#does not mean you can use them without asking

[naserfamily21]

War Took Everything—But It Won’t Take Our Future

My name is Naser. I never thought I would be here, writing these words, asking for help to rebuild my life. But war does not ask for permission.

💔 War took my mother. It took my sister. It took my home. Our house, the place where I grew up, was turned to rubble in an instant. My three brothers and I were forced to leave everything behind. We have been displaced twice, always searching for safety, for a place to start over.

But starting over feels impossible when you have nothing.

🎓 We Still Have Dreams—If We’re Given the Chance Even in the darkest moments, we hold onto hope. We don’t just want to survive—we want to live.

🔹 I dream of going to university. 🔹 My brothers dream of becoming doctors and engineers. 🔹 The youngest just wants a normal childhood.

But without support, these dreams may never come true.

💙 How You Can Help Every dollar, every share, every kind word makes a difference. Your support can help us rebuild our lives, find a home, and get the education we need to change our future.

🙏 Please, if you can, help us. Even a small act of kindness can mean everything to us.

[consultingfujoshi]

having some barely formed thoughts about the three severed women we know of (excluding o&d) and how they're all sort of experiencing their own misogynist hellscape and how severance not only exacerbates the existing struggles of women but reduces those women down to nothing but their suffering

gabby's innie exists purely to gestate and give birth to children and then is switched off again and never gets to raise or even meet her child until her husband decides it's time for the next one. episode 7 suggests gabby is not the only woman who has done this to herself. how many female innies exist just to be a walking baby incubator?

gemma is quite literally in hell. dozens of versions of her are being subjected to physical or psychological torture at the hands of the same white guy, at least one of which is in an endless performance of housewifery, her body given over to the hands of strangers, and she has to willingly walk into each room knowing anything could be happening to her in there and she will never know what, only that her alternate selves have literally never known anything except suffering. you did it to yourself, you asked for this.

and even when she tries to free herself she is immediately sent back by one of these innies who literally does not know what is going on and why she's here, and doesn’t know enough to question what she's being told. these women she becomes do not have the tools, the knowledge or agency, to fight back. if you'd known better, you'd have stopped it. why didn't you stop it? why weren't you smarter about it? why weren't you more careful?

tell me you love me before you go, sweetheart

and helly. she's more complicated but there's really something to be said about helena, a woman that by all accounts should see her as a sister, and uses that very idea to propagandise herself and inflate her own status, but in reality does not even see helly as human - she is constantly at the mercy of a woman far more affluent and powerful than herself who feigns care for her to the masses whilst happily subjecting her to torture. and then without that support from another woman, without that sense of solidarity, she seeks refuge in the arms of a man who can somewhat understand what she's going through because that feels like her only option, to gain approval or social standing through a man, but even that is hollow and it is soured by the very woman she is at the mercy of competing with her for that same man. she has been forced to place all her bets on the love of a man, like that'll prove she's real and worth something, and even that she can't have for herself

severance is used in all of these cases as a means of further dehumanising, objectifying, and reducing women down to their base biological functions and forces them to subject themselves to the whims of men. all in totally unique ways but all very real experiences that women go through every day, crytallised by having it quite literally be all they exist for. severance as just another tool to exert violence upon women

[andersunmenschlich]

As I understood the question, you asked which of the bimodal cluster of gender traits associated with the Woman label is shared by all women (and no one else), and I gave you the one that seems to meet that qualification.

If you'd asked which of the bimodal cluster of sex traits associated with the Female label is shared by all female people (and no one else), I'd have had equal trouble.

Women have many more gender traits in common, on average, than just their high level of comfort with being called women. Female folks have many more sex traits in common, on average, than just the vagina they had when they were born. But these two traits are the ones most commonly used as the cores of these two classifications: one without the input of the babies being classified, and the other with the input of the children, teens, and adults classifying themselves.

You say "stereotypes are inherently harmful and oppressive," but "male" and "female" are stereotypes you seem to be more than okay with.

Can you give a definition of "male" or "female" that doesn't harm people who don't conform to stereotype: a definition that doesn't reinforce the idea that intersex people should have their bodies altered (even without their consent) to conform?

No, of course not. Just having the categories reinforces the idea that people should conform. But does this mean these sex stereotypes—these two boxes artifically separating a bimodal cluster of traits into a distinct binary—should be thrown out altogether? "Who needs to know whether someone is 'male' or 'female'; we should all just be humans"?

Personality traits tend to cluster much the same way sex traits do. Of course it's possible to be non-assertive and a leader, or assertive and a follower. But it's not as likely as the other way 'round.

If a person's body has more "female" traits than "male" ones, it's helpful to classify that person as female—it gives you a better idea of what sex traits you're likely to encounter in a medical or sexual situation. If a person's personality has more "womanly" traits than "manly" ones, it's helpful to classify that person as a woman—it gives you a better idea of what personality traits you're likely to encounter in a social situation.

Every stereotype is overly simplified. Every person's body is different; everyone's personality is different.

The basic categories are still useful, which is why we use them.

Bigotry comes in when we assume that people will conform to stereotypes assigned to them by others, rather than stereotypes they themselves have chosen to form their own personal public face.

Regarding bodily autonomy: I think handing a bottle of insulin to a non-diabetic who knows that what's in that bottle is potentially deadly to them is less harmful than withholding the bottle from them because you've decided you know better than them what they want to do to their own body and with their own life.

I also think that if they want to die in a less painful way, it's your job as their doctor to help them achieve that goal.

(Note well that if their ultimate goal is "stop the pain" rather than "die," and you know how to stop the pain without death, you should help them achieve that goal—but if someone genuinely wants to die painfully they should have that right.)

[emilys-bangs]

heaven is a place on earth with you | e.p

Tags: shy!hotch's assistant!reader, soft emily, just fluff, first date, one singular use of honey because emily is down bad, first kiss <3, emily being an absolute GENTLEMAN, reader gets treated so right, no use of yn

Summary: Emily asks you out on a date and gives you the first glimpse of something new. Requested here.

Word count: 1.2k

You suspect that Emily Prentiss has a soft spot for you. 

It’s a ridiculous thing to think—an even more ridiculous thing to believe—but most evidence you’ve gathered points to that exact conclusion. She gives you soft smiles and softer touches; more often than not, there’s a sweet nickname on her tongue to replace your name. Flirting is beyond her, thankfully—you don’t think you could handle that without turning into a ball of flame—but gentle teasing is not, her ribbing undeniably more tender than what she doles out to the rest of the team. 

And, the most prominent piece of proof:

“A date.” You echo softly. The thought makes your pulse speed up, thudding so hard beneath your skin you fear that Emily could hear it from where she leans over your desk. She nods, her face carefully smoothed out of any emotion, but her eyes give her away, the softened tilt of her lids turning them all the more doe-like.

“Yeah. If you’d like to.”

Of course you’d like to. You’d like to do a lot of things with her, most of which bring a flame to your cheeks. You’ve never felt this way before about someone, especially not someone like her, but it’s not her gender that scares you, nor what it means that you desperately want to feel her feminine soft curves up against your body. You’re just…achingly you, and she’s achingly Emily. Briefly you wonder if she’s messing with you.

“A non platonic date?”

Emily draws her bottom lip into her mouth, the soft pink of her tongue pressing it in before letting it go, shiny with color. “Very non platonic,” she confirms gently. Her eyes study you, no doubt taking in the hitch of your breath—and probably mistaking it for some other emotion, because she quickly backtracks. “I totally get it if you don’t want to, just say the word and we can just forget this ever—”

“I want to.”

Emily’s face clears. “You do?” She breathes, a smile teasing the corners of her lips. “Really? You’re not saying that just to spare my poor feelings?”

“Really,” you say, a hot glow warming you up from the inside. Emily is looking at you with far too much affection; you drop your eyes and fiddle with a random pen. “Besides, you don’t really spare my poor feelings half the time, why would I spare yours?”

Even without looking up, you hear the incredulity in her voice. “What? Honey”—your heart flutters at the pet name—“I have the highest regard for your feelings. Promise.” She says solemnly.

“You’re doing it again.” You mumble, looking up to catch her eyes widening ever so slightly.

“Oh. It’s the—?” She gestures vaguely with her hand. You nod, chest warming at her out of place awkwardness. Her cheeks flush a pretty pink, “I’m sorry—”

“No. Really, don’t, I—” You like it. You like her, and it makes your whole body thrum. Swallowing, you drop the pen, glad at least that this conversation is happening in the sanctuary of your office. “I’ve never done this before.” You admit softly, because it’s Emily. You’re safe with her. “A date, I mean. With…with a woman,” you shrug, not looking at her. There’s no doubt in your mind that Emily is well experienced in romantic affairs. The truth is, women or otherwise, you’re just not. A few tries, most of them mediocre, had convinced you to stop wasting your time. And besides, it’s not like people often ask.

When you chance a look at Emily, her mellow smile soothes the fast paces of your heart. Her voice is velvet smooth as she draws patterns on the surface of your desk, her fingertips occasionally skimming yours—ever so slightly. “Anywhere in particular you’d like to go?” She asks gently.

Not messing with you, you decide. Probably too late, but you can’t really care.

“No. Please don’t make me pick,” your tongue darts across your lips. “Anywhere is fine.”

Emily winks. You go boneless.

“You got it.”

____

She takes you to a botanical garden.

You’re more overwhelmed by her than you are by the flowers. The feeling has been steadily growing ever since she showed up at your door, tender gentility and a nervous smile and a bouquet of flowers, her voice lilting when she said, I think these might be a little too on the nose. You hadn’t known what she’d meant, but you were too endeared to try to figure it out. Now you smile. On the nose or not, Emily Prentiss is something else.

It hadn’t stopped there. There was her hand on the small of your back, her fingers around the car door handle as she pulled it open for you, her compliments shining down on you like the fading glow of a sunset. It’s not a side of her you’re entirely unused to, but the intimacy of an open setting with just the two of you made it hit hard on your cheeks.

“I thought you might prefer walking around,” Emily says when you stay quiet, trying to swallow the ball of emotion in your throat. “We could go somewhere else if you don’t want to—”

“Emily.” You cut her off before she can spiral. “Stop. It’s—it’s perfect. Really. Couldn’t have picked it better myself.” Your voice is soft with overwhelm, hands warming at your sides.

Emily’s smile is incandescent. “Okay,” she breathes out, clearly relieved, “if you’re sure.”

You nod, unable to help smiling back. When her hand returns to the small of your back you lean into it, both relieved and disappointed that she doesn’t reach for your hand.

She knows about flowers. Of course she does—murmuring in your ear about the symbolism of daffodils, the various meanings of all the colors of roses, the Persian legend of the red tulip. It takes the spotlight off of you, and before you know it you’re relaxing at her side, any tension broken as the two of you bend to sniff flowers, their scent sweet and fragrant under the sun.

When she offers you a fallen marigold, petals gently rumpled and bent, her smile hidden beneath its orange halo, you beam back unrestrained. She idly mentions it’s the October birth flower, and when you lean in, lips to her cheek, you surprise even yourself. You miss the mark by a bit, catching the corner of her mouth in your haste.

Emily’s eyes go wide. They glitter under the sun, crinkling at the corners when she grins brightly, dimples digging deep. She doesn’t mention it for the rest of the day out of courtesy for your poor nerves, but a smile never strays far from her lips. You take comfort—and a tiny swell of pride—at the way her cheeks color a light pink.

