#and the imagery he always seems to conjure up

[kindahoping4forever]

The tiktok with the roses was straight out of Encore and when he posted that video of himself watching the sun on his birthday, that reminded me of your fic about the birthday camping trip! Clearly he's been reading thru the kh4f archive for ideas!

I had absolutely 100% forgot the camping fic was a birthday fic as well omg 😭😭

[silkscream]

pure smile snake venom

ੈ✩ suguru geto x reader

ੈ✩ cw: smut (minors dni, ageless + blank blogs will be blocked), unprotected sex, dom!suguru, emotional manipulation, fingering, dubcon, blood, yandere behavior, edging, multiple orgasms, choking, loss of virginity, religious imagery

ੈ✩ wc: 5.1k

ੈ✩ a/n: oooo i am soo normal about cult leader suguru. art by @/wonowono__3 on twitter

He finds you unconscious. 

He feels you before he sees you – your cursed energy permeates the air with dread. He can feel it in his throat, as if the hand of his past self materialized to strangle him, reminding him of desperation. It wasn’t a feeling he was used to, not anymore.

It also felt like death. 

When he finds you, your body would have easily been looked over, small as you were compared to the vastness of the forest around you. Insignificant, left to rot. 

When he’d looked at your face, there was recognition in his chest despite not seeing you before. He hadn’t been drawn to anyone in a while. He barely had anyone that wasn’t at arm's length to him, even his closest devouts, yet something about the delicateness of your face enticed him. A predator finding lost prey.

He finds it mildly sacrilegious to touch you when you’re in this state, but your shirt was saturated with so much blood that it took him a bit to realize that the color of the fabric was supposed to be white and not merlot-red. He lifts your shirt, grimacing at its dampness, and finds a wound that looks fatal. 

He looks at it and feels the residuals of a nasty curse. By the time he tracks it down, he tortures it with all of the energy inside of him. 

__

You wake up on a futon you don’t recognize. You don’t remember a thing. 

You wince as you attempt to rise, clutching your side. You’re topless, clothed only by gauze covering your chest and ribs. 

You exhale, closing your eyes. In the darkness behind your eyelids, you see a face with a vacant smile. You are met with that very smile when you open your eyes again.

“Welcome back.”

You blink. He must be the stranger that saved you from — well, what did he save you from? You were used to spirits, took years to adjust to that fact, and have even killed a few yourself. But when you feel the pain in your side, nothing comes to mind.

“You… saved me?”

“I suppose so. It was pure luck that I happened to stumble upon you.”

“Where — where am I?”

He tells you it’s his temple, then he tells you his name. When he asks for yours, you’re reluctant. Eventually, you tell him. If he was luring you into his trap, you suppose you had fallen into it against your will by pure chance. It was probably better than bleeding out in the middle of nowhere.

“Do you have anyone who will miss you?” 

You don’t say anything. You think of the dingy studio apartment you’ve been subletting for a few months. You try to conjure up a narrative of belonging in your head that would give you any reason for you to leave. Nothing comes.

You shake your head.

__

Geto Suguru is the first person to tell you that you’re magic.

You knew that, in some way, ever since you were a child. Your intuition made you a strange child, always slightly cryptic with a sense of maturity that made you seem like a vessel for a sad ghost. Your visions would only get stronger – small bursts of light whiplashing through your mind into images, rapid like a supercut. The things you saw would come true. 

This is what makes you a good weapon. Ironically, you had always thought of yourself as weak. 

He was captivating the way a cult leader should be, and you had fallen under his spell. It was his robes and the regal way he carried himself, maybe. You don’t think he’s bad — he’s made you important, and you’ve never felt wanted before. You were a recluse before Suguru found you. Barely the shape of anything, so he found it appropriate to mold you into something to call his.

Suguru doesn’t tell you much. You know that he probably lies to you.

He holds too much power for you to question it. His cursed technique is daunting and his grace is enviable, but he’s mostly kind. You help him when he finds curses, usually the more powerful ones that could threaten him. Able to see into the near future, you can sense their next move each time. It makes it easy to subdue them to Suguru’s advantage.

You also find that he is regarded as something of a saint to non-sorcerers. Something twists in your gut when you watch his exorcisms, seeing the immediate relief in the faces of his followers. They look at him with so much adoration that it makes you self-conscious that you share the same disposition.

He tells you you’re his favorite and the feeling dissipates.

You like how ritualistic living in the temple is. Breakfast at the same time each day. Tea in the garden. Rolling in the gross with bruised knuckles.

You take a liking to his girls. They remind you of yourself, but they lack the meekness you had as a teenager. The twins adore you almost as much as they adore Suguru. They are endlessly fickle, as most teenage girls are, but their devotion is worn candidly in the way they carry themselves. You wonder how they can be so obedient, but you realize that they have known nothing else. 

It’s a quiet luxury. You like to pretend that you’re some sort of priestess, sometimes. You had never been as reverent as your mother, but you think that there is peace in serving a God.  If not Suguru, then some higher power must’ve granted you another chance at life, even if your new life meant mundane piety. 

You liked routine – it fit you. You did your part in the temple and Suguru would reward you with gentle praises. You were only one of few sorcerers in his current entourage, so you felt special. 

Despite this, something felt messing. You often wish Suguru could cast out the malaise inside of you, but you’ve carried it in the pit of yourself for as long as you could remember. Even in your pious bliss, you start wondering if the curse that nearly killed you left a part of itself within you. Each day is the same until you wear thin.

When the string finally breaks, you find him with blood on his hands in the temple’s omoya.

It’s not the blood of a curse, either. It’s dark crimson, such as the same blood that is inside of you, and on the tatami mat lies the lifeless body of a servant. 

Shin, his name was. He wasn’t much younger than you, but he had the spirit of a boy, always able to make you laugh before he served you breakfast. He had arrived only a few months after you had, citing suicidal ideation as a catalyst to seeking Suguru’s services. Once treated, he had felt larger than life. 

And now, his face is frozen in time – the look of sheer fear. 

“Useless monkey,” Suguru tuts, wiping the blood off his face. You’ve seen that look on his face before — when he’s cruel and callous in battle. When he snaps the neck of a special grade curse before he eats it. 

You run to the bathroom to vomit.

When you emerge, one of the twins looks at you curiously. Mimiko. She smiles at you serenely, her eyes flickering with taunt. 

“Is everything alright, Y/N-san?”

“Y-yes,” you nod. “Just a bit under the weather.”

“Are you feeling sick?” Her eyes light up for a second. “Oh, could you be pregnant? Nanako and I really wish there was another kid around—“

“No, no, I’m not pregnant,” you cut her off, shocked. Did she think you and Suguru were… together? Did she think you were his concubine?

“Ah. I can get the servants to prepare some ginger tea for you.”

“No need, Mimiko,” you shake your head, smiling sheepishly. “I just… need to get some air.”

She leaves you alone as you walk towards the pagoda. You feel another wave of nausea when you remember Shin’s lifeless eyes. The blood on his throat. 

You stare at the sunset. It’s been a long time since you’ve left the temple of your own volition. Suguru keeps a tight leash on you nowadays, blaming the unpredictability of your power. Bitterly, you realize that you’re only ever in town alongside him. 

Sometimes, you miss being a stray.

His presence is immediate. When you turn, his long hair sways in the breeze as he flashes you a cat-like smile. 

“Thought you were trying to run away from me,” he murmurs, walking towards you. “But you’d never do that, would you?”

“Just… enjoying the view.”

He looks at you, amused. It feels belittling. 

“I apologize. I thought Nanako had locked the door.”

Your blood stills. He saw you.  

“I thought you only killed curses,” you stammer. For the first time, his presence makes you feel unsafe. 

“I never said that, sweet girl,” he chuckles. He plays with a loose strand of your hair. “Humans are beneath us, you know that. Humans are the reason curses are created. Curses just like the one that nearly killed you.”

You don’t have it in you to protest. He’s gotten closer to you now. A hand on your waist. His lips kissing your hairline in a way that makes you feel like a child again.

“I— I liked him,” you stutter. 

“Mm,” he hums. “He liked you, too. A bit too much if you ask me.”

You stay silent. Only the sound of cicadas fill the air. 

“It’s not your fault,” he grins. “You charm anyone you meet by default, you know. But sometimes, these followers… they want to threaten our mission. Sometimes, they’re paid off by sorcerers who are targeting me to gather intel. And darling, when there’s a target on my back, there’s a target on yours.”

You pull away from him with wide eyes. His face is neutral. So naive, you are. He was only doing you a favor, but a sheltered girl like you trusts too easily. 

“Just remember. I will be the only one to protect you.”

__

He finds you in the garden.

You’re surrounded by wildflowers, your yukata loose enough on you that it falls off your shoulder when you sit up to greet him. The sight of your bare skin tokes the fire in his stomach. He’s dressed more casually tonight, in a plain kimono as opposed to his usual gojo-gesa.

“Enjoying the fireflies?” he asks.

“Yes.”

He notices the dark circles under your eyes. Your smile is tired now. You stare blankly as if you’re in a trance. 

“You’ve been a bit off lately,” he muses. “Something on your mind?”

You blink at him in surprise, almost regretting it once you make eye contact. The hint of a lazy smile is there while his eyes scrutinize you. It always feels like he can see right through you, observing you just before he eats you whole. 

“No, Geto-sama,” you shake your head.

He laughs, rubbing your shoulder. “So formal with me.”

“Shouldn’t I be?” you knit your brows. You had been at the temple for less than a year. You weren’t intimate with him enough to warrant that. You weren’t intimate with him in the way your heart longed for.

“Not with me. Never with me.”

“Suguru.” You mull over the taste of his name on your tongue. The shape of it in your mouth. “I’m okay, Suguru.”

You feel pathetic under his gaze. You can tell he’s waiting for you to say something, sensing the apprehension in your voice. The slight quiver of your bottom lip as you avoid his face.

“I’m just… recovering. From my technique, that’s all,” you say hoarsely.

It’s not a complete lie — the intensive training with Suguru led you to discover that you could bend time and space to your will in small aspects. Teleporting short distances became a new tool for your arsenal. It was still difficult to manage and exhausting to exert. The other day, your nose had bled so much that you almost thought your membranes would burst completely.

“You’re exhausting yourself,” he says gently, rubbing a hand to the small of your back. “But you’re improving rapidly. I’m proud of you.”

Warmth floods your body at his praise. It was too easy for him to wrap you around his finger, and you were starting to hate it.

“Thank you,” you mumble. 

“Do you feel powerful?”

You take a moment of reprieve when he asks this. Powerful? Despite being a sorcerer and wielding the ability to exorcise the monstrous manifestations of human suffering, you did not feel powerful at all. You never have. If anything, you only felt useful.

“Not really.”

“You should,” he smiles. “You’re getting stronger. We’re untouchable together, you and me.”

You and me echoes loud in your brain. Stitches itself into every crevice unwittingly. 

“Ge– Suguru,” you swallow thickly. “Is that why you saved me? Because you wanted me to get strong?”

“Yes,” he nods without hesitation. “I saw potential in you.”

“Is that all I am? Potential? I’m just– just a vehicle for you?”

He leans over to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. His own hair is down, for once, and you can smell his white tea shampoo as his shoulder touches yours. It almost soothes you.

“You aren’t just a tool to me, you know that,” he sighs, looking at you with intent. “I like taking care of you.”

You nod slowly as you look towards the sky. His words aren’t enough to fill the emptiness inside you. His proximity to you makes your chest constrict in the slightest bit, creaking the floorboards of your ribs inside a haunted house body. 

You shiver when he pulls down your yukata and presses a chaste kiss to your collarbone. It must feel the same as when humans get their curses exorcised by him. Lightness in their being instead of dead weight. Blessed by a god.

“Come inside,” he purrs. “You’re getting cold, yeah? I can see your goosebumps.”

No. His hands were just colder than you expected.

He gathers his hair into a half-up bun before he brings you to his room for the first time. It’s rather bare, save for the kotatsu across from his futon and the talismans that are hanging above it. The calligraphy is messy, unintelligible, as if the text was written manically. 

He sits you down at the kotatsu and pours you bergamot tea. You cough nervously in anticipation.

“Suguru.”

“Yes?”

“Um.. how long do you intend on keeping me here?”

He raises a brow. Looks at you like you’ve asked something stupid.

“You have somewhere else to go?” he asks sarcastically.

You triple-blink at his bluntness. He isn’t taking you seriously. 

“Well, I have a friend or two in my hometown. I was thinking about—”

Your breath hitches when he grabs your chin. His gaze bores into your face, his lips in a hard line.

“You’re unhappy,” he says plainly.

“No, I’m just not sure if I can completely fulfill the purpose that you—”

“Do you think anyone else will take you in?” he spits. “You told me yourself. You have no family. You were barely scraping by when you lived alone. With the amount of cursed energy you possess, you think you’ll be able to protect your friends from all the curses you’ll attract?”

You sink into yourself. As if a switch is flipped, his expression changes completely. There’s that familiar softness in his eyes again. God, the tea was making you feel so warm, too. One look from him and you find yourself melting. Even the Devil would swoon.

“Don’t you think fate brought us together?” he whispers. “Don’t you know how valuable you are to me?”

He almost sounds like he means it. Your rabbit heart speeds up when he strokes your collarbone with his thumb. A heady feeling consumes you and you force yourself to tear your gaze away.

“Look at me,” he demands, grabbing your chin again. He crowds your space, not leaving you any room to breathe. Your gut aches from sudden heat.

“God made you for me. Don’t you know that?”

Your mind goes blank as you nod slowly. He looks at you like he’s starved. No one’s ever looked at you like that before. No one has ever really looked at you before him.

“I’m— I’m sorry, Suguru,” you whisper.

He caresses your cheek, his breath tickling your jaw as he leans in.

“It’s alright, sweetheart. I understand what it’s like to feel a little stir-crazy. I’ll take you out more often, yeah?”

“O-okay.”

He grins and it comes off as sardonic.

“Such a spoiled girl. Only the very best for my girl, hm? I clothe her, feed her, make her stronger. And what do I get in return?” he scolds, thumb swiping over your quivering bottom lip. “She tries to run away from me.”

“I’m not,” you pout.

“You’re not?” he scoffs.

You don’t know what to do other than apologize. You were weak like that.

“You’re so good,” he sighs. “And you want to keep being good, is that right?”

“Yes,” you mumble. 

You shiver again when he runs his fingers through your hair, his other hand undoing the ties of your yukata. You sharply inhale at the cool air hitting in your nipples, the rest of you trembling at the prospect of being so bare in front of him. God or prophet, you didn’t know. All that you know now is that there was no coming back from this. 

“My good girl,” he whispers, nipping at your earlobe. “My best girl.”

You whimper when you feel his tongue on your jaw. His kisses are tantalizingly slow. Teasing. He marvels at the flutter of your lashes in response to his touch. 

He had tried to deny those feelings in the beginning, but he couldn’t help it anymore. He feels as though he’s created you. He liked you delicate, lace winged. A butterfly caught in a jar.

Suguru thinks this is fair. He has always believed in fairness, and although one might argue that his philosophy is a direct contradiction to that, he could beg to differ. Different people had different values, that was all. You just happened to have an advantage in the hierarchy he holds in his head. A precious thing, his treasure. 

When he turned his back on Jujutsu society by becoming a curse user, he would avenge the suffering of the sorcerers around him. Years of adapting to the taste of shit and vomit would eventually earn him something that made it all worth it. He’s convinced that something was you.

He was your savior, therefore you were his blessing. It was only fair that he could take you the way he wanted. You were meant to be found by him. You were meant to be kept. 

You barely put up a fight.

You whimper when he parts your legs with his hands and finds you embarrassingly wet. Every stroke of his hands on your inner thigh has you twitching involuntarily. 

“Oh,” he coos. “Look at that.”

You look away in shame, trying to close your legs, but he forces them open with a bruising grip. Your heart drops to your stomach. 

“What’s wrong, baby? You want to be good for me, right?”

You nod without a word, trying to control your breathing. Your brain is telling you that you want this — you’d wanted to be his from the moment you saw him. Your body tells you the same, but dread creeps up your spine.

You gasp when he grazes your clit with his fingers. He plays with it, stares at your cunt through your underwear like it’s a prize.

“Let me see you,” he murmurs. “Don’t be afraid. I’m the only person in this world you can trust.”

He slips your panties off easily and you wince at the sound of your wetness sticking to the fabric. He applies more pressure to your bud, distracting you with his mouth on yours. You mewl into his mouth without realizing and he grins against your lips, slipping his tongue inside. 

When you feel a finger push into your walls, you convulse in surprise, though you don’t pull away like he expects. You merely clutch him harder, your hands wrinkling the sleeve of his haori. 

“Shit, you’re tight,” he rasps. “No one’s been here before, is that right? Just me?”

He groans when you look at him with innocent eyes and nod meekly. Of course he would be your first. You were nothing but a wounded dog when he found you, barely had a life of your own before he took you. You were pure and the world was keeping you for him. It was meant to be.

“S-Suguru…” you breathe. He’s pulled you into his lap now, your cunt getting his kimono wet. The slick of your cunt around his finger is enough to make blood rush to his cock. 

“So pretty,” he mumbles. In one fell swoop, he takes you in his arms and carries you to the futon. You squeak in surprise at being lifted off the floor so quickly and so easily. 

He takes the pause in his actions to undress himself, slipping off his robes, and when you see the thickness of his length prodding against his toned stomach, your mouth goes dry. 

“C’mere,” he beckons. You obey.

He kisses you sweetly on your mouth and then down your jaw, squeezing your breasts. Your breath hitches as he takes the time to rub his thumb over your nipples. Suddenly, his teeth graze your chest. Biting, tasting. Forbidden fruit.

You let out a quiet moan and he chuckles. “So sensitive.”

Without a warning, he plunges two fingers into your cunt and you nearly cry out. There’s a choked noise, something in between pleasure and resignation. It’s all too much. When he adds a third finger and feels much less resistance, he laughs. 

“Taking me so well. You’re doing so good,” he encourages before lapping at your chest again. When his fingers curl at just the right angle, your vision starts to get fuzzy. His thumb on your clit only intensifies the feeling.

“I c-can’t—”

“Hm? Use your words.”

“I’m… I’m gonna…”

His movements still and you nearly scream. He pulls back to see tears brimming your eyes and he kisses them away gently despite his cruel smirk. 

“Nonono, please—”

“Please what?” He feigns innocence. 

You bite your lip, your face too hot to feel comfortable expressing what you want. You feel the ghost of your curse wrap around your throat again. Once again, you find that the ticket to salvation has silky black hair and snake eyes. The artillery of a fallen angel disguised as something pure.

He can tell you’re frustrated but too afraid to voice it. You’re as pliable as he knew you would be. Endlessly easy to coax a reaction from. 

“Do you expect everything to be handed to you? Just because you’re mine?” he taunts. 

His. His. His.

You shake your head, whimpering. 

“Then ask nicely, baby.”

Your cunt is on fire even though he isn’t touching you. When he strokes your lip and pushes his thumb into your mouth, you let him. Your tongue tickles his fingertip.

“Ah, so you still have a tongue. You can still speak.”

He laughs when you pout.

“Please touch me,” you say, your voice as quiet as a breeze.

“What was that?” He grins even wider. 

“Pleasetouchme,” you whimper, your voice light as air.“Please… please make me cum.”

“Good girl,” he chuckles, licking into your mouth. His fingers fuck you in earnest now. You feel so full that your eyes roll back. It’s cute.

Poor thing. Suguru is a patient man, but he’s not sure if he has it in him to wait. He could make you cum three more times so that you’re truly ready for him, but he doesn’t want to. He supposes that if he breaks you, you’ll thank him anyway. No one else wants you more than him, you had to understand that. 

His cock throbs at the sight of you coming undone. It’s nearly animalistic, like provoking violence from weak prey. Cataclysmic like a falling star. He’s consumed with it, with the fact that he can do this to you and no one else can. 

He fingers you through the aftershocks, too, until you sob loud enough that his other hand has to cover your mouth. You squirm underneath him, shaking your head in desperation. 

He admires the slick of sweat on your chest, your glowing figure. When he releases you, he thinks briefly that you’re on the verge of passing out. But you tremble, rapidly breathing, eyes unfocused as your lashes flutter. 

Suguru licks you off of his fingers and you stare in horror, returning to yourself.  It makes him giddy, how even your spirit is infinitesimal.

“You taste so sweet,” he purrs. He kisses you roughly, tongue prying your mouth open and making you moan. “See? Sweet. You’re perfect.”

He likes seeing you all flushed. Glaze on your cheekbones. He thinks he should make you his wife, memorialize your fucked out form with a commissioned painting and hang it above his bed. A good luck charm among the talismans. You look too good to ruin with his cock, but he knows he’d already taken all of you anyway.

He’ll put you back together after. Pamper you with yuzu slices in a hot bath. Play the part of a boyfriend instead of a master.

He pins you down even though he doesn’t need to. You let him settle in between your thighs, his aching cock slapping against your stomach. 

“So cute when you’re scared,” he chuckles at the look on your face.

“It’s… big,” you say meekly. 

“It’ll fit. It won’t be so bad, yeah? I changed my mind about punishing you for trying to run away.”

Panic paints your features.

“I wasn’t trying to run away! I promise.” Your lip quivers again. Maybe he should make you beg.

“Is that right?” He leans in, precum spreading on the skin above your cunt, tip grazing your clit just slightly. You bite your tongue so you don’t moan from the sensitivity.

“Yes. I want to stay.”

“And why’s that?” he jeers. 

“Because— because you’ve given me everything.”

He waits for you to elaborate.

“Because I’m yours. I’m…  your good girl,” you slur through tears, voice above a whisper.

“Poor baby,” he hums. “Of course you are. Always will be.” Whether you like it or not.

You moan at the same time he prods his tip inside. When he sinks in even further, right to the hilt, he becomes delirious with need. It takes everything in him to not pound into you recklessly.

“Pretty fucking cunt,” he groans. “So warm.”

More hot tears, but your dread is replaced with rapture. He fills you up, already poking at the most sensitive spot inside of you. Your body ripples with pleasure as he moves and digs into your guts, an ocean of tender heat.

It’s a branding. You don’t exist if it isn’t for him.

“Suguru,” you moan. 

He kisses your neck, teeth hard on your flesh. Pulling it taut while his tongue rolls in it and leaves mouth-shaped blessings.

His hips drive into you with more force, cock reaching places that your fingers could never reach. You shut your eyes and phosphenes float through the static of blackness. They linger when you open them again, Suguru’s face illuminating in grainy color.

It takes you a bit to realize his mutters, the way he’s babbling through moans.

Good fucking girl. All mine forever. I’ll die with you.

You let out a pitched moan as Suguru wraps his fingers around your throat. Every part of your body feels like it’s bursting. You cum like that, your walls outstretched by his thickness carving you out in the shape of him. 

“Take it,” he grunts. “Take my cock. Fuck, I think I’ve been waiting for you my whole life.”

He’ll probably obsess over your cunt for ages. The face you make when you’re being used. Your ragdoll body.

His bun had come undone. Even if his cock wasn’t in you, your stomach would ache from how beautiful he looked. Eyes focused on you, nearly deranged at the way he was blistering you raw. The cascade of tears down your cheeks. It made him impossibly hard. 

He pulls out quickly to flip you onto your stomach so he can rut into you from behind. The angle makes it so that his cock is even deeper. 

“Oh, Suguru—”

“Yeah, baby? Gonna cum again?”

You whine, all high-pitched and girlish. 

“Tell me you’re mine. That you’ll never leave me,” he grunts.

“I’m yours,” you hiccup. “I’ll n-never leave you.”

Your cunt was starting to burn, even with how wet you were. Suguru cums with a rough thrust at your words, nose buried in between the lovebirds littering your shoulder. You’re full of him. He doesn’t stop, his dick still hard inside you. 

“Shit,” he hisses, looking down to see his cum oozing out of your pussy, all mixed up in your arousal. “How are you still so fucking tight?”

He grits his teeth when he feels you squeeze around him. You can barely form words now, crying as you can feel yourself about to cum again. 

“That’s it,” he pants. “Cum for me, princess. Cum on that cock for me.”

You’re twitchier this time. Your moan tapers off into squeals as you bury your tear-stained face into the pillow. He follows after you with a gasp, his large body covering you like a cocoon. 

He kisses the nape of your neck. Between your shoulder blades. His cock stills inside you, but he doesn’t pull out until he softens completely. When you stop shaking, he turns you over. 

“There’s my angel,” he says fondly. “Thought you passed out on me.”

You shake your head. He smiles lazily, leaning to kiss you all over your face. 

Your bones feel like jelly, but you still switch your positions with intent, and to your surprise, he lets you. Naked and breathing heavily above him, you examine him with his hair spread out on the pillow, cheeks flushed and cherubic. He almost looks innocent. 

He groans at the way your leaking cunt grinds on his crotch, prompting him to get half-hard already. He grabs your hips at the same time you grab the base of his throat. He laughs. 

“Do you feel powerful?”

You blink twice and your eyes glaze over. 

In your vision, you see Suguru’s face flashing you his usual grin, this time showing all his teeth as blood drips from his chin. When you look down at your hands, they’re saturated in the same red. He kisses you despite it all and you understand. 

“Yes,” you breathe. “I do.”

[whoreforjisung]

Pervy Neighbor Jisung Pt.2 ✨

Content/tags/warnings: smut / jisungxfem reader / perv!jisung / reader is a little bit of a perv too / masturbation(m,f) / “noona” / mentions of other members / drug use / panty stealing / cum eating / switch!jisung / switch!reader / mutual pining

Word Count: 4.2k

a/n: Since a lot of people seemed to enjoy my first one-shot, I decided to continue the story in multiple parts! Constructive criticism as well as requests are welcome! Next part will include the house-warming party 👀

Not proofread, all characters are only used for the purpose of face-claims and do not reflect real-life actions and behaviors of people involved

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It’s been almost a month since you moved in, and Jisung has, quite frankly, run out of material. As much as he adored that picture he snapped through your window of your delectable ass presenting itself to him, there were only so many scenarios he could logistically work with- his favorite being one of the first he conjured up, with you inviting him over during a yoga session on your balcony. He was especially fond of that one.

