#featuring terrible writing from when I was much younger

[itoshiexx]

running your fingers through their hair

you are now reading... LENA'S 1K MILESTONE EVENT FIC!

↳ itoshi rin, michael kaiser, reo mikage (separate) + cafuné (n.) - running your fingers through the hair of someone you love

notes: omg hi guys! i'm freaking ALIVE!!! i know i've been terribly inactive but life as a recently graduated lawyer has been INSANE and i barely have time to breathe, let alone write. regardless, i was able to finish this after some struggle, and i really hope you guys like it! cafuné is a brazilian word and it's something i love very much, so thank you anon, @kyukiss and @etoiile for the request and sorry it took so long ♥

event masterlist

Itoshi Rin

“you remind me of a dog, you know?”

rin’s eyes shoot open with your unexpected words, and you receive the harshest glare you’ve ever witnessed on his face when it came to you. 

“excuse me?”

his tone is supposed to be threatening, but his voice is slightly laced with sleep, so it sounds a lot more like a whine. you snort a little bit, pausing your ministrations on his head, where your fingers run through his hair. 

“not in a bad way, baby. i just mean you’re like a puppy when you want my attention,” you giggled a little, and if rin didn’t love the sound so much, he would have berated you. 

“that’s absolutely not true.”

“it is, though. you came back from practice all tired and grumpy, and the first thing you did was put your head on my lap because you wanted me to run my fingers through your hair. you didn’t even showered, rin.”

“i did shower! on the locker rooms!”

you smile mischievously. “oh, i thought the dampness was from sweat. i was about to call you out for being stinky.”

rin’s grimace worsened, and a pout formed on his lips. you couldn’t resist the urge to squish his cute cheeks together. god, he was so adorable it tugged on your heartstrings. how was that even possible?

you lowered your head to give him a quick kiss, and although rin tried to deepen it, you pulled away fast, grinning once again. he knew what was coming even before you said it. “you’re also like a puppy when you trail after me around the house. a lost puppy.”

his groan reverberated through the whole apartment, and rin shoved your hands away from his face, scowling. “i fucking hate you.”

“no, you don’t.”

“i hate you. i’m serious.”

you giggled again. “so why didn’t you leave my lap then?”

his eyes met yours, and you kind of relished in the furrow of his brows. it made his pout even cuter. “…what.”

smugness radiated off of you, because you knew rin — your rin — like the back of your hand. and if there was an universal truth in the world, it would be that the younger itoshi was down bad for you. enough for him to stay despite your shenanigans that always got on his nerves.

“i said, if you hate me, then why didn’t you leave my lap?”

his mouth opened, but no retort came out. he gaped like a fish for a few seconds before groaning again, turning his body so that he could hide his face on your stomach. you laughed at his childish behavior, knowing it was one of the reasons you loved him so much. not many people were able to see this vulnerable side of him, and you were glad to be one of them. 

“shut up.”

“yeah, yeah. you big baby.”

comfortable silence engulfed the both of you, and rin remained hidden on your stomach as you picked up the book you were previously reading, wanting to continue the story. though your left hand was suddenly tugged to lay on your boyfriend’s head.

“keep going,” he murmured, “…please?”

a gentle smile took over your features, and you were quick to run your fingers through his dark, silky strands. rin sighed softly, content with the affection you gave him — as if your angelic hands could take away every doubt swirling on his mind and wipe off the tiredness from his sore body.

“of course,” you said. and your mind completed silently: i’d keep going forever if it made you happy.

perhaps you were down bad, too.

Michael Kaiser

contrary to popular belief, michael kaiser was not a bad boyfriend. 

despite his huge ego, his narcissistic tendencies and his extravagant yet somehow rude personality, he wasn’t the type of guy to treat his partner poorly. in fact, he was a very attentive boyfriend, always doing his best to make sure you were happy and healthy.

or maybe it was just you. who knows.

whatever his reasons were, you relished the fact he took such good care of you, even if he wasn’t physically present because of away games — because michael was very good at making people notice him. whether it was with a bouquet of your favorite flowers delivered to your job, a nice breakfast cooked before you woke or even a small note of love professions. 

however, nothing really compared to having him there, with you, flesh and bone. 

especially on those days you just felt so miserable you wanted to disappear. 

“liebling? you okay?”

it was one of kaiser’s rare day offs, and all you wished for was to spend some much needed quality time with your boyfriend. though, this wasn’t possible due to your job, one you liked having despite michael saying he could support the both of you financially.

but the day at work just sucked. like, a lot. it was that kind of day where things go from bad to worse in a matter of minutes, and when you swear it can’t get shittier, it does.

you were exhausted and emotionally drained. the whole drive back to your shared apartment you were holding back tears, and the dam broke the second you heard kaiser asking you that.

“whoa!” the blonde exclaimed when your bodies collided on a tight hug. “what is it, engel? what happened? did someone hurt you?”

his worried tone just made you sob harder, and kaiser rubbed his hands on your back, trying to give you some comfort. he started to sway your bodies together while humming, doing everything to calm you down.

eventually, your sobs died down, and your boyfriend carefully brought you to the couch, making you lay on top of him; head on his chest. he started to gently scratch your scalp, running his long fingers through your hair.

“you feeling any better?” he asked in a low tone.

“yeah. thank you, mikka.”

the blond only hummed. “do you… want to talk about it?”

you had to stifle a giggle. god, he was so cute. even when he sucked at talking about feelings, he always made an effort for you. 

you slowly shook your head. “jus’ had a really bad day. but it’s okay now.”

his eyes softened impossibly, and you nearly swooned at the sight. “yeah?” 

michael kissed your forehead, and kept threading his fingers among your locks in a gentle caress. you smiled, because it was all you really needed to be comforted.

“yeah.”

Mikage Reo

reo’s body collapsed on top of yours, effectively knocking the air out of your lungs. you should have been used to it by now, really, since he’d always do that after you finished your smexy times, but sometimes it still caught you off guard.

“reo, you’re heavy,” you groaned, teasing him. “get off me!”

“give a guy a break, will you?” he whined. “i’m tired.”

your giggle reverberated through his body, and reo repositioned himself to lay his head on your chest, hugging your waist tightly as if to never let you go. he’d rather lose all his fortune before he let that happen. 

“is mr. athlete getting out of shape? i didn’t know this light exercise could make you so…”

your boyfriend interrupted you with a groan. “babe!”

you raised your hands in mock surrender, giggling again, and reo thought maybe he didn’t really care about your teasing if it meant seeing you this happy. he loved you in all your versions, but carefree was his favorite one. 

“sorry, baby. i’ll make it up to you, yeah?”

before he could make a suggestive joke, his breath hitched in his throat when your soft hands started caressing his hair, gentle fingers threading through his purple locks making him sigh. it was so unfair, he thought, how you managed to disarm him with just a small touch, reduce him to putty in your palms with a little gesture of affection. some of his friends said he was a fool in love, and reo couldn’t agree more. 

your love made him silly, but he