When you try again later that night, back to your front door, your mouth finds hers with careful precision. Emily smiles into the kiss, cupping your jaw with a reverent hand. You taste flowers on her lips.

taglist: @suckerforcate @sickoherd @lextism @catssluvr @i-lovefandom @haiklya @justhereforthosefics @storiesofsvu@ashluvscaterina @basicallyvivi@temilyrights@professorsapphic

[blueskittlesart]

I don't think these people know what a dogwhistle is

i do recognize that i kind of brought this on myself here because this is what happens to me every time im even slightly vocal about my lesbianism on this website but it is genuinely exhausting sometimes. like. i recognize that terfism is so rampant in lesbian spaces that people feel the need to be especially vigilant but it’s gotten to the point where even the absolute tamest mention of decentering men nets me multiple asks telling me im probably a terf. and like i understand that if you’re online 24/7 it can be difficult to seperate the concept of feminism from the concept of transmisogyny because there are so many very vocal terfs online but i need everyone to understand that believing that trans women are women and believing that women are an oppressed class/decentering men in your own life are not mutually exclusive concepts and it actually does make you look bad when you assume that every lesbian expressing frustration with the way men are constantly centered in every conversation ever must actually secretly be talking about trans women instead of just like. taking my fucking words at face value. barring everything else it makes you look stupid to send me an ask suggesting that using the phrase “male character” is a dogwhistle, presumably because someone on twitter once told you that terfs often deliberately refer to trans women as “males.” it makes you look like someone who is incapable of comprehending the contextual difference between statements because it makes it incredibly obvious that you are reading the words i am saying without absorbing the meaning behind them. you think “dogwhistle” means “cheat code for weeding out bad people” when it ACTUALLY means “deliberately innocuous word or phrase which, when used IN CERTAIN CONTEXTS, may signal certain bigoted views or philosophies.” please either learn how to use context clues or leave me the fuck alone

[optimisticmosquito]

Lan wangji is very lucky (unlucky?) that there were no popular fujo book clubs in MDZS like in SVSSS. Imagine if MDZS had their own liu mingyan? Complete and utter anarchy.

LMY would never let such a juicy story as the one of hanguang-jun and yiling laozu lay untouched. No, she would dig her fujo nails into every little detail she could find.

Their apparent hatred for each other during their studies? Enemies to lovers, we're already to a great start!

They fought and killed the xuanwu of slaughter together? A lot can happen between two men when they are alone in a cave, you know~ *slams down 100k pure filth featuring the cave, wound care and some intense hate sex*

She'd even research the rules surrounding the lan headband after she heard about the incident. In fact, it features heavily in many of her explicit chapters.

Hanguang-jun searched for yiling laozu after he went missing during the war? Ohohoho, and you want to tell her something didn't happen in those caves.

And then the two went back to hating each other during the war? All couples need to go through some hardship. Oh, hanguang-jun, to see your lover turn to evil and being unable to do anything. Her book club is gonna eat it up!

Then the fight in Nightless City happened and hanguan-jun fled with his lover. Rumor has it he even fought some of his own sect members to defend the evil yiling laozu. Oh my, oh my~

Not to mention she heard a rumor from a member of the lan clan that he went to visit the burial mounds after yiling laozu's death, and came back with a child! She's writing so fast she's going to pass out! Oh but the timeline doesn't add up. Does that mean the honorable hanguang-jun visited the burial mounds to sneak some time with his lover? How scandalous! Write that down, write that down!

It doesn't take long before all of her books are in circulation through the entire jianghu. The lan's are thrown into pure chaos as ppl ask if they are hiding hanguang-jun's and yiling laozu's secret love child. LWJ can't step one foot outside without ppl whispering. The Jiang sect is demanding they hand over the child to them. It's a mess.

And then WWX returns, but at that point the books are old news. He doesn't hear much about the story before one of the juniors brings up the rumors around it. And, well, isn't that really silly. Him and LZ? Now that he thinks about it... But haha, the man used to hate him! How can ppl believe this admittedly well written slop. "Right, lan zhan?"

"Uhm lan zhan, why are you looking at me like that?"

Oh, and there he goes. Bet those two are gonna be really busy for a few days.

And LMY has a new story to tell.

[vandme12]

our serials (kc) with a reader with glasses? :3

Reader who is always forgetting to wear their glasses, making CONSTANT typos in the server, or the characters catching them squinting. Just curious to how that would go ^~^'

V

At first, he assumes your typos are some kind of code. He spends an embarrassing amount of time trying to decipher the nonsense until you admit you just... forgot your glasses.

“You should be more careful. Words matter.” He says this like you’re committing war crimes every time you accidentally call him “Vurghilante.”

Eventually, he starts proofreading your messages. If you send something particularly chaotic, expect him to correct it with the same energy as a disappointed English teacher.

He absolutely notices when you’re squinting at something. If you resist putting your glasses on, he will silently place them on your face like you’re a stubborn child. No words. Just the weight of his judgment.

The one time you squint at him, he deadpans, “I’m not blurry.” But there’s a hint of amusement when you still refuse to wear your glasses.

Once, you mistyped his name so badly it resembled a rare plant species. He spent the next 24 hours sending you obscure botany facts as punishment.

Misaki

Oh, he thinks it’s hilarious. Your typos? Screenshot folder. Your squinting? Material for endless teasing. They calls you “Mole-ey” and won’t stop.

If you try to defend yourself, they just leans in uncomfortably close to your face like, “You sure you can see me, sweetheart? Or am I just a mysterious blur?”

Constantly quizzes you on random distant objects. "What does that sign say? No, no, don't squint. Use your powers."

Steals your glasses when she’s bored and wears them, claiming they're smarter now. He calls himself “Professor Misaki” while pushing them up the bridge of their nose.

If you lose your glasses, prepare for them to find the worst replacements. He once handed you pink heart-shaped sunglasses and insisted it was an upgrade.

If you squint at them, they wiggles his eyebrows and says, “Careful, if you keep looking at me like that, I might start thinking you have a crush.”

Angel

She immediately appoints herself your “Seeing Eye Babe.” If you squint for more than a second, she takes your hand and narrates the world around you like you’re in a dramatic audiobook.

When you make typos, she just rolls with them. Whatever weird word salad you send becomes canon. You once typed “I need a hug pls” as “I need a hog pls,” and now she periodically sends you piglet pictures.

If you’re squinting in her direction, she just tilts her head and teases, “Sweetheart, if you wanted to check me out, all you had to do was ask.”

If you lose your glasses, she will find them immediately. She has a sixth sense for misplaced items and is smug about it every time.

When she catches you struggling, she pulls your glasses from your bag and slides them onto your face with a fond smile. “I like your eyes better when you aren’t torturing them.”

She once bedazzled your glasses case without telling you. You open your bag and suddenly it’s glitter city. “Now you’ll never lose them again,” she winks.

Ronin

Oh, he lives for your mistakes. Every typo is ammo for his endless mockery. He purposefully misreads them to make things worse.

“What do you mean, 'I’d like to grab a dork'? Bold move. Keep talking.”

If you squint at him, he just smirks and leans in too close. “Better? Or do you need me even closer, baby?”

Constantly calls you “Blind Bat,” but somehow it sounds weirdly affectionate. Like you’re his favorite helpless disaster.

If you lose your glasses, he will absolutely hold them hostage until you grovel for them back. And, oh, he will make you grovel.

When he sees you straining at your screen, he dramatically sighs and tugs you onto his lap. “If you won’t fix your eyesight, I guess I’ll just have to keep you close so you don’t wander off and die.”

Despite all the teasing, he memorizes where you usually leave your glasses. He never admits it, but when you panic because you can’t find them, he always knows exactly where to look.

[pascalislove]

ANGEL: SALESMAN X FEM!READER -PART 3

Summary: She was an angel and she should be his.

The train station was cold that night, with the night breeze blowing through the half-empty platforms. Y/N rubbed her cold hands against her cheap coat as she looked at the terminal clock. Her train would still take a while to arrive, which only added to his anxiety.

Her had spent the entire afternoon trying to find a solution to her problem: a huge debt that seemed impossible to pay,and all because of she's brother's fault . The bank had rejected her, her boss at the bookstore couldn't advance her salary, and her older sister still didn't know anything about the situation. I didn't want to worry her.

She sighed in frustration, kicking a pebble on the ground.

—Damn…

I had no way out.

—Financial problems?

The male voice behind her made her jump. She turned quickly and saw him: an elegant man in a dark suit, with a black briefcase in one hand and a mysterious smile on his lips.

He was tall, with a sharp and attractive face, but what caught the most attention were his eyes. Eyes that studied her with a mixture of amusement and something deeper, something that made her feel vulnerable without understanding why.

—¿Excuse me? —Y/N frowned.

The man tilted his head slightly, without erasing his smile.

—You seem to be worried about money. I usually have a good eye for that.

Y/N looked at him suspiciously. Who was this guy?

—It's not your business.

The man laughed, taking out a red and a blue envelope from his coat pocket.

—¿Would you like to play a game?

Y/N blinked, bewildered.

—¿What?

The man held up the red envelope.

—Is Ddakji. It's very simple. If you can flip my envelope with yours, I'll give you money. Every time you win, you will receive a good payment.

He showed her a wad of bills in his other hand, moving them slowly so she could see them well.

Y/N felt her throat dry. That amount of money… could help her with some of her debt.

—¿What if I lose? —he asked cautiously.

The man smiled.

—Then you will pay me the same amount.

Y/N's heart pounded. What kind of proposal was that? She had no money to lose. But... what if she won?

The man seemed to notice her indecision and took a step closer.

—I can see you're considering it. Come on, try it. You don't lose anything by trying.

Y/N bit her lip. If he was a scammer, he could at least try once and get out if something went wrong.

—Good. —She took the blue envelope he offered her.

They knelt on the floor of the station, out of sight of the few passers-by. The man placed his red envelope and told her to throw it hard.

Y/N took a deep breath and slammed the envelope onto the floor with all her might. The gust of air moved the paper, but the red envelope barely wobbled.

Nothing.

The man smiled.

—Looks like you lost.

Y/N frowned.

—It was only the first attempt.

He didn't argue and handed her another blue envelope. This time, she concentrated more, picked up the envelope, and threw it with more precision.

¡PAF!

The red envelope spun and fell face up.

Y/N held her breath.

—I won!

The man laughed softly, taking out a wad of bills and handing them to her.

—It seems so.

Y/N took it with trembling hands. I couldn't believe it. It had been real.

—¿Do you want to continue? —the man asked, with that calm expression, as if he already knew the answer.

She nodded without thinking twice.

They played again. In the next round, she lost.

—Now you owe me the same thing I gave you. —The man looked at her intently.

Y/N felt a pang of nerves. I had no way to pay him back.

—Don't have…

He tilted his head, analyzing her. —Don't you have a way to pay?

Y/N's silence was enough of an answer. The man clicked his tongue and moved a little closer.

—Well, there are always ways to pay off debt.

Y/N felt a chill run down her spine.

—¿What does it mean?

The man held his gaze and, with disturbing calm, said:

—You can use your body to pay me.

Y/N froze.

—What…?

The man laughed softly.

Her expression turned icy and her fists clenched in anger.

He leaned in a little closer, enjoying her reaction.

—It's a fair way to balance the losses, don't you think?

The man smiled.

Y/N looked at him in disbelief, her rage bubbling inside her.

—Don't make that face. What I want to say is that…

—Pervert!

Without thinking twice, she raised her hand and slapped his cheek with all her strength.

The sound echoed through the station.

The man stayed in his place, touching his cheek where the red mark on his hand was beginning to appear.

Y/N glared at him.

—I don't know what kind of person you think I am, but I'm not going to put up with such garbage.

She stood up suddenly and walked away without looking back.

The man watched her go, his skin still burning from the slap. But instead of getting upset, he smiled.

—Interesting…

He rubbed his cheek, enjoying the burning.

—It won't be easy. But that makes it more fun.

Y/N reached the platform and crossed her arms, still furious.

—Damn crazy...

She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. I couldn't believe there was someone so shameless.

But deep down, something worried her even more: the feeling that it would not be the last time she would see that man.

This story does not follow the plot of the series, tell me if you like it and if you want me to tag you in the chapters🫶

Tag list:

@beebeechaos, @onyxmango , @muchwita @czarinera, @putrescentpoet

MASTERLIST

[la-gotica-fantasma]

8 realistic situations to add to your writing -

Disclaimers: I cannot stress enough that I am not at all trying to tell you what to write, these are just some concepts / prompts. - My title does not mean that your more lovey-dovey scenes are unrealistic, I just couldn't think of how to title this - Some of these are scenes that have been used in my writing, so if by the off chance you are using any of these, please don’t copy the dialogue word for word. :}

ROMANTIC -

1) When both of them are cuddling / holding hands and one of them starts sweating.

★ “Ugh! I love you, but I don’t love all this sweat you produce!” “But it’s my love for you seeping out of my pores!” “I couldn't care less what it is. Off!” “Fine, your majesty.”

2) Each character hating their mother in law / partners mother

★ “Mom is asking to visit.” “And do what?” “I’m not sure, check up on everyone?” “She can check up her own ass for the stick I know she’s lost up there.”