In fact, he had already run through them all several times, and as a man with a creative inclination, he needed new imaginary canvases to paint even more indecent imagery with. He really didn’t know how he ended up in this situation. Sure, he was always a man who thought more with the head between his legs than the one atop his shoulders, but he was never one to actively display such depraved behavior- that was, until you invaded his mind. You were akin to a captivating siren luring him out to the vast depths of the sea that was his lust for you, and he wasn’t quite sure that he wanted to resist your entrancing melody.

There were a few minor complications preventing him from reaching his goals, though. The first being how the hell he would successfully obtain fresh aids for his newfound private pastime. In order to give himself more inspiration to work with, he needed to get closer to you. Normally, he would not see this as an issue at all, as he was rather confident in his physical appearance and charisma. The second- and most debilitating issue, however, lies in your surely abhorrent first impression of him. A visceral chill creeps up his spine at the mere thought of what your current opinion of him must be.

After he fucked his frustrations into his fist every night to thoughts of you, he stared at his ceiling making mental diagrams of different approaches he could take for you to nudge him over to your good side. He may have doomed himself from the first day with his thoughtless and downright rude behavior, but he was determined to rectify the misunderstanding he had perpetuated.

Luckily for Jisung, his ever-reliable mate, Felix, had already taken the first steps for him- by adding you on various social media outlets. He had been mindlessly scrolling when you stood out in the crowd of faces in his suggested friends page. It may not seem like much, but the best possible starting point had practically fallen right into his lap. He now had access to your name, interests, dislikes, music taste, and friends list- conveniently right at his fingertips to educate himself with whenever he desired. Not to mention, one mouth-watering, jaw-dropping, boner-popping display of your gorgeously-proportioned body, clad in a slutty little powder blue string bikini- just for him. It was certainly claiming it’s spot at the top the spank bank for later. He’ll have to send Felix something as a token of his appreciation for that one.

Through his frequent investigations of your treasure trove of publicly accessible information, he learned that you are, in fact, one year older than him- that was going to do wonders for his little “noona” kink. His suspicions of you being an artist were correct, much to his delight, as he’s naturally attracted to creative minds. Your taste in music also aligns surprisingly well with his own. You have more tattoos than he originally thought- which he finds incredibly hot. In your bikini pic, he spotted a dazzling silver gem nestled above your belly button- also sexy. It made him wonder if you have more piercings in places hidden under the skimpy garment- he really hoped you did. One crucial piece of information he couldn’t deduce from his research, though, was your relationship status. If you were in a relationship, it couldn’t be a happy one. There was no indication of you having a partner on any of your platforms, so he decided it was unlikely.

Now that he learned as much as he possibly could about you without direct contact, he needed to find a way to repair your skewed perception of him. He could go with his original plan of just knocking on your door, introducing himself, and apologizing, but that seemed a tad bit more risky than he was comfortable with. Since you were apparently acquainted with Felix, maybe he could convince him to act as his wingman? No, he didn’t want to come across as desperate- even if he absolutely was. Maybe Miroh? The two of you were already friends on the game thanks to him assisting you with your S-Class Dungeon victory. He could help you through the slightly more daunting Levanter or Circus stages next. And then what? Just send “hey, by the way, I’m your new neighbor.”? You would wonder how he knew who you were, and instantly be creeped out- rightfully so. He’ll still help you through more dungeons anonymously though. The intense adrenaline rush he gets from it, along with the blood that rushes straight to his junk when you cutely beg him for help- is addictive.

Your bikini pic sufficed to tide Jisung over for another week and a half, shamelessly painting your image on his phone screen white at least once, sometimes twice, or even three times a day. During this time, he strolled the market he had discovered you frequented and gained some helpful intel- you were a bit closer to Felix than he originally thought, even stopping by the various stands he often helped out with to chat or drop off food for him. A few times, Jisung thought about coming up to him while you were there to introduce himself. Ultimately, he decided it would be best for you to naturally stumble upon them hanging out together. So, he cleverly plotted to join his friend with his market volunteering for the next month or so. The first week was a bust, since you seemed to be avoiding Felix with him in the picture now. Regardless, he didn’t let it discourage him, and attentively remained loyal to his plan.

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When you told Felix about how you didn’t host a house-warming party, as you didn’t really know anyone in the area yet, he offered to throw you one to introduce you to his friends. As he got to know you better, he knew you would fit right in with his friend group. When you agreed, he gave you descriptions of his seven closest friends. You were already briefly introduced to Minho, Changbin, Hyunjin, and Seungmin, but he threw in a few more names you didn’t recognize. Among the unrecognizable names, you tried to pick out the one that could belong to your neighbor, the boy you had spotted curled up on the couch in Minho’s study. Based on his descriptions, it couldn’t have been Jeongin- the youngest of the group, or Jisung- the affectionately-dubbed “babygirl” in Felix’s words. That left you with Chris, his fellow Australian mate, and the eldest. However, his description didn’t match your neighbor either.

When you set out for the market a few days later to deliver Felix some extra sugar cookies you had baked that morning, you saw him again. He was engaged in a conversation with your friend as they appeared to be working one of the fresh fruits and vegetable stalls together. You weren’t close enough to make out what was being discussed between the two, but your attention was drawn to the brunette’s body language. You observed the two friends for a few minutes, as your neighbor cycled through a series of cutesy expressions, excited little jumps, and exaggerated hand movements directed toward Felix. You were dumbfounded by how he candidly resembled a completely different person to the one you had briefly encountered over a month ago. This guy seemed to have an energetic and charismatic personality- an immensely stark contrast to the insolent and crude introduction you were given. You decided to return home with the cookies still in hand, not quite ready to approach yet.

Later that night, you were still hung up on thoughts about your neighbor. You originally thought he really was just an asshole, but the glimpse of him you saw at Minho’s place, as well as the market, had you reconsidering. You wanted to find out more about him. If he did behave differently to you specifically, why was he so callous? You were sure his outburst was the first time you saw him, so it’s not like you did anything to personally upset him. Frustrated, you navigated towards Felix’s social media in the hopes of finding his profile to learn more about him.

To say the man had a lot of followers would be an understatement. He was clearly very popular, and you began to lose hope of finding your neighbor amongst them. You couldn’t spot him in any of the group selfies on Felix’s page either. An imaginary lightbulb illuminated itself in your head as you realized you could just text Felix, asking him to send you all of his friend’s profiles. It wouldn’t be weird, since you’d be meeting them all soon at your house-warming party anyway. While waiting for him to reply, you opened the jar perched on your nightstand, containing a handful of special gummies, popped one in your mouth, and walked to the nearby convenience store to replenish your snack supply.

On your way back home, your phone lit up with the notification of Felix’s reply as you started to feel the effects of the gummy take hold. Immediately after closing your door and kicking your shoes off, you reclined yourself on the sofa, your bag of snacks within arm’s reach, and opened your chat with Felix. Sure enough, he sent you links to seven profiles with each of their names attached. Chris was first, with his feed mostly consisting of himself on late-night walks around town, pictures of his dog, and gym selfies. You immediately noticed how fit he was, with a killer face to match, and began to wonder if all of Felix’s friends were as absurdly attractive as he was. The next profile, Minho’s, caught you off guard to say the least. There were barely any pictures of him, and the ones that were posted usually distorted his face with the most outlandish filters you could imagine. The rest of his feed was overflowing with pictures of his three adorable cats, as well as several unappetizing close-ups of what appeared to be food. You were definitely intrigued, and were looking forward to getting to know him better. The next link directed you to Changbin’s page. While you did briefly meet him in person already, you were too overwhelmed by the utter chaos unfolding in Minho’s apartment to really take in his physique. He was a total gym rat- his feed plastered with pictures showcasing his enormous muscles to prove it. What really surprised you, though, was the sheer amount of dance covers he posted featuring popular k-pop girl group songs. The man knew how to shake it, and you were pleasantly surprised by the way he didn’t lock himself into his masculine side, despite his appearance. Moving on to Hyunjin, you probably spent around an hour admiring the captivating artwork he posted. As an artist yourself, you were enamored by his abstract and romantic style. Equally as captivating, were his features. He was a fashion model, and clearly had the looks for it. You couldn’t spot a single flaw on his perfectly sculpted face.

When you returned to Felix’s links and opened the next one- Jisung’s, you immediately recognized the doe-eyed brunette in the profile picture as your neighbor. Felix had described him to you as the mood-maker of the group, with his hilarious personality and exaggeratedly cute behavior impossible to resist. You had thought Jisung was one of the least likely to be the person in question, so this discovery was very jarring. Even more so, however, was the duality he displayed with his selfies. The most recent upload featuring a cute pose- big, round eyes, puffy cheeks, and pouty lips. As you scrolled down to the next, you were met with a completely different vibe. His head was tilted back, as if he was looking down at you, with sultry siren eyes, his chain necklace dangling from perfect teeth, and the neckline of a loose-fitting white t-shirt exposing his gorgeously-tanned neck and collarbones. You scrolled back and forth between the two pictures, in absolute awe at the fact that they both displayed the same person.

As you continued scrolling, his occupation as a music producer and songwriter was revealed. He uploaded several aesthetic pictures with his own work serving as background music, and you had to admit- he definitely had talent. Each instrumental perfectly encapsulated the vibe of the picture it was paired with, and he definitely knew what he was doing from a production standpoint. The real shock came when you stumbled upon his singing and rapping videos, though. He really could do it all. He perfectly rode every beat with his flow, topping it off with impeccable enunciation. The most impressive (and admittedly attractive) aspect was his ability to effortlessly switch the tone of his voice, going from an insanely high register to a low, raspy one instantaneously. This skill clearly also carried over to his singing- his higher vocals incredibly stable, and his raspy, low tone shamefully had you feeling some type of way. You decided to blame that on the effects of the gummy.

You lingered on Jisung’s profile for longer than you would have liked to admit, especially the pictures displaying his surprisingly flirty and cocky persona. There was one picture in particular, that had your imagination running wild. His eyes were shrouded in black eyeliner, looking straight into the camera, with his lips slightly parted and his tongue protruding toward the corner of his mouth. His thumb nestled just below his bottom lip- complete with black nail polish. It gave off the vibe of him looking up at you from between your thighs, after mercilessly coaxing multiple orgasms out of you with his seemingly skilled tongue, and lazily wiping the remnants of your release off his chin.

To be honest, you’ve been attempting to ignore the persistent throbbing in your core since you first started exploring his feed, but that last picture completely abolished all resolve you were desperately clinging to. Your right hand had been absentmindedly tracing light circles up and down your thigh for the last ten minutes, slowly drawing increasingly closer to your aching heat. Your own hand became Jisung’s in your imagination when you scrolled to a photo of his, wrapped around the neck of an electric guitar. The caption read “Guitar isn’t the only thing my hands are skilled with, ladies… ;)” The little shit knew exactly what he was doing, which, was oddly attractive to you. Your hand slipped under the waistband of your shorts. With your middle finger nestled between your folds, you gasped at the contact.

Your heightened senses due to the gummy amplified the intensity of every touch, the pleasure increasing tenfold. To say you were soaked would be an understatement. The back of your hand was immediately coated with your arousal, as it sandwiched itself between your needy cunt and completely drenched panties. The lewd sounds caused by your wetness, along with the humiliation that washed over you as you realized you were still on the couch in your living room, only served to turn you on even more. As your middle finger breached your entrance, soon followed by your ring finger, you pictured Jisung’s pretty fingers slowly pumping you instead. Black fingernails becoming a clouded shade as your juices coat them, dripping over his silver rings. You wondered if you would be able to feel them as his fingers pushed in and out, or when they bumped up against your swollen clit as he curled his fingers upwards, relentlessly pounding your sweet spot. When you added his tongue into the picture- sloppily lapping anywhere his hand didn’t obstruct, occasionally dragging along your inner thighs and hungrily licking your arousal that had reached there, you let go. You couldn’t control the spasming of your legs, as well as the obscenely load moan that escaped past your lips, as you lost yourself in the most intense orgasm you have felt in ages. After a few minutes of regaining your composure, you washed up and crawled into bed. You were looking forward to getting to know Jisung better.

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The next week Jisung helped Felix at the market, you finally made your appearance. He had his back turned to the bustling foot traffic, tediously deboning a massive chunk of raw tuna when his ears (and dick) involuntarily perked up at the sound of your sweet voice. “Hey Felix! How’s it going today?” You cheerfully approached, prompting the brunette to wonder how his name would sound as it rolled off your lips. “Hey yourself! Its a little slow today, but should pick up around lunch. This is my friend Jisung I was telling you about!” The blond returned, gesturing towards him. Felix told you about him? He wondered what you had heard, and how it made you feel, but quickly shook his thoughts away before he could get lost in them. This was finally his chance to reintroduce himself, and he was not gonna fuck it up this time. He swiped his hands across the front of his apron as he turned towards you, offering what he hoped was a charming smile.

“I would give you a handshake, but I’m pretty sure you don’t want fish smell on your hands. Sorry we kinda got off on the wrong foot there, it’s great to meet you!” He mustered up his best approach as he shot you an apologetic look, nervously cradling the back of his neck with his right hand.

“Oh, no worries! Felix told me you were really nice, so I figured you were just having a bad day. It’s nice to meet you too!” you replied. It took everything in his power to not grab his friend’s stupidly-lovable face and plant a big, fat kiss on his freckle-covered cheek right then and there. The man was, quite literally, doing all of the hard work for him.

After exchanging your greetings, you moved onto the next stall on your list. Meanwhile, Jisung attempted to burn your approximate waist-to-hip ratio into his memory- for a more realistic point of view of him taking you from behind, of course. His mesmerized focus was abruptly interrupted by his friend landing a friendly smack to his ass, signaling for him to get back to work.

Later that night, he was working on a new song when his phone exploded with notifications from his group chat with his friends. Felix had sent a text notifying everyone about a house-warming party he was hosting for a friend. When his eyes swept across your name, he immediately felt himself tighten in his joggers. He had basically pavloved himself into suffering automatic erections at the slightest thought of you with the recent frequency of his jerking off. To say he was ecstatic would be an understatement as he skimmed through the rest of the messages. He was invited to your place. Of course, his friends would be there too, but actually seeing the inside of your living space, as well as being so physically close to you- would add a whole new level of realism to his sinful fantasies. His usual view of you was from the distance of his own apartment, obstructed by two windows when you weren’t on your balcony. Your appearance at the market today was the closest he’s gotten so far.

Maybe if he played his cards right, he could sneak off into your bathroom, find out what shampoo and body wash you used, and purchase the same. Adding the element of your scent to his late-night sessions could be fun. The more he thought about it, the more depravity overtook him. What if he didn’t stop there? What if he snuck into your bedroom? Found a pair of panties to shove in his pocket and later shove into his face as he climaxes, or found your toys you use to get yourself off when you should be using him.

Still seated in front of his computer, he slightly reclined the chair back as he pulled down his waistband and teased his leaking tip slowly, his mind brewing up his latest creation. He was at your party with his friends. You were distracted by replenishing snacks, Changbin and Seungmin were engaged in a heated debate while the others focused on playing a game on your TV. He took advantage of the distractions and made his move, heading towards your bathroom. He passed the door as he embarked on his real mission- to find your bedroom. After one unsuccessful attempt opening the door to reveal a storage closet, he finally found it.

Once he shut the door behind him, he allowed himself a few seconds to take in his surroundings. When his eyes locked onto the door to your closet slightly ajar, he crossed the room and opened it further. Your laundry basket sat on the floor, powder blue lace thong placed neatly on top. He picked up the garment, intending to relocate it to his pocket, but his hand moved faster than his brain, bringing it up to his face instead. Once he inhaled deeply, taking in your scent, there was no hope for him. He shifted to the edge of your bed, uncrumpling your panties and flattening them out neatly on your mattress. He quickly released his swollen cock, laying it on top of your thong as he used the pad of his thumb to apply light pressure. His hips slowly thrusted, grinding his greedy dick between the dainty lace and his calloused thumb, the contrast of textures driving him crazy. As he increased his pace, he wrapped the lace around his whole circumference and replaced the tip of his thumb with his entire hand, amplifying the pressure. The sight of his tan cock peeking through the blue lace, along with the filthiness of his actions, had him biting his bottom lip for dear life to contain his moans threatening to escape.

He did the same in real life. As his thighs started quivering, he threw his head back against the headrest of his seat. His efforts to bite back his noises failed, however, as he couldn’t contain the loud moan that forced its way through his clenched teeth when his hand grazed over a particularly sensitive spot. Feeling his orgasm approaching, he released his grip completely, twitching at the sudden loss of contact. He wasn’t going to cum yet, not when the highlight of his fantasy had yet to play out. He collected himself for a moment before engrossing himself in his scene again.

He began to panic as his hips started twitching. Soft, needy moans and incoherent mumbling rolling off of his drool-covered lips. He needed to cum, but had nothing to release into. He was so lost in his pleasure that he couldn’t stop as the sound of your door creaking open penetrated through his panting and the wet sounds of his spit and precum-coated cock. He locked eyes with your shocked expression as he blew his hot load all over your panties and bed.

“N-Noona.. I-“ you cut him off with a strong slap to his left cheek. His weak legs not able to support him as his knees buckled collapsed to the floor, the side of his face landing dangerously close to the wet spot he had created on your bed. You stood behind him, forcefully grabbing him by his hair and shoving his face directly into the mess.

“I don’t want to hear another word from you. If you’re going to be a filthy pervert, the least you can do is clean up after yourself.” You spat, further rubbing his face into his own cum. He stuck his tongue out, catching his release on it as your grip on his hair controlled him. When you heard his muffled moans you kneeled down, your face now level with his when you tugged his head upwards. “Are you seriously getting off on this you sick fuck?” You pushed him with his back now flush against the side of your bed. “Oh my god, you’re fucking hard again!” Another slap to his cheek, this time the left. You both looked down as the pain from your slap caused his length to jerk violently, a pathetic bead of precum seeping from the tip and rolling down his shaft. You caught it with your finger, bringing your digit to his mouth and shoving it in. He hungrily sucked it off, a deep moan bellowing from his chest. Withdrawing your hand from his mouth and reaching behind his head, you clutched onto the cum-soaked panties, tilted his head upwards, and shoved them in his mouth.

Jisung groaned as he twitched in his hand, shooting his release all over himself and his keyboard, dripping down between the keys. He had been putting off cleaning the damned thing for weeks, and sighed as he slumped further down in the chair. Thanks to you, he wouldn’t be able to procrastinate any longer.

[kaedekolya]

clarence and his counterparts: man or monster?

So we were talking about Clarence’s new android SSR (Faint Night Light) in the LBC discord server, and it got me thinking about the monster allusions that seem to be a common thread across Clarence’s main stories. Then we discussed the diary entries from his White Day event, and it occurred to me that this monster imagery also ties into his modern-day counterpart – and with that, this post was born.

In other words: is Clarence a man, a monster, or somewhere in between?

[ SPOILERS: Clarence’s main stories and Chrono Theatre diaries. This meta analysis is structured as story-specific sections, namely Godheim, Eden, and the modern world, so you can skip over the world(s) you haven't read yet. No Awakening spoilers, don't worry! ]

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Godheim: Archmage Clarence

First, let’s talk about Godheim Clarence. As the Archmage, he bears a heavy responsibility upon his shoulders – to oversee the Magi Tower, to fight the Glacial Butterflies, and, ultimately, to protect the country and its people.

In order to fulfil this duty that he has chosen to undertake, Clarence seals his heart and shuts others out. He denies his emotions, and resents himself for having these emotions, to the point that he disparages MC for “[acting] impetuously” and belittles her capabilities when she shows concern for Amelia’s wellbeing. Archmage Clarence’s impassivity is his shield against the emotions he views as a hindrance.

Yet he was not always this way. Clarence is a casualty of cruel circumstances, a tender soul torn apart by trauma. When MC is confronted with the truth of the mages’ magic, having witnessed a mage die before her very eyes, she notes that “[there] is no pain or compassion on Clarence’s face,” because “[this] is a sight he has seen all too many times before.” Decades of watching his fellow mages succumb to the Glacial Butterflies that nest inside them, and decades of having to end the lives of mutating mages under his purview, have conditioned Clarence into numbing his heart to such pain. How else could he have stayed sane, after a century of bearing witness to suffering wrought by his own hands?

Archmage Clarence’s disposition is initially described by MC as an “[icy] presence,” but this is the facade that he projects as a defence mechanism, not his genuine self. Clarence is so accustomed to the chill of the Glacial Butterflies within him that he has taken on the frost as a personality trait, believing that his frigidity defines him. He does not view himself as a human capable of warmth; instead, he thinks of himself as a mutant, as an icy monster.

Even so, Clarence cannot deny his innate inclination towards kindness. When he notices that Amelia isn’t feeling well, he tells her to sit in the carriage. When Amelia’s temperature drops, he casts a spell to warm the shivering child up, even as he grumbles that he’s wasting his time and magic. When Amelia’s death is imminent, he tries to send her off in the gentlest way possible, then grants her final wish by conjuring a connection to the water mirror. Clarence may insist that he does not care, but his actions reflect his compassion.

It is this very kindness that steers him towards a path of selfless sacrifice, for the sake of his country and its people. The life of a mage may have been forced upon him, by the man that gave a gravely injured child no other option but the potion that would transform him, yet Clarence learns to harness his power for good. He spends his youth eliminating Glacial Butterflies and protecting the village of the snow plains, and despite the harsh conditions of the path he now treads, he does not hold a grudge against the family that sold him off and thrived in the resulting profit. Instead, he returns to check on them from afar, and when an onslaught of Glacial Butterflies attack, he protects them with every last bit of energy within him.

Still, his family’s betrayal left an indelible mark on his psyche. Back when he’d been given the potion, he’d resolved to succumb to his injuries rather than drink it. Despite his instinctive desire to live, MC notes that his “will to live [had been] virtually non-existent,” because there is “[no] despair greater than being betrayed by your own family.” The young Clarence had not seen a reason to live, when his family had forsaken him. It is only when MC saves him, urging him to live on, that he resolves to survive and repay this debt. Each time MC encounters him in her voyage through time, he is on the verge of death, and each time, his dwindling will to live stems from his despair over those he could not save. What ultimately keeps him alive is the vow he swore to his saviour.

This characterisation is one that carries through his immortal lifespan. Clarence does not live for himself; he lives for others. Whether that means risking his life to defend a village, or sacrificing himself in a ritual to save the country’s inhabitants, the underlying premise is the same – Clarence lives for the person who saved him, and for the promise he made to them. He allows others to form negative opinions of him based on the assumptions they’ve made, in order to keep the secret of the ritual and the Glacial Butterflies from them, because their scorn towards him matters less than their safety. He closes himself off from others, never permitting them to reach out to him, because he cannot allow companionship and compassion to distract him from his purpose. He “[cannot] afford to be sentimental,” because he cannot have anyone or anything clouding his judgement. Better to be the enemy of the state that saves it, than the friend of the state that cannot do anything as it crumbles. 

It is ironic, then, that Clarence’s devotion to his promise leads him from striving to live and fulfil it, to voluntarily dying for that same promise. His life, his existence itself, is secondary to the promise he has made. He will live to protect the world for his saviour, but if the only way to protect it is to die, then die he shall. Perhaps he views it as a penance of sorts, an atonement for the sins he’s committed. Perhaps he believes the new world would be better off without a monster like him.

For all his calculative callousness and stoic solitude, Clarence is deeply self-aware. Not only is he conscious of the suffering he inflicts and the ramifications of his actions, but he also ruminates upon his sins until they turn to guilt in his gut and self-loathing in the deepest recesses of his soul. He does not turn a blind eye to the pain he witnesses; instead, he looks it straight in the eye, internalises it, and forces himself to feel nothing at all.

Clarence may appear to have no qualms about exploiting people and reducing them to cogs in a plan greater than its constituent parts, but his interactions with Amelia prove otherwise. Right before he sends her off on what is meant to be a suicide mission, his carefully-crafted defenses slip, and he asks whether she hates him. Clarence believes that he has failed to live up to the Archmage’s title, that he has fallen short of being a “guiding force for all the mages” and a “protector.” He condemns himself for his callous strategies and merciless manipulation, since he has been treating people like chess pieces and “using them as [he sees] fit.” He disparages himself for “[standing] by on the sidelines, safe and sound.” He believes others hate him because he’s given them all the reasons to, because he deserves to be hated, because he, too, hates himself. All this while, he fails to recognise that he has taken on the greatest sacrifice of all – the burden of leadership, of decision-making, of being responsible for all the blood on his hands.

This downplaying of his own suffering, alongside his disregard of his own well-being, is what drives Clarence to self-sacrifice time and time again. When a theory about the Glacial Butterflies begins to take shape in his mind, he does not test it out on one of his mages, because he does not view them as expendable despite what he claims. Instead, he uses himself for his experiment, slicing his chest open and bearing the agonising pain in order to ascertain the truth of the magic within him.

On the verge of being overcome by the Glacial Butterflies, despite having prepared for this eventuality by shackling his limbs, he makes one last selfless request. “My Lord, you must kill me before I turn,” he entreats, willing to relinquish his own life for the safety of others. Even when Philip protects him from the Glacial Butterflies, refusing to kill him, Clarence believes that there is no place for him in the future that his Lord envisions.

