is still alive. 

A miracle has occurred, you think.

Hysterical. Unrestrained. Deranged.

You can see Jushiro again. You can smell his comforting scent of tea leaves, feel the silkiness of his hair slip between your fingers, taste his lips against yours, imagine him smiling and laughing and existing in one whole piece right in front of you.

It cannot get better than this.

I am on my way, you think. I am coming over right now, Jushiro. 

My beloved, I will be right there with you. 

[justanotherlifeff]

Use of an unrequited love

Sukuna x reader [Final part of “Love is Meaningless” and “Posession”]

[Trigger warning: Kinda rapey and borderline non con. Sukuna is a red flag. Sukuna has some very backdated views on how women should dress. Sukuna is the trigger warning]

You always had these vivid dreams your entire life. Dreams that seemed awfully real despite being inexplicably blurry. You remember a time before you were born, before anyone you know existed. You remember a small hut, a decent family, a village full of friendly people. You remember a cave near the forests, the smell of homecooked food in a bento box, the sound of water at a passing by stream, the feeling of wet grass on your bare feet. You remember crimson eyes, a blurry figure, and an intense feeling of love. You remember so much, the sensations, the smell, the taste, and yet, you couldn’t remember who that man was, the one that took your heart for himself. You remember helplessness, fear, and pain from being stabbed and it all goes blank each time. And then, you woke up to face reality, as you always do after these dreams. However, this time you were looking into those crimson eyes that had always existed in those unreachable dreams.

You didn’t recognize where you were. The last thing you remembered was being hit in the head while trying to fight Sukuna after he took over Megumi’s body. However, you were definitely terrified, given the fact that in the traditional Japanese room with you was the king of curses himself, waiting for you to wake up with an unreadable expression on his face.

How adorable, he thought, when you regained consciousness and had that look of abject horror. To think you of all people would look at him this way someday. Fate truly was laughably cruel. “I won’t hurt you, brat.” He chuckled, finding your reaction hilarious, and yet, more painful than any wound he had ever suffered. To think, the woman who accepted him with open arms a thousand years ago looked at him like the curse he was. Didn’t he fall for you because you never looked at him this way back then? What even was left of that love you two had? “Where am I?” You asked him, your voice full of fear and surprisingly, intrigue. He didn’t quite understand your reaction. “I wondered, how I would react if I ever heard you say these words. Whether I would chop you to pieces for acting like I was some parasite possessing Itadori for so long. But I’m afraid, whoever decided to play this sick joke towards me were right about one thing. I cannot kill you.” Sukuna sighed. That expression confused you. What was that expression in his eyes? Was it… longing? Why was there this expression of profound loss in his eyes? Why did you see these eyes in your dreams?

“Why can you not kill me?” You asked, trying to get as much information as you could. Perhaps it would help you escape, perhaps it will help you understand his weaknesses. Or perhaps, you would understand if those dreams truly had any significance. You were grasping at any opportunity at this point. “Ryomen Sukuna never took in a wife and never had children, that’s what you humans were taught in history, correct?” He asked, the frown never leaving his lips. “Yes. Was this wrong?” You asked, definitely curious. This was huge information after all. “Heh. Wrong is an understatement. I had a wife who was going to give me an heir. Before I became the king of curses, when I was just a wretch, a worthless being in this worthless world. She was weak, pathetic even. Her humanity was what killed her. And with herself, she took away the child too.” He chuckled dryly, as if he was amused by the sheer audacity of the world. He didn’t care that the wedding never happened. That you died before he could make you his, before he could give you the happiness you deserved. You were his wife in that lifetime. He didn’t accept otherwise in his mind.

Ah, that sounded, awfully familiar. Yet, somehow, when you dared to look into Sukuna’s eyes as he spoke of that past that you dreamed of, you knew exactly who you were to him. What you didn’t know was how to feel about it. “Why are you making that expression?” Sukuna asked, raising an eyebrow at the shock in your eyes. He didn’t even tell you the whole thing yet so why were you so shocked? “Was I… her?” You asked him, not knowing what else to say. “You knew? Heh, you are a tricky one huh… How did you know? Well, I suppose that’s good since I wouldn’t have to waste my breath explaining things to you. I’m sure you realize exactly what I want from you, correct?” He had a smile on his face as he told you this, pleased that he wouldn’t have to speak of those complicated emotions. You never imagined you would see the king of curses make such an expression.

Saying no to him is a privilege in Sukuna’s views, and you didn’t earn that privilege yet. How could you? After all, in his views, you owe him far too much. You owe him his heir, you owe him your life, you owe him whatever humanity he had left in him before your death. However, he owed you everything he was. He became the King of Curses because of you and he was never one to forget ones who did him a favor. His power, his influence, everything happened because of you and he wasn’t one to stay indebted. As on que, you disappointed him yet again. “I don’t want this. You stand against everything I fight for. You have killed so many, you have massacred hundreds and thousands… I.. or to be more precise, my previous incarnation did not fall in love with this. I fell for a man who was ostracized by society because of the way he was born. I fell for a man who deserved to be treated like human. I didn’t fall for a monster.” Was your reply.