★ “Well, your mother is no saint.” “She never claimed to be!” “Uh-huh, and when has mine?” “Circa-” “Okay! Truce?” “Truce.”

3) Character X bringing up a pet peeve they have with Character Y at a family gathering.

★ “Character Y does this one thing when they eat- they never scoop up their food with their fork, they’ll just attack it! Sometimes I can’t stand it.” “You never told me that bothered you?” “It didn’t bother me enough to mention it.” “Not until a family dinner?” “I didn’t mean anything negative by it-” **cue Character Y aggressively attacking their food with their fork** “Okay, I get it! We’ll talk later.”

4) Character X and Character Y bake with each other, except realistically.

★ “Character X, why are your arms wrapped around me?” “Because I love you.” “I love you too but I also love being able to actually mix the ingredients together.”

★ “Get the eggs!” “You told me to stop buying eggs because ‘inflation will kill us all’.” “I wasn’t wrong but, UGH-! I need eggs!” “Well I got them anyway, but still.”

★ “Stop touching things!” “How am I supposed to bake without touching anything?!” “You aren’t!”

5) Planning lies they'll tell in 5 years when people ask how they met.

★ "What if we say that we were playing bumper cars and I hit you so hard I fell into your car?" "Hmm.. how about we say that I was going to my best friends wedding and I was all down and glum, but a friend of mine told me to 'have some fun' and that maybe I'd meet someone special at the wedding, and that's when I saw you. You and a little yellow umbrella that I've seen in so many places before, and we just talked about our past together?" "I think that's been done before." "By who?" "One of the most popular rom-coms ever aired."

★ "We could say I saved you from-" "I'm gonna stop you right there." "Fine. What's your idea then, if you're so smart?" "We tell them we met in a psychiatric ward." "Wow. Exquisite thinking." "Just imagine the looks on their faces!"

PLATONIC / ROMANTIC -

6) Those moments where neither party can decide on something so they do nothing, only for them both to yell out what they want and it coincidentally be an agreement.

★ “What do you want for dinner?” “I’m not sure, what do you want?” “I dunno.” **cue them both lazing around, doing nothing for minutes** “Spaghetti.” “It’s like you can read my mind.”

7) Character X asking Character Y how their day went, and Character Y just breaks down in tears- not because their day was bad, but just because Character X asked.

★ “Hi, how was work?” **cue ‘ugly’ sobbing** “Oh no, was it really that bad?” “No- It just- It was just- sweet to- ask-”

8) Stuff that should be awkward really not being awkward at all.

★ “Did you just fart?” “Yeah.” “Okay, good.” “‘Good’?” “Good that it’s not a gas leak.” “Yeah, I had to force it out a little bit.” "So definitely not a leak." "Definitely not."

p.s. Your writing is captivating as always suga, and I am abidingly proud of you and your work. <3

Morbid affection,

- Tipsy ᓚᘏᗢ

[rollofthed1ce]

Say what would cuddling with each of the ancients be like?

(At first was thinking of asking for just white lily cookie but then I thought 'eh, why leave the other ancients out?')

Sorry it took so long to respond, had stuff to do. Also, I’m not the best at explaining. But here goes-

Pure Vanilla

It’s rare for you and him to cuddle, tho that’s because he likes to cuddle in a very specific area

It’s a part of the library where there is a circle of pillows and blankets with a blanket floor. He calls it his “flower bed” 

When he wants to, he’ll slightly tug against your clothes as well as redirecting your path to the library

It’s actually not that bad, probably the best one to cuddle with

He is gentle when rapping his arms around you as well as squeezing you. 

He more or less treats you like a giant teddy bear in a way.

But there is one problem… time.

He cuddles with you for HOURS. Only stopping when you need to use the restroom or food. Either way, when it’s cuddle time, your stuck in cuddle time

Hollyberry 

Extremely rare for her to actually cuddle with you. like, at all.

He is more of a hug person than cuddle. Even when she attempts to, it doesn’t last long.

As said before, she only cuddles with you when no one is around. But even then it’s still very rare for her to do that.

But drunk? Oh hell yeah, she’ll do that without a second thought 

Anyway- 

When she does actually cuddle with you, you will know by the fact she doesn’t attempt to break your body with her strength. 

it’s feels more like a hug that lasts more then a few seconds. It quick.

Dark Cacao

It like a strong child cuddle a teddy bear. And YOU’RE the teddy bear.

He mostly cuddles with you during the night and always when sleeping with you. 

It is quite comfortable when he does do this. Mostly because he raps a blanket around the both of you (if you aren’t on his bed), and he is very comfy if you lay on him.

But there one small problem…

No matter what you can’t escape from him due to being the physically strongest of all the ancients.

That also means your movements are restricted as he does squeeze you against him. Tho gentle, it’s NOT fun to be in.

because of his strength, he will also move you around side to side while carrying you. It’s a lot worse.

Golden Cheese

Like Dark Cacao, she mostly cuddles with you when you’re going to sleep. 

Unlike Dark Cacao…

There will be drawing of them later, don’t worry-

…best of luck pal, you aren’t getting up any time soon.

It’s much worse if your in a vegetative state :D

White Lily

Now to be fair, she is technically the best one for cuddles.

But GOOD  G O D  does she love cuddles.

She won’t directly state she wants to, but you can tell very much tell by being extra clingy and having a more soft, playful tone when she speaks.

If you don’t get those, she’ll “gently” take you to a private area. Which is either a modified gazebo that’s similar to Pure Vanilla’s Flower Bed or just her room.

By “gently” I mean “dragging you there forcefully”

But it’s still nice, even if you have to spend almost the rest of the day like that. Except when you need to use the restroom, the you two will take a break.

She doesn’t hold onto you too tight, and makes sure you are comfortable as well. 

So yeah, even tho she is the best when it comes to cuddling…

It comes at a cost too.

[zsakuva]

I'm sure this has been asked, but I had found your stuff recently and absolutely love how the different characters are with each being just as charming as the next. My question is what is the thought/writing process? I am wanting to be better at defining my ocs and characters without falling into the same trope and behaviors the characters have exhibit. Obviously there are different methods for different people, but I'll like to know a little bit of the process for you. Do you have any tips to make the voices distinct and consistent through out a piece of writing?

Thank you!

For me, because I have a proclivity for world-building (meaning I am absolutely obsessed and must know the lore before I do anything), I like to understand the path a character has chosen. Their past experiences and upbringing have a dramatic impact on how they shape their own life, and that informs me of how a character acts, talks, and how they both see and react to the world around them.

I'll use Isaac Rhoades as a brief example (I wrote brief but this is not brief at all, my bad xD).

From the beginning, Isaac was written with a sealed heart and a cold personality. He's an articulate and smart man, a workaholic, but he lives in solitude.

I always ask myself how and why a character is who they are, and what decisions they made/experiences they've had to bring them to this point.

For Isaac, his background paints quite the picture:

Born to loving parents, and his grandfather is a successful private investigator — The early part of his childhood nurtured love and care. His mother in particular showed him what it meant to love unconditionally.

His parents are murdered because of his grandfather's choice — Isaac was taught that even the people you love can hurt you, and that nowhere is a safe space.

Learning under his grandfather — Because of his vast portfolio and cases, Isaac is taught more about the workings of the world, and how to stay cautious. There was no space for fun or games; his only objective was expanding his knowledge in many subjects that his grandfather deemed worthy.

Getting stabbed by the maid — This reinforced the thought of a perpetual threat and the need to stay vigilant. It instilled paranoia in him to trust no one.

University in England and Andrew — Here, he remembers the love of his childhood, but also the threat of losing someone else because of his own decisions, taught by his grandfather.

Learning the reason of his grandfather's decision — Isaac was taught that there is always more to one person, for better or worse, as taught by the maid. Due to this and what he's learnt thus far, Isaac decides to seclude himself so he's never forced to make that kind of choice.

Succeeding his grandfather — Being a private investigator opened his eyes to humanity's extremes: the lengths they would go for their own desires at the detriment of others, and the yearning others had to better the world. His work reminds him of his life experiences, and these beliefs constantly clash.

Isaac is distant and cold at first because his life taught him not to trust anyone—even the unassuming—and he doesn't want to let anyone in; they could either betray him, or he could lose them. And yet, despite that, his mother's teachings managed to peek through when he saw Pickle in the alley, alluding to his true nature. Through Isaac's story, his internal struggle begins to rear: desperately wanting to feel love again, but knowing the cost if he does give in and the inevitable choice he might have to make if he opens his heart again.

Isaac is articulate and smart because of his grandfather's teachings. One can assume he stayed in that house for the rest of his teenage years until he left for university, so the only person he really interacted with was his grandfather. Because of this, he's factual, precise, and seldom makes jokes because mostly every conversation had been connected to work in some form. Small talk is a waste of time, and he doesn't indulge others unless there's a reason for it. He's meticulous with when to speak and when to listen.

Isaac is a workaholic because that is what his life has been shaped to be, also likely influenced by his grandfather. He has money, but continues to work. Why? Perhaps it's because he'd be without purpose otherwise. Or is it because he feels it's his duty to continue in his grandfather's footsteps and find the one thing that matters in the ocean of bullshit?

All of this shapes who Isaac is. It wouldn't make sense for him to have the same disposition as Andrew. Though they are similar in ways (articulation, education, work addiction), they take different forms and stem from the unique experiences they've lived. Where Andrew can engage in small talk (he had a freer childhood, a rebellious and fun twin brother, and more public school education/social interactions), Isaac can't. And though they both carry the weight of their own regrets alone, Andrew chooses to live with what he has, but Isaac chooses to endlessly bear the weight of the world and live up to his grandfather's bravery.

SO. With that being said, a suggestion I can give is to constantly remind yourself who your character is with every decision they make. Is it true to them? Does it make sense for them? But remember, humans are also notoriously contradictive, and one is not the same as another. We experience and react to the same conditions in completely different ways; who you are and what you've been through can determine the outcome.

I hope this has helped in some form of way!

Again I apologise for this monstrous post have fun writing aaaaa-

[thelawfulchaotic]

Welcome to Part 4 of How Does Court Work Anyway???

Previous parts (1: Investigations and why police are bad at them, 2: Bond, pretrial probation, and counsel at first appearance, and 3: preliminary hearings, the fuck is a grand jury, and trials) all available.

Welcome to Sentencing: who is a nolle prosecui, this math isn’t mathing, jail vs. prison, and The Stank.

And yes, I take questions, for the curious and for authors/etc. hit me up.

—

Here are some good ways a case can end.

If a jury (or a judge) finds you "not guilty" or "dismisses" the charge, you are free to go.

Here is a somewhat good way a case can end.

You are also free to go if the prosecution makes a motion for nolle prosecui that is granted. A nolle prosecui is the prosecutor saying, I want to drop the charges. Technically, a prosecutor has to have "good cause" for this motion; this is because a charge that has been NP'd can be brought back (with the defendant rearrested, going through the whole bond process again).

Prosecutors have, in fact, used this to get around deadlines for speedy trial. If they can't get their witnesses here for the trial date that's 4 ½ months in, they might just NP the case instead of risking losing it to a speedy trial deadline. Then, a few months later, when they have their witnesses, they bring it to another Grand Jury, indictment issued, defendant arrested – lo and behold, it's gonna be another four months waiting in jail before trial.

In some jurisdictions, prosecutors can get only a certain amount of tries before the case is dismissed "with prejudice." This means that it cannot be brought back. In my jurisdiction, there is no magic number. If the prosecutor can justify it ("it's not my fault, Your Honor, that the witness went on the run to North Carolina") then maybe they can bring it back over and over again. Doesn't stop them from asking each time to hold the defendant without bond, because they know how much of a strategic advantage it is for them.

How about if the jury, or the judge at a bench trial, found you guilty?

Now you go to a sentencing hearing. At a bench trial, in front of a judge, it might just happen right then: the judge knows the facts, now she takes a look at the criminal history of the defendant and the sentencing guidelines and makes a choice.

Wait, rewind. What are sentencing guidelines?

–

Let's have a little history lesson.

Before the 1980s, my jurisdiction had a parole system. This is the system you're used to seeing in movies, especially older movies: prisoners are sentenced to an obscene amount of time, but after a certain number of years they can go before a parole board and make a case as to why they should be released. This is Shawshank Redemption shit.