Decades later, he still echoes this same sentiment. “There is no future without sacrifice,” he tells Lars, and he does not see himself as part of that future, does not see himself as deserving of that future. Archmage Clarence thinks of himself as a monster, not a man, and a monster is better off dead than alive.

It is a revelation, to him, that Amelia does not hate him. MC does not hate him. Lars, Alkaid, the mages that carry on the legacy of the Magi Tower, none of them hate him. They do not view him as a monster; they view him as a martyr, a protector, a saviour. Someone who did his best, and gave his all. Archmage Clarence leaves behind a legacy through his sacrifice, spurred by the human heart he still harbours deep within.

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Eden: Falcon Clarence

Next, we have the Falcon Clarence of Eden. The lone ranger of the desert, the mercenary that eliminates Sandswimmers with impeccable precision and works with no one else.

“A bait that only knows how to cry is a burden,” his mentor tells him, and Clarence internalises that into his cognitive framework and guiding compass. It is “the first lesson Liore taught [him];” that he must prove his worth in order to live. His scent lures the Sandswimmers to him, and so he must make himself useful by seeking out danger.

Valued only for his utility as bait, Clarence learns that his worth is determined by his fighting skills. With no other way to survive, he becomes a NEOS by fusing Sandswimmer gems into his body. Clarence pays the price of this acquired power through the gradual erosion of his memories, but that is far from the only thing he has lost. His decision to accept the integration of these foreign, beastly objects into his body has changed him irrevocably. He thinks of himself not as a human, but as a mutant being only one step away from becoming a monstrous Lost. Still, he endeavours to “remember [his] humanity,” because he refuses to become a “mere weapon [that knows] nothing but destruction.” Falcon Clarence understands that he is, by definition, a monster, but he refuses to relinquish the last shreds of his humanity.

In his first encounter with MC, he is rational and pragmatic as always, scrutinising her motives and seeing no reason to work together. Years of solitude, with no one else to depend on, have honed Clarence’s reflexes into an “instinct for self-defence.” Yet his reaction to MC’s request reveals that his solitude has been shaped by circumstance, not entirely by choice. When MC explains her reason for seeking out Eden, even though it does not sound particularly convincing, Clarence accepts it as sufficient and agrees to lead the way. Despite the potential risk of allowing a stranger close, he offers MC a ride on his motorcycle. Subsequently, he continues to help her out, defending the children’s shelter and giving her the gems he’d collected, even as he refuses to follow her any further.

Falcon Clarence claims that he works alone, but everything he does is for the sake of protecting others. He fights in the desert to protect the shelters from Sandswimmers, and he fights in Eden to protect Lin and the other NEOS from the Lost. He brings MC to the NEOS Association, so that she can rest for a night and learn essential skills from Lin. He knows that the night is dangerous, so despite his own preference for working alone, he ensures that MC has a community of protection around her.

Even as he dismisses everything and everyone else as burdens, his actions speak otherwise. Despite having met MC for only a single day, he offers his assistance to her time and time again, from rides on his motorcycle to filling water bottles with her. He could easily leave her to fend for herself, but he chooses not to leave her behind even when that would be the easier way out.

Perhaps the reason Clarence refuses to work with other people is that he’s afraid. Afraid of dragging them down, afraid of becoming their burden. He fears that history will repeat itself. He cannot bear to lose someone he cares for again, so he refrains from caring about anyone at all. Each time Clarence chastises others for being a hindrance, he is reproaching his past self for his inadequacy. Each time he risks his life to protect others, he is atoning for his failure to save his mentor.

MC says that she understands how Clarence feels, because “acting alone means nobody will be hurt because of [him].” In a way, acting alone also protects himself from being hurt. It is a defence mechanism born from his past, when he had to “learn to accept [his] losses” from a young age. He couldn’t afford to grieve Liore for long, not with the constant threat of the Sandswimmers, and so he could do nothing else but “live on with what memories [he] had left.” He’d forced himself to harden his heart to his emotions, but he could not suppress them entirely.

Clarence blames his moment of weakness, of emotional folly, for causing Liore’s death. It was her humanity, even in her final moments as a Lost, that held her back from killing him and caused her to die. He regrets his choice to this day, and perhaps it is this survivor’s guilt that pushes him to fight harder until he reaches the brink.

It is this same guilt, alongside his resolve to not lose anyone else he cares for, that drives him towards self-sacrifice. When he realises that MC needs a soul stone – his soul stone – to open the door within Central Control, he unflinchingly raises his gun to his head, as if it were the natural and logical decision to make. He is ready to offer his life without a moment’s hesitation, because that is the utility he can offer in this moment, in order to keep MC safe and help her achieve her goal. She has given him a reason to fight, and he will die trying to fulfil it.

Ultimately, it is his encounter with MC – and the companionship which blooms from it – that saves him. Without demanding anything in return, she cries for his pain, fights by his side, and shoulders his burdens with him. Clarence doubts his humanity, even as he holds fast to it, since he is all too cognisant of the monstrous traits within. In turn, MC’s unwavering trust reaffirms the humanity within him, reminding him that he is worthy of living.

Falcon Clarence may not be fully human on a biological level, and he may still succumb to the effects of the monsters within him from time to time, but he has managed to preserve his heart and his humanity. His tale is one of healing, of opening up, and of learning to value himself for who he is and not what he can do.

- ☽ -

Modern World: Clarence

Finally, let’s circle back to modern-day Clarence. At first glance, he’s the calm, collected, and capable Student Council president, who always seems to have affairs in order and circumstances under control.

Then, in his Chrono Theatre diary entries, we learn that he had a psychiatrist observing him from a young age, due to his gifted aptitude and exceptional intelligence beyond that of his peers. This revelation sparked a discussion in the LBC discord server, which spurred this message of mine that then became the basis for this meta post:

Clarence is well-versed in decorum, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it comes naturally to him. It’s likely that he learned social etiquette by picking it up from observing how other people behave, so he knows the appropriate responses to give and the socially-acceptable ways to carry himself. However, because this social understanding is not an innate trait but a learned one, there are often times when he doesn’t recognise the need for social niceties, and instead his instinctual response – founded on his internal logic – comes through.

One example of this can be found as early as his second interaction with MC, after she paints an artwork of him:

The polite thing to do would be to express interest in or appreciation of the finished product, regardless of one’s actual feelings towards it. However, Clarence “doesn’t show the slightest interest” in MC’s painting. Does this mean that he doesn’t care for it, and doesn’t see the need to put on a pretence? Quite the contrary. Instead, it’s because he thinks he doesn’t have anything useful to offer in response, and thus he stays silent.

Here, we see a disconnect between how Clarence understands the world, and how other people tend to view it. While most people would appreciate receiving praise or validation, Clarence doesn’t particularly see the need to receive either, and thus doesn’t immediately think of giving them to others. Rather, he takes a more pragmatic approach, focusing on utility; a piece of work deserves feedback for the effort poured into it. However, as a law major, he does not have sufficient knowledge or expertise regarding art. As such, he believes that his feedback would not be useful, and thus it is better not to say anything at all.

This ties into how Clarence views himself as his roles, and the functions he can serve. He understands that he has worth, but he evaluates this worth through his services as the Student Council president, or his contributions as a law intern. When he assists others, he doesn’t think of it as going out of his way to help them; instead, he views it as part of his rightful duty.

As a result, Clarence doesn’t view himself as simply “Clarence.” Rather, he thinks of himself as Clarence, the Student Council president; Clarence, an upperclassman; Clarence, a friend. If he can fulfil someone’s needs through a role that he holds, he will do it, even at the expense of himself.

We see this most prominently in Clarence’s “Break Time” R card story:

When the senior who’s supposed to interpret for an academic speaker falls ill and fails to attend, Clarence steps up to fill their shoes last-minute. William notes that Clarence can be counted on to show up whenever and wherever he’s needed, and MC agrees that he’s “the only one who’s up to the task.”

However, what most people don’t recognise are the sheer lengths Clarence will go to in order to fulfil his duties. On top of his regular responsibilities, filling in for the interpreter caused Clarence to “[burn] the midnight oil” preparing for the speech, and taking care of the sick speaker meant that Clarence could not sleep for two days. He doesn’t recognise that he’s constantly going above and beyond, because to him it’s a given, but he is in fact pushing himself past his limits, and past the line that most people would draw.

It’s interesting to examine MC’s thoughts here, because she interprets Clarence’s willingness to take a nap as a rational understanding that he needs to rest in order to keep functioning. However, this only happens after MC coaxes him into taking a break. If she hadn’t intervened, Clarence would have continued pushing himself until he completed his task – he was already at “the brink of collapse,” and he “only agreed to sleep after [MC] practically begged him to.” Clarence prioritises his responsibilities to the point that he does not recognise his own needs, and thus neglects to take care of himself.

Although modern Clarence doesn’t think of himself as different, or as anything less than a person, it’s evident that he views himself as the roles he fulfils rather than simply as who he is. In turn, this mindset is reflected in his behaviour, which then shapes other people’s perceptions of him. This is how Clarence becomes characterised as the aloof and intimidating Student Council president in the students’ eyes, even though he cares so deeply and helps out so much; most people are unable to look deeper and see Clarence as the person that he is, because he perceives and presents himself through the lens of his roles.

As such, other people often view Clarence as different from themselves – as if he’s operating on a different wavelength, or existing on a separate plane entirely. Modern Clarence’s genius sets him apart from his peers, but more than that, his perspective of himself winds up alienating himself from other people. Clarence views himself as like others, but others view him as unlike them. He blends in well enough, but he doesn’t quite fit in; he has a place in society, but he doesn’t quite belong.

- ☽ -

Clarence, across time and space

Out of all the Clarences thus far, modern Clarence is perhaps the most well-adjusted, and this reflects the importance of having a support system. Godheim Clarence and Eden Clarence were isolated from a young age and survived alone throughout most of their lives, whereas modern Clarence had family and friends around him. He may not have had the most conventional childhood, but he grew up with his older sister Jaclyn and his close friend Luca, and he also had his psychiatrist Ford observing and monitoring his development. Subsequently, after he enters St Shelter Academia, he gains a circle of friends he can rely on, such as William, O’Connor, and, of course, MC.

Expanding upon Clarence’s St Shelter Academia bonds, we see that Clarence has people around him who genuinely like him for who he is, and are willing to support him unconditionally. O’Connor affectionately refers to Clarence with a nickname – “Shi-kun” in the Japanese voiceover, or “Little Si Lan” in the Chinese one – and for all his devious teasing, it’s clear he looks out for his Student Council successor. As for William, he may whine about Clarence’s by-the-book discipline, but his clumsiness and complaints do not preclude him from helping out when needed. For all that Clarence often chastises William, he still relies on him to assist with Student Council matters, and he knows William is someone he can trust.

Compared to these two, MC is a relatively newer connection, but her bond with Clarence runs deep. Right off the bat, she’s able to meet him on his level and banter with him, and he lets down his guard enough to subtly tease her for trying to trick him. As their relationship develops, Clarence grows to trust her, sharing his inner thoughts and admitting his vulnerabilities. MC is a safe haven for him, and she understands him on a level deeper than most. While the other students may fear Clarence for his aloof disposition, or hesitate to approach him due to his detached rationality, MC sees the earnest sincerity woven into his actions and the warmth laced through his words. Others may think of him as an unfeeling robot or a terrifying monster, but MC loves him for the human that he is.

There’s a subtle but interesting juxtaposition here, in which Godheim Clarence and Eden Clarence – both possessing monstrous mutations within them – view themselves as monsters while most others do not, whereas modern Clarence – wholly human – views himself as human while most others do not. All three Clarences are keenly aware of what constitutes them, allowing this biological understanding to shape their perception of themselves, but they do not recognise that their actions paint a different picture to others.

Regardless of the world he inhabits, Clarence constantly straddles the line between man and monster. His selfless nature and dutiful diligence often lead him to self-sacrifice and superhuman feats, creating the illusion of a monster – but beneath this facade lies, always, the heart of a human.

- ☽ -

thank you for reading!♡

if you have any thoughts about this post, i'd love to hear them! responses are always welcome, and my ask box is open~

up next: android clarence, and the inevitability of tragedy. where is the line between human and machine? stay tuned for my thoughts on clarence's awakening main story!

[atinyslittleworld]

10:29

hongjoong x f!reader

Summary: Hongjoong is away on tour and his girlfriend misses him a little too much

Genre: smut 18+, slice of life

Warnings: smut, f bombs dropped multiple times

Hongjoong had been on tour for weeks and the distance was tarting to take its toll on both him and Y/N. They missed each other terribly, their daily video calls a bittersweet reminder of the physical distance between them. Tonight, however, felt different. The longing in Hongjoon's eyes as he looked at Y/N through the screen seemed deeper, more intense.

"Hey, baby," he greeted, his voice soft and warm. "How was your day?"

"It was good," Y/N replied, trying to mask the ache of missing him. "But it's always better when I get to see you, even if it's just through a screen."

Hongjoong smiles, though his eyes held a hint of sadness. "I know, I miss you so much. I can't wait to be back home."

They talked about their days, sharing the little details that made them feel closer despite he miles between them. As the conversation flowed, the atmosphere began to shift. There was a palpable tension, a longing that neither could ignore.

"Joong, I wish you were here," Y/N admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I miss your touch."

Hongjoong's eyes darkened with desire. "I miss touching you too," he confessed, his voice growing huskier. "Every part of you."

The air between them crackled with eletricity, their mutual yearning intesifying. Hongjoong hesitated for a moment before speaking again, his voice low and slighly hesitant. "Baby, would you... would you touch yourself for me?"

Y/N's breath caught in her throat, the request sending a thrill through her. She nodded, her heart pounding. "Only if you do the same," she replied, her voice trembling with anticipation.

A shy but eager smile spread across Hongjoon's face as he adjusted the camera, making sure Y/N could see him clearly. He watched as she did the same, their eyes locked through the screen, the distance between them seeming to shrink with each passing second.

"Show me how you like to be touched," he instructed softly, his voice a seductive whisper.

Y/N's hand moved slowly, her fingers trailing over her skin, igniting a fire within her. She watched as Hongjoong's eyes darkened further, his breath hitching as he mirrored her actions. His own hand slid beneath his waistband, his movements deliberate and slow.

"You're so beautiful, baby," he murmured, his movements growing more confident. "I wish I could be there to touch you, to make you feel good."

Y/N's breath came in shallow gasps as she continued to touch herself, her eyes never leaving Hongjoong's. "Tell me what would you do if you were here," she whispered, her hand moving circles on her heat.

Hongjoong's gaze intensified, his hand moving more firmly up and down his lenghth. "I'd start by kissing you everywhere," he said, his voice low and rough. "I'd trail my lips down your neck, your chest, until I reached that sweet spot between your legs."

A soft moan escaped Y/N's lips, her body responding eagerly to his words. "And then?" she prompted, her fingers in time with his.

"Then I'd use my tongue," he continued his own breathing growing ragged. "I'd lick and tease you until you're begging for more. I want to hear you scream my name."

Y/N's movements became more frantic, her body trembling with the intensity of her arousal, "Joong, please," she gasped her voice thick with need. "I need you."

"I know, baby," he groaned, his own hand moving faster. "I need you too. I wantg to be inside you, feeling you clench around me as I fuck you hard nd deep."

Y/N's mind spun with the vivid imagery his words conjured, pushing her closer to the egde. "Keep talking," she begged, her finger slipping in her entrance.

"You're mine Y/N," he growled, his tip red and leaking with desire. "No one gets to see you like this, hear you like this. You're mine to fuck, to make scream, to make cum."

His words sent her over the egde, her climax washing over her with a force that left her gasping. "Joong!" she cried out, her body shaking with the intensity of her release.

Hearing her scream his name pushed Hongjoong to his own climax, his release coming fast and hard. "Fuck, baby," he groaned, his body shuddering with pleasure.

They stayed connected through the screen, their breaths slowly returning to normal. Hongjoong looked at her with a satisfied smile, his eyes still filled with longing. "I can't wait to be back with you," he said softly.

Y/N smiled back, her heart full despite the distance. "Me too, Joong. Me too."

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

51 - Lies Within the Sunlight

Pairing: Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader, Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader (Past)

Length: 17.5k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, discussion of pregnancy, physical and mental illness, disturbing imagery, medical distress, blood and violence, character death

Notes: So, we may or may not have skipped a bit ahead in time from the cliffhanger at the end of the last chapter:) Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

The warmth of the sun felt like a lie. A conjurers trick, a shadow on the wall meant to manipulate those who look upon it's image to walk away with a false view of the world. It all mocked you in the hours you returned, but not for the same reasons Jons urgency was felt in. A truth had been shown, and yet the differences in what was seen were so vast you couldn't envision what else but that you had seen alone.

Jon handled it with grace whereas you could only hold back to not let it implode upon what of you was still going. One foot in front of the other, at this rate it would take another week to get to Castle Black but once more, the sun did not tell the truth. It was not warm enough to overpower the cold which came quickly into the night, and it was nowhere near bright enough to mask the rest of it. How Jon could hold it together you didn't understand, but you could only pray to whatever gods were listening that he was believing you walked the same beside him.

Perhaps you knew what made it worse, was how useless you finally felt. How unprepared you were to be this far out, this far along. Jon was more adamant that you not fall into that trap again, but this time there were factors outside his knowledge which effected the way your emotions were spinning around you out of your control. He was what a King should be, did not fall apart in the face of adversity and yet you crawled along the edges of sanity trying to do the same. It came naturally to him, the weight on his shoulders he carried and yet he did so without such needless confidence, nor the crushing feeling it would give any other.

Jon carried himself exactly as he always did, but you were giving him no reason to think he should feel otherwise. Afterall, he was shown the truth in a world which did not know the darkness coming for it, but the truth shown to you was what you could hardly grasp then or now. But you knew much more, that the fear of the unknown you felt then was nothing compared to now. Only, as you tried to push it out of your mind, did you exhale shakily, pushing away the other, far more new feeling again.

You had a week to go until reaching Castle Black, you would simply have to push through the feeling until then at the least. This was not part of Jons plan, you couldn't do this to him now.

Cawing drew your attention towards the sky, Jons as well. Grey eyes narrowing in a heavy distrust as his jaw clenched. Months the eagle had followed, and more and more lately it seemed as if it could not stop itself from tearing through whatever peaceful quiet could fall between you and Jon. It sounded itself into the sky again, and were you not a few feet from him, Jon surely would've reached out to yank you more into his side.

The bird had done nothing, but he did not care. He was sure he knew the eagle possessed the mind of a man once known as Orell, but so many years removed from his human life would've left little to be called a person inside the mind. Not attacking, not doing anything but following until now, Jon would watch it as you could tell his hands itched to take care of it's presence more and more. He'd glance up, and his hand would twitch by the side of him the quiver of arrows sat but do nothing.

Mindless was not the way Jon took any form of life, but he was a man who would not hesitate the second he was sure. But the eagle had not given him a reason to be sure yet, and it put him at an ill ease as much as your own person was doing for your mind. A low rasp left him, strained against the tension in his muscles. “When we get back to Castle Black, I'll take care of the rest, but I need you to send a raven to Maester Wolkan. It'll take us a few days to get back to Winterfell even if we leave right away, but I want everything to be ready the moment we get there.”

Trying to placate him, you got hardly far at all into your gentle plead. “Jon, it won't be for a fortnight then at least-”

It was not an order, but Jon left little room for question regardless. “I'm not risking it. I told you, I'm getting us back. I want you in our home safe long before he comes.” Your eyes softened looking at him, everything tense but there was the hint of gentle within the shimmer of grey glancing your way. Swallowing roughly, Jon looked back forward, face twisted once again to try and shed the tense feeling in him, despite it existing still within his voice. “Can I ask?” Looking his way with a raised eyebrow he was careful to broach the question with slow, chosen words. “What was Robbs plan? For you, if you were still at war.”

You knew sometimes he didn't expect the easy smile across your lips when Robb was brought up. But for eight months you had been carrying Jons baby, you had long since come to an acceptance with the first you'd hold in your arms of your own to not be of the father you thought they'd have. Jon never wished to overstep your time as Robbs wife, but he still did not find it simple to navigate the fact that your first child truly born would be Jons.

It wasn't his fault, he wouldn't be able to come to such terms until it was so real he held his own child for the first time. But you were calm and quiet, lost within the memories of planning long gone. “In a perfect world, he'd have won the war and we would be home in Winterfell when my time came. But, the more realistic one we had planned for, was that a small vassal of men would accompany us to Riverrun. So we would be somewhere safe without doubt.”

Nodding, you wondered perhaps if Jon was more lost in a fog of his minds making then you previously dismissed on him. So much was plaguing both of your minds. “Did it ever bother you? That you wouldn’t be able to have him at home?”

Whatever it was which was on his mind, you had no qualms about what the situation was then nor now, your life consisted of many instances in which you were forced to make peace with such extremes. “Of course it did. But, we also spent only one night together before being separated for months. We hadn't started doing things the normal way, it only made sense nothing was normal which came after either.”

You had to be patient, Jon would always coax you into talking about what you were holding back, but he wasn't the same. Jon was introspective, felt things more deeply the most men and women could combined and it all brewed inside a complicated, handsome mind. If one poked or prodded too early, he'd close it off and seal way the opportunity to discuss it for who knew how long. Not that you could know, but it was always a silence you gave him which Jon appreciated.

He knew you were one of the only people with a true capacity of patience to wait for him as long as he needed, even when a topic he'd gone back and forth about. But you both knew, Jons feelings on being a father would be impossible to gauge until it was real. Until it was in front of him. Son or daughter, it would only be real to him when they were in his arms.

“It wouldn't have changed anything.” Jon didn't meet your eyes, nor did you ask him too. “If your son with Robb had- nothing about how I feel about you would've changed.” Such a thing you hadn't really thought of. Scar across your stomach for good, you had not been brought back with the ability to imagine him in the world as you once did.

Flickering to the side, Jon seemed to be unsure if he'd meet your gaze but only found a distance he almost could not read at first. Walking forward in the quiet a little longer, the whisper you let you filled the air only enough for his ears. Not the wind nor bird following, but it almost didn't match the strange image in your head, your tone. “And if it weren't Robbs?”

Neither of you elaborated. It spoke for itself with a knowledge you lacked, but one Jon frowned as he considered without your awareness. It sat a bit odd in your chest, what that meant, if any child you might have had been Ramsays by some horror, would have changed anything about what stood between yourself and Jon now. His response however, was low. Too low to catch, you gently prompted him to repeat himself.

You were not expecting the words which followed. “It wouldn't have happened.” Brows narrowing yourself, Jon continued to not look at you. Muscles tense as he continued. “Roose Bolton needed you to give Ramsay a legitimate heir. He wasn't going to risk you getting pregnant before they were ready.” Almost interrupting with a confusion of what direction this was going in he silenced you with shock of your own feeling. “He had Wolkan lace your wine every night with tansy.”

Your feet stopped mid step. A strangeness in your chest which did not match what it was before, your mouth fell a bit open as you looked up at him. Turning to meet you, a feet feet away noticing you no longer following, an expression of confusion fell over you. Months Ramsay had..and never was there a hint you..it was part of why you had worried you had lost the ability to.

It was constant what Ramsay did, and you had begun to feel a festering poison inside of you that you had become so worthless that the gods had not even given you the ability to bear even a monsters child. You had heard Roose Bolton and Walda tell you she was going to have a boy, and you felt ill. Knowing yours was stolen from you and left you so broken you couldn't even give Ramsay one when that was supposed to be your one remaining use.

Closing your mouth, you swallowed the weight only to have it return the second you attempted to speak again. Jon taking very slow steps towards you, but you didn't really see him. His voice rang through your head but it did not register the manner it should've. “You never questioned how long it took with Robb, you were at war, it made it harder to take. But you had gone from being worried your first child after losing Robbs would be with Ramsay, to being with me scared you couldn't even have any. But it was never because of anything you did.”

When he had come so close you weren't sure, but you felt the muscles in your neck almost shake within you from such an oddity flowing in your nerves. Only a whisper on your tongue, “When did you-” Jon swiftly telling you that it was right before you had left for the Nightfort did he learn that, and you continued not to notice his approaching warmth until his gloved hands came to rest on your upper arms, leaning down a bit hoping to catch your distant gaze. “But if it was his?”

Sighing out, Jon tilted your chin to look up at him. Wide eyed and lost you looked with something much more sure in his. Shifting the same hand to run his thumb along your cheek and jaw. “I think I'm the last person who should judge a child for who a father he never met, was.”

In another world, perhaps the look on your face could have been vaguely interpreted as a smile or a huff of a smirk, but you nodded. Looking up at him, hands gently raising to rest along his waist. Your voice was just as light as your touch. “I wouldn't have expected you to..” Asking you what, you hesitated before letting it out. “I wouldn't have expected you to accept him. Or me. I would've understood.”

Jon sighed, leaning down more to rest his forehead against yours, cupping both of your cheeks to ensure you were pressed up against him as such. Not bothering to entertain you on that train of thoughts spiralling to the dark, “I told you, this isn't Kings Landing. I don't care the way you southerners do things. I still would've married you, still would've put a child in you. And Robb or Ramsay's, whatever child you had first, I would've raised with you.”

Unable to settle on relieved and something far too overwhelmed to comprehend, the sound which came from you seemed to settle more on what appeared to border on something pulling tears from your eyes. Grasping onto his wrists, you wished you could feel the pulse running through his veins, but had not the strength to seek it out. Whatever your heart tried to whisper, fell apart long before it reached the form of words.

When they did come, tactics had been switched quickly as if to keep away the feeling you were still hiding away. That still did not have a place ready yet to speak out loud, so you avoided it all together despite Jons own confession of truth. “Is it horrible of me to say I'm glad my first is with the first man I ever loved?”