“Did you truly believe I care for your opinion? You’re mine. I won’t hurt you, not physically atleast, nor will I kill you but that doesn’t change the fact that I take what’s mine. So get this ridiculous notion out of your head that what you say, or what you want, matters to me. We could do this two ways. You can continue to reject me, defy me, and I will take away everything you care for one by one. I will kill your family, kill that pet dog you like so much, kill your friends, and kill other humans right infront of you so that I am all you have left. Or you could give in, forget about those foolish ideals you live for, and I would give you the world. I will personally make sure your family is not harmed and I will even bring that mutt to you. As for your friends and other people, I cannot make promises since your friends are my enemies. However, even a child can tell what the better option is.” Sukuna snapped at you, anger evident. How dare you defy him? How dare you try to take yourself away from him after he waited for a millennia?

He was right, you knew the better option. Reality was, you were selfish. Like all humans, you had your vices. Even now, you didn’t wish for your family to be harmed, and you knew that Sukuna was the type of man who keeps his promises. So you just looked away, and nodded, trading your friends, your companions for your family. You dreamed of a life where you would meet a good man, have a family. However, those dreams seemed like childish musings. Reality was always different, cruel. Just like how Sukuna’s satisfied smile looked more cruel than anything to you.

“Using your family works to convince you, even now… Even after what happened in your previous life.. How naive.. No matter, anyone who attempts to harm you or take you away will face a fate worse than death. Your weakness wouldn’t take you away anyone.” He said with a smile, cupping your cheek. It would sound romantic in normal circumstances but it wasn’t. You knew that your friends will attempt to save you and he would kill them. “I have restrained myself long enough. You have heightened my temptation all those months, dressing like a vulgar whore after all. Then again, all women seem to dress that way in this era. Take responsibility for your actions, woman” The smug smile on his faces told you what was about to happen. “Strip”, he commanded.

“Sukuna.. I don’t… Im not ready…” You tried protesting with a shaky voice much to Sukuna’s annoyance. “Cease your incessant whining. You’re alive because of those disgusting emotions you make me feel or you would be dead already for defying my orders. I will say this one last time. Or else, I will tear those clothes off you myself. Strip.” His voice rang, full of displeasure. With shaky hands, you complied. “Just as beautiful as I remember… I must thank whoever decided to play this cruel joke on me before killing them” Sukuna chuckled, moving close to you, eyeing your bare skin, his arms grabbing your waist to pull you closer. “Look at me” he commanded, using one hand to grab you by your cheeks and forcing you to look up at him. Without a word, he pulled you into a passionate kiss, savoring the taste of your lips like a starved beast. Even a millenia later, you tasted the same. Your lips felt the same, soft against his.

Yet, something was missing. He couldn’t quite figure out what as he pushed you down on the futon nearby. Something about you made this different, less pleasing, less fulfilling. The thought didn’t leave his mind even as he undressed, even as he lifted your legs up on his shoulder, spat on your cunt to make it wet and plunged his cock into you. The sounds you made, of pleasure and pain were the same. The moans, whimpers, calling his name out as you grabbed his forearms, scratched his back raw… it was all the same. Your insides were just as tight, as warm, just as pleasurable as he remembered. As he fucked into you, ramming his cock against your cervix, he ended up saying those dreaded words that he only uttered all those years ago.

“I love you. Fuck! Ill make you my queen. Ill give you the whole damn world at your feet. You feel like heaven on Earth, my love. I love you.” He groaned out in your ears, about to reach his release as the erotic sounds of your moans and whimpers of his name were music to his ears. Thats when he realized what was missing. You didn’t tell him you loved him back. Not once did you show any affection towards him. As he reached his release, filling you to the brim with his seed, he realized that you weren’t the woman who loved him despite him being a monster. You were simply someone who looked like her and shared her memories. You did not love him. Unfortunately, somewhere in his twisted heart, he desperately wanted to believe you would give in if he fucked you well enough. That you would become the woman who captured his heart and he could just continue on like nothing happened. Like you never died in that past life. However, reality was often disappointing.

Pulling out of you, he was lost for a moment as he got up and sat at the edge of the bed. After a moment, he spoke. “Leave, Y/N” he said, his voice hardened. “W-what?” You asked, panting and surprised by his words. “I will win this world first. And then I will win your heart again. So, leave. Spend time with those you care for because they may die when I conquer this world. You’re not the woman I fell for. Atleast, not yet.” Sukuna answered, not even giving you a glance. “You’re just letting me leave? Just like that?” You were shocked, wondering if this is some kind of trick. “What use do I have of a love that is not returned?” Sukuna chuckled dryly in answer.