Parole boards have flaws. They are vulnerable to being manipulated in many ways; inmates have no counsel at parole hearings; parole boards are racist (of course, isn't everything); there was no consistency in the sentences people were serving; etc.

Because of this, the state decided to reform to abolish parole. Instead, it became probation-centric, under a Truth in Sentencing system. The name is ironic, as you'll come to find out. Instead of parole boards reviewing after a certain period of time, the judge would sentence the person both to their total possible sentence and to the amount they would serve right away. The difference between the two was suspended time.

Okay, I know that sounds like a lot of nonsense. Here's how it works in practice.

Jane commits a grand larceny. Jane has a record. Jane takes a plea for one year of active jail time. The plea agreement says: Jane is sentenced to 3 years of jail time, with 2 years suspended on condition of 2 years of supervised probation. What happens is 2 of the 3 years are "suspended" – hanging over her head, as the judges like to say – so if she messes up on supervised probation, those years can be imposed. Jane serves 1 year and then she is released. She then has 2 years of supervised probation. If she adheres to their strict and arbitrary rules, she never has to serve those other 2 years.

In the former parole based system, Jane might be sentenced to 3 years with parole available after 1 year.

Wait, you say, so it doesn't fucking matter what they do in jail? If they get rehabilitated?

Of course it does. Though nobody is getting rehabilitated. Good behavior in jail – defined as failing to get any serious incidents or new charges – gives people a certain percentage of time off. (Working for steeply discounted wages in for-profit jails and prisons can also do this! You can slave labor part of your sentence away! Love the personal empowerment!) Before 2020ish, around here, that percentage was ~15% (not quite but close enough; the way they calculate it, you're actually sentenced to 115% of the sentence you serve, which makes it closer to 14%, but whatever) on a felony, and 50% on a misdemeanor. Yes, misdemeanor time is half off. Now, those percentages have changed; violent crimes are at ~15%, the rest at ~35%, misdemeanors still at 50%.

So, now, under Truth-In-Sentencing, Jane is sentenced to 3y/2y suspended. She serves 1y – no, wait, 1y is changed to 7 months and 27 days. She serves 7m – no, hang on, she's working for cheap mopping the hallway at a private jail, so that's another 30 days off. She serves 6 months, 27 days, and she's out. Mission accomplished! Sentencing is so much clearer now!

This is hoodwinking magic. Politicians still want to be able to say that they are tough on crime, but they also don't want to pay for people to be in prison. So with all these little tricks of bookkeeping, "we sentenced people to years in prison" is true but "these people served a little more than half that time" is also true. This is stupid. It's an excuse not to confront the overwhelming damage of the justice system by hiding it in the numbers.

But, on the other hand, my jurisdiction's prison numbers have dropped in the last year and we're one of the only states in America that did, so.

–

So what are guidelines, because you never said.

Sentencing guidelines are recommended sentences for crimes with similar defendants, based on what those defendants have been sentenced to or what they served under the parole system.

In other words, it's a statistical summary of what People Like This have to do for Crimes Like That: it's a perpetuation of our system as it is, codified. Judges are required to fall between the low end (the 25th percentile) and the high end (the 75th percentile) or they have to find a specific reason why they deviated.

If a judge wants to be less harsh, then they need to justify it to the legislature later on.

There is no other scientific basis for the guidelines in my state. They have recently added things like risk levels, recidivism potential, and the potential of dropping the low end of the guidelines 2 years if the defendant shows "acceptance of responsibility."

What happens in a sentencing hearing?

Leading up to the hearing, the probation/parole agency completes a presentence investigation, and they call it something like "presentence investigation report" or "social history" or "risk assessment." This covers basic history of the defendant (filled in via questionnaire that was mailed to the defendant), adds in any victim impact statements, and mixes it all up with the police version of events. It also has a full copy of the defendant's record, which often erroneously contains juvenile charges that should have been expunged.

Based on this report, and the guidelines, the judge decides what to sentence.

Oh, you're allowed to call witnesses. Sometimes they even make a difference! A real triumph in a sentencing hearing is knowing that you swayed the judge, even a little.

There's also the potential of being sentenced by a jury, if you want. And I promise, you do not want.

What is the trial penalty?

I mentioned this last post, but let's dig in now.

People who go to trial and lose get bigger sentences than people who plead guilty. This used to be even more true than it is now. Why?

1) People who plead guilty have bargained for lower sentences. This is true.

2) People who go to trial essentially can't get the "acceptance of responsibility" change in their guidelines.

3) Judges get mad at people who clog up the dockets with "frivolous" trials.

4) How it used to be was that juries did the sentencing in jury trials. This was horrendous, for many reasons!

a - At first, attorneys were forbidden from even telling juries that parole had been abolished!

b - Once they were allowed to say that parole was abolished, they were not allowed to explain the system that had taken its place. That's because –

c - JURIES CANNOT SUSPEND JAIL TIME. Judges can! But juries cannot. So if the sentence range for a crime is 5-20 years, a judge can sentence someone to 5y with all 5y suspended – essentially, no active jail time. A jury's FLOOR for the same crime would be 5 active years.

d - Juries are not allowed to see the sentencing guidelines and are not allowed to know what an appropriate sentence for a similar crime would be.

Juries land above judges on sentence a truly significant part of the time (I think it tends to shake out that juries are harsher ⅔ to ¾ of the time). So, the way it used to be was that jury trials were a huge gamble – win big, or lose enormous. Now you can have judge sentencing with a jury trial. You still have the other couple problems with the trial penalty.

And anyone who opts for a trial is probably going to spend more time in jail awaiting their court date than someone who goes for a plea. That's just how scheduling works. Trials also require more preparation and work. There's no way to change that, I think.

–

Sentencing Ranges

In my jurisdiction, misdemeanors carry up to 1 year in jail (so, six months, at 50% – Truth In Sentencing!!) and felonies are crimes that carry any more than that. I hear that there are places where misdemeanors go to 2 years and places where misdemeanors don't go up to 1 year. Who truly fucking knows.

Felonies here also carry a range of classifications, from Class 6 (0-5 years in prison) to Class 1 (life).

Jail vs. Prison

Jail is sentences for misdemeanors or less than a year (around here). Jail is local, chaotic, and contains many people awaiting trial. Jail is also shit and the people in it are treated like shit. They are also shamelessly exploited on every level. Most jails now have tablets that inmates can have. This is not a luxury. It is so that they can charge inmates $1 for every picture they send and $.50 for every text message. Pure profit.

Prison is for sentences longer than a year. It ranges in classification, generally, from low security to high security to solitary confinement 23/24 hours. People in prison are often treated better than people in jail, fucking buck wild, I know, but my clients are usually pretty eager to get moved on to the Department of Corrections. In prison they can get better commissary, they have more stability, some places they can get radios and little tvs.

Why does jail/prison exist?

I don't imagine many of you actually asked this question, and maybe seeing it in black and white will bring it home that jail and prison actually don't have to exist. There was a time before jails and prisons, where people got whipped, maimed, humiliated, or killed for justice; prisons were supposed to be a more humane alternative.

Prisons, in theory, had four purposes.

1) Punishment. Prison does punish. Unfortunately, as dog and dolphin trainers figured out like a century ago, punishment doesn't actually get good results, and it has a lot of negative effects. It feels good, to the person doing the punishing. It feels satisfying. It is self-reinforcing, in that way. We expect that people change their behavior in response to punishment. They don't, really; they become more covert, they become more ashamed, and they do bad behaviors more, because they believe now that they are bad. Positive reinforcement of desired behaviors is shockingly effective to produce long-term change, and the positive reinforcement can be simple and small.

Yes, I'm telling you that it's time to let go of the idea of punishment, completely and wholeheartedly. There is no room for punishment in a society striving for improvement. It does not work. You may think I'm full of shit when I say this. Please just remember that it was said, and think about it every now and then. Think about the consequences people suffer for crimes that go above and beyond any kind of punishment. Think of a world where, instead of blaming a criminal for their behavior, we gather together and tell them: how did we fail you? Because there are places in this world that are like that.

But prison isn't just punishment. The idea is larger than that.

2) Rehabilitation – maybe you come out a better citizen? This does not happen in American prisons especially, because if you treat people worse than animals and tell them they deserve nothing, they start to believe you after a while. Programs are scarce and out of the ordinary. This, admittedly, is better even than it was eight years ago. And that was better than it was eight years before that. We used to send people to boot camp-style programs for Getting Straight (not in the sexual orientation way, but maybe also in the sexual orientation way). We did figure out that boot camps increased recidivism, not decreased. Oops.

3) Incapacitation. This is the only purpose of prison that is often achieved: while someone is in prison, they're generally not committing new crimes on the street. For an incredibly, incredibly small proportion of offenders – serial rapists, serial abusers, and serial killers – incapacitation can prove a godsend. Unfortunately, we as a society wildly overestimate the numbers of these people who will offend forever, and we pass laws that lock up people forever for shaky reasons. These draconian overreactions have gotten us policies like Three Strikes, which manage to lock people up for the rest of their life just about when they're statistically gonna stop offending, or laws that allow for the imposition of life sentences on crimes that previously didn't allow for it. Most recently, there is a new law in response to a murder committed by an undocumented immigrant who was out on bond. The solution, clearly, according to the legislature, is to make sure that no one undocumented can get bond ever again, whether they were convicted of a charge or just accused of one.

Yes, if an undocumented person is charged with any kind of crime, they can now be taken into ICE custody and disappeared before the chance to prove their innocence.

4) Deterrence. Two types of deterrence – specific (man I got sent to jail last time for this so I'm not doing it again) and general (people get sent to jail for this, I'm not doing it). It seems like this should work, but it doesn't, not really, or at least it doesn't to the amount that people think it does, or maybe it's based on the likelihood of being caught instead of the likelihood of high prison time. Or maybe it's just because people literally don't know what the normal penalty is for any given crime.

So prison doesn't stop people from doing the crime beforehand, even though it does stop people while they're in prison. It doesn't make people better. It does punish them, but punishment is creating a cycle of pain and deprivation felt far beyond individual inmates and far beyond their families. It destroys generations.

What is jail/prison like?

Boredom, frustration, and terror, I gather. It smells like the worst of high school BO plus old people plus cafeteria food with a strong overtone of bleach. It's gross.

They ignore medical issues until they're life-threatening. (Actual quote: "We're just here to keep you alive." Said, ironically, after three inmates died in three days in the local jail.) A psychiatrist visits by video once a month in the one I'm most familiar with; this is considered pretty progressive and innovative.

Many of them have eliminated in-person visitation in favor of video visitation. No, that doesn't mean you can do it on your phone from home. It means you drive to the jail and set up where there formerly was in-person visitation, and instead of your loved one sitting across the glass from you, a screen turns on and they're in their pod.

Jail charges people money per day to be there. It will come out of whatever cash they had on them when they were arrested, or it will be billed later. It was very controversial when our state passed some laws preventing this kind of debt from suspending someone's driver's license.

It isn't legal to jack it, because everywhere in a prison legally counts as a public place and public masturbation is a crime.

I don't know. I've never been in jail or prison. I just visit. Often. The smell lingers. What I see there just haunts me. There's no reason a guy locked in a room across from me has to have cuffs on in order to talk with me over the stupid little phone. There's no reason the guy I'm preparing a jury with has to be cuffed to the fucking wall while I'm at a table with him in person.

What haunts me the worst is when addicts look healthier and happier after weeks or months in prison. No one ever uses drugs except to escape something. What were they escaping that makes prison look like a sanctuary?

I know I've said this, but, again, it's the constant background noise. You become accustomed to holding a piece of paper steady so a man in handcuffs shackled to his waist can stand up far enough to sign it. You pull out the chair for him, because God knows while he's doing the penguin shuffle he can't do it himself. You carefully and deliberately make sure that your body language is open towards your client and closed towards the court, because the court needs to know that you aren't scared or grossed out or appalled by your client. You get good at telling him via gestures alone how he needs to dial his inmate number on the phone in order to connect to your side of the glass, because you've had to do it for eight years. You let their pain pass through you, because if you hold on to it, you won't have room for anything else.

idk y'all, I've kind of written myself out on this one. Join me next time for supervised probation and how it's destroyed black and poor neighborhoods, families, and culture.