Peeking to brighter eyes shining in the remaining daylight, Jon smiled. Thumb running along your cheek without a single trace of the trouble you felt inside. “I never wanted to replace Robb's son with my own, I never wanted to replace him ever. But we can't change that he's gone, so I'm going to be happy about what we have now. Including our first child together. You're allowed to be happy too.”

Nodding, Jon watched you closely for a moment. Almost as if gauging the degree to which you came to the same understanding. Tilting your head down, Jon pressed a firm kiss to your forehead, muttering against you as your arms slunk up to his shoulders. “But to answer your question, it doesn't matter whose child you had. You came to me, I would've loved them as my own no matter what, because I still would've loved you.”

Meekly spoken, you tried to push through the feeling in your heart with something even remotely resembling humour. “Thought pregnancy was supposed to make the woman the emotional one.”

And yet, he did not even hesitate to let it out as dry and blunt as ever, the smirk evident on his face the moment you sighed in response to it. “I'm not the one trying to pretend I wasn't just crying.”

Gods help how quickly he led you into traps you were too blind to see were right in front of you. Pulling away you almost went to protest, in the movement revealing the shine in your eyes begging to well up with yet unshed tears as you playfully tried to move out of his touch. Jon just followed, pulling your back into his chest with a call of your name. Your own reply just as dry finally. “This time I know you're making fun of me.” Jon tried to claim never would he, but your eyes only rolled and your face fell more flat. Your arms grasping at his forearm across your front all the same. “You know Robb never made fun of me this much.”

“Not to your face, he didn't.”

Mouth falling open, Jon let out the beauty of a true laugh deep in your ear as he interrupted with a kiss to your cheek. You'd playfully pull away if he'd let you. But alas, Jon was stronger and kept you up against him as you let your muscles relax into him. Muttering without any true malice, “Do I even want to know what you two would say about me behind my back?”

Letting out a short and gruff no, Jon only laughed more at your further unamused deflation. The Starks were all the same, no matter what age and stage in life it seemed. At least for now, it served to distract you long enough to keep going. Still hours of daylight left, you had to keep going.

Making it a week was already a tall order, but you were continuing to worry your ability to hold off until at least then. But as long as Jon, Ghost, and you walked further you could pretend otherwise. If for now at least. As long as it was not noticeable enough that Jon couldn't tell, you had time to figure it out. Your gaze shifting to Ghost however, you nodded for him to keep going forward, you needed the direwolf to keep your secret for once.

And you needed Jon to not warg into him, otherwise the ruse was over in a second and you weren't ready with a solution nor excuse yet.

It bordered on amusing, how long it seemed to be taking you to undo your braid. Or at least, it amused Jon, who had offered to do it for you but your own stubbornness had gotten in the way. You were within a much more mountainous section of the Haunted Forest and were determined to make it to the much more flat lands by the time you made camp. Stopping anymore was not conducive to that.

Rasping low, Jon was closer to your side then before only minutes ago. “I don't think I've seen your hair this long since we were little.”

Shrugging, you painstakingly continued to pull loose the strands. “I always hated keeping it this long around other girls. Whenever it got to be this long when I lived in Kings Landing, my handmaidens would take it upon themselves to fuss over it for me. So I would cut it, if it was just short enough I could handle it on my own, I refused to let it grow passed that.”

Jon had always known you liked it when it was very long, but by the time you had come back to Winterfell at fourteen, you had started to keep it shorter then many girls and ladies he knew. In your quiet nights hidden away together, Jon would always trim it for you, wondering in the back of his mind why not let it grow out down the length of your back as you used to as a girl, but you knew as he was watching you undo the braid now, perhaps you weren't sure if not cutting it was a good idea or a very bad one.

His hands loved finding their way into your hair, raking and running through the strands and even out here, Jon would always help brush and wash it for you. If the timing was right, you begun to suspect bathing was indeed taking longer the more you did not cut your own hair. Jon had found the length for his curls which worked for him, but it seemed your hair did not abide by the same rules. If he was behind you long enough, eventually his hands toyed with your hair, and clearly, the length to this degree was as if it were new to him, and just as fascinating.

You begged not to think of the insistence he would have for you to keep it this way once home in Winterfell, knowing he would have so much more room to play when he'd style it for you in the early mornings. Your only trust was that Jon was not your southern handmaidens, and such styles of design for hair would never come close to being what he chose.

Jons taste was simple for you, and he only enjoyed those simplicites more, knowing he did them. Hence, why he was not currently undoing the braid for you, knowing he'd draw it out longer then needed. “I could always-”

“Jon.”

Meeting his gaze quickly, you shook your head. “We have limited sunlight on our side, we do not have time for this.” Jon putting forth the question of what you were implying and your meeting jesting gazes said it all. Looking back as your hands ran through the loose strands finally. “When we've made camp for the night, then that will be a different discussion.”

Ghost from his close stride beside you huffed just slightly loud enough for you to hear. Meeting his blood red eyes, yours beckoned his discretion. Just once, you needed him to side with you first, just this instance today. And tomorrow. And all week. He had too. You had too. Just for this he needed to keep your secrets away from Jons knowledge.

It still wasn't that bad. It wasn't good, but you could walk forth and playfully tease and banter back and forth with Jon. As long as you did that, Jon didn't know, he wouldn't have the reason to watch and guess yet. Your gaze tore itself slightly above you, wondering if the eagle too knew. At least his cawing would not spill to Jons ears.

Everything that's happened, you needed to get back first. What you learned was more important then this, it had to be. You weren't ready for it otherwise. If you could ignore it, it wasn't real yet. And you nodded for Ghost to stop watching you as if forcing that ignorance on him as well.

Wolves should not be this perceptive. Ghost had come to such a conclusion because he was so close to your side, each and every sign this close screamed at the direwolf. As long as you kept Jon at a reasonable distance, perhaps you could avoid his perception picking it up.

As you glanced up at the eagle above, too did you in the moment Jon was not looking, did you let out a shaking exhale. It had only been a very few short hours, it was no where near close from each and every instance of this process you had seen. You had to hold off, and thus, the pain shooting within you could not grow to the point Jon would notice.

A week to Castle Black, and days there to Winterfell. This had to be false, you needed another fortnight to ensure you were following Jons own plan. You couldn't get in Jons plans way now, you hadn't done that yet you wouldn't start now. The worry still boiled within your nerves however, how long you'd be able to hide the pain from Jon, the man whose dark eyes, saw everything.

“How the fuck do people live out here?”

“Does it look like anyone lives out here, you dumb fuck?”

“Been travelling for miles and we haven't seen a soul-”

About to feel her head explode, Yara Greyjoy stood abruptly from where in the snow she knelt, utterly tired of the back and forth the men behind her were having. Days and days in a row they argued the same things, a herd of lost cattle they were, shuffling their feet in the snow without a clue how to navigate it.

The longer she spent away from the open waters, the more she begun to hate the North. She missed the salt of the open sea, the wind of the waters and the freedoms to sail island to island, shore to shore for whatever venture she saw fit. But instead she had spent far too many weeks trudging along the far North from where they had sailed up in the Bay of Seals.

Looking over to her Uncle Victarion, he seemed to hold not quite the same irritation with the men behind him but at the lack of progress made. Walking over she ignored the yelling as usual, before glancing up into the open air before her. Their maps were woefully lacking in detail, both of their own now laid out before her uncle with their own marks made trying to plot paths of lands neither of them knew anything about.

Barley sparing her a glance, she leaned over to look with him as he hissed under his breath. “I hear them complain one more day, I'll string them up by their feet and leave them for the wildlings.”

Yara felt it come up before she thought better of it, “What wildlings?” Victarion glared at her, but she stood her ground as if he was even a shred of intimidating to her. “Look around, Uncle. We haven't seen anyone the entire time we've been out here. You're not curious where they've all gone?”

He wasted no time muttering no. Yara's eyes rolled without a second thought. “Well, I'm glad you haven't thought about it, but I have. Why would they be out here when no one else is?” Asking if she had a better idea, the annoyance was too high in all of them. “Theon took Torrhens Square then Winterfell with twenty men. I say we go back to our ships, get on the other side of the Wall and look in the places that make any sense.”

Victarion ignored her until her hand slammed down on his eyesight of the map. Both looking at one another now with mighty glares. His own voice low without a care in her mind at what he'd do about her insolence. “And how well did taking Winterfell go last time?”

Yara was quick on the draw, voice flat as she was prepared to hit him. “I don't know, Uncle. How well did holding Moat Cailin go last time?” It was petty, she knew that. Balon had ordered both of them back to Pyke, leaving their men both at their respective holds.

The Bolton keeping her brother capture had killed every of her Uncle's men at Moat Cailin, and sometime later, Stannis Baratheon and this King in the North had defeated what was left of her own garrison keeping their last stronghold on Deepwood Motte. Once they had lost it, the arguing had started about what to do with the remaining Ironborn there, until at least, the day they found her father dead.

Once Euron had taken the Salt Throne, he ordered any remaining men back to the Iron Islands and when none came back, he had lamented that they were useless to have been killed by a bunch of pathetic northerners, not useful to his tasks. Yet now they trudged through the north beyond the Wall, looking for two bloody people.

Two people in a space of land no one knew the size of. He expected them to find them, and when Yara had asked how were they supposed to do that on foot he had only said one thing. “Fly then.” It was how they came to this idiotic plan thus far.

The past week they had been following a bird. A stupid bird. It was too far to ever see what it was following, but it would circle around a path through the thick forest trees and Victarion had taken that as the sign to follow, saying it was the only sign of life thus far. Everything to her, about this plan, was stupid. Muttering under her breath, “What does he even want with her?”

Shrugging, her uncle only twisted his face up. All but tossing the maps from him, the two of them looked to the mountain ranges around the forest below them for a moment, until at least the arguing crept back up behind. He found the muttering that time. “How is it I can spent months on deck with them but out here they make me want to gouge their eyes out.”

Both of them looking to their separate troops of men with the same disdain before looking back to the sights of forest. “We're islanders. We don't belong out here. You hate him more then I do, I don't even know why you're so dedicated to this.”

Watching him close, she saw a twitch in his jaw. His eyes unamused as he looked at her, before twisting his face into an unpleasant grimace. Pivoting around on the spot he yelled, “Yara and I are going ahead to scout. Feel free to bloody freeze to death before we get back if you can't learn to shut up.”

At least it was quiet now. It was too quiet for her liking, the winds a terrible replacement for the splashing waves of open water, but at least there was no bickering for once. Her uncle quiet for a moment until he spoke up, neither bothering to look at the other. “You remember when your father exiled Euron in the first place?”

Nodding once, “Of course. No one wanted to talk about how we lost, so they talked about that.”

Theon had not a clue what home was like once he was gone. Their rebellion squashed, he was gone, and her brothers were dead, and their father beside himself trying to lick his insufferable wounds having been embarrassed by the Baratheons and Starks so much.

It was why Euron wanting the Baratheon girl was so odd. She was Stannis Baratheons daughter, the child of the man who defeated his and Victorians fleets to the point it took ten years to rebuild their ships back to those numbers. Niece of the King that beat them and now twice married to the sons of the man who took her baby brother away.

Though she thought, what right did she have to complain about that anymore. Yara would rather not think about that why, so she tuned back into her uncle's mumbling rambles. “Lost two women I loved, not anyone's fault but I was staring to feel like I was cursed. Until she came along. Couldn't call her anything but a salt wife, lost my first and second but she was still mine. Then Euron came along. Couldn't stand letting me have something of my own, not after getting embarrassed at sea by Stannis Baratheon.”

Yara continued to climb through the snow around the mountain cliffs they travelled along, brows narrowed. She never heard this part of the tale. After Theon had been taken by Eddard Stark, Yara had been sent to bring her mother to Harlaw. She had seemed to lose part of her mind after the rebellion, forgetting her two eldest sons were dead. Yara had found her one day walking barefoot along the roped bridge of the Sea Tower searching for Theon when they had decided she should go somewhere a little less raw in memory.

Yara had eventually come home some months later only after Euron had been exiled. Her mother had not. Her uncle Rodrick, her mothers brother still says she seems to be recovering but Yara knew her mother was a shadow of her former self. Rambling that Balon had been murdered, and giving that bloody fool Tristifer Botely permission to marry Yara. Which was why he was here in the first place.

Clearly the years had taken her mothers memory of her daughters distinct lack of interest in lovers with extra inches, along with her health. He had tried to kiss her, telling her they were meant to be and he was lucky her mother was in the room, so she didn't do him any worse. Moving him out of her mothers earshot and shoving the idiot against the wall.

“Touch me again and you won't live long enough to breed any sons. You want a woman? Fine, I'll put one in your bed tonight. Pretend she's me if that will get your cock off, but do not touch me again. I'm not your wife.”

He was handsome and sweet, too sweet for the Iron Islands, but that was all the problem. He was handsome and wanted sons. Yara wanted beautiful women and adventures. Once her fathers heir, and now with Euron as their King she once more felt that freedom of not having such pressure to continue her fathers bloodline.

For a while, the day she had opened that chest sent by Ramsay Snow-Bolton whatever he was, finding what he had written was “Theons favourite toy” her father had pointed out he could not continue the family line, and she hated that it meant it once more was on her. She hadn't given Theon much care when he came home, but he being back did mean that playing nice with men no longer was what she needed to do. As much as she hated her uncle Euron, at least he being King meant that handsome, sweet Tristifer would not ever have reason to be in her bed finally.

But as she walked, she listened to the way her uncle talked of his third wife. She didn't remember her well, she couldn't even tell him what her name was. But the way he spoke about her now, a prose and a lightness she never saw on a man she assumed despised smiling and laughter. Victarion still felt for his third wife, the way Tristifer wished he was allowed to love Yara. She'd mock him for how all men are stupid, but there was something about how unusual the look on her uncle felt that made her listen in silence as he got to the point.

He had mentioned it all occurred when she took her mother to Harlaw, and only now was she focusing back in the middle of his story. “Balon commanded we never speak of it. Hardly anyone knew what happened, me, him, Damphair, but no one else. But the day I came back to Pyke, the way that fuck looked at me, he knew what I'd do. He knew the second I found out I was going to try and tear him apart so much there'd be nothing for the Drowned God to find.”

He was quiet as they trudged through the snow. Yara finding enough voice to prompt him. “What does his exile have to do with-”

“Euron will tell you she was willing. That she wanted it, that she loved every second of it. But she was my wife. I knew her. I knew the only way she'd find herself in my brothers bed is if he forced her there.” Yara said nothing, but the anger in her uncle's face was vivid. “Your father knew I was going to kill him, so he exiled him. And he bloody laughed at me when he left. Laughed. Thought it was all so funny, like he laughed every other time in my life he tormented me. Only that time he took the one thing I had that I cared about.”

Yara had said not a word, either Victarion's wife was willing or she was raped but Yara had distinctly remembered she had returned home to learn she had died. Looking over to the dark distance in her uncle's eyes she spoke with careful words. “You wanted to kill your own brother because he raped your wife?” The doubt was evident, and they both knew the explanation wasn't good enough. Not to an Ironborn.

“No. I wanted to kill him because he put a bastard in my own wife's belly.” The look the two of them shared suddenly came into light, and she begun connecting the dots in her head as her uncle looked away with a morose anger back to the same sight of snow and nothing. “Never touched another woman after her. Never wanted too. Fifteen years the only time I'd think of a woman, I'd remember what it felt like. Makes sense why most men kill with steel. You remember too much doing it with your bare hands.”

Her father had always just told her not to ask about any of it, but she supposed the man her uncle was, she could understand why he never laughed anymore. But the question still sat between them. “So why did you jump at the chance to come out here and do this now? Come all the way out to the middle of nowhere, looking for a girl so he can marry her. You could've let him send Rodrick, but you volunteered for it. Doesn't sound like someone who hates him.”

Cutting through the air however, did they catch the cawing of the bird. It was miles ahead in the forest nowhere could see, but Victarion only looked more determined as Yara felt confused. Mumbling under his breath, “We all follow orders when it's convenient. But we're Ironborn, Yara. We didn't get where we are by doing what we're told.”

Victarion watched her carefully as Yara watched him. She was beginning to think she was understanding the story he was trying to let go unsaid for then and now, but Yara wasn't sure about any of it. She wasn't before, and she still wasn't. But until they could pick up any sign that the Baratheon girl was even out here, Yara allowed that uncertainty to go in silence.

They needed to finish this task for Euron and get home. She didn't care about what happened to you once they get you to him, but Yara was beginning to wonder if getting you to Euron at all, was part of Victorians plans.

So far, all his plans were terrible.

You were so desperately imploring Ghost to knock it off. He all but bumped his head into your stomach with a whine, the only thing that saved Jon from noticing so obviously was a childish trick. A purposeful stumble, only tripping over the nothing in your foots way without going too far, and by the time Jon had whipped around you already had pretended to steady yourself with a grip on a low branch by your head.

A hand reaching out, Jon tilted his head a little, “Come up here with me. I don't want you trailing all the way back there.” You could fight him on it, but that would draw attention to not wanting to be near him, and you were truly beginning to worry how long you could hide this. In a few short hours it would be dark, and then what were you going to do?

Allowing Jon to take your hand, he pulled you up more into his side, letting go only to rest it in the middle of your lower back, prompting you forward. Your heart attempting to pound despite your need to breath evenly, you needed to calm your insides down. Not only was the feeling too much, but the more you worried the more the baby would react. Soft your tone was, hoping it too was convincing as well you looked at Jon from the side. “I've gotten this far with little injury.”

Deep chuckles warmed your insides, trying to keep your eyes forward instead of the inevitably bright look in his eyes looking towards you. His breath warm at your ear was not helping as he leaned down to mutter into it. “Do you think you're starting to believe me?” Your narrowed expression was not serious, and you both knew it but you gave the look anyways. Another chuckle was followed by Jon pulling you by the side of your head over to meet his lips.

The plan was to fool him, not be played fool and fall weak to his affections. But you still stopped in place, eyes playfully glaring. Asking what, you let a hand trace across his facial hair on his jaw, leaning up but he caught your intentions instantly. One hand resting at your hip, curling in to pull you close, his other brushed back the now long, loose strands of hair at your front, away from his touch before cupping your cheek.

His lips were so utterly soft but also as perfect as they always were, guiding you just as you needed. A follower to his lead, it always turned into a gentle dance with hinting need which to varying degrees could get pushed back down or inflamed. He made it easy to inflame though. Your hands moving around the back of his neck, toying with the curls loose around him as you leaned up.

Normally, your bump would get in the proper way, and both of you would pull back. Foreheads resting against each others as you breathed a laugh together about someone being in his way of pulling you against him. Only as he gently deepened the kiss ever so lightly, you felt that feeling again.

It came way too close to the last one, you had just done this minutes ago. You had to pull yourself together, or Jon was going to notice. But he did, didn't he? Pulling away from you, he murmured as he ran a hand over the hair at the back of your head. “What's wrong?”

Trying to play it off, you shook your head with a mutter. “Nothing.” Leaning back hoping to meet his enticing lips, Jon gently grasped that same hair, pulling you back enough to hold you in place. Grey eyes scouring your face with a painting concern creeping over his features. “It's nothing, just the cold.”

Every word you felt brush against your own lips, the rasp so low it husked out wanting your spine to shiver at the feeling as if you weren't presently overwhelmed by too many sensations. “You flinched like you were in pain.” Trying to shake your head, Jon nudged your nose with his too playfully for the once again growing beating of your heart. “I know a flinch when I see one, what's wrong?”

Quick enough to steal a kiss, you distracted long enough to slip from his grasp as soon as you pulled from his lips again. “It's only the cold, I promise.” Reversing the image, now you held your hand out to convince him to come along ahead.

His body was a bit tense looking, but otherwise you could see his working mind not yet come to a conclusion. So he pulled you firmly back into his side, Ghost trotting along at your other. Jon pressed a longer kiss to the side of your head again, muttering into your hair. “My stubborn wife..”

Perhaps such a word was not wrong. It was as the two of you were knelt down, a rock keeping most of you both hidden from view when the silent debate came about. Your eyes had glanced at the bow in his hands, and Jon read the intent right away. Raising his eyebrow, you tilted your head somewhat with a more flat expression in response.

The stand off continuing until you finally whispered out rather dryly, “Does being pregnant effect my aim now?”

Glancing down to what he could see of your form, Jons eyes narrowed the slightest as he looked at the much more obvious bump now before meeting your eyes. Leaning close to your face, he gently handed it over to you. The quiet remaining as you focused your attention now solely on the deer in the distance. A hand of Jons hovering just above your spine as to not disrupt you, but your eyes didn't notice.

Inhaling deep, posture straightening as much as you could, your eyes could form the path ahead from the very moment the deer would raise it's head. An easy mark, right between the eyes if you were to be accurate of your ability still. Not often did Jon let you do anything now, but as long as he was with you, you appreciated that he'd still give you your own agency when appropriate.

Slowly, the air left your lungs as your bow arm relaxed, only the moment you let go of the arrow, did the feeling return. The pressure stung in you so suddenly with such ferocity, your aim fell to the wayside entirely. The arrow slamming into a nearby tree, the deer shooting away at high speeds.

Jon beside you said something as his eyes watched the failing shot, but you knew there was no hiding it this time. Were you not knelt down already, you'd have keeled over barley able to stand as your face winced in a sharp pain. They had been getting worse and worse and this one there was no hiding. Ghost having come to your side with a whine, but still you did not hear him nor whatever Jon said until the seconds passed by and it eased up.

“It's nothing-”

The lie already begging to form, but you felt Jons warmth come close as he grabbed your waist to try and help keep you up but the other resting at your jaw and side of your neck trying to tilt your head to look up at him. Cutting you off shortly, Jons tone was not within any joke as it previously was. “Darling that wasn’t nothing.”

You shook your head though, it had begun to pass, it was fine. It was nothing because the feeling was gone again, but Ghosts whine was clearly fighting with your lack of willingness to explain anything to Jon and he knew it. Trying to catch your eyes, your face stilled like stone. Shifting to stand, and the sudden feeling exploding in your chest of a truly angering embarrassment of Jon having to gently help you stand to your feet when it was him you were trying to walk away from. Mumbling the second your feet were once more flat on the ground trying to pull from his touch. “Just leave it alone, Jon.”

Calling you name, he once more tried tugging you back, as Ghost continued to get more and more worked up. “Look at me.” Shaking your head, you pulled away again but you were no match and yet the more you felt the heat behind your face grow, did the weariness in your stomach grow again. Jon called your name much firmer that time, grabbing you by both your upper arms but still you did not look at him. “Hey, look at me.”

Shaking your head, Jon let a hand run along the side of your face before glancing down to Ghost who was far more worked up. By that point, there was no avoiding the manner in which the direwolf was trying to gesture to your stomach. Your excuse did not go over well. “We're all getting worked up over nothing.”

So why did the warmth in you face grow to something that was suffocating, something that made your eyes feel the beginnings of something stinging and your heart begun to race? It was nothing you already said that why was your body pretending you didn't just say it was nothing?

“How long have you been in pain?”

As it turns out, telling Jon it had come on and off all day was the exact opposite of comforting. You truly had said it off offhandedly, trying to more focus on swallowing the panic and pain you walked yourself right into the very thing you were trying to avoid. Grabbing your upper arms more firmly, Jon almost gave a single shake to force you to look at him. “What do you mean on and off?”

You raising your voice, did not help. “Jon I already told you, it isn't anything-”

But it wasn't anger, the high pitched sound rung too close to something weighed in your tone for comfort, and the waver was caught by his ears as much as his dark eyes could see the panic brewing in your eyes. You didn't want to look at him, you didn't want him to come to that conclusion because he was wrong, it was the wrong conclusion, it wasn't that and this entire situation was stupid. You had limited day light and chances to find fresh meat for the night and he was wasting that time.

So why did the sting in your eyes feel like it was watering up with the panic in your chest?

He and Ghost spoke a language in silence you had not the understanding of, Jon tearing his eyes from his direwolf back up to you. “If it wasn't anything you wouldn't be trying to hide it.” The situation only worsened when the pain returned, your hands instinctively grabbing Jons to steady yourself as it once more made you wish to keel over.

Whispering almost to himself, “We're not making it to the Wall.”

As he turned to Ghost still holding you tightly, instructions came from his mouth only to be interrupted by you, the more desperate tone coming through again. “No, Jon we are making it, it's fine.” He ignored you, telling Ghost to find somewhere safe they could take you, but you tried to move free from his grasp as you increased your yelling as Ghost took off. “Your overreacting, nothings going to happen.”

Suddenly finding your gaze, Jons had twisted into an expression not quite of anger but certainly he was taken back by your so sudden outburst of upsetting defiance, by the way your voice cracked as you raised to him. “This is happening-” Trying to but him off saying no, Jon pressed on. “Yes it is, we can't just ignore this-”

But the cracks had begun to slip. Something overwhelming in your chest filled within your lungs, cutting off any air moving in and out only to cause everything else flowing through to spread into panic. Heart racing to make up for such a lack of air and your head hurt along with the sudden washing of tears flowing through.

Tearing away from his touch completely, you almost had to push him just to be able to do so. A no tearing from your lips with a louder cry as you felt something in you overwhelm. Some of it an upset that tears had finally fell free, but most was something which was too close to fear to wish to experience. You had avoided this all day, you couldn't do this now, it was all wrong.

Only taking a step or two forward to follow, but giving you space Jon waited in the silence for you to turn back to him. The tears unable to stop but also those same eyes of yours were far too bright with that very fear you had been pretending did not exist. “This wasn't part of your plan, I'm not ruining that now, okay? I can't.” Shaking your head your arms crossed over your front almost protectively from what you couldn't really control. “I can't have her out here.”

One more step forward, a hand out slightly as if to tame a spooked horse Jons voice was slow and clear as it was low, contrasting to your high sensitive state. “There's nowhere I can take you, we're too far away from Castle Black.”

But you couldn't see the reason, not as everything inside you whirled in a strange pain and emotions twisting you raw to a painful and ill degree. Too much panic finally had built up. “I'm not having her there, either.” His head tilted slightly as if asking you to explain yourself while his body had tensed up immensely wishing you'd let him go to you. “You planned this all out, we said we'd have her in Winterfell, I won't have her anywhere else, it's too early.”

It was, eight months was too early and you were out here alone in the far north with no one around, you couldn't do this now. Jon rasped low as if begging to lull you into the tone of his voice you adored, but softly and continuing you try and meet where you stood away from him. “We don't have a choice, here. You know that, we have to do this now.” But his tracks were stopped when you finally said it.

The tears more free then he'd ever seen on you. “I can't, I'm not ready.” Lips parting slightly, Jons grey eyes painted over with a thick glaze of something forming into a heartbreak as he looked at you. Head shaking as if it would shove the tears from your cheeks but it didn't help. “I can't do this Jon, alright? I can't have her out here all alone.”

Vision blurring, you could not tell Jon had begun once more to close the gap between you. Letting you say it all to him, without interrupting. “I screw everything up, and now I'm screwing this up and there's no one out here to help when it goes wrong. She's not supposed to come for another month, and you're going to hate me for ruining it.”

Almost flinching away the second Jons warm presence came close, his hands running now up and down your arms as he leaned down trying to get you to listen to him through what you hadn't realized, were panicked breaths through attempts to smother the sob in your throat. Still, you could barley see him through the falling tears. A warm murmur in your ear which begged to be comforting. “Listen to me, you aren't ruining anything- no, darling I said listen.” Cutting you off the moment you tried shaking your head, your heart racing so fast you felt dizzy even in his touch. “I know you're scared, so am I, but we can't pretend this isn't going to happen. We have to do this together.”

Still too afraid to shift your stance and hold him back properly, you meekly shook your head again as the need to cry continued to scream to come out desperately. But a shaking mutter came out as you spoke through stuttered breaths. “She won't make it home if I don’t do this right..”

Unbeknownst to you, such a thing to say had utterly shattered Jons heart. What you were trying to say, and it was as heartbreaking as it was horrifying. You were afraid of having complications, no one here to help, and if you were gone you knew there wasn't a way for Jon to even feed the baby for a week at the bare minimum. You weren't even scared he realized, of what would happen to you. You were scared of what was going to happen to the baby if you didn't make it.

In truth, it made Jon feel dizzy. It made his heart lurch in his chest and a pain of his own want to well up in tears. Was this the fear his mother felt having him? Laying in a bed of her own blood, knowing she was dying and couldn't know what would happen to him when she was gone?

No longer did Jon care about keeping you at a distance for your sake. The swiftness in which he pulled you as close as possible. Your hands grasping around his shoulders tightly, Jon cupped the back of your neck to hide you in his, his own face in your hair close to your ear as he ran that same hand over the strands. “Nothing will happen to you, or him. Nothing. I told you I'm getting us home, all of us. But we can't pretend this isn't happening. He's coming and he needs us, both of us.”

Only when your breathing calmed and you nodded, did Jon cup the sides of your cheek. First turning your head downward to press a kiss to your forehead, but then tilting up to run his gloved thumbs along the skin they reached as his own eyes shined just as heavy in feeling. “She's supposed to come into this world in her home, in our home..”

Your voice weak, Jon left only a small, chaste kiss to your lips before seeking your gaze right back out. Not hesitating whatsoever in holding the confidence you could not feel. “He has us, and that's enough.”

Were your mind not such a ground of ruin, you would've noticed how serious things must be for neither of you to even notice how easily you took one side or him the other. It had been a back and forth ever since he told you, but now that it was real, what either of you thought was nothing compared to your fear of screwing this up and leaving Jon with a true nothing.

Muttering as your hands grasped gently at his wrists, you could barley look at his bright eyes shining down at you. “I just wanted to follow your plan, I didn't mean for this, I'm so sorry.” Another shaking of no from Jon, and another slightly longer kiss pressed to your lips as he then spoke right against them.

“We've never done anything the right way, darling. No reason to start now.”

The fact that he got even the slightest bit of a laugh out of you was enough to pull a true smile from him. Once more running his hand along your hair, making sure he caught your eyes as you nodded. It seemed dumb, saying it now, but your panic had turned into just now a bit more calm, silent tears. “I'm sorry if it's a girl.”

Mumbling to himself almost, “Seven hells..” Pulling you back into his front in a tight embrace once more, Jon rumbled to you. “Don't do this now.”

No strength to banter existed in you, and Jon knew that. But he didn't take any offence when you stayed quiet on the matter. He knew you were serious, he knew you worried his insistence meant he'd be disappointed for a girl but now was not the time to press the matter. Keeping you tight in his arms, pressed in his side as Ghost returned, leading you both to a cave by small cliff side.

Within an instance, Jon went to sit you down against the wall of the cave far enough in only to ensure Ghost read his ask. The large direwolf rushing to lay down behind you, giving you something firm, soft and hopefully comforting to lean against. Kneeling in front of you, Jon had to try and speak through your wincing of pain.

“I need to start a fire, and get ready. Just stay right here, stay with Ghost.” You nodded through heavy, slow breaths trying to calm yourself but the cave looking nothing like Winterfell and you hated that this all was going to fall on Jon. You hated that you had done this to him, but through the pain and the tears still trying to fall, you couldn't find the strength to apologize anymore.

Ghost rumbled behind you as he leaned his head over your shoulder. Turning to let part of your face hide in his fur, you could feel the direwolf desperate as Jon was to calm you. You couldn't even follow what it was he was doing, what he was gathering. All you knew was you couldn't see an end that would be okay.

It was a month early, and if anything went wrong, there was no one to help Jon. It'd all fall on him and how was he supposed to get a baby born a month early home, and have it survive without it's mother. Somewhere in the fuzz of your mind, of dreams and visions you once didn't and still don't truly understand you could hear the faint voice of a father all you could do was wish were still here.

“Better a quick death. They won't last without their mother.”

You were about to fail Jon, and if anything, that only made the tears fall faster then the fear which came before it.

Kneeling down in front of you again, Jon cupped your cheeks. “Darling, look at me. It's only us, which means you have to talk to me. Tell me if somethings wrong, or something feels off right away. Which means you also need to listen to everything I say, alright? Everything.” You nodded, and for once Jon didn't prompt you through your panic to make you say it out loud.

Leaning forward, Jon pressed a firm kiss again to your forehead before resting it against yours. Whispering to him, “I love you.” Jon only kissed your lips quick once more. Making you meet his eyes again.

“Tell me that again when we've made it through this together.” He was smart, he knew you meant it as if you wouldn't get another chance, but Jon it seemed held himself together the way you were supposed to be. He wouldn't accept a goodbye, and you wished he would. You didn't want to die with him having had false hope.

You weren’t Lyanna. There was no Ned Stark coming for you. No one would be able to come in time to protect his own child. But watching him carefully begin taking off your heavy layers now in the way, there was a determination pushing away the fear of the unknown in Jon, when all you could do, was prey to the gods watching, was if they were to take you tonight, to not take Jons baby with you.

Leave him with one thing he truly deserved if you weren't coming out on the other side alive.

This was how Yara knew she had been out here too long. That Tristifer was knelt this close to her and she hadn't yet considered tossing him into the cliff edge mere feet away. The sun was going down, and still they had yet to make progress. Another failure of a day and Victarion just did not know when to give up. He had been taking them all through the cliffs for hours, and still they found no sigh of any human life.

What were they supposed to be doing? Searching until the ends of time? More and more Yara could feel her patience wearing thin, the voice in her ear on one side mutterings of idiots, and the other one trying to be comforting without actually knowing what she would categorize into that idea. “It might be better to regroup, come up with-”

Victarion however, was not having such a discussion. Cutting Tristifer off with a sharp whisper, “This is the plan. We've followed it this far, and we are not changing it now.” The younger man trying to make his case but he was not being heard at all. “We are not leaving without the Baratheon girl.”

She could hear one of Victarion's men muttering behind her somewhat again. “I've been freezing my balls for months, don't reckon any one pair of tits is worth that.” Telling herself internally not to either roll her eyes into the back of her head nor gouge his out, but she was as fed up with searching for the girl as she was with their complaining about it.

Spitting out without even glancing back to him, “We bring her to Euron and he'll give you more tits then you could handle as payment. Your balls don't need to work to enjoy those.” She didn't even have to look to see the twisting of his face grumbling in annoyance. Yara did not know what Euron would do for a single situation, but as long as he was not here she could lie about his promises as much as she needed.

It was going to be get dark soon, and this far she preferred not to travel in night. Not out here, there was something so odd about the far north at night. Some kind of illusion in the sky making it look like it shined with something green as long as no sun could touch it. As far on the seas as she has travelled, Yara had never seen anything quite like that before.

They had seen a wide variety of odd things out here however, it truly was a place she'd be glad never to return too. Not long ago she had thought she saw a wolf the height of a man walking around. Looked as white as the snow around it, but by the time she had turned back it was so far away she couldn't see a thing anymore. Mentioning it later, the men had argued over it.

Nothing better to do once the sun goes down. One saying that the Starks were said to have direwolves, others said that was impossible or dumb and they were just trying to pass off normal wolves as special, or even just dogs. Dagma had even started saying something about how the Starks could turn into wolves themselves. Had she the ale, she'd have drowned herself in it by now.

Pushing up off the ground, Yara had begun retreating in a different direction, muttering something about scouting the perimeter to make camp for the night. She couldn't tell if Tristifer jumping to accompany her was irritating or not yet. But she allowed it, attempting to revel in the silence as long as he'd let it stand, which was not long.

Softer spoken then the others at least, he was. “I admire your dedication.”

Inhaling deeply, Yara's muscles tensed trying to maintain her composure. One night she begged for silence and was forever denied such a request. “It's not dedication. I'm following orders.” It however, was the strange look he was still giving her that she questioned. “What?”

It took him a moment, but the point was found despite the agitation on her face waiting for him to get to it. “I am only saying, I don't quite understand why. Following Eurons orders, that is. You had us and the entire crew flee once the Kingsmoot had elected him, but here we are. Far from home following orders he gave you.”

She didn't want to think about this, she didn't want to consider a single bit of it of what led her back to Euron but she had failed three times now to bring her brother home. She had the desperate hopes that she could convince Theon to come back now that he was free, but he never did. Never even wrote her a single word back.

It was not a real answer, but it was a form of an answer. “He was giving orders and declarations on my behalf anyways. At least if I am there to accept them, I might have even the chance to choose a future for myself again.” Truth be told she was surprised when his response was laughter. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him, but he did not falter in amusement.

“Perhaps I am realizing, I would have had a chance were I a man as feirce as Erik Ironmaker. What a beautiful ceremony that must have been.” Yara hated she almost smirked at him, but he was correct wasn't he? Euron had used nothing but a seal to represent her in claiming her now married to the old man.

Muttering under her breath, “I can only wonder if he didn't insist on a consummation. Dagma is complaining his balls are freezing when my own uncle marries me to a man whose balls are so old they're stuck to the chair he can't get out of.” Tristifer commented she didn't seem very perturbed about being married off by Euron, and Yara had once more smirked. “With all luck he'll have died of old age by the time I return, then by law his Keep is mine. I don't need to be happy about it, just patient.”

It was all needlessly complicated, everything now felt complicated. Ever since the day she watched Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark lay siege to her home, her life stopped being simple. The only family she tried to reach out to, did not want to return. So she, like a rat, came crawling back to her family hoping to keep even a modicum of the Greyjoy name alive as it deserved. She couldn't do that alone and by running.

So here she was, following orders for the worst thing ever to pretend to be called a man. She was confident had Euron not shown up, she would've won the Kingsmoot. She almost had them until he appeared with his big words and big horn making grandiose claims better spoken of hope then she ever could. But the things he had said he had done and seen, she could not compete with that. That horn which turned a mans insides into something dark and black as she's never seen before, the eye patch covering his left eye that men rumoured was cut out and replaced with a sapphire like Aemond the Kinslayer, the talk of dragons as none in hundreds of years had heard before.

Yara couldn't compete with any of it. Euron was anything but a man, and more terrifying then any of them would give vocal credit towards. But it was as she spoke did she think she heard it. Their talking was to overpowering at first, holding a hand out to silence him. Yara looked around for where she thought she heard it.

It was not obvious right away, but she knew something was pricking at her mind to pay attention to it. So she begun walking more fervently along the edges of the cliff side with eyes wide and scouring the sights of the forest and clearings below. It happened again, the sound and she stopped to look for the direction of where it came from. Coming to her side once more, Tristifer spoke softly not to disturb the air. “Could be an owl or shadowcat.”

Shaking her head, Yaras face hardened with something knowing in her veins. “Listen closer.” Waiting and waiting, it finally rang out again. It sounded pained, and strained as if such a sound was not normal from which it came, but it was distinct enough for Yara to finally feel that rush of confidence in herself once more. Asking Tristifer what that sounded like to him, and his answer when the sound echoed once more, matched hers.

That was a gut wrenching scream of a woman.

Silence was finally something which felt deafening. Barley the crackle of the fire nearby, the wind barley even howled as it trailed into the cave, dying as it wound the corner and failed to reach. Not even his own breathing could he hear, Jons nerves were completely shot numb. As if only now was he experiencing the delayed reaction he would've felt, but it was all too late to let it overtake. It was already over.

Jon knew there were dried remains of tears which had stained his cheeks and he didn't care to wipe them away now. Letting it all settle as night fell over the north, Jon couldn't get the sound out of his head. He wasn't sure he ever would. He's heard much from people he's harmed and killed and watched die, a wide variety of sounds of pain and yet he felt like the echo in his head now was as loud as it was then.

He's never heard you scream like that. He had been in Winterfell for four of Lady Catelyn's children being born and he knew that normally there should've been a maester and midwives all around who knew exactly what to do to make the pain bearable. But Jon couldn't do anything, he couldn't comfort you, he couldn't make the pain better and he barley could support you because he had to be focused on everything else.

Childbirth hurt, of course it would, but this was something else. Jon had killed enough to know pain, and yet he knew the screams you let out were utter agony. Tears had fallen and you could barley speak anything but wordless cries to him, but he had to force you to feel that torture with not a shred of comfort but Ghost behind you because there was no choice. He could recall the day in Crasters Keep when Sam had tried to convince Jon to help Gilly.

The way Jon had dismissed Sam, saying they couldn't just bring a pregnant girl with them on their journey and all the men. He had looked at him in doubt knowing not one of them would be prepared.

“We can't take a girl with us. Mormont wouldn't have it. And even if he would, what would we do with her? Whose going to deliver a baby? You?”

But it was Jon alone who had to deal with this, and now he was left alone in silence. The quiet only made him wonder too, what did it look like for his mother? Was there a single person by her side? Did the Kingsguard, the cowards refusing to let her go home, did they help? Did they listen to a sixteen year old girl scream and cry and do nothing?

Howland Reed had said Jon was a week old when he and Ned got to them. That she was in a bed of her own blood. Did his mother scream in agony the way you did? Did she even have anyone to beg to, did she call out for her brother wishing someone was there who cared? It made the already ill feeling thick in Jons throat only beg to come out. The thought that there was no one to help her but perhaps some nameless wet nurse who did not care about her.

Bleeding and in pain, knowing something was horribly wrong, did his mother feel relived when she heard the sounds of Jons cries? Did the feeling of mother and son together bring her any comfort before she feared the end? His mother was terrified she was going to die alone, not knowing what would happen to Jon when she was gone.

The exact fear you held as Jon realized it. He too, still felt sick thinking of your reaction. You had been hiding this from him for hours because you were terrified of what his mother likely was. You were scared if you were going to die in childbirth, would Jon be able to get the baby somewhere safe? No one would even be able to feed them without you, he was a week away from anywhere near civilization until he got to the Wall.

If he were lucky, he'd pass through at Castle Black and seek out the first settlement of free folk he could find in the Gift. The women there would know what to do, they'd be able to help, but the thought of how he'd even get there with the baby alive was itself horrible. What was he supposed to do? Accept that he should leave your body behind and not do whatever he could to bring you back?

It all made him feel sick under the numbness of the quiet.

He should've been in Winterfell. Have you in his chambers, Maester Wolkan who knew what to do without a shadow of a doubt, and as many midwives as he could possibly find to ensure you had everything to help you. Jon should've been able to stand in his own home, arguing with those same midwives that there'd be nothing they could do to stop him from being with you the whole time. He should've been by your side to give you even something to let your agony out on, keep your hand in his, murmur into your ear with a gentle kiss to encourage how you were doing, remind you every step of the way that he knew you could do this and he should've been able to let you fall into his chest the moment a babies cries could be heard.

But he wasn't. None of that happened. Instead, Jon had only seconds to figure out what to do once he realized you were in far more pain then you should've been with blood that was too much. Forcing his mind to see passed the horror in his heart and make sure the pain and blood wasn't because you had been ripped open.

Jon had to keep going, but now in the dead silence, stillness all around him, Jon had spent the past hour trying to remind himself that no matter how close it was, you were not Lyanna. His mother had birthed him through pain blood and was alive with her newborn son until she died, but you were not her. You were not alone in the aftermath for a week being kept now a dying hostage.

It was all overwhelming. He had to pull his son from you himself, and not even then could he even attend to you at all. The baby was small, so very small. A month early, he would've grown so much more had none of this happened the way it did. And it took Jon an incredibly long and terrifying few seconds trying to prompt the baby to cry, and then he did.

Looking up to you though, you were so weak and frail were it not for one of your hands tensing into Ghosts fur, Jon had almost not known for a truly terrifying moment if you were alive.

But wrapping the baby up in the first material Jon could find of what he brought over to you, before settling his crying son into your arms, as that very same crying begun to settle within seconds of being held by you. Jon had pulled you into his embrace, somewhat sideways against you but also partially behind you. Your other side still supported comfortably by Ghost who had leaned his head forward to nearly rest on your lap. A small bubble of Jons own little pack of four, as he ran a hand over your sweaty hair, murmuring with a kiss pressed to that same sweat filled hair for you to sleep. You could barley keep your eyes open, and the baby had done so as well. He told you he'd protect you, and so he stayed awake.

His wife in his arms, and his son in yours. But Jon looked up to Ghost, catching his own gaze as he continued to lay behind you both to keep you comfortable and warm. And he knew maybe it only being the four of you out here, was how it should be. He would do everything properly for your second baby, with a Maester and enough midwives to put his own army to shame, but this time, maybe for a man who thought every bit of this would never be his, it made sense it was all unusual for Jon.

His mother had been forced to give birth as far from her home as they could force her to be, so maybe even though Jon too was still far from home, perhaps it made sense his first child with you was born in as deep in the thick of the North as he could manage. His father always said to Jon that he was of the North, so maybe he thought, he should let go of wishing it had gone any other way.

Because no matter how much your screams had scared him, Jon looked down to you curled into his arms, and his son doing the same between you, he wasn't scared anymore. Not when he had this sight in front of him.

A very slightly shifting was felt against him, his eyes glazing down to your fluttering ones barley managing to move at all once you came back to the world. Voice hardly above a whisper, only enough for him to hear very slightly. “I'm beginning to wonder if anything could wipe that brooding look off your face.”

Scratching and rough your voice was, it had Jon shift you closer into him as you let him do so without a fight. Leaning against the top of your head with his lips, Jon kept one hand wrapped around behind your own head to cup the side of yours opposite to him, keeping you close as possible as his other did the same only at the front. Running gently along your jaw and cheek his knuckles were as you slightly moved towards the touch. His rasp too, was barley there only for your ears. “I didn't look this way earlier, but someone fell asleep on me.” The second you went to open your mouth Jon cut you off with a chuckle hinted at in his tone. “A joke, darling. Don't be sorry.”

Nodding gently, your eyes naturally were drawn to what of blood you could still see both staining the ground and yourself. Brows narrowing, you glanced down to yourself not even knowing when Jon had gotten your pants back on your person. Your heaviest layer still off your torso, no doubt from how much you had been sweating and of course the little one still laying asleep on your torso. Looking up to Jon once more, you tried to broach the topic with whatever energy you had. “You're sure nothing was wrong?”

Shaking his head, Jon ran his hand over your hair as his other drifted downward naturally to your waist to keep you more upright without forcing you to do the work. “I can't be certain, but there wasn't anything I could see. No tears or-”

Cutting him off did not work quite as well when your voice cracked so weakly. “No I meant..”

Both of you knew you meant the baby, but Jon simply shook his head. Pressing his lips to your forehead and mumbling against you. “He's fine, as far as I can tell. I promise.” You simply nodded again to accept the answer, for once allowing Jon to fill the air with words, sensing you were struggling to do so still. “I'm so proud of you- no, I'm being honest. Giving birth isn’t easy, but this was a lot worse and you made it through. I'm proud of you.”

Mumbling, your eyes tore up to his shiningly bright grey ones. Letting your free hand reach up and run across the facial hair along his jaw, brushing his thick curls to the side enough your nails could scratch along the back of his neck where you collected that side of his hair. “I only did what you told me. I wouldn't have..we wouldn't have made it if I didn't have you.” Jons eyes were bright as they wished to say something, but he let you whisper to him uninterrupted. “You didn't just help make him, you helped bring him into the world. That isn't nothing, Jon.”

You both knew were the energy there, you both may have turned it into a playful debate, but Jon only shook his head again before kissing your forehead again as well. Leaning back to seek your eyes, “We'll talk about this later, just take the compliment for once.” Your laugh was barley a huff of laughter, but it was genuine. Jons chuckle deep from his chest was more vibrant then yours, and it only acted to sooth such a rough part of you.

Something was not normal about what happened, neither sides of your family did the women have labours such as that. You weren't sure how to describe it, and you could barley even speak trying to answer Jon. You didn't bleed so much you wouldn't survive, but you did bleed more then you should have, and even you knew the pain was far more then it should've been. Something had put you on an edge more dangerous then the mother and grandmothers before you, but you didn't have the strength to think on it.

You really weren't even aware that it took your son a few moments to cry, you didn't feel as if you existed until Jon came to your side with him. Barley the strength to hold him and hear what Jon had said before your eyes slipped closed, Jon muttering for you to sleep. If you thought much more about it, something dark inside you might obsess over the pain and the blood, but your brows narrowed at the effort suddenly to push that away. Not now, you thought.

Asking how long you'd slept, Jon told you not even an hour. Enjoying the quiet before you looked up to him with brighter eyes. “Can I say it now?”

It took him a moment, but laughing a rumble in his chest, Jon brought you closer to nudge your nose with his. Rasping deeply, “Go on.” Telling him with a weak sounding, but deeply meant I love you, Jon nudged your nose more playfully. “And I love you, more then anything.”

Foreheads now pressed together, you felt the soothing feeling of his hand raking through the hair at the back of your head still. Muttering as you tried to do the same, much more gently of course, “You do recall I'm holding your son.”

Another chuckle deep only for you, Jon nodded. “I said what I said, darling.” Your eyes hardly could roll before you moved on him. Seeking his lips, Jon once more did the harder work for you. Pulling you gently up to him so he could lean down to your kiss better. Softly guiding your lips without any demand or push, but the urgency was felt even in it's chaste slowness. How he kept you against his lips and you silently begging to not be let go just yet.

That was at least, until a small little grumble came as the little one fidgeted against you. Barley pulling from your lips, small strands of saliva between you both snapped as your foreheads pressed against one another to look down.

Smiles came so easy, the little wrapped bundle shifting like he was grumpy, of course the moment Jon had taken all of your attention for himself, and seemed to settle much more as you turned back down to look at him. Jons laugh breathed out, his warm hand running very gently along the top of his head as he rasped, “My own son is fighting me for your attention, now.” Looking to Ghost, Jon added, “Better still be on my side.”

Reaching his hand further now to similarly run along the top of the direwolves head and receiving a much more eager shake into the touch. Jons laugh and smile brightening up his face like you wish you could see the rest of your life on him. Of course Ghost was on Jons side, you wanted nothing less. He was being silly anyways. Muttering as you let the hand cradling the baby to you run along his back massagingly you commented, “He's so small...”

Neither Jon nor you took your eyes off him. “Of course he's small, he came from you.” You would tear your eyes up in a playful glare if you had the energy.

The small sounds from him weren't cries, he could cry, but it seemed he didn't yet choose that path by the time you seemed to put together what he was asking for in his fussiness. “I think he needs to be fed..”

Strange as it was, Jon was more prepared for the rest so far then you. Four siblings born after him, and he took to jumping into caring for the baby faster then you were ever told the father of your child would even want to be. Reaching for your darker layer, Jon muttered to you, “Let me.”

At least for you, some of it too was natural. The side of your head tilting to lean against Jons who followed suit, both of you no longer took your eyes off the baby. Jon replacing your hand to rest gentle against his back. His large one seemed so much larger against his son. Thumb running along the back of his head with a feather light touch, all you two could do for now was watch the baby, your baby, Jons baby, feed from your breast.

Neither of you knew how long you were there, letting him go at whatever slow speed he needed to feed at. Slowly you felt your energy return enough you felt as if your limbs would be able to move again, and your mind coming back from the strange fog as the four of you stayed there.

The baby fed, and as it closed in on three hours total since you had given birth had enough energy that Jon had begun to move from you. Not to leave, but pulling something over a bit as you both sensed the baby wasn't going to stir for a while once more. It was not much, something of a little bed, tucked away so he was not free and loose to stir and fall, and either of you could easily pick it up for now to move. But it had turned to night outside and here was good as any for camp.