[charmed-asylum]

And just like that snap she hook. 🫰 🫰 🫰 also idk why but song so this is love was playing in my head as I read this chapter. SUE ME OKAY I CANT HELP IT!!!! Kinda cute well let’s be realistic what the reader does is always cute. How she kinda excited but nervous about this ride ( third encounter btw) but second ride and she nervous something we all know about. But she so blunt and still innocent. I can’t like was your day good , No hehe. Buttttt the way he responded idk how I want to describe it , “ He tsk’d. “Alright, I know when to back off.” Like he kinds disaponted but also like if I ask you a question you need to answer but he aware and in this chapter you can tell how he slowly molding it to fit what he wants or make it easy to deal with . I have words but I don’t want to use them so oops 😅 on me.

Then way he calls her sweet names I mean he got bless with this one. Like the pretty girl comment talk was so 🥺 and I’m like damn we need to protect her or even the future chat like he got so lucky with her . I mean once again I wonder what he thinks like does he feel excited but again once inch closer to his girl of his dreams or disappointed that no one see what he see and reader poor thing she stuck she been so use to away that she truly doesn’t know how to deal with anything different.

Way he spoke to her huh idk what it is I think she said it best way , “ the way his voice lower made you agreed …. He sounded drunk. Like the men in your office at the end of the day sometimes. His voice felt like it was seeping into your bones, like you couldn't move” I can’t I would be just like her especially being he like close talking all that sweet talk like they haven’t done anything but sniff kiss talk and touch and she already dripping and sweetie I be real I am too huh I can’t. And that kiss if there was a chair I would slip out of it . If I had a wig I toss it off . Huh way he slip that in girl oh he knew he got jackpot way he made her feel huh huh huh and wow fact mom saw that when she got home and had her wash up and she was upset dang 3 time a charm I say!!! And how intimate without even more than a touch at this point at this point, they only kissed and touch and spoke to each other and even with those simple three things what it did to her and me as a reader OMG and I’m pretty sure Lee lost his damn mind.

I do ask about this comment on what he meant by it: “God, look at you. You're feeling real nice, aren't you, sweetheart? I am going to be a gentleman, though, and bring you back so you can be a good girl to your mommy and daddy. No need to rush. But who knew you'd be so responsive? I thought I was going to have to try harder, but it turns out you're just as affected by me as I am about you huh? 🤔 like I know he a soft dark you can tell with way he speaks to her or acts or even facial expression but what does he mean by this. Also our girl is deprive sadly shit I sagged too . Also cute way how he “ hold back “ mmmm we know you Lee Le.

Dream Of A Girl

Part 2

Summary: Lee continues to pick his girl up from work

Warnings: things are heating up a little, touching, kissing, Lee being eager

18+, minors DNI, the usual

Word count: 2949

Notes: I love this story!! I really really do! Please let me know if you enjoy it too 💕

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The next day you finished work on time and looked around outside. Your eyes felt tired because you hadn't slept well. Thoughts kept running through your head, and no matter how much you tried to settle you just couldn't. You knew Sheriff Bodecker was going to pick you up today, and you were worried about what you were going to say to his questions. What you needed to ask him. Maybe you should just talk about his job. Your mother did that with your father. And then he asked her what she did that day, even if the answer was always the same. But they seemed happy together, so it was obviously working for them.

His car was waiting for you a few meters away and you Walked towards it. He opened it from the inside again and you took a seat. 

He smiled at you and you awkwardly smiled back. 

“You had a good day?”

“No.”

He seemed surprised, but recovered quickly. “ Oh? Anything you want to share?”

“No.”

He tsk’d. “Alright, I know when to back off.”

Back off what? You started sweating a bit, he looked…a bit annoyed? You should ask him about this day, right? That was a good start. 

“Did you? Have a good day?”

He turned to look at you again, with a smile again. “I did. Nothing beats knowing you have a pretty girl waiting for you.”

Did he meet someone since yesterday? He told you he was alone then. 

“That's nice,” you told him. 

“I meant you,” he clarified.

You started sweating some more. “I.. I -”

He chuckled. “No one ever told you you were pretty before?”

You shook your head. No. Maybe only your parents. But that was it. 

“They're so blind,” he murmured softly. “Well, their loss.”

It stayed quiet, you didn't know how to respond. Should you compliment him back?

“You want to hear about my day, sweetheart?” he finished the silence. 

You shrugged. “Okay.”

And so he started taking about the crimes he prevented, the paperwork that was never ending, how he was looking to get re-elected.

“That would be easier with a wife by my side.” He glanced at you, while you kept your eyes firmly pointed straight ahead of you. “I hope I have that soon.”

You nodded. You gave up hope a long time ago, but you understood for other people it was a normal thing to do. 

“You ever dream of marrying? Finding someone who give you his bite and a few pups to look after?”

“Not anymore,” you lowered your voice, too ashamed to admit. 

“Why not?”

“No one wants to. With me.” You said, feeling anxiety course through you. 

“Hey, hey, don't worry. I can smell your distress from here. Hold up.” He pulled over to park the car to the side and turned to you. He reached out his hand but you flinched, so it froze in the air until he lowered it by his side. 

“It's okay, sweetheart, we're just talking. It's just me. You're safe, right?”

You nodded. He was the sheriff. He would protect you. But he couldn't protect you from your fears and feelings. 

“So why did you get all scared, honey? Can you tell me?”

“Not scared,” you said, trembling. “Just not…I don't like talking about it.”

“But if you don't talk about it, I can't help you.”

Your eyes shifted, trying to look at something calm, something neutral. “You can't help.”

“Try it. Maybe I can." He watched you the whole time and you wished he didn't. “Sometimes it's easier to talk to someone you don't know as well. I'm not going to judge you. People tell me all sorts of things. I witnessed even more. No matter what you tell me, it won't surprise me, alright?”

You thought about it. And there was a suspicion he wasn't going to let go so easily anyway. You sighed. 

“I'm not like the rest. They don't like me. They don't want me. So…I know I'm going to be alone. It's alright. I've accepted it. My parents want me, it's enough.”

 “I like you.”

You looked at him quickly, surprised. “You don't know me.”

“I know you enough. I know your parents, they love you. I can tell. They're good parents. You're polite, you're smart and hard working, you never get into any trouble. And you seem very sweet.”

You felt a little warm with every word he said. It was too much. You brushed imaginary wrinkles out of your dress that didn't exist, just to be able to do something. 

“You're so pretty. And your smell…” he groaned. 

You felt heat shot through you. That was…it wasn't proper was it? You don't talk about smell. You.. kept it to yourself. Until you.. you mated. Why was he telling you this? 

He leaned in a little. Sniffing. “You smell so good.” 

His head was too near you, and you were trapped in the car, surrounded by his smell. 

And it wasn't.. bad. He smelled nice even. But he shouldn't. He didn't have to be this near. 

“Everytime you're near me, and I get a whiff of you, it feels right, ya know? Feels like home.”

You blinked. It did? You did? 

“I just want to bring you flowers, and take you out. Maybe to the movies.”

“Too crowded, too much noise,” you piped up.

He chuckled. “Then for milkshakes, or a walk. Anything you'd like. I'll treat you so well. You'd want for nothing.”

You breathed him in. When you did, you felt less nervous. His scent making you feel something you hadn't before. You didn't understand why it did that. 

“You'd like that sweetheart? Me taking you out? Showing you how good you are? You'd be making me so proud if you’d let me. Being around such a pretty girl.”

He talked like it was an honor. Like you were a price he wanted to show off. Like others would be jealous. You wanted to laugh. It would be the opposite. People would talk about him. Wonder why he'd show you interest. That he could do better.

“I don't…. I've never, I mean, you can't.”

“Why not? Are you telling me no?” His jaw tightened and he looked a little colder.

“You can do better than me. You're the sheriff. I'm not.. I'm not good.” You whispered, tears pricking in your eyes, having to confess that.

“What are you talking about, sweetheart?” He moved nearer, almost touching you. “How could I not like you? You're always kind to everyone, I see you're great with kids, they love you, you’d make such a good momma.”

You felt warm all over. It was burning you from the inside. 

“With your pretty dresses, always looking so good, so beautiful. You should see yourself when the sun shines and your hair lights up. Beautiful. I’d be so proud walking beside you, knowing I'm your man.”

His finger touched the fabric of your dress and your eyes followed it as it rubbed softly against it. 

“They would all look at us, and they'd see what a great wife you would make. You’d be good for me right?”

The way his voice lowered made you want to agree. You struggled to keep it inside. His hand moved to your leg, warmth seeping through your dress and you trembled again.

“I know you'd be such a good girl. And I would be good for you too. I would spoil you. Anything you'd want. I would treat you real nice. Give you kisses whenever you wanted.” He sounded drunk. Like the men in your office at the end of the day sometimes. His voice felt like it was seeping into your bones, like you couldn't move. 

“Fuck it.” He murmured, he put his hands on your jaw to turn you toward him and before you knew it, he pressed his lips against yours. 

A thrill went through you. You wanted to struggle. You didn't like to be touched. But he was being gentle, and he smelled even better now, thick syrup, fresh lemon, spicy cinnamon…all the good things. His mouth was full and he moved it gently against yours. You didn't know what to do, but he didn't seem to mind. He let out a noise in the back of his mouth like he was in pain. 

You were burning up. You felt so warm. 

He pulled away shortly after, eyeing you carefully. Your eyes locked on his this time, like you couldn't even think to look away.

“Your first kiss?” He guessed. And you nodded. 

“That's a real honor, sweetheart. I feel very happy to be your first.”

You looked down quickly, too overwhelmed to keep looking at him. You wanted to touch your mouth. Let your fingers touch the flesh and memorize the feeling of his lips on yours. 

“You liked it?”

You hesitated, then nodded.

His scent thickened, heavy in the air, delicious. 

“Good. Because I might just kiss you again.”

Oh God, you pressed your hands to your heart, it felt like it was beating out of your chest. He was going to kiss you again, maybe. And you didn't think you'd mind. 

You laid awake that night, again, thinking over and over about that kiss. His scent was on you. Your mother widened her eyes when you stepped inside, but one look at you and she kept quiet, even if you thought she wanted to ask about it. Maybe she knew it was too soon. Maybe she feared you would get overwhelmed. Or perhaps she knew you wanted to keep it to yourself a little longer. 

“Go freshen up before your father gets home,” she simply told you, and her hand carefully touched your shoulder briefly, like she wanted to fuss over you. 

You were disappointed to remove his smell off you. But your father would want to know whose it was. And you didn't know what to say if he questioned you. The sheriff talked about dating, but he hadn't asked you out. You didn't know how serious he had been. Maybe you should ask him next time you saw him? 

You could still remember what he smelled like later, in your bed, and you felt yourself heat up again thinking about it. 

His mouth and his eyes. He was an attractive man. And he called you pretty! 

Squeaky noises came out of your throat and you couldn't help it. It was all too much. But it was good. You hoped. You thought. 

-

He picked you up again, and asked if you wanted to go for milkshakes, but you shook your head. You had started to get a headache. The office was especially loud that day and you felt the noise still throbbing in your head.

You pressed your hands against the side of your face, trying to squeeze out the pain until you felt him grab your wrists and remove them.

You wanted to pull away, but he wouldn't let you. He pulled you against him, ignored your struggling and shushed you. 

“Hey, hey! Sweetheart. It's okay. Shh, just smell me…here, come on.”

He pushed your face into the crook of his neck, right where his gland was. As soon as your nose was pressed against it, you sagged a little. His scent enveloping you completely. A whine escaped you. 

“That's it. Feels better right? you don't have to do anything, or think of anything but now. You're safe. Just relax.”

And you did, taking big whiffs of his scent, eyes closed, trying to relax. 

“You're being a good girl aren't you? Letting me take care of you like this.” You heard his voice murmur in your ear, felt the rumbling in his chest. Your hands gripping his shirt, not caring if you wrinkled it. “It feels mighty fine having you trust me to help you. You're making me feel real good sweetheart.”

No one had ever spoken to you like this. Like you were worthy. Like you mattered. Like they cared. You made him feel good? You made the most pathetic noise.

“I know. It's a lot. But you're doing so well. You like my scent sweetheart?”

You nodded. You did. You liked it a lot. You could stay here forever, blocking out the rest of the world. 