The moment you moved to sit up and go closer to help with what else he was doing, Jon practically jumped at you. Hands pressing down at your upper arms with a sternness in dark eyes, and an expression once could have mistaken for anger if you didn't know better. “That wasn't an invitation. You need to rest. I'll handle everything.”

Turning to glance at Ghost who was now settled more freely beside you, the direwolf gave a look that was as good as a smile. Your hand running along his head and ears to scratch gently with your nails, his head shaking at the sensation happily. “I'm starting to worry this has only made him even more demanding with me.”

Jon looked up from where he had been now perched by the fire with a jesting glare, you raising your eyebrows feigning innocence as you once again gave Ghost some much appreciated scratches. You stood by what you said, but you weren't entirely sure you disliked the idea. Not when the man in question was Jon, never in any lifetime would you distrust him, not after this. Not after he led you and your son together alive to the other side now.

Many topics had yet to be broached, but Jon didn't want to rush you. He was happy to take his time, busy trying to make you something easy to keep down as he explained in a low rasp. “I don't want to push you, but the sooner I can get you two to a maester the better. I'd keep us here for a day to let you properly rest, but I need to get you both home, it's more important you see to someone who can know for sure if you're both alright.”

So why was it, that a strange sound was heard from the cave entrance? Something with a whoosh and a cut off sound as it air left something before the sound came from it and a light thud. Jon glanced to you, both your eyes narrowing before you glanced to the still slumbering boy. Jon only need tilt his head to his son for Ghost to circle around to stand by you both more protectively as he stood. “Jon-”

“Stay here, I'll see what it was.”

You nodded, letting him carefully broach the cave wall to glance at the entrance in the sights not visible to you with a more strange expression. Stepping out to the open, Jon called your name. The moment you moved to stand, Jon rushed to grab at your hand and waist to stand you upright. “What is it?” He only shook his head. Guiding you to look yourself, the sight was as unusual as Jons tense posture had indicated it was.

The eagle following you for months, currently lay at the mouth of the cave with an arrow straight through it's chest.

An arm keeping you behind him, Jon circled it as he stepped out into the cold. Eyes tearing upward, he felt something odd washing over him. Something unsure as he felt on edge, someone was here but for what reason? Nowhere in the immediate vicinity was even a scrap of life right around him but perhaps it wasn't life he was sniffing out, but something in the air of a smell he knew he recognized.

Following the genuine scent, Jon side stepped around a path leading up to the clearing. A glance of his vision, you had stepped carefully and slowly around the eagle as well. Eyes trailing despite the shaking in your muscles as he called out to your name, “You shouldn't be out here.”

Stepping up to the edge, the group wasn't large, five accompanying the two of them as the others had split into another group far lower. It wasn't faces she would know, and too dark to tell but she was willing to risk it anyways. Only, as Tristifer beside her motioned for Yara to inflame the edge of the arrow as another beside her did for Victarion, did her confirmation come through.

The man had called a name just loud enough to hear. Victarion protested, “Hold, Yara.” But she didn't listen. She didn't know what her uncle's plans were, but she had one right in front of her. As the man called out your name, and your head turned you were at the perfect spot. Victarion however, would have to go by her rules just this time. They had to separate them, it was the only chance.

Her arrow let go first, as Victorians followed each hurling towards their respective targets.

Just as Jon had knelt down somewhat to try and determine what it was he was seeing, you did the same. Recognizing the scent of pitch, Jon suddenly realized you and him didn't need to be surrounded, you simply needed to walk into a trap. A trap someone set right outside his view of the outside and he had walked into it. Only, the arrows came before any warning could be given.

Hitting small spots of nowhere on two trees, their paths followed a thin trail each before coming too close to where you were. Calling out your name once more, but not getting anything else out before light encompassed Jons vision.

Yara didn't care he was angry, Ironborn were known for their skills in archery and it had hit the mark just as she intended when coming up with this plan. The fire reached the pit of buried pitch, and an explosion consumed the small clearing. You hadn't been close enough to burn, but the power of the blast knocked you and the Stark to the ground behind.

The small cliff side behind you though, the blast sent you flying down the side of it and slamming right into the harsh ground. “You trying to capture her or kill her?”

Glaring at her uncle, Yara hissed out “If shes injured she can't fight back. I'm making their jobs easy.”

Standing up the seven of them, they watched as the Stark begun trying to get to his feet and they had one final thing to do tonight for a certain. Victarion was the one this time who had the right words at least. “Let's hunt ourselves a wolf.”

Ears ringing, Jon had to push up on his hands and knees to even see in front of him. The explosion had knocked him back a few feet and almost on instinct in the seconds he flew back did his mind travel, finding Ghosts eyes his own as quick as he returned to his own body. As if to tell Ghost what he now couldn't risk, not to let anyone anywhere near the baby.

Calling out to you, Jon felt a blood curling panic not getting a response. Pushing up to two feet once more, Jon tried your name and tried again until he heard you trying to call out against your scratched throat call his name back. “Are you alright?”

“Am- Am I alright?” Jon almost found his voice melting into anger at your audacity to care about him when the blast had thrown you down the jagged cliff side. Swiftly making his way over, he called back down to you, realizing how difficult it was going to be to come get you quickly. “Can you move?” He watched you wince trying to stand and his heart hurt, barley able to comprehend what was going on as he shook his head, more urgent then before. “Stay there, I'll come to you.”

Only as soon as Jon reached the mouth of the cave once more, did it happen. From the darkness they slithered in, these men watching as he heard you call to him desperately before something muffled you and nothing else came. Moving swiftly enough, Jon felt a surge of something dangerous flowing inside of him.

He didn't know who these people were, but as he grabbed Longclaw pulling it from it's sheath he looked firmly to Ghost. “No matter what Ghost, don't let them anywhere near him. No matter what.” His direwolf whined, almost curling his large figure around the baby as it to hopefully muffle the sounds coming from him as Jon made his way.

The plans flying through his head what he was about to do, only the sounds of you calling to him through a struggle faded, as footsteps had taken their place. Slowing to a stop, Jons heart pounded fast and painful as he looked to the seven people now circling a half moon around where he stood at the entrance to the cave. None he had ever seen before, but on two of their chest plates did Jon recognize the sigil of a kraken, and suddenly the darkness in his mind turned red at being walked into something he didn't even understand.

The two on each end closest to him with the sigil, they must have been Greyjoys. The woman standing with a seething glare as the man next to her stood close and protective, as if Jon were not the one surrounded. But it was the older man with the long hair which spoke, almost amused by the situation did he toy with Jon, when all he could do was think of what direction he thinks you went and how desperate you tried calling to him before nothing.

“Now isn't this a sight. Lone wolf, all the way out here without the pack.” If he expected this to be a discussion, he was wrong. Jon was too busy gripping Longclaw so tight were it made of glass he'd have shattered it. His blood burned inside of him and there was something deep within calling to a feeling he had little felt in a long time. Something inhuman was screaming throughout his veins as this man spoke to him. “I'll say, a bit disappointed how easy it was considering how long it took to find you.”

Jon said nothing, but the man took it as an answer to continue. “Though, we weren't really looking for you were we?” The longer Jon let this go on, the further away you were getting from his reach. But this man wouldn't stop boasting about things as if Jon hadn't spent the past six months out here with no knowledge of the outside world. “Awful pretty she is, surprised you haven't locked her away in a tower. Hide such a thing from the world, men are dangerous. But, we both know that don't we, Stark?”

Don't make the comparison, Jon told himself. Don't do it, not now. Not the comparison of you, or for him. Don't look at any of it that wasn't what this was and yet with seven up against him he hated how much the world was trying to mould Jon into reliving a past he wanted nothing to do with.

“Tell me, why drag her all the way out here? Not a charmer, you are. Wonder what she sees in you. Couldn't be much, never known a girl like her to marry a bastard.” You had done more then that, you and Jon together were so much more then that, these people had not a clue what they were talking about. He didn't have time for any of this.

The woman cut through for only a moment, “Uncle.”

The hand not resting on the hilt of his sword, the man held the other out to indicate for her to be quiet as he continued his staring towards Jon. “I wouldn't worry too much. I'll take care of her far better then Euron would. Far better then you clearly have.”

Twisting his sword in his grip, Jon readied his own stance just as the shing of metal hit his ears all around as the others too armed their own blades. The man stared once more with almost amusement. “Come now, Stark. You're completely outnumbered.” The woman yelled more angrily, telling the man, her uncle, not to toy with him. “What? Wolves never play with their food a bit first? Can't take it out on Euron, so why not take it out on the next best thing?”

Almost near a growl Jons voice was as he spoke low to the Greyjoy. “You think I'll let you do this?”

But the man had Jon on one thing. “We already have. Kill him.” He and the woman stood back, the man beside her hovering by with his weapon out as the other four came for Jon.

Only, these men had not a single clue what they had done. There was not a man here, there truly was a wolf raging within Jons heart as he moved to meet their blades with his. One then the other, he could feel the blood splatter across and he simply did not care. Only three, then two, then just as Jon managed to knock the last into the ground and sink his sword into him, did the fifth move away from the woman and towards him.

Jon however, had enough. At the last second, letting his guard down with his sword did Jon swiftly pull out a dagger on his person, always tucked away. He had once told Arya something he needed to remember. Her sword, Needle, wouldn't hack a mans head off, but it could poke him full of holes if she was quick enough. Jon didn't have Needle, just a dagger in one hand but the principal was the same. Jon just needed to make one though. Thrusting it right through the mans eye, it sunk deep to the point the man shook as blood splattered the side of Jons face and body. Letting it and him drop to the ground, the two Greyjoys looked wide eyed at one another.

They looked the nervous ones now, and Jon had nothing but a terrifying calm despite the raging in his heart. Stealing a wolf's mate right she birthed his pup, were a pack around they would've never stood a chance, but Jon was not a pack. Ghost was his pup's protector right now, but Jon was always yours. He could not, he would not fail you now. Not after everything you've done for him. Not when you were everything to him.

As one attacked on one side and the woman the other, they were clearly better then those they tried let taking care of the situation first. Dancing around one another they didn't work in the harmony which might have been able to overpower. Knocking him back or forcing him to spin to reorient himself, but Jon in his new life was more then just a man with a sword.

Jons new life was defined with blood, and he would remember that when it presented itself as such. When your whole life was bloodshed, you forget what makes spilling it so important, thus you have nothing to fight for. Jon had everything to fight for, and they didn't.

Knocking the woman to the ground as if to impale her, Jon quickly turned and drove his sword right through the mans chest. Not a word uttered to such a coward, letting him drop to the ground as the woman looked wide eyed and shocked. Trying to leap up, Jon only flipped his sword around to knock her back to the ground with the pommel of Longclaw.

Honour was saved for those who don't horrifically wound and kidnap the mother of his child. So he let himself not care. Forcing her face down into the snow she struggled, but was nothing against his strength. Ghost as if reading his mind came quickly to his side. Jon threw her sword to the side and held open at an angle until he felt his direwolf place the rope into his hands.

Yanking her arms behind her roughly, Jon spare no second in tying her up as he leaned down to growl at her in a strained anger, barley audible through the thick strength of his accent as if losing all sense of civilized within him as he saw red. “You're going to take me to my wife, and if I don't find her alive? I'm killing you next.”

Within only minutes, everything had gone so gut wrenchingly wrong, and now you were gone.

[thetemporaryprince]

I do believe that the true moral of the story is going to be, love conquers all.

That despite the darkness and turmoil, uncertainty of self doubt and the maze of shadows you find yourself trapped in, when you are true to yourself and proud of who you are, you can over come anything.

Will is faced with such fear about revealing his true feelings, that he could potentially be trapped in his own land of shadows, while being cursed and held hostage by his fears and the darkness that surrounds them. The uncertainty.

I do believe that him coming out, to Mike, his family and friends, learning he is accepted, stepping into and embracing the beautiful light that surrounds him and learning his love is reciprocated, is what will set him free.

I think this will happen, if Mike can reach him, share his own feelings and confess his love to Will. Then and only then, they can defeat this curse together.

It sounds extremely cliche, sappy and romantic, I know.

But, I cant help but think of Will's poster's imagery and it's representation of all things we know as far as magical story telling goes and the theme of love conquers all.

The knight, with the love heart as his emblem, it could have been anything but it was a symbol that is a representation of love, yielding a sword and facing a dragon, that almost seems to be a creature that has transformed from a powerful sorcerer, or conjured up by a dark wizard.

I think of fairytales and what we know about them, the dragon is always the keeper of beauty, the obstacle that stands between one's true love, the final obstacle, the test of courage, an act of bravery.

And we see Mike, facing this creature with his raised sword, in the name of his emblem, a place of love. An act of love. A declaration of love. In the face of fear itself, he stands unwavering for the person he loves.

It is this very act alone, that breaks the strongest of all curses, casts light on the most foreboding of all places, that defeats the most powerful of all evils, because when two people stand together, united and unapologetically in love, it is unbreakable.

When Mike saves Will from his curse, he will be the hero. He has never thought of himself as one, he's never realized that although he looks to others as being his hero, he has saved so many people. He is the one with the plan. He is going to be Will's hero, the one Will needs and always will, he will break the curse so they can stand together undefeated.

Only then, united by love, I think they will team up and save the world.

Bonus, is I think this very much parallels the message at the end of IT, about embracing who you are, facing your fears and conquering them all. 💕

[sethnakht]

everyone wants darth vader dead in greg pak and raffaele ienco's darth vader, it seems, seemingly including darth vader. no sooner has luke slipped his grasp does it strike into public awareness like a firework set off in a crowd -- vader's power, too, is slipping. the weight of that collective scrutiny -- from officers, bounty hunters, and assassins to the paper-pushers of the Imperial court and the former handmaidens of Queen Amidala -- manifests in a hunger to dismantle him physically, to wrench and tear off the armor, to see him gorged upon by giant monsters, to freeze him and puppet him, to seize control over the "softbody" and flay him of his life support. nor is vader left unaffected by this hostile focus on his physical limits -- as he slouches, limps, stumbles, crawls -- and pauses, exhaustedly, though there is no way to catch his breath -- his way through the comic, the gleaming armor is hacked, punctured, electrocuted, torn open, shattered, and burned, while his thoughts dwell on weakness, grief, and fear. such abjection, however short lived, sets this comic run far apart from marvel's previous two darth vader runs, both of which traced an upward trajectory: vader's rise to the height of his power in esb (gillen/larroca), and his journey to becoming a committed sith after rots (soule/camuncoli). the trajectory here is to the grave.

Darth Vader (2020-) #5, Pak/Ienco/et al - observing that vader is walking right into a major barrage of fire - not for the first time - the forensic droid accompanying him hints that he might have a death wish.

vader himself refuses to admit weakness, of course - at least consciously - but his arguments bear all the weakness of bad political discourse. "there is no conflict", he says, making one think of conflict; "my son is weak", he says, making one think of the father. when you tell someone not to think of an elephant, even in negation, you invoke the elephant. darth vader is very good at conjuring the elephant, and making one peer very closely into the bold and marked outlines of its supposed non-existence.

Darth Vader (2020-) #1, Pak, Ienco, et al - unable to handle that he has been rejected by his son, Vader transfers the failure to Luke, calling him "weak" for choosing to flee him, for choosing potential death over Vader's offer of power, even as he stands empty-handed before a gravesite, his own desire to punish the dead thwarted by his having made them so. The comic doesn't leave it at ironic framing - Vader too is aware of what he is invoking, and the associations brought up as he stands at the site of his mother's grave show that Vader cannot entirely suppress his own sense of failure - his own memories of his own perceived weakness.

vader's private thoughts -- rendered in the comic in startling little red boxes that, like mummy coffins, nest in larger black boxes, nearly always isolated from physical imagery, from contact with the visual world -- are as tiring and repetitive as an unwelcome pigeon on the window sill. the stunner is not what he thinks or even what he invokes, but that his thoughts are not actually private at all. there is no room to admit weakness because, as it turns out, vader's master can pick up on his thoughts from the other side of the galaxy. vader's master can croon into his black boxes, scoop out the words and spit them back out like trite poetry learned from heart in grade school. watching him from afar, vader's master reads into his actions and mocks what is unexpressed. if there's a space free from his influence -- an influence that is similar to the reader's influence, an influence that explains why we can see his thoughts at all, because we too are complicit and voyeurs -- it might only be the gutters, those gaps between panels where the mind completes the temporal and spatial relationships between the images. in the page from the first issue shown above, for example, note how the speech balloon for the remembered "I won't fail again" nearly connects with vader's head in the panel below it, linking anakin's grief-filled promise to become stronger with vader's helmeted head, all while lingering on padmé's face - his next inevitable failure. even if he cannot think it.

the humiliation is public, we're part of the frenzied mob, swiping at the armor for scraps of cursed fabric -- transgressing boundaries both mental and physical, eating up that transgression like the intimate, play-by-play accounts of a famous suicide. vader's armor is repeatedly hacked, a gag that bluntly serves to hammer and hammer and hammer home for you that shame of being mocked before the class that specially belongs to darth vader, dark lord of the sith.

Darth Vader (2020-) #13, Pak, Ienco, et al - Vader is made a puppet more than once over the course of the comic, frozen and trapped both in his mind and body.

to be honest, I was originally a little annoyed by the number of hacking attempts -- everyone gets to take their shot at controlling vader, from hutts and droids to the handmaidens to a psychic squid who puppets him with its tentacles -- because of the frequency and similarity of the attempts, because while vader does address some vulnerabilities, he still gets scanned and sliced, meaning he's overlooking weaknesses or choosing not to address them; because he doesn't seem greatly affected by the threat to his bodily autonomy, and because of the friction with gillen's run (where being hacked sends vader into a high-stakes psychosis and is a major and unusual event that he takes measures to prevent from happening again in the aphra comics). then I remembered this scene:

Darth Vader (2020), #12 (Pak, Vilanova, et al) - After losing all but one limb, being set on fire, tracking through lava on mismatched ancient droid parts, being chased and attacked by assassins, droid scrappers, an Imperial Star Destroyer, and a wall of Sith acolytes, then nearly ripped apart mentally and physically by a psychotic giant squid and a screaming kyber crystal, Vader is "repaired" on Coruscant - i.e. sawed open - before a hostile, chattering audience, the Emperor laughingly dismissing him as a threat.

which. is. absolutely. fucked. up!! and to top it off, there's this sly little sequence --

Darth Vader (2020-) #14 (Pak, Ienco, et al) - Vader's armor specifications appear to be tracked with each repair and are openly accessible to the Imperial court

-- which shows that even if vader updates his armor, that knowledge will be recorded the next time he comes in for a repair (if it's not always being transmitted automatically). anyone with sufficient credentials in the imperial machine, including the demoted sub-administrator sly moore, can access his repair logs, analyze them for untested weaknesses, and saunter off with an suit override stick. (to be sure, sly moore isn't supposed to be looking at his records and is chastised when she's found; she also tries to use the same kill stick twice, failing to account for the updates vader does make after the first slicing attempt, perhaps because she hasn't checked or been able to access the records for updates. the point here though is that vader's suit is a matter of government record, treated like imperial property; you can imagine all sorts of fun scenarios here, such as that his private upgrades are wiped each time he comes into the repair center, or that new vulnerabilities are built in each time, etc.)

even the dead contribute to this panopticon effect. in the latest issue of the comic, the skakoan jul tambor reveals that he's been collecting dismembered droids -- each of them individually sliced apart by darth vader over the years (notably, however, most of them are separatist droids, hinting at tambor's blind spot: he hasn't collected the droid corpses anakin left littered on battlefields). drawing on their recorded logs of their own demise, tambor observes vader precisely when he might feel the least concern about it -- in the act of killing, of eradicating the viewer. the now-repaired droids possess a kind of moving simulacrum of vader's battle tactics. perhaps because he too relies on a pressure suit and breathing device to survive in the same atmosphere as most humans, tambor doesn't need static blueprints of the suit -- he has no intention of shutting down vader's life support. the difference in method is only a subtle one, however: he too is targeting vader's dependency on his armor. in lieu of a direct attack, he means to target the suit's limitations indirectly, to swarm vader with the very droids he once demolished and have them target his limited mobility, his repetitious set of moves within the suit's confines. with his reliance on surveillance technology, tambor is only the latest in a long line to act on the premise that vader's demise is a given because he has no secrets left.

Darth Vader (2020-) #30, Pak, Ross, et al

if it seems a blind spot that tambor hasn't collected archival footage of anakin on a droid rampage, he's nonetheless managed to address it thanks to a chance encounter. when padmé's former body double -- sabé, vader's double in the comic, a shadow of the shadow -- arrives on vader's orders to kill tambor, then tries to convince him to abandon a plan that she fears will only get hundreds killed, he captures her. tambor rightly recognizes that sabé is more to vader than an agent skilled in deception and lies: she represents his weakness, he believes, a reading that vader himself may even share.

sabé is the bright note in this story of decline, the one character who cares enough and dares enough to consider vader's "weakness" a possible strength. like the reconstituted droids, she is in her own way a dead woman brought back to life, a ghost -- padmé back from the grave to haunt him, as she tells vader upon their first meeting. like any good ghost, she wants revenge for padmé's death and to enact her final, unfulfilled wish; as it happens, killing vader to save anakin would neatly accomplish both. (as it happens, she and vader have both seen recorded footage of padmé's last moments; tambor's recordings of vader from the perspective of dying droids is both a parallel and a contrast to padmé, shown dying from wounds inflicted by an absent vader, whispering of the good still in him.) when sabé freely enters his service, claiming she wants to help, vader is troubled -- does this make him weak? -- and yet also quite smug. here is finally someone who has chosen him of their own free will; here is someone who has accepted his offer of power; here is someone who looks and talks just like the dead wife he's convinced himself would have stood with him and espoused his cause ("order"). (indeed, she wields real power -- jealous and fearful, the assassin ochi effectively portrays her as a tiger handler who unleashes her pet when she wants someone dead.) it's a fantasy come to life.

yet sabé is not dead, present as she may as ghost or shadow or fantasy -- sabé is herself haunted: haunted by padmé, whom she could not save, and by anakin, whose mother she could not free. sabé is herself a killer whose guilt and loyalty and poisoned grief have moved her to try and execute vader "for padmé and anakin", and who gets a real chance -- closer than anyone but palpatine -- to put vader to death. sabé's attempts to kill vader have evolved with time -- a first attempt, imaginative but unrefined, made when she unequivocally thought him anakin and padmé's murderer, involved luring vader into an underwater lair, provoking him into claiming he killed anakin and padmé, and feeding him to a massive sea monster. a second, disastrous attempt led to the pointless slaughter of her ground and aerial troops, though vader left her and padmé's remaining former handmaidens alive. (unbeknownst to her, the emperor nearly killed vader for that choice, leaving him deprived of all but his arm and core suit functionality on the burning banks of mustafar, to relive obi-wan's abandonment and crawl his way through the corpses of murdered separatists, into and out of death.) she comes closest to actually killing him, however, only after she's had such an effect on him that she's moved him to confront his great nemesis (sand) to save her life and bring himself to the brink of death on behalf of a refugee camp composed of freed tatooine slaves. having fried his suit -- through the bounceback of his own hubris, ultimately -- vader lies incapacitated on the ground when sabé finds him and reveals her own fantasy involves killing him. her ghosts hold her back; padmé stays her hand.

of the humiliations heaped upon him since luke's escape, including the routine of hanging head-down and mostly naked in a bacta tank flanked by observing guards, only this -- this grave insistence from padmé there is good in him -- manages to shake vader.

Darth Vader (2020-) #28, Pak/Ienco/et al -- Vader conjures the elephant of his diminishing power as he dangles hulkingly in his bacta tank in full sight of two guards. Subsequently, he shatters the bacta tank in rage.

unlike the attacks riffed from public records, the private knowledge padmé possessed as she died is one that no one else can see. even sabé admits she can't understand why she chooses to trust it. as for vader's master, we never see him overhearing the padmé recording, he never cites it directly (though he does mock vader for "listening ... to your heart", perhaps a way of dismissing its importance). as in the panopticon the prisoners never know when they are observed, so too does the emperor presumably turn his eye away from time to time, all too certain the name "anakin" has lost all "power" over vader. as in the prison of andor "no one is listening", there is still the quality of a secret in what vader and sabé know about padmé. even if, in his fear of weakness, all vader can see in that secret is death.

[pastelvelvett-2nd]

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Post info

♡ Word count: 2,328

♡ Post type: Yandere x reader

♡ Taste: Bitter Indulgence

♡ Intensity: ●●○ (Medium)

♡ Yandere: Martin (Rune Factory 5)

♡ Reader pronouns: GN

! Please read the tags for tws!

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Ever since you moved into town, Martin felt like a switch has been turned inside his mind. He went from only thinking about completing his duties to only thinking about you and every aspect of you. He adored your voice, your kind and patient personality, your cute smile, your eyes, every aspect of you. His work really was the only thing preocupying him before he met you, so having his steadfast, almost obsessive attention switch to something else entirely was really shocking for him. For a long time, Martin hated himself for not being able to be more productive, but years of just working himself to the bone without once thinking about his own emotions lead him to be confused as to just why he was thinking about one person so much and just what he was feeling.

Whatever it was, it felt intense. Not something he felt much before. Feeling like he was stuck going in circles, he decided he needed to talk to someone about this. He wondered if that person should be you, but for some reason he couldn't place, he got incredibly flustered at the imagery his mind conjured up of him telling you this. Instead, Martin went to Darroch, trusting that his advice would help him get out of this rut he got himself in. Darroch upon hearing Martin describing his predicament only smiled coyly at first, letting out an amused chuckle. "Sounds like you have a little crush." He explained to the younger man matter-of-factly, earning a confused look from him. He really felt proud of Martin. Finally, he found not just something he loved other than blacksmithing, but someone he loved. Darroch assured him that he should relax, that it was perfectly normal what he was feeling.

'Is this really normal?' Martin thought to himself. It felt... Too intense. Did people experiance this all the time? There really wasn't any way to tell, was there? Something in the pit of his stomach told him something about this was wrong, but Darroch's encouragement eased his mind a bit. The days after that, he began feeling more comfortable with the idea. This must really be normal. Darroch said so, and he wouldn't doubt his judgement.

Martin started working less, much to everyone's relief. Don't get me wrong, it could still be seen as overworking, but for him it was great progress. Despite the fact that the two of you lived so close to eachother, Martin's overly reserved personality lead him to not really talk to you much. Not only that, but he straight up tried to avoid you before he had that talk with Darroch. But the encouragement pushed him to do what he realized he wanted to so bad; he started talking to you more. You were initially pretty surprised, since Martin really seemed like he didn't like you from your perspective. This of course couldn't be further from the truth, and you started maybe suspecting that he didn't afterall lately. Martin would often appear in spots you'd frequent, and every time he'd actually talk to you, instead of just telling you he's busy and storming off.

Conversation would be short, but he seemed more open with you than before. He started asking you how your day was, giving off the impression that he not only tolerated you, but cared about you. After a while, he appeared in spots that were admittedly a whole lot stranger, like outside of town. You would never really see many people just wandering around there, especially not Martin who was always far too busy to go out adventuring. According to him, he started going out getting resources for his blacksmithing. The explanation made a good amount of sense to you, so you accepted it without any second thoughts. Martin started asking you if you need any help. With things like farm work, going out of town, repairing or making new tools or weapons for you, the list went on. You reluctantly agreed on ocassion, but only because he was oddly insistant. Every time he was done with something, he'd immediatly ask you what you wanted him to do next. You went from being slightly confused at his kind but stubborn proposals to being very much weirded out. He was beginning to treat you almost like a superior, refering to you with a strange amount of respect and always waiting for orders from you. Not wanting to be rude, you'd only refuse, and insist he relaxes for a bit. Martin hated hearing that. He couldn't count the amount of times someone tried to stand in the way of something he was passionate about and devoted to. He wished you understood more and let him help you.

He let it go, however, looking dejected. Even though he backed off then, he never stopped talking to you and offering you help. You were never the type to gossip, and you felt awful that you did this, but you ended up mentioning Martin's strange behavior to someone you felt comfortable talking to. His constant  appearances and insistance on helping you has been creeping you the hell out, and you just needed to vent to someone. That someone ended up being Scarlett, a fellow SEED ranger that you've been good friends with for a while. You thought Scarlett was quite a bit like Martin in a way, which was something that made you initially feel at ease with him. Scarlett was a bit cold and blunt at first, but she quickly proved to be a trustworthy friend. Unlike Martin, she seemed to perfectly respect your boundaries.

You told her about Martin, and she immediatly seemed ticked off with how he's been acting. She told you that she noticed Martin's been slacking off almost as much as Ryker tended to, and it was extremely out of character for someone so diligent. Scarlett told you she would give him a good scolding, and assured you that this would be enough for him to snap back to normal. You really hoped she was right. The next day, Scarlett stopped by Martin's and Cecil's house first thing in the morning. She knocked on the door rather aggressively, posture straight and authoritative. It was a confused Cecil that answered the door, who sleepily rubbed his eyes while he asked her what the hubbub was about. She asked to come inside so she could talk to Martin, and that apparently made a lightbulb go off for the pink haired male. "Oh! You want to talk about how Martin hasn't been doing any work lately, right?" He asked, to which Scarlett let out a sigh. "Partly. I'd like to come inside, now." Cecil nodded shakily, a bit intimidated by her imposing presence.

Cecil made some relax tea for the two, (both because he wanted to be hospitable and because he was hoping that would calm down Scarlett a tad bit and get her to go easier on his brother) and he awkwardly moved to the next room to give them some privacy to talk. Martin sat on the couch next to a very upset looking Scarlett. He was as confused as Cecil was, but it came with a side of bitterness. He was about to go see you, and someone was holding him up. Not only that, but he was sure it would be a serious conversation, if her sharp glare was anything to go by. "Martin. Just what has been getting into you?" She had an accusatory gaze, sipping on her tea just once to be polite. "...Explain what you mean." He said, irritated that she hasn't gotten to the point yet. The light blue haired female let out an exasperated sigh as if to say the answer was obvious. "You're... Not yourself anymore." While Martin didn't notice, her voice had an edge of concern to it. "You were so hard-working. I really respected you. Maybe you were even the slightest bit too hard-working..." She trailed off, her eyes fixed on the contents of the teacup before her. "But now, Darroch can barely get you to do anything." Suddenly, her gaze shot up to his face, looking more angry than before. "Not only that, but you keep bothering Y/N when they clearly don't want you hanging around them all the time. Can't you tell how rude you're being? How uncomfortable you're making them?"

She got up herself, not wanting to be let herself be intimidated by anyone. "What are you talking about?! Good Lord Martin, will you calm yourself?!" A combination between the sound of the coffee table scraping against their floor and Scarlett's yelling lead Cecil, who was peacefully reading a mystery novel in the other room, to grow increasingly concerned for what was going on. Knowing that both the blacksmith and the SEED ranger were equally stubborn people, he thought it to be the best idea to interfere as fast as possible. "G-Guys? Anyone uh... Want some snacks? Ahahh..." He laughed nervously, hoping that such a simple offer would pacify them.

"No thank you. I was just leaving." Cecil thought that she was just about to maul him, more like, but he kept this comment to himself. Martin didn't seem far too happy about the idea of her leaving before she answered him, but the conversation ending was still a relief to them both. Scarlett walked herself to the door, turning around one last time to face the taller male in the room. "I don't want to see you hanging arounf Y/N anymore, or there will be consequences. I hope I made myself clear." Scarlett demanded with her usual authoritative tone before thanking Cecil for the tea and leaving. Martin couldn't help but let out a laugh. Why did he laugh? He laughed because it was funny. It was funny that Scarlett just so happened to say the exact thing he was about to. It was funny that she thought he could stop him. And another thing that was funny... He lowered his gaze to the cups on the wooden coffee table. A bit from both spilled on the surface from the earlier impact. It was funny that it could've been so easy. He could've offered to prepare the tea for her instead, and in that moment, he would have no reason to be worried about her taking you away from him. The frustration of losing that chance was all consuming. All he could think about was that, so he didn't notice his brother calling out to him.

Only when he felt a pair of hands on his shoulders did he snap out of it. Cecil asked Martin if he was okay, what the two of them were talking about, and a variety of other questions he could barely register in his hazed state. Martin worried him. He knew that. And God, did he feel sorry. Unfortunately, from that guilt sterned even more hatred for Scarlett. If she wasn't here today, he wouldn't have worried his brother like this. It must've been some sort of defense mechanism, to make himself believe that he wasn't truly to blame in this situation and that his problems would all be solved if only he did one simple thing. He couldn't count the amount of times someone tried to stand in the way of something he was passionate about and devoted to. He knew that unlike you, Scarlett would never understand. This was not something he was willing to let go of.

[whiskeyswifty]

I wanna know what you think of Olivia's vampire?? Please and thank you 💖 I'm obsessed with your replies

i'm so sorry to report, dear anon, that olivia has never been and is still not For Me, to say it politely. It's very much music For The Kids, and that's great! Younger generations always need things that are their own, separate from the adults in their life. That's not to say it's lesser than anything else because it's for the kids, not at all! It's just for a demographic I'm not a part of and don't feel any kinship to right now (which is a good thing lmao i'm an adult i shouldn't be in spaces for kids). It's also not to say as an adult, you can't enjoy her music! If you're able to connect with it via the younger version of yourself, that's beautiful and i'm so happy for you that teenage you gets to feel validated. So many of my friends love it for how as a teenager, they would have related to it. I connect to a lot of other younger artists right now for the same reasons and because taste-wise, they're doing things that really click with me, so it's just not a good match, olivia and I. that's all!

A number of factors probably are why i don't enjoy her music writ large. 1. my youth was NOTHING like what she sings about. Like polar opposite teenagers truly and my younger self doesn't connect to or relate to anything she sings about. it's entirely too earnest for me then and now, but thats just my personal thing! not a value judgement. 2. she has the post-lorde whisper/raspy/talk singing voice that makes me SQUEAL with laughter when i hear it. idk your age, or if this is now a dated reference, but it's the bananies & avocadies vine voice lmaoooo sorry! It sounds so silly to me because of that vine (rip) and HE WAS prophetic was he not??? sooooo many gen z girls sing like that and it's borderline unlistenable to me because of my brain worms. 4. at this point, if all of the above are also true, and all you have left is "sad story about a boy happened to me", sorry to say but genuine heartbreak songs about boys from girls are just white noise to me. I've been a full blown lesbian for so long at this point, NEW content about women genuinely, earnestly weeping over men just doesn't connect and i can't sympathize or relate or bring myself to feel any type of way about it. that's just not my world, sorry you're going through all that or sorry that happened to you, it sucks and it's terrible, but i'm not interested in engaging with that content. men, straight ones especially, are ancillary at best in my world. you have to be a legacy artist to move me whilst singing about A Man, someone who snuck in early and earned my favor before i realized i was a lesbian (hence the topic of this blog lol). again, not a value judgement! just my personal taste.

about the song itself, it just sounds like driver's license the sequel to me, which is great and not a knock! it makes sense to me strategy-wise. it worked the first time, so if it ain't broke, use the same release strategy for the next album. seems like she has a decent team behind her who are setting her up for success which is great! there are some solid lines in it, but at my geriatric age (over 30 lmao) i'm extremely sensitive to clunky lyrics. blame the near perfectly threaded and composed early taylor work for that i suppose, although i'm sure there are others at fault. a half-formed idea or a half-committed idea turns me off so quickly, and the mixed metaphors in the chorus (?) of the song really make me itch. "sold me for parts" and then the vampire metaphors about consuming conjure totally different imagery and dynamics and the friction between them i find jarring. both are interesting and i would have loved to have seen the depths of each plumbed creatively! commit to one and explore the ways you can weave that metaphor with reality to really pack a punch! however it sounds like a very sensitive situation that she went through so perhaps clarity in songwriting is not possible for this event in her life. idk much about her but that's what i gleaned at least. (WCS is wayyyyyy better and more fully formed and articulate than dear john, to give you an example)

I totally recognize her prominence and am happy for her and all her success! This is not a hater post, i don't have any ill will towards her. i'm not annoyed by her. I don't think about her, unless asked, tbh. i think she's an amazing figure for younger fans to have in their pop culture life and i wish her all the success and happiness in the world!

[whorrorgrl]

What I Watched in June

So, this month really wasn't horror heavy. I had a lot of shit to do work-wise and when I did have time of leisure they were mostly filled with non-horror content. Currently I'm stuck on American Housewife (2016) and just finished The Bear (2022); even finished Pretty Smart (2021) and still looking for colorful, corny, laugh-track filled sitcoms that'll give me the impression that my life isn't completely dull at the moment. Any recommendations?

I recently watched a PossessedbyHorror video and realized the many 2000's horror I missed. Felt completely disgusted with myself and made a list I plan to whizz through for the month of July. Sadly soap2day got shut down because people still frown on gatekeeping, so I have to find another way to watch my movies. Any recommendations? They have to be legal! *wink, wink.*

Anyway since it's the summer I want to watch as many camp-related, cabin booking, road trip taking movies I can get my hands on while I die in this German heat. I've overlooked a lot of underrated gems, and hopefully I can make a post about the for those who want some inspiration for the summer.

Anyway, this is what I watched in the month of June.

Night Teeth (2023)

Benny is a college student that moonlights as a chauffeur under his brother's name to make some extra money. He picks up two mysterious women for a night of party-hopping around LA. Seems easy enough. However, he uncovers a dark underworld filled with blood, death, and generations-old rivalry. He has to fight to stay alive before daybreak.

I actually watched this one in May, but I limit my posts to only ten movies and shows since I can only post ten pictures a post, but whatever. June entry.

I'm really glad to see Debby Ryan employed after the god-awful Insatiable (Lauren Gussis, 2018). Something always annoyed me about her that I couldn't put my finger on. It might be that no matter how hard I try, I always see her as that annoying babysitter of that rich family with multiracial kids running around a penthouse with a random lizard. I try to separate the art from the artist, I do. She was pretty good in this movie as the soft-hearted Blaire, a vampire turned in the 70's by Zoe (played by Lucy Fry). Alfie Allen is once again playing some backstabbing asshole, only he goes by Victor this time. The entire movie is politics between humans and vampires when a treaty-like understanding between the races is disrupted. Because of his relation to his brother, Benny is in the middle of it all. I liked the story of vampires and humans - Ryan's narration is perfect for it; she has such a nice voice. The world-building was fine. All the characters are nice. It's a fun movie to watch. Seeing Megan Fox and Sydney Sweeney was a decent treat; it reminds me of all the years we missed to see Fox be the ultimate horror girl so I get a little sad. Fry just has that look of playing some supernatural creature, which is why I guess she's type-casted in movies like Bright (David Ayer, 2017) and Vampire Academy (Mark Waters, 2014). I'd recommend as a drunken, fun watch with some friends. Nothing to write home about. 6/10

2. The Pope's Exorcist (2023)

Starring 2020 Unhinged's Russell Crowe, The Pope's Exorcist is inspired by the real life Gabriele Armorth, an Italian priest, who partook in 100,000 exorcism in his lifetime. Crowe depicts Armorth in the late 1980's who investigates a possession of a young boy in Spain, revealing centuries old conspiracies hidden by the Vatican.

This isn't a classic, but it feels like one. Some of the imagery are inspired by 1973's The Exorcist. It had a solid story, horrific scenes, and a good-enough child actor to play the possessed. It reminds me of what The Nun (Corin Hardy, 2018) could've been. Considering this Italian priest Armorth is a real living being with endless documentations of his exorcisms, this could be a start of a new Ed and Lorraine-like franchise like The Conjuring. I no longer have cable and I live in Europe for the time being, so I'm not sure how this movie's being received in the states. I hope it's well. If the following movies are as good as this one, then I'll keep it on my radar. I liked Russell Crowe in this movie. I know him from Unhinged and thought he was John Goodman in 10 Cloverfield, but he's not, so..

I'd highly recommend this movie for anyone that wants that Conjuring feel. It's not a throwaway exorcist movie. You can tell the storyline was probably thought of for more than a session between coffee breaks. 8/10.

3. The Birds (1963)

Directed by Alfred Hitchcock, Melanie, a rich socialist follows Mitch, a lawyer, to his weekend home in Bodega Bay to play a practical joke on him. Things take a bizarre turn when the birds of the area begin to attack the people.

This is an actual classic and one of Hitchcock’s revered works next to Psycho (1960), which I did watch, and Vertigo (1958). It’s also known for its brutality against actress Tippi Hedren, who plays Melanie Daniels, by the director himself. Melanie is a socialite with nothing better to do than to stalk a man she had an encounter with over the weekend to continue a pun. The movie’s theme from the get-go is birds. Melanie meets Mitch in a bird shop where she impersonates a worker. Mitch knows who she is but plays along as she embarrassingly looks for a species of birds she doesn’t know - or any, for that matter. He leaves and she uses her father’s connection in some position to find out where he lives.

Older movies like this do not give a damn about logistics or how much a character gets away with. It’s very manic pixie but with cigarette holders and 50's transition soundtracks. Everyone and their actions feel like a fever dream, like I’m witnessing another dimension interact in ways that are similar to mine but not quite. How do they say and do these things?

But Melanie is charming and beautiful, so maybe that’s why she’s able to run around town being ridiculous. I can see why it’s well loved. Will I watch it again? Probably not. I think I’d need nostalgia to find this rewatchable and I’m three generations too late to the party. It’s good for a one and done just to say you did, but it doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy it. I loved the banter between Mitch and Melanie. I liked the ending where a traumatized Melanie clutches onto the once abrasive Lydia Brenner who found it hard to like any of her son's love interest. It brings you back to the beginning of the movie when Melanie says, “Doesn’t she know she gets a daughter?” Something like that. Sometimes I wonder what kind of charm, what kind of placement, a man can have to influence one woman to move from the big city to a seaport to be a teacher and have another not rush back home at the first sign of a bird attack. Venusian for sure.

Overall, I give it a good 7/10. Pretty standard for me.

4. iZombie (2015)

Up and coming cardiologist Olivia "Liv" Moore's life is changed when she's turned into a zombie in a massacre. Now undead, she takes on a job at the morgue to get access to brains, only to find out that she's triggered by the memories of their brains. With this knowledge, she helps Clive Babeneaux, ostracized detective, solve crimes.

I've technically been lying on all these "What I watch..." lists because iZombie should be on them all, including the ones I didn't get to do. Do you know how many times I've rewatched this show? Countless. Every time I do, there's always something new to discover. I am a whore for a good murder of the week/monster of the week, etc. It's exciting and fun, which is why I like Supernatural or Ghost Whisperer. Sure, there's a canonical B plot that happens, but the A plot changing every episode allows you to not get tired of the show. Unlike many shows now-a-days, iZombie doesn't spoon feed you information. It treats its viewers respectfully by not insulting your intelligence. There are always high stakes, the acting is phenomenal, and they don't waste your time. In the later seasons, they become more creative with each episode, dabbling in different types of storytelling. I can't gush about this show enough - I know for a fact I will be making a long, nauseatingly drawn out post on iZombie. Not to mention it has one of the best villain I've watched. They aren't afraid to be ugly, and you don't realize it because it's the kind of show that goes down smoothly. But when you really stop to think about all the topics covered, it's gruesome. The tongue in cheek jokes, the beautifully fleshed out characters, the thick chemistry between the characters - ugh everything.

Almost.

One issue I had with this show was its ending. During its last season, CW had a couple shows that were "big dogs." Legacies, The 100, Jane the Virgin, etc., so iZombie that wasn't ranking in as many views and writers seem to have wanted to wrap it up to clear for space. You could steadily feel the decline in attraction when it came to certain plots that I skip on my countless rewatches. The ending just seemed...there. It was a happy one, sure, but happened off screen and felt like the climax wasn't big enough for the final payoff. It's kind of like building up an entire seven seasons of white walkers and the impending war against them, only for then said war to entail unearned final blows and zero investments when it came to lighting. IYKYK.

I don't know how to better explain it. If you watched it, you know. If you're going to, you'll see. It just felt as if CW was just hurrying up to end the show so that they could free up some time slots. Other than that, 9/10.

5. The Boogeyman (2023)

Directed by Rob Savage, who also did Dashcam (2021) and Host (2020), The Boogeyman follows the Harper family who are still reeling from the recent death of the mother. Sadie and her younger sister Sawyer are alone in their grief, as their father refuses to acknowledge his own pain. He's a therapist who runs his business out of his home. When an troubled, unscheduled patient shows up, he brings with him something dark and dangerous.

I'm so surprised. This was actually good. I went in blind, no trailer viewing, but the name alone already puts thoughts in your head that this might be one of those throw-away movies running off of a fad. Polaroid (Lars Klevberg, 2019), Slenderman (Sylvain White, 2018), Truth or Dare (Jeff Wadlow, 2018), etc. Movies that weed out of a childhood game, folklore, trend, electronic, etc. They're usually decent, nothing that warrants any awards; just fun to watch. Despite the name, The Boogeyman is more than meets the eye. I liked what they did with the use of lighting: fridges, game plays, Christmas lights, a moon ball, the light in the therapist's office. The 'lore of the creature is okay, the horror elements are nice, the camera angles fun and familiar. It'll always confuse me how therapists run their practice out of their home, especially if they have kids. It's similar to Smile (Parker Finn, 2022) to where the entity feeds on the broken and latches on. The creature reveal was also good too and unique, especially that one face grabbing scene. The hint of ghostly entity was a cute addition. I'd recommend giving it a try. They say boogeyman, like, once so you're still grounded in the world without it feeling so cartoonish. 8/10

6. Terrifier (2016)

This slasher film was written and directed by Damien Leone. The movie features sisters Tara and Victoria and friend Dawn who are targeted by a serial killing clown known as "Art the Clown" on Halloween night. The girls try to outrun the mysterious clown who seem to not back down.

So, the second movie was a big deal on my dashboard, timeline, and home page across my social medias. I'm not familiar with anything Leone, but I wanted to watch it to see what all the fuss was about before beginning the second movie. Admittedly, I fell asleep halfway through - but I finished it later on. Some scenes seemed familiar, and I wondered if I'd watched it before, but I doubt it. Aside from the acting, it was pretty decent. Not as amazing as I thought it would be but still decent. I'm not sure what that creature is, but I knew he was unbeatable. There's like two more movies after, so I figured as much. The characters were ridiculous in the choices they made, the deaths were camp (which mean it's just a socially acceptable bad) and the setting was okay. That one lady with the "baby" was a conflicting inclusion, but I still overall liked it. Would I rewatch it again? Maybe not. 6/10.

7. Evil Dead Rise (2023)

Directed by Lee Cronin, this is the fifth installment of the Evil Dead series. Two estranged sisters meet up on a night that all goes wrong. When the children discover a buried book under the slabs of their apartment, it awakens an ancient creature that will wreck havoc on their night.

This was the star of my month. I wanted to watch it the minute it came out, but waited for my boyfriend to visit to start it a month later. I'm not sure why, but this month was very tiring for me and I also slept through half of the movie and had to rewatch it at a later time. The anticipation around it was big, as far as I saw. The opening sequence of the girl rising out of the water in the title sequence was amazing. However....everything else felt lackluster.

The 2013 remake was my introduction to the franchise. I have yet to watch the 1981 or the following movies in '87 and '92. However, the 2013 one was an experience. After going through everything the main character endured in that damn cabin, you, too, just like her, left that movie exhausted. The bathroom scene, the brother scene, the raining blood where everything on that set was red and grimy. That demon did not care what it said; it was going to get a rise out of you. You heard the most vile, deplorable things come out of that girl's mouth and it left a horrific effect on you as a viewer. It was so good. I expected that from 2023's. But they played it so safe. There's this one scene of the eldest daughter chewing on glass and the ridiculous line of "I gotta kill the creepy-crawlies that got inside my tummy."

Okay?

"Open this door like you open your legs, you group slut." A little better, but nothing's topping, "Why don't you come down here, so I can suck your cock, pretty boy."

I just felt like they could've been mean with it. I liked 2013 because of how much of a potty mouth that damn demon was, sent straight from the deepest bowels of hell. This one just didn't do it for me. However, Alyssa Sutherland's cheekbones? That has to earn some points. 7/10

8. Mirrors (2008)

Starring Kierfer Sutherland, surprisingly Paula Patton and even the late Cameron Boyce, Mirrors is a supernatural horror film about Ben, recently suspended detective, who takes on a job as a nightly security guard overseeing a gutted department store after the recent disappearance of the previous guard.

Is this some underrated gem? No. I liked it though, especially the ending. They scored big points on the ending alone. I'm not a pessimist, but I do love an ending where the entity wins. Spoiler. Paula Patton was a surprising actress for me since I'm not really big on her acting. She was decent in this movie, but still an odd surprise. I don't know, it's just something about her face and her reaction to things.

This deals with an alcoholic main character, so there's a plot of him being an unreliable character when he tries to prove the supernatural happenings to his wife, who he has a rocky relationship with already. This plot line always stresses me out; Woman in the Window (the book) made me sad for her.

Honestly, I'll never understand white people in movies. I'm surprised there aren't riots about stereotypes of white people's idiotic curiosity in movies. Why Ben went into that building in the first place is beyond you or my's understanding. Why he touched that mirror in the first place is another. Most of the issues these characters have in all these movies could be chalked up to their curiosity. Not minding their business. But I'm partially grateful for that curiosity anyhow because it moves the plot forward. Just could never be me. The fact that he convinced Anna to go back to that place just to save a bunch of people she did not know? Bizarre. Granted, she didn't have much choice with a gun to her head, but it pissed me off completely because, dude, who told you to explore a destroyed building and go touching shit?

Would I rewatch this again? Probably not. I honestly just watched it because it was on my boyfriend's external hard drive and we'd just finished Evil Dead Rise. It was decent enough but, eh. 6/10

[tonysopranosfeverdreams]

kute | cards | end song for sandy g tune rating :)

finally doing this!! thank you for your patience :)

kute-8/10 i love this song now. i remember thinking it was really overhyped because i think i saw it around before i really listened to alex g like this one and mary in particular in like 2013 or 2014 and listened to like 30 seconds and they struck me as trying really really hard to be edgy but i wasnt giving them a fair chance tbh!

on the surface level i think this song is from the perspective of a serial killer/cult leader and honestly just reads like a really vivid strange dream . i think what makes the song so interesting to me is that it plays with how loving/desiring/being devoted or attracted to someone both elevates them to a god level and simultaneously feel so strongly its almost a violent or self-destructive impulse, especially when youre quite young and experiencing that for some of the first couple times and they are a god simply for making you feel that strongly and you want it and want to keep it somehow but also kin of hate them for it and feel the need to degrade them for putting you in that situation and making you lose your mind like that. it also strongly reminds me of nbc's hannibal and i can't not think about it when i hear it lol

favorite line:

"Baby you're pathetic You are god You are god"

cards- 7/10. i remember being so confused when this popped on my spotify one day and i was just like literally who is she....this song is so abstract to me in a lot of ways but that makes it feel really interesting. i weirdly think of some songs as being in alex g's "down the shore" collection because he has so many beach/boardwalk/atlantic city and references in his music and videos and it seems to me a real fascination with the characters that frequent those locations and especially the people who work there and there inner worlds so i always imagine this as a description of a guy who does magic/card tricks on the boardwalk in like ocean city and how unknowable these performers seem so youre trying to imagine what's going on beneath the surface there based on limited interactions. i could be 10000% off base but it's just the imagery i conjure up for this one one.

favorite line:

"Watch that frown Talk just a little bit to calm you down"

end song-10/10. first of all, we're all going to the world's fair was a really good movie that i think made people uncomfortable because yeah it went over their head but also i think it struck a chord with people and made them uncomfortable because of that.

this song this has got to be one of the saddest alex g songs to me, but not for the reason that his songs usually are sad like as in telling a sad story, but it just captures like unadultered hopelessness and a feeling of being trapped within yourself and your own routines and your identity in a really haunting way. it reminds me a lot of big fish in terms of imagery (and because i think that song is expressing the same trapped feeling in terms of identity) , that was my first thought when i heard it. it also feels like a really genuine product of the pandemic era and the general malaise almost everyone was experiencing at time so it will always remind me of that too.