“I'm so pleased, sweetheart. I like yours too…will you let me scent you as well? I've been thinking about it all night. I would love to carry you with me. It will make the lonely nights better.. You can do that for me right?”

You nodded, mumbling something unintelligible, but he seemed to understand. He pushed your face up, gently, his hands holding your head up as he stared into your eyes, while you tried to focus but felt too dazed to manage, until he pushed his face into your neck. 

His nose against your gland made your shiver. It was like your mind stopped functioning. You felt the most pathetic whine bubbling up your throat, but you held onto his shirt for dear life, afraid to fall if you let go. 

His mouth…he moved it over your skin, something wet moved over that special spot and you spasmed.

He pulled back in surprise and watched you carefully. One you stopped trembling, and his face came into focus, he looked…you couldn't place how he looked. 

“Did you just..?”

You blinked owlishly. What? 

“Oh God, okay, it's okay baby. You did so good,” he quickly told you, but he sounded off. He looked tense. 

Maybe you made him mad.

“Nature’s calling, honey, I'll be right back okay. You watch the car for me.”

He practically ran out of the car and went into the nearest shop. You sat there, stunned. Had you done something wrong? But what he did felt really good. It felt like you got lifted out of your body and pulled back in. Like an elastic snapping back into place. 

You didn't know what happened, but he didn't seem to like it. You hung your head, hiding your face in shame. He was angry. You were sure of it. You didn't know what you were going to say when he came back. 

Maybe he didn't want you to be in the car once he got back? But he had told you to watch it for him. So you stayed. 

It took a while before he returned. His cheeks were rosy and he had a smile around his mouth. Maybe things were okay? Maybe he really did need to use the bathroom? 

He stepped inside again and smiled at you. “There we go. Sorry. Sometimes you can't hold it, can you?”

You nodded, hesitant.

“Aaw, sweetheart, are you shy? You don't have to, I liked it.”

Liked it? You didn't know what it was, but he wasn't mad that it happened? 

You gave him a glance, to see how he was looking and he seemed relaxed and good natured. He licked his lips. 

“Can I get a kiss, sweetheart? I've been thinking about it all day.” He stared at you expectantly. 

You pondered, but you had liked it yesterday, and you were relieved he wasn't angry, so you nodded. 

“Come on then, kiss me,” he said teasingly. 

Oh. You moved over to him, unsure if how to do this, but just decided to press your lips against his. Upclose he smelled very intense. His scent thicker than before, so you gasped. When you did that, his tongue was suddenly in your mouth, and his hands moved against your face holding you in place. 

It was wet. And weird. But his smell was so overpowering that it wasn't the worst. His tongue tried to coax yours into moving as well but you didn't know how. You just let him move and tried to move as well.

You had expected to hate it. The kissing, the touching. But it didn't feel bad. You liked it. He felt nice, he smelled nice. He said nice things. He made your body float, like you were in the water. Weightless. 

His hands stroked your cheeks, moved to your neck, and suddenly pressed on your gland. You moaned and sagged into his chest. 

“God, look at you. You're feeling real nice, aren't you, sweetheart? I am going to be a gentleman, though, and bring you back so you can be a good girl to your mommy and daddy. No need to rush. But who knew you'd be so responsive? I thought I was going to have to try harder, but it turns out you're just as affected by me as I am about you huh?”

You couldn't do much more than run your nose on his neck, so close to his gland again. 

He sighed. “I’ve kept you long enough, don't want your parents to worry. I want them to like me, show them I've got good intentions. Can't do that when you're coming back all ruffled. Come on sweetheart, back in your seat you go.” He moved you carefully as you blinked at him.

“It's alright, just some space, honey, we need to both calm down a little, huh? I still need to drive, and you have to fix your hair. I might've messed it up a little. You look good though,” he smiled tenderly at you. 

You touched your hair. He was right, it had come out of its pins, you tried to make it presentable again. 

“I would really like to take you out in the weekend, would you like that? Maybe we could take a walk in the park, or go for ice cream.”

“I, I like ice cream,” you admitted.

He smiled happily, “Then ice cream it is.”

Next part

[novaursa]

The Second Daughter (the call)

- Summary: You were born as a second daughter under the watchful eye of a full moon. And just like the moon you were beautiful—and cursed to exist only in the dark.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Jason Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: legacy of fire

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @idenyimimdenial @l3thal-l0lita @alkadri-layal @ninihrtss @barnes70stark

The air in Casterly Rock had grown heavy with the weight of war, though no battles had yet reached its gates. The West remained untouched, a fortress of its own making, and Jason had ensured it stayed that way. But beyond the hills of his domain, beyond the deep valleys and rich mines, the rest of Westeros burned.

The Dance of Dragons had truly begun.

It was a morning like any other when Grand Maester Halford entered Jason’s solar, his gait slow but his expression carefully schooled into neutrality. He was a man of quiet wisdom, with the habit of delivering ill news without alarm—a trait Jason had come to appreciate over the years.

Jason, seated at his great oaken desk, glanced up from the ledger he had been reviewing, noting the tight grip Halford had on the parchment in his hand.

“What is it?” Jason asked, leaning back in his chair.

Halford hesitated only for a breath. “A raven from Dragonstone, my lord. It bears the personal seal of Queen Rhaenyra.”

Jason exhaled slowly, holding out his hand. “Give it to me.”

Halford obeyed, setting the sealed parchment into his lord’s waiting palm. Jason turned it over in his fingers before breaking the wax with his thumb, unfolding the letter with measured ease.

The words inside, however, set his teeth on edge.

He read silently, his brows furrowing deeper with each line.

"Sister," Rhaenyra had written, "I call upon you once more. The war grows fierce, the blood of Targaryens stains the realm, and yet you remain silent in the West. I will not ask you to take up arms, but I ask you to come to me. Bring your children. They are of our blood, and there are dragons still waiting on Dragonstone. If the gods are kind, your daughters, your sons, may claim them and strengthen our House for the battles ahead."

Jason’s fingers tightened around the parchment.

"Daemon misses you. He has not been the same since he faced Aemond and saved your life. He speaks little. His fire is dimmed. I believe only you can bring him back to himself."

Jason nearly scoffed aloud at that.

Daemon Targaryen, a man of fire and blood, a warrior of renown, brought low by the absence of one woman? It sounded like a ploy.

But it was Rhaenyra’s mention of their children that soured Jason’s mood further.

"Your children are dragons, just as we are, just as you are. The beasts that roam my island wait for riders worthy of them. Bring them, let them claim what is rightfully theirs, and let the realm see that the House of the Dragon will not be broken."

Jason set the letter down, his jaw tight.

Halford, ever the careful observer, watched him with patient curiosity.

“Does your lady wife know of this letter?” the maester asked.

Jason snorted. “It came to my hands first, did it not?”

Halford nodded slowly, understanding the unspoken meaning behind his lord’s words.

Jason did not yet wish for you to know of this summons.

Not now.

Not when he had just begun to see you return to yourself, free from the nightmares, the whispered visions, the distant look in your eyes.

The past moons had been a blessing and a curse. Though the war raged beyond the Westerlands, life within Casterly Rock had been peaceful. Jason had taken every effort to keep his family untouched, unburdened. He had worked tirelessly to ensure the realm knew that the West would stand alone, away from the ruin of dragons.

And yet, Rhaenyra would not relent.

This was not the first raven she had sent urging you to fly to Dragonstone, to bring your children to the wild dragons, to stand with her in her war.

But this was the first time she had used Daemon as a lure.

Jason let out a slow exhale, dragging a hand down his face before tossing the letter onto his desk.

“She will not be pleased when someone reads this to her,” Halford mused, ever the voice of reason.

Jason clenched his jaw. “She is still recovering.”

“She has recovered.”

Jason’s gaze snapped to the maester, his temper flashing, but Halford met his eyes with steady patience.

“I say this not to provoke, my lord, but to remind you that she is not a woman to be kept in the dark,” Halford continued. “She is of Targaryen blood. She was never meant to be kept still.”

Jason sighed, leaning back in his chair, gaze flickering to the flickering hearth.

He knew that.

He had always known that.

He had married a woman of fire, and though she had lived among lions, her soul still belonged to the skies.

Jason knew what he would have to do.

But he did not have to like it.

“Leave me,” he finally muttered.

Halford hesitated, but with a slight bow, he turned and exited the chamber, leaving Jason alone with his thoughts.

For a long while, Jason simply sat in silence, watching the flames dance in the hearth.

Then, with measured patience, he reached for the parchment once more, rolling it into a tight scroll.

Tomorrow, he would give it to you.

Tomorrow, he would let you decide.

But he already knew what you would say.

And he already hated it.

The morning light filtered through the windows of Casterly Rock, casting a warm glow over the stone chamber where you sat with Rhaelya and Alysera, your twin daughters. Their golden hair shimmered in the sunlight, the strands interwoven with the faintest hints of silver, a clear mark of their mixed heritage. Though identical in looks, the girls were distinct in their mannerisms—Rhaelya’s fingers were steady and precise as she stitched, while Alysera fidgeted slightly, losing patience with the delicate work.

Your own hands worked fluidly, guiding the needle with a grace born from years of practice. Even without sight, your fingers knew the fabric, felt the tension of each thread, and understood the rhythm of each stitch. The quiet was peaceful, save for the occasional murmur of your daughters, who asked small questions about their patterns and colors.

Then came the sound of approaching footsteps—measured, deliberate, heavy with purpose.

You knew them instantly.

Jason.

Before he even spoke, you felt the shift in the air.

The girls must have felt it too, for they both looked up from their embroidery as their father entered the chamber.

“Rhaelya, Alysera, leave us. I need to speak with your mother.”

Jason’s voice was firm but not unkind.

Alysera was the first to protest. “But we are not finished—”

“Now, girls.”

Though his tone did not change, there was an edge to it, one that neither daughter dared to challenge.

You heard the rustle of fabric, the shift of the chairs as Rhaelya and Alysera obediently rose, murmuring their farewells before padding toward the door.

Once the chamber doors clicked shut behind them, Jason let out a slow exhale.

You set your embroidery down upon your lap, turning your head toward him. “You are tense.”

Jason scoffed. “When am I not?”

A small smile touched your lips, but it faded when Jason moved closer, lowering himself onto the cushioned seat beside you.

He was quiet for a moment.

Then, in a tone that lacked its usual sharpness, he said, “A raven arrived yesterday.”

Your breath hitched, just slightly.

You tilted your head. “From where?”

“Dragonstone.”

The air in the room shifted.

Your hands clenched around the embroidery fabric, your fingers gripping the delicate material as if it were the only thing anchoring you.

Jason saw it. He sighed.

You turned your face slightly toward him. “What did she write?”

Jason hesitated, and you knew.

You knew exactly what was coming.

Your lips parted slightly, but Jason was not finished.

“She wants you to come to her.”

“She wants you to bring the children. She believes they can claim dragons.”

The breath you had been holding slipped from your lips.

Your sister had written before, had urged you before. But this was different.

Jason continued, his voice lower, careful.

“She also wrote of Daemon. She says he misses you, that he has not been the same since...” He trailed off, but you knew the rest.

Since he saved you.

Since he fought Aemond and drove him away.

You swallowed.

Jason exhaled sharply through his nose, shifting beside you, likely running a hand through his hair as he often did when frustrated.

Then, his tone grew sharper.

“She wants you to come to her, to stand with her, and— Seven hells, she acts as though we are blind to her intentions! She knows what bringing our children to Dragonstone would mean. She wants us in her war, she wants us tied to her banners, and she will not stop until she gets what she wants.”

He scoffed. “Even Daemon is a pawn in this.”

You shook your head slightly, your fingers curling around the embroidery in your lap.

“I do not believe that.”

Jason let out a short, humorless laugh. “You do not believe your sister plays her game as cleverly as the rest of them? You think this letter is just an innocent invitation?”

You did not answer.

Because part of you knew he was right.

Still, you whispered, “I have not seen Daemon in moons.”

Jason’s jaw tensed.

Your fingers found his arm, tracing over the fabric of his tunic, feeling the corded muscles beneath.

“Jason, I will not be swayed by a simple letter,” you said softly. “But I will not ignore it, either.”

He turned fully toward you now, his green eyes sharp even if you could not see them.

“I know you. I know what you are thinking.”

Your lips pressed together, but Jason continued.

“You want to go. You want to hear her voice. You want hear his. You want our children to touch dragon scales, to feel their birthright.” His voice dropped. “Do you not?”

You hesitated.

And Jason saw it.

His fingers brushed your jaw, tilting your face ever so slightly.

“Say it.” His voice was low, controlled.

You inhaled.

And then, quietly, truthfully, you said, “Yes.”

Jason closed his eyes. For a long moment, he did not speak.

When he did, his voice was lower, softer, “You would fly into the storm, wouldn’t you?”

Your fingers curled over his, pressing firmly, “The storm is already here, Jason. We are only pretending we are not standing in the rain.”

Jason did not respond.

But you heard his sigh, felt the weight of it, felt the reluctance in his silence.

You knew this would not be the end of this conversation.

Jason Lannister was not a man who relented easily.

And you were not a woman who could be caged.

The halls of Casterly Rock seemed narrower today, the weight of his anger pressing against the very walls. Jason strode through the corridors, his boots echoing in the silence, his mind a storm of unrelenting thought. The letter burned in his memory, every word, every demand, every carefully veiled attempt to pull his family into a war he had no desire to fight.

Rhaenyra.

Daemon.

They would not stop.

For moons, Jason had kept the West untouched by this madness, ensuring that no king nor queen could lay claim to his lands, his banners, his coin. He had built a fortress of neutrality, an empire within an empire. And yet, his wife’s family—her cursed, insatiable bloodline—sought to drag him into the flames nonetheless.

His fists curled at his sides, his jaw tightening as he turned a corner, only to come upon a sight that gave him pause.

In a quiet chamber, bathed in warm afternoon light, his mother, Lady Leonella Lannister, sat beside Aemerys, their eldest son. The boy, now a young man in his own right, had grown swiftly, his silver-gold hair catching the glow of the hearth, his lilac eyes alight with intelligence.

Leonella was speaking to him in gentle tones, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her rings gleaming in the candlelight. Aemerys, ever the eager listener, sat upright, his posture one of both attention and restrained curiosity.

Jason’s steps slowed, his ire shifting into something heavier, something more complicated.

This was why he fought so fiercely to keep them out of the war.

For his son, his daughters, his family.

Not for Rhaenyra.

Not for Aegon.

Not for whatever legacy the Targaryens thought themselves owed.

Leonella noticed him first, her golden brows lifting slightly, but she made no move to rise.

Aemerys followed her gaze, turning toward the doorway where Jason stood.

“Father,” the boy greeted, his voice now carrying the depth of a young man rather than the high timbre of childhood.

Jason exhaled, running a hand down his face before stepping into the room.

“What are you two plotting?” he muttered, his tone more wry than accusatory.

Leonella smirked, ever the composed matriarch. “Plotting? Do you think me the sort to conspire in dark corners, my son?”

Jason gave her a look, the agitation still simmering behind his gaze.

Aemerys, for his part, leaned back slightly, his arms crossing. “Grandmother was telling me stories of the old days. Of when you and Uncle Tyland were boys.”

Jason let out a short breath, half a scoff, half a sigh. “And what lies has she told you?”

Leonella huffed in mock offense. “Not lies, my dear. Simply truths you wish forgotten.”

Jason shook his head, but his agitation had not faded.

Aemerys, perceptive as ever, tilted his head. “You’re angry.”

Jason’s gaze snapped to his son. He opened his mouth, then shut it, his teeth grinding together.

Aemerys saw too much.

Felt too much.

Perhaps he had inherited more than just the blood of the dragon.

Leonella, watching the exchange, simply folded her hands, ever the image of patience. “Tell us, my son, what weighs so heavily on you?”

Jason inhaled, exhaled, and then dragged a chair forward, sinking into it with a deep, measured sigh. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his fingers pressed together. Then, in a low, tight voice, he said, “A raven came from Dragonstone.”

Leonella did not react at first, though her gaze sharpened.

Aemerys, however, did.

“Mother’s family.” It was not a question.

Jason nodded, his fingers tapping once against his knee. “Your aunt.”

Aemerys’s face remained impassive, though Jason saw the slight tensing of his jaw.

Leonella sighed softly. “And what does Queen Rhaenyra desire?”

Jason’s voice was flat, unyielding. “She wants her sister to bring you and your siblings to Dragonstone. She believes your siblings are ready to claim dragons.”

For a long moment, silence.

Then, Aemerys leaned forward slightly, his lilac gaze unblinking. “Is she wrong?”

Jason’s spine stiffened.

Leonella’s breath hitched, just barely.

Jason’s gaze locked onto his son. “That is not the question to ask.”

Aemerys frowned. “Then what should I ask, Father?”

Jason’s eyes were steady, piercing. “Ask yourself whether you wish to be dragged along by your brothers and sisters into a war for dragons you do not need.”

The boy said nothing.

Jason exhaled slowly, running a hand through his golden hair, before finally leaning back. “You are not a boy anymore, Aemerys. You are the heir to the Rock. And that means making decisions not for yourself, but for the future of this land. You think Rhaenyra asks this for your sake? For your mother’s sake? No. She asks because she seeks more power. She seeks to drag the West into her war, one way or another.”

Aemerys’ lips parted slightly, his jaw tight, as if struggling with what to say.

Leonella watched her son carefully, and then, in a measured, quiet voice, she asked: “And what will my daughter-in-law say to this?”

Jason’s gaze flickered.

And in that moment, Leonella knew.

Jason exhaled, dragging a hand down his face, “She will want to go.”

Leonella sighed.

Aemerys’ jaw clenched, but his voice remained even. “Then what will you do, Father?”

Jason’s gaze flickered to his son, to his mother, to the hearth that burned quietly behind them.

Then, in a quiet, firm voice, he said: “I do not know yet.”

The dining hall of Casterly Rock was quieter than usual, the only sounds the faint clinking of silverware against plates and the low flicker of the hearth. The long table, often filled with family and advisors, held only two tonight. The servants had been dismissed, leaving the chamber bathed in an almost eerie silence.

You sat opposite Jason, your fingers lightly tracing the rim of your goblet, sensing the unease that hung between you. He was silent, which was unlike him.

Your husband was not a quiet man—not in council, not in battle, not in your chambers. Jason Lannister always had something to say, always had an opinion ready, sharp and deliberate. But tonight, he had spoken only in short phrases, his replies clipped, his voice tight with thought.

You tilted your head slightly, listening.

He was still there, still seated across from you, but there was something unspoken weighing on him.

You took a careful sip of the rich red wine, setting the goblet down softly before speaking.

“You are quiet tonight, my love.”

Jason’s fingers paused on the stem of his own goblet, but he did not respond immediately.

You turned your face fully toward him, your voice gentle but firm.

“Are you angry with me?”

A soft exhale left him, and then, after a moment, the sound of his goblet being placed back onto the table.

“No.”

A pause.

Then, more softly. “Not with you.”

Your brows furrowed slightly. “Then with whom?”

Jason let out a short, humorless breath, leaning back in his chair. “You already know.”

You inhaled, understanding, yet not accepting his reluctance.

He was angry with Rhaenyra.

Angry with Daemon.

Angry that the war, no matter how fiercely he had fought to keep it from his doorstep, continued to find its way to him.

To you.

To your children.

“You have barely spoken to me since you showed me the letter.” Your voice was even, but weighted with meaning. “You have left me to guess at your thoughts.”

Jason’s green eyes flickered across the candlelit room before settling on you again.

“You advised me once to wait.” His voice was calm, but pointed. “Not to take a side, not to be lured into madness by the rest of them. And I did. I held fast. I kept the West out of it. And now—” He exhaled, shaking his head, his voice dipping lower. “And now you wish to go to them.”

You folded your hands in your lap, thoughtful. “I have not said I will.”

Jason huffed. “You did not have to. I see it in you.”

You turned your unseeing eyes toward him, head tilting slightly. “And what is it you see?”

Jason leaned forward, elbows on the table, voice sharper now.

“Daemon.”

Your breath hitched at the name.

Jason’s gaze was unrelenting.

“This is about him, isn’t it?” His voice was measured, but there was something else beneath it—something raw.

You hesitated for a moment too long.

Jason sat back slowly, his jaw tightening.

You exhaled. “Daemon has always been dear to me, Jason.”

Jason scoffed. “Yes, I am aware.”

You ignored his tone. “He saved my life. He fought Aemond for me. And now he suffers. I—” You hesitated, then continued softer. “I cannot pretend that does not matter to me.”

Jason’s fingers curled into a fist on the table. “And what of me?”

You stiffened. “Jason—”

“What of me?” he repeated, voice lower now, rough with something unspoken. “I have fought for you too. I have held this kingdom together for you. I have spent years ensuring that no dragon, no king, no queen, no war would ever take you from me. And yet now, you would go to him.”

Silence.

You inhaled slowly, reaching forward, your fingers finding his hand.

Jason flinched at first, but did not pull away.

“I do not go to him. I go for my sister. For my family. For my children.”

Jason shook his head, his voice quiet, bitter. “Daemon is part of that family, whether you admit it or not.”

You sighed. “Yes. He is. But you are my husband. You are the father of my children.” You squeezed his hand. “And I have not left yet.”

Jason exhaled slowly, his fingers finally relaxing beneath yours. For a moment, the tension drained from him, but only just.

Then, after a long silence, he spoke softly. “If I asked you not to go—if I begged you—would you stay?”

Your heart clenched.

Jason was not a man who begged.

And that was why you could not answer.

The silence was answer enough.

Jason’s jaw tightened. He nodded once, slowly, accepting.

Then, he lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles before releasing you.

Neither of you said another word for the rest of the meal.

The air in Casterly Rock had turned thick with indecision.

An unusual thing for you—to hesitate.

Aemerys had spent his whole life watching you move through the world with quiet grace, a woman who had never once faltered despite your blindness, whose steps were always measured, whose words never wavered. You were a dragon, bound in flesh, a daughter of fire who had built a life amongst lions and made them love you.

And yet now, as he stood before you in your private solar, he could sense the weight in your shoulders, the way your fingers traced absently over the fabric of your sleeve, your lips pressed together in thought.

You were hesitant.

Because of Father.

And Aemerys knew why.

He stepped forward, his voice careful but firm. “You are troubled.”

You exhaled softly, turning your face toward him, though your sightless eyes could not see the way his gaze searched yours. “You have always been able to read me, my son.”

He hummed. “Because you have never been a woman who hesitates. And yet—” He stepped closer, lowering himself onto the cushioned seat beside you. “Here you are. Torn between fire and gold.”

A sigh slipped past your lips as your fingers lightly traced the embroidery of your gown, the same way you always did when deep in thought. “I do not wish to divide my family, Aemerys.”

He did not immediately reply, watching you closely, carefully. Then, after a pause, he said, “Is it because of us? Or is it because of Father?”

Your lips parted slightly, as if to deny it, but no words came.

And that, in itself, was answer enough.

Aemerys inhaled deeply, shifting his weight. “You love him. That is not in question.”

You tilted your head toward him but remained silent.

“But you are also a Targaryen. You belong to the skies, as I do, as my sisters do. As our blood demands.” His voice lowered, turning more careful, more deliberate. “And yet, I have never heard you hesitate before when it came to dragons. You did not hesitate to place me next to Valyros when I was a babe. And now, you do.”

Your body tensed ever so slightly.

“Because if I allow them to claim dragons, if I take them to Dragonstone—” You swallowed, your voice dropping. “It will mean I have truly chosen. It will mean I have pulled our House into a war that my husband never wanted.”

Aemerys nodded slowly, understanding.

You were not wrong.

Jason had fought against this for years.

Had kept the West out of the war, had refused to allow banners to be raised for Rhaenyra or Aegon, had burned traitors alive for daring to force his hand.

And yet, no matter how fiercely Jason had fought to keep dragons and war from your gates, the truth remained:

You were a dragon—the only dragon the West had ever known. And that had always made you part of this, whether Jason wished it or not.

Aemerys leaned forward, his voice gentler now, but firm.

“Mother.” He reached for your hand, guiding your fingers to his jaw, letting you feel the shape of him, the warmth of him, the son who had inherited both your blood and his father’s.

You sighed, your fingers brushing softly over his cheek, as if you were memorizing him.

Aemerys swallowed. “You are afraid of losing Father. I understand that.”

Your breath hitched just slightly.

But Aemerys continued.

“But Father knew what he was doing when he married you. He knew what it meant to take fire as his wife. He knew what it meant to sire dragons in the West.” His voice softened. “You cannot fight who you are. And you cannot let his love for you keep you from your birthright.”

A sharp exhale left your lips, as if you had been holding your breath.

And for a long time, you said nothing.

Then, after a moment, your fingers tightened around his hand.

And in that silence, Aemerys knew.

You had made your choice.

The great hall of Casterly Rock was eerily silent. The long tables, usually filled with voices and the clatter of cups, stood empty. The only sound was the crackling of the hearth and the faint clink of a goblet against polished wood.

Jason sat alone at the high table, a near-empty cup of Arbor Gold in his hand, his gaze fixed on the golden liquid as it sloshed slightly with each small movement of his wrist.

He had dismissed everyone hours ago, seeking solitude, yet found none.

Because the war was still at his door.

Because Rhaenyra would not let go.

Because Daemon had returned to haunt his thoughts.

Because his wife—his perfect, impossible wife—was slipping further into the war with every passing moment.

Jason exhaled heavily, lifting the goblet to his lips and draining the rest of it. The burn of the wine was dull compared to the fire in his chest. He had never been a man to question himself, never been a man to hesitate. He had ruled the West as he saw fit, had kept his lands free of dragonfire and bloodshed, had burned traitors and crushed dissent with little remorse.

And yet, now, he could do nothing.

Nothing but wait.

Nothing but watch as his wife wrestled with a choice that would drag him—drag their children—into war.

The doors to the hall groaned open.

Jason barely flicked his eyes up as Alester Lannister strode in, his cousin pausing in the doorway before shaking his head with mock exasperation.

"Seven hells, Jason. You look like you've been sentenced to death."

Jason let out a low grunt, turning his goblet in his hands before setting it down with a dull thud. "Not yet. But I imagine it's only a matter of time."

Alester huffed, moving toward the table, grabbing a nearby pitcher, and pouring himself a cup. "That bad?"

Jason rubbed a hand over his face. "Worse."

Alester took a long sip before pulling out a chair across from him, leaning back with the kind of ease that Jason currently envied.

"Let me guess, this isn’t about your wife."

Jason tensed slightly, his fingers curling against the table. "Why would you say that?"

Alester snorted. "Because for all the years I’ve known you, Jason, I’ve never seen a man more besotted than you are with her." He lifted his goblet, smirking. "You’re many things—cunning, arrogant, a right bastard when you choose to be—but an unfaithful husband is not one of them."

Jason sighed, rolling his cup between his hands, before muttering, "It’s Daemon."

Alester arched a brow. "Of course, it is."

Jason exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "He slithers into her thoughts like a phantom. Even after all these years. Even after all I've done for her, he still—" He cut himself off, shaking his head.

Alester watched him for a moment before leaning forward. "Daemon saved her life, Jason. That’s not something one forgets easily."

Jason clenched his jaw. "I know that."

"Then why do you act as though she would ever choose him over you?"

Jason froze, his fingers stilling against the wood.

Alester tilted his head. "I have seen you two together, cousin. And I have never, not once, seen a woman more devoted to her husband. She is yours, Jason. Has been yours since the moment you won her. And yet, you sit here drinking yourself into a stupor because Daemon Targaryen still breathes."

Jason gritted his teeth.

Alester scoffed, shaking his head. "You’re a bloody idiot."

Jason shot him a stern look.

Alester simply grinned. "I mean it. I have never seen a more lovesick pair in all my life, and yet here you sit, brooding like a jilted lover."

Jason huffed, grabbing the wine pitcher and refilling his goblet.

Alester watched him for a moment before leaning back again, shaking his head. "Let me ask you something, cousin. Do you trust her?"

Jason’s grip on his cup tightened.

And then, after a long moment, he exhaled. "More than anyone."

Alester nodded, taking a slow sip. "Then stop acting like a scorned boy and start acting like the Lord of Casterly Rock."

Jason let out a low chuckle, shaking his head.

And for the first time that night, the weight in his chest felt a little lighter.

But the words lingered.

[videnrambles]

Older Brother Yuji

Yuuji has so much potential as an older brother, if he wasn't the youngest of the first year he'd 100% act like an older brother. I've been thinking about this for the last hour so here are some scenarios for your consideration:

The first years get back after a rough mission, emotionally and physically drained, the other two pass out in their rooms. Meanwhile Yuji goes to the kitchen and makes their favorite comfort foods. He brings it to their rooms, softly knocking, waking them up to make sure they both eat.

Yuji staying up late to prepare breakfast for them because just because school is early doesn't mean you can skip, come on guys I made your favorite.

When either one of them go on a mission without Yuji he packs them a lunch. It's usually something simple and light that he knows they'll like and won't get soggy.

Yuji helping Nobara do her hair in the morning while she eats breakfast because she woke up late and Yuji is not letting her skip a meal.

Yuji letting Nobara try different make up looks on him.

Megumi bringing Yuji a toy that the Demon dogs ripped in half and asking him to fix it

Yuji repairing their uniforms, and yeah they could just get replacements but its only a small rip and he wants to practice his sewing anyway

He would 100% learn Megumi's favorite bands just so he could talk with him about them.

Would make everyone bento boxes with food shaped like animals

Makes megumi custom plushies of his shikigami

Goes to the gym multiple times a day so that each of his younger siblings have someone to spot them

Yuji has a backpack that he brings with him whenever he leaves the campus with either of the 2, it is the equivalent of a mom friend's purse. Inside is food, medical supplies (Advil, wipes, ice packs, ect), portable phone chargers, extra water bottles, any medicine they currently need, and fake IDs.

Forces the other 2 to have movie nights with him, they pretend to hate it but secretly love it

Yuji would make a list of things that he sees the other two look at for a long time in stores and then get it for them as gifts

Yuji is the only person the other two will willingly allow surprise hugs from, if Gojo tries it he will be hit

Yuji learns to make clothing/small accessories and makes cute things for Nobara based on photos she sends him of celebs wearing overly expensive accessories

Yuji carries them to bed if they fall asleep outside their rooms.

Yuji is easily swayed by "puppy dog eyes" from the other two. The puppy dog eyes in question are actually quite terrifying and anyone else would run screaming for the hills.

Yuji is a photographer, he takes the most pictures and videos whenever he is with the others. His camera roll is full of them doing the most random things together. He also has hundreds of polaroids and those picture strips from photo booths.

Yuji often does the bulk of the chores as he has lived alone and is used to maintaining a living place. While cleaning the bathrooms and communal areas is left to staff.

I have a bunch of details and ideas for this au so I may write some more stuff later. Maybe I'll finally make a story who knows.

[smartytarty]

DoL Cast Cunt Level Tierlist

okay girl strap in this is going to be a long one.

first thing's first, let's discuss the rankings.

M O T H E R - these are the uncontested people's picks. like. i'm sorry if you're overtaken by a dark and contrarian urge but that is a personal problem. get well soon.

cuntological phenomena - elevated but something is holding them back from the top spot.

cuntress - they are coming in with a DISTINCT vibe and visual identity. when i say BLANK the BLANK you KNOW who the fuck it is!!!

average. unremarkable - self explanatory. the oatmeal of girlies. some by choice others by happenstance.

complete and utter absence of cunt - also self explanatory. either a complete and utter lack of visual identity or NEGATIVE charisma or both

Okay so in M O T H E R we have:

Bailey - who steals every scene they're in? bailey. who's the whole reason we even HAVE a game or plot? bailey. find me someone on dolblr who feels whatever about bailey and i'll say oh. hm. guess you found the exception that proves the rule. whether it's a little mobster fit or a tracksuit you have an idea of what this person looks like.

Remy - if you do not know what a full equestrian fit complete with a riding crop looks like then i urge you to educate yourself. barring the moment you escape the farm remy is having an amazing time in every scene they're in and living their best life. and they prooooobably head the aurigan cult? so like. cunt as ordained by slut satan.

Briar - you know this bitch is wearing the thinnest, skimpiest little ankle length slip dress slit up the side with the lace applique even in the winter because mother does not get cold. we want her to want us so bad. and she won't. not like that. because she's too good for us.

Jordan - it does not matter if they are a nun; it does not matter if they are a priest; they are coming in with a look so heavenly it'd bring any person to their knees. all i'm saying is that. . . if you are a sinner? they could make you believe. and they're proficient with whips? amen.

And just below that we have cuntological phenomena:

Avery - the card? black. the heels? a restrained manolo blahnik black nappa pointed toe pump. thanks for asking. the suit? you couldn't afford it. the ONLY THING holding avery back from that top spot is that in a town full of bad bitches they chose to beef with robin. embarrassing.

Whitney - you know what a school bully is, you know what a school bully does, and you know what a school bully looks like. the varied flavors amidst the fandom just go to show that whit's a versatile icon. but they would be NOTHING without the approval of their peers and that does in fact set them back.

Wren - let's be real we all met wren and were instantly obsessed. could you imagine one of the best NPCs being gated behind farm content? saddening. maddening. they've a verve and a charisma that is unparalleled but like. i'm sorry. smuggler has nooo visual identity outside of space operas.

and in cuntress there is:

Sydney - you know what a church bitch looks like. and oooh, syd, is that lip stain? yes. stained with communion wine, babe! sydney the faithful has a strong visual and personal identity. sydney the fallen? hmmmmm. their identity is you. which means nothing, aesthetically speaking. sad. they could've been a cuntological phenomena.

Eden - if you do not have a strong opinion of eden it is because you have not met eden. you have not seen the bullet casings lying on the ground and seen the red text that says you are being hunted and felt your nipples harden with excitement as you envisioned some six foot four lumberjack type bitch with the biggest, hairiest, veiniest forearms encroaching upon you with a gun.

Alex - full cuntry realness. hello? old mcdonald? e-i-e-i-o? you have envisioned the wide brim hat and the denim and the t-shirt tan and the bit of straw betwixt the teeth. next.

Leighton - you can hate them but you were still brought to heel beneath the hand of a stern authoritarian. so. meditate on that.

Great Hawk - they're a big hawk. a harpy. who else is doing that? himbo/bimbo vibes off the charts. don't have a lot to say about them but what else needs be said?

Harper - we all have an image in our mind's eye of a what an evil doctor looks like and harper fits the bill. like. yes. they are possessed of a demurity that holds them back from being a full cuntological phenomena but if we consider what they do over what they say? cuntress, babe. full doctor fantasy.

and over here we are average. unremarkable.

Robin - normcore GFE/BFE. whatever. to be fair i do not think robin WANTS to be anything other than a standard issue person. so there's that. let them live.

Landry - now you may want to protest and come to landry's defense but consider that landry does not need defending. landry is unremarkable because landry WANTS to be unremarkable. they are keeping a low profile and i see that and i understand that and i give them their flowers for that.

Gwylan - gwywhat? gwywho? they're fine but like. whatever. thanks for the shop, babe.

Winter - love them for being the least harmful and most supportive dom in the game but unfortunately that makes them boring. their competition is too strong.

Sam - so normal. ugh. like soooooooooooooooooooo unfuckably normal.

Charlie, Darryl, Nikki, Mason - these are all the same person. fit twenty something who is nice to the PC. the only one who has any sort of edge factor is nikki.

Quinn - girl what does a mayor even look like? great presence but no visual identity. they cannot compete with the other girlies at poker night. sorry.

Sirris - are they a milf/dilf? yeah. probably. that's got nothing to do with cunt, though. next

Doren - english teacher. scottish. slightly feral. very cool but. idk. not very cunt. to me. <3

and last, complete and utter absence of cunt:

Morgan - stinky little sewer bitch. incestuous. not a mood or a moment. no charisma. yuck.

Black Wolf - wolf fandom don't even try to defend this. like yeah black wolf is a wolf. you have defined what black wolf is. but have you defined who black wolf is? literally nothing to differentiate them from the rest of the pack aside from being tall. next.

Kylar - if you've been on the blog you know this is a kylar lovers safe space but um. it is precisely because i am a kylar lover that i know in my heart they are possessed of no cuntiness. negative charisma. no style. but they make up for it in heart.

River - it's river. bye.