The chorus is extremely haunting and memorable obviously but the part that really gets to me is this one:

"I tumble through my day A fish in mud A scarecrow full of blood"

[brotherwrites]

A Page of Fatherhood (1/2)

'It was the fifth day of autumn. The green has nearly given way to the season's national colors of yellow, orange, and red. It'll be another three days before Fall's cultural takeover is complete, the original ideals abandoned for the new exciting ones. They do not realize they've damned themselves, destined to fall from their homes among the branches to the world below, to suffer man's indifferent cruelty before their end.'

"Dad?"

'One does wonder how the mighty oak feels about such yearly purges. Does it mourn each loss, like a parent does for their children?'

"Dad."

'Does the tree feel indifferent at this point in life, so used to the pain that it now feels nothing? Or is it-'

"DAD!"

Your Mind schisms as reality abruptly bashes in the door of your frontal lobe, reinserting itself in your Mind, before slapping you silly with a red parcel. You stagger, grabbing hold of the front porch railing you've ignored till now for stabilization, the fantasy you've carefully constructed crumbles, already forgotten. You mourn its loss for just a moment, before turning to the source of disruption of your falling world.

'Oh, Tony, I didn't see you there! You shouldn't sneak up on me like that, and you certainly had no need to shout. If I was any older, you probably would've given me a heart attack! He he!'

"Dad, you were ignoring me, talking to yourself about leaf country for the last fifty-four seconds. Are you… ok? Your Mind don't get like this unless you are worried about something."

As always, your son is quite the astute one. You are, in fact, VERY worried about this evening's upcoming dinner! Not because you don't have anything planned to eat, no, the lasagna is in the oven and would definitely not burn this time. It's because you have a, VERY, special surprise guest coming over!

'It's... nothing Tony. Your old man just got lost in one of his silly stories again. He He! I can tell you it next week if you like, it's quite the doozy!'

Tony doesn't seem to believe you if the look he's giving you is anything to go by. You were about to divert the topic when his stare turned imperious, his bright red eyes seemed to glimmer as Time stretched on to an eternity. Your eye's locked onto your son, and you witness a wynorrific crowned future overlaying itself over the boy you've raised. Pellucid sanguine gears materialize above your son, a concept that is felt and imagined but unseen becomes visible to you once more, Its gears grind together as if it were struggling to comprehend what's happening itself.

More gears manifest, connecting to the originals above, reaching towards your son. With each gear, your son and that possibility start to blur as past and future collide, and a new present becomes. In their eyes, you witness memories that paradoxically always existed but are just now being formed. You see a kingdom of clockwork, a populace of abstract time doing everything and nothing at once, a castle with towers in the image of Big Ben, a throne constructed out of timepieces from every era that happened and will happen, and sitting upon it is your son, fully grown, leading Time itself to a new era. You see the pain and loss and betrayal to reach it. You see a tyrant consumed by his power. You see a broken boy as everything he sacrificed for crumbles into dust. You see-

A headache that rolls off you in waves, the imagery fades and congeals together in your Mind, now paused, wondering what you were doing you see Tony blink his eyes, he too seemingly lost focus for a moment. Both your eyes are locked together in an apparent stare-down. A few seconds later Tony turned his head to pout, not getting his way.

"Yeah, fine, sure dad, don't tell me. If it was important, you'd tell."

You couldn't help but sigh, turning back to stare at your front yard as your son sits on a bench, your Mind not focused on what was in front of you, but within. As you delve deep within your Mind, conjurations of your thoughts and memories are brought to life, the sounds and images it creates are crystal clear. Of these, the recent imaginings of your son's lordly presence were summoned, his red clockwork-themed regalia an announcement of his birthright.

This image, while fanciful, conveys a sad truth about your son's character who he is now, and who he might turn out to be. He's self-centered, seeing himself above all others, a royal in the midst of peasants. The fact that everyone seems in such a damn hurry to have a moment of his Time doesn't help. Any friend became a follower, any disciplinarian, a sycophant.

You alone had to be his anchor to the reality of the world. He's not the heir to a Throne of Time, he's just a charming, popular, young man who is getting spoiled by all the attention. The concept of Time does not bend the metaphoric knee to swear its loyalty to him, and the people you trusted to guide and watch over your son shouldn't have encouraged this behavior. And his dad, you, are most certainly not a retired hero! As flattering as the sentiment is, you're just a single suburban father who edits news articles as a living and writes fiction as a hobby.

Ugh, why are you thinking about this? You suppose that that moment of imagination, which would make a great story when you think about it, brought up some old grievances. With no real friends and no one he considers his "equal," your child has grown emotionally distant, letting the time of others consume his. It concerned you, greatly, and you didn't know what to do. You tried to set a play date for him with the kids he liked the most, but that only made him like them less. For some time it seemed like he'd always be in this depressed sort of state, with no real friend to be with and relate to.

That was until about four days ago when you came to pick up Tony after his first day of 3rd grade. It was a complete shock to see, if you were being utterly honest, your son talking to somebody, a girl about his age you soon realized, so animatedly and genuinely happy! To see that little light in his eyes again, to see that smile. Has he actually...

When your son spots you walking towards him, he actually rushes at you in excitement, taking the girl with him. He was talking so fast that you nearly had to remind him to breathe. What he said confirmed your suspicions. He legitimately made a friend, someone he sees as interesting, intelligent, and delightful. He may not have used those exact words, but you condensed his prolix to be concise with yourself. And from what you can tell, your son was absolutely right. She's well-spoken, polite with a hint of silly sass, and overall a pleasant young lady to be around.

It was a joyous occasion. Your son made his first friend, he was the happiest you have ever seen, and you were right with him. So, you gave the girl your name and, naively, contact information so you and her parents could set up a play date between her and Tony. Oh, how much of a fool you were... Before she left, you asked her name, and her response shook you.

"My name is Mia Tract, ser. Child of Con Tract, head Facet of the Powers Association. I'll be telling my guardian all about you. I believe they'll want to see you personally." She curtsies and turns to leave, but stops. Throwing back one last comment. "Oh! Before I forget, there will be no need to kiss my hand the next time we meet. A Prince I might be, only suitors and my guardian's personal Friends have that need. Become a proper Page and maybe you'll become a friend."

Your son, of course, had questions. Questions on why 'Mia's dad would like to see me specifically, who Con is, and why he's important. After a day, and several denials, he relented. You thought that would be the end of it, but the moment Tony left the room you received a phone call from an unknown caller. For whatever reason, you felt compelled to answer.

'Hello? Who is this?' You spoke into the receiver.

" "Who is this?" My dear Page! Why do you ask questions that have such obvious answers? You already knew I was calling, my charge even told you! It was in an Indirect manner, I admit."

A voice, friendly and welcoming, flowed like water from the speaker. And though I heard the words, it felt as if they appeared in my mind. It was as if they were ethereal in nature.

"Ha HA! Well! It seems you haven't lost your narrative touch! No, you weren't speaking out loud- Anyways! Moving to more important topics, how's your life been treating you? We haven't talked in so many years since our falling out and I hate not knowing what's happening in a friend's life, you know? How can I help them if I don't know anything?"

'Wha- then how did you-?' ahem 'Well, Mr. Con, I-'

"Now now! What did I say about calling me mister or sir? Please, if you must refer to me as a normal person just call me Con or Tract, I gave myself those names for a reason. Haha!"

While those words were said with a playful tone, you catch the sharp edge he enunciates on four. Remembering his stance on addressments, you decide that it's in your best interest to correct yourself.

'My apologize. Con then.' I sighed 'While I... respected your authority, I am no longer a member of your organization. As such, I no longer needed to inform you of my comings and goings.'

"Pff haha! Why so serious, Page? I'm just an old friend trying to catch up on his buddy's life! There's nothing wrong with that! Besides. We will be seeing each other soon anyway, so why not talk now?"

'What? What do you mean by that!'

"Calm down. Boy, you've seem to have gotten yourself a pair of lungs when you left, there is no need to shout. Haha! I didn't mean right now. Don't you remember? You asked my little universe if they wanted to go on a play date with your child. They asked me, and I agreed."

At that moment, you wish Tony's imaginary powers of time existed just so you could kick yourself in the head.

"Honestly. You should've seen how my little prince smiled when I said yes! I haven't seen them smile like that since I adopted them! You know, they never really had friends growing up. All their life people feared them, like they were a royal with a cursed bloodline. Your charge, the Heir, was the only one who did not fear them, and it seems like they were in simpler circumstances. It's odd how, in a way, they both felt so alone despite one being surrounded by others."

There was a beat of silence, then he continued to speak.

"But let's not get distracted by these melancholic memories, shall we? So how about we have that chat, you and I? We have sooo much to catch up on!"

I was silent, not knowing what I should say if I should say anything. Did they do this on purpose? Adopted a child with a troubled history so they can get closer to me? Was I being watched? Or did they do it because saw a child like us suffering, ostracized, without a guiding hand to help navigate this strange perception of the world they found themselves having?

"Hmm. How about this, I'll start us off since you seem reluctant to do so. That sounds good? Good!"

For hours they talked while you listened, which eventually got you talking. You found it strange to hear from them again, horrifying even. They are the most dangerous person in this world, and now, they are coming to your house for dinner. If you are not careful with your words, or let them get into your head, you might get not only yourself but your son, wrapped up in Con's dealings.

"It was nice talking to you again Page, I enjoy our talks. I suppose it's time to make myself scarce now, have a good day..."

It's over, at least for now. You're going to need to plan out how you're going to handle this. You were about to hang up when Con seemed to have one last thing to say.

"OH! Before I forget. You should get out of your Mind now, the lasagna probably is burnt to a crisp at this point!"

'Wha-?'

Your eyes snap back open to the real world. Tingles of fear shake down your spine. You don't remember that happening and weren't making lasagna that day. Was he in...? No, it can't be. Your recent memories were probably just mixing your past ones, which sometimes happens when you are remembering something. That does bring up a question though.

'Hey Tony? How long where we out here?'

"What? Oh. It's been twelve minutes and fifty-seven seconds since I came to talk to you. The lasagna is totally burnt now."

“Dad, I made a new friend and I met her dad! He wants to invite you for dinner!” You choked on your coffee. Your son making a new friend on his first day of school is great. Realizing that said friend is the daughter of the Mafia don who now wants to meet with you is downright terrifying.

[agentnico]

A Haunting in Venice (2023) Review

Still cannot get over this movie's first teaser trailer that was released which made it seem like some Conjuring spin-off and then right at the very end we see Poirot and his moustache appear. People who knew nothing about Kenneth Branagh's Poirot movies would have been so confused as to who that man was.

Plot: In post-World War II Venice, Poirot, now retired and living in his own exile, reluctantly attends a séance. But when one of the guests is murdered, it is up to the former detective to once again uncover the killer.

I do enjoy a solid murder mystery movie, yet with Kenneth Branagh's take on the famous Agatha Christie sleuth, up until now I feel his adaptations have been playing it too safe and in the process losing the excitement of the source material. It doesn't help that both Murder on the Orient Express and Death on the Nile are based on the two most famous Poirot tales, as such the reveals in both weren't all that mysterious seeing as many people already knew what happens due to the books. However with this third outing, it seems Branagh may finally be finding his groove, as for starters this mystery is based on a lesser-known murder from the detective's adventures (a short book titled Hallowe'en Party), and more so the movie is not in fact a fully faithful adaptation of that story.

Both Christie's novel and A Haunting in Venice introduce us to a spooky Halloween-set mystery with multiple deaths and plot twists, as the famed detective tries to uncover the truth after being lured into the case by mystery writer Ariadne Olivier (played in the movie by Tina Fey). Yet there are not many similarities between the two stories. For one unlike the original novel which is set in the English countryside, the movie swaps that setting for the sinister Venezian palazzo. To be fair, Branagh evidently seems to be a fan of the 1973 occult-themed thriller Don't Look Now, as he tries to mimic that movie's style in portraying Venice as a place that has a sense of mystery and mystique in the air, with the ever-growing feel of dread and despair. That leads to the next point - the supernatural. Unlike the previous outings in these Poirot films, this one attempts to add something new to the murder mystery genre by adding a flair of horror into the mix. Set mostly at night, with creepy voices heard in the background and eerie imagery throughout, Branagh and cinematographer Haris Zambarloukus fill each scene with unsettling darkness, and there's even a shed of jump scares throughout. Also rain. Lots of rain, rain and rain. Visually this movie looks really good, and in fact, it is nice to see less use of CGI here compared to Death on the Nile where the green screen was basically the main star of the movie. The horror stuff didn't always work and I do believe the jump scares were a tad excessive and unnecessary, especially as the lighting and look of the movie already provided that needed sense of harrowing terror, but I do appreciate Branagh attempting to actually make something more original with his Poirot films.

Speaking of Branagh's Poirot, you can tell he absolutely adores playing this character, and to be fair he does a splendid job as always, with his lovely Belgian accent and adorable persona, so as always it was delightful seeing him chew up the scenery. The rest of the cast does well too. It's not as A-list as the previous films, but I think that was to the movie's benefit, for instead of focusing on the actors you actually can enjoy more connecting with the characters themselves. Tina Fey is out of her comfort zone by playing a more serious role compared to her known comedic performances. Michelle Yeoh is fantastic as the mystic psychic, and leaves an impression, especially during the séance scene where she completely loses herself in her 'possessed' madness'. Jude Hill, who's mainly known as the kid from Belfast, was great as the son of the doctor, as even though he's just a kid, he's very mature for his age and shows that he knows more than you'd expect, and Hill is great in delivering this and was one of the standouts.

The mystery itself is unfortunately pretty predictable. The journey to the reveal is solid, however, most of the resolutions are very easy to work out and I do wish there was a bigger plot twist than what we got, but overall I believe A Haunting in Venice is the best Poirot outing in Kenneth Branagh's trilogy, as it manages to finally find its own voice and take a risk of trying something different. It visually looks great (have I mentioned there is lots of rain??) Branagh's Poirot is adorable, but the narrative itself is a bit thin still. If there are more of these Poirot adventures made, I feel like Branagh should give directing duties to someone else, but still stay as the actor for Poirot, as from all three films the one thing that's always been a positive was his performance as the Belgian sleuth. But yes, this is a step in the right direction for this murder mystery franchise.

Overall score: 6/10

[finniestoncrane]

First of all: congratulations on the 500 followers! You deserve each and every one of them. I love your works, specially the ones featuring Ozzie <3

Okay, so, onto the request...

Today I feel extra touch starved, so would you be so kind as to write a One Bad Day Penguin x female reader with the following?

🤝 holding hands

🔴 i would never hurt you, you know that, right?

I'm sorry if this is not how the prompts work. Feel free to ignore if I misinterpreted them and of course, no pressure whatsoever! Thank you in advance if you feel comfortable writing my request 🥰

Shouting

one bad day!penguin x female!reader/holding hands thank you anon you are so sweet and so needlessly polite omg ily ;-; also his hands in OBD send me over the edge so well done i am drooling 💜 minors DNI!! 🔞 500 words, cw: fluff, big bad ozzy is very soft really, kissing requests are closed • kofi link • minors DNI • tag: finnie500

Since Oswald had regained control of his club, and the majority of Gotham’s underworld, you had both adjusted to the change well. He still felt like the same Oswald Cobblepot you had met months ago, seemed like the same determined, ambitious, sweet and thoughtful man you had fallen for, dead set on helping him achieve, or re-achieve, his goals.

Somewhat naively, you hadn’t really considered what it might be like being with him as ‘The Penguin’. Risky, difficult, but you felt safe, protected by him. But part of you was still afraid of something you couldn’t quite put your finger on until it was right there in front of you, reaming in your face.

Or rather, screaming down the phone when you entered the room, leaving you standing there, unsure if you would ever be able to convince your legs to move again. Tension palpable, at least to you.

Sat at his desk, his entire body seemed to change, his voice deeper and more serious, growling almost at whatever poor soul was on the receiving end of his tirade. Threats, quickly and easily falling off his tongue like second nature, the violent imagery conjured perfectly in your mind to the point where you worried that you might not be able to stop picturing it when you closed your eyes. As you swallowed the building saliva, suppressing the nerves building up in your throat like bile, you made a choked, whining noise, and Oswald looked up.

When he noticed you, finally, he raised one finger, offering you a ‘one-moment’ and then a quick motion to lure you over to him. You followed, because you were obedient? Trusting still? Afraid? Desperate to be near him? There was an influx of emotions that all clambered together to get to the forefront.

As you approached him, slowly, unsure, he finished up the call, slamming the phone down into the receiver. You jumped lightly, and he was quick to put an arm around your hip.

“Hey, sweetheart! You ok?”

His voice was light again, soft and gentle, the Oswald you knew and loved. But you still couldn’t shake the nerves.

“Hey…kid?”

You hadn’t said anything yet, and all you could offer was a weak smile, your hand on his shoulder, thumb rubbing into it in a gesture of care. He could sense there was something wrong, and his brows tensed, furrowed, frowning at your unwillingness to share. But he pieced it together, pulling you in closer with his arm around you, shifting you onto his leg, one hand supporting your back, the other placed around your knee, fingers pressed into it in a firm grip.

“I would never hurt you.”

At your lack of response, avoiding his gaze, he lifted his hand from your knee to your chin, holding the front with his thumb, resting it on his palm, as he turned you to look at him.

“You know that, right?”

The sincerity in his eyes was all you needed. He was the same Oswald he always had been, it just might take a bit of getting used to.

[chihirolovebot]

!!!NEW CHAPTER I'M SQUEALING LIKE STEAM POPPING OUT OF A TEAPOT!!

Gosh I love your writing so much, it's always so well worth the wait <3 your imagery is second to none I stg,

"You were full of stones drifting down to the riverbed, watching the shimmering surface recede before you, powerless to stop it."

Like -- ugh, I literally can't conjure up the right way to describe that reading your work doesn't really feel like reading at all with how submersive it is. As always, your characterization is straight from the game canon. The way you subtly show Miu's struggle as the weight of what she's about to do is starting to crush her is just so delicious, I'm sick and clutching my chest. I was reading Kiibo's and MC's argument and literally thinking about how it so easily parallels Kokichi's relationship to the MC in terms of trust and keeping secrets. It's oddly satisfying in the most angsty of ways seeing the MC on the opposite side of that coin now, y'know? Now THEY are the one doing questionable things to protect that sweet, innocent-eyed individual they call a friend, one that undoubtedly deserves their trust and is begging for them to do so. Corruption arc for the reader??? A little hint of one anyway??? Their loyalty to those they care about is getting ground up into both a virtue and a flaw because of the circumstances and I am EATING it up. Also, them wanting to try to stop Miu in their own way but struggling to do so with just conversation?? I love them so much it hurts :((((((

And and and, knowing how this case originally goes, I saw that; I saw that tiny, eensy weensy little detail you changed, my hand went to cover my mouth and my mind is now BURNING with curiosity as to how these next couple updates are gonna go. I'm on the edge of my seat, leaning so far forward that I might fall off even.

I don't remember if I mentioned it last time, but I absolutely LOVE the overhaul of Tenko's character. She was one of my least favorites when playing V3 originally, mostly because I was really upset with how they executed their (kinda) first openly lesbian character, twisting her potential into some lesbophobic caricature that's creepily obsessed with fetishizing Himiko. But oh, how you've kept her close enough of the original to keep her feeling like the same character, but managed to save her potential, fleshing out her character, combined with her design update just gives me life; yours is now the canon Tenko and I will NOT be taking criticism or hearing otherwise~~

The moment between Kokichi and the reader right before they started to put on the helmets?? Faints. I literally can't say enough how you have absolutely NAILED this relationship and his character in general. Sometimes reading Kokichi fics, people make it all about the lying thing, but they don't really ever go into the depth of WHY he lies so much or the other aspects of his character, like his distrust in other people and his seeming lack of attachment or reliance on them, his hatred of killing and the desire to protect people in his own way going hand in hand. Sobs and shakes his stupid little purple head. He is such an excellent morally grey character, and you execute every scene with him perfectly. Also, you can tell his walls are STARTING to come down the reader now that he's let them in, his touches getting a tad more affectionate, it somehow feels like there's more weight behind his silly little flirtatious quips now-- my heart races with the MC at the smallest things like him holding their hand

I am so excited to see if the reader can manage to get under his skin enough in time to save him before these flaws of his lead to his downfall, or if Kokichi's influence leads to an even stronger corruption of the MC's character as they try to help him and get them both killed in the process, or I could even see the reader eventually sacrificing themselves for him and opening up his eyes in the worst way possible what his actions have led to. No matter what, I'm going to love every moment of it~

You've created such a wonderful story here Vee, I still remember stumbling across it and clicking on the title in curiosity, and now you've got me and countless others in a chokehold with every update. I know you've fallen on seriously tough times recently, because of course, life just does that to you sometimes, and even though you're doing better for now... you've got a village, a lil community behind you, and we all love you and are here for you if you need anything~ Please take as much time as you need between updates, and pls pls take care of yourself -wraps you in a blankie and pets your head and makes you cocoa or tea or whatever you want- you deserve it, I'm probably gonna wind up rereading the newest chapt again tonight to catch the other little things I might have missed~ and I know I've said it already, but taking care of yourself also means you never have to reply to my literal essays born from love and brainrot for this fic, I have WAY too much to say as it is haha, and I know it can be emotionally exhausting trying to come up with responses sometimes (*˘︶˘*).｡*♡

Thank you for another amazing chapter, I'm biting my hand eagerly waiting to see what comes next. Take care and have a good weekend~~!!

LOVE OKAY hi. HI. i did want to respond 2 this earlier but i got sick very shortly after (covid rip) and now i feel ok enough to look at a screen i am finally getting around to it (i know u think i do not have to respond but i simply do) !

first of all. thank u so much as always!!! my brain literally short circuits when i see these comments/asks like u do not know how insane ur making me /pos.

the mc stuff these last few and future chapters make me feel so Evil.... like yes maybe they do go a little insane and degenerate. and ofc ur spot on with the parallels of mc/kiibo with kokichi/mc n im happy that was obvious bc i was kinda stressing abt it when i was writing it hehe i was like 'uhghghg how to show that the nature of the killing game intentionally warps the actions of a well-meaning person trying to protect those they care about which only ends in their classmates fearing and distrusting them hhhdhdhshsjhsdh pulls out my own hair.' as for the corruption arc.... hm. Hm. also this 'Their loyalty to those they care about is getting ground up into both a virtue and a flaw because of the circumstances' HELLO??? this is a gorgeous way to describe it im literally staring . lurking n stalking over this. and that's just it!!! loyalty is an osentibly good trait to have but during a killing game where the only way to help ur classmates is to make them distrust u.... god. it's a flaw in the sense that it makes mc's friends doubt and grow frustrated with them, but of course it's a virtue in that mc IS doing all they're doing for them!!! pain and agony.

also the miu stuff was very fun to write. i love miu, she's probably myyyy fourth favourite? from v3? gonna say cautiously bc my rankings change all the time but she's definitely up there, moreso for the potential she could've had in the main game. it always burned me that the only depth she ever really got was like. AFTER her death? and told through the grapevine no less. there's such an interesting parallel in her character to kokichi and it sucks it wasn't explored more i think. i hope i made her a little more of a Person in this fic even if i didn't focus on her as much as the others.

tenko. oh tenko. talk abt characters with a ton of potential that got done SO Dirty by the source matieral. it was all right there ! and they just made her into a predatory lesbian and killed her at the peak of her character development as they love to do (sideyes hiyoko and taka). yeah i definitely consciously took out all the lines that made her look like a weirdo. i think her openly liking himiko a lot would be enough to make someone like himiko uncomfortable WITHOUT tenko being weirdly predatory and fetishing her so. that's what i did. new tenko is just openly admirative of himiko which still makes her uncomfy but for like. better reasons i guess. and now they get a chance to actually DEVELOP their relationship instead of another bury ur gays ur whatever.

GODDDD kokichi breaks my heart man. and ur so right that a lot of fics that write him don't delve into the 'why' of his character. every line i write for him i think to myself, okay, what is he ACTUALLY feeling right now? would it make sense for him to say this, does it align with his end-goal, is it ooc for him to reveal this much? PLUS having to keep in mind all the tactics he uses in general conversation, like poking people in the right direction for answers without straight up telling them, or saying something absurd or flustering them to change the topic or divert someone's attention away from something. basically behind every line of dialogue he says u gotta be thinking in terms of the bigger picture, when u don't so much for the rest of the characters. im sure thats also something u get, writing for nagito!! bc he's also a super complex character with a lot of weight behind all his lines. definitely feels like a guy who everything he says tells u a little bit about him if ur looking closely!!

last part of this made me a lil emotional uh oh. thank u so much love, i appreciate it so so much. btw i LOVE replying to these n the longer and more nonsensical the better /gen thank u thank u thank u again (ps i saw the final piece had updated yesterday but i havent gotten around to reading it yet!! im planning on setting some time aside this evening so get ready for another stupid novel comment ehehe)

pls take care of urself!! i hope ur having a good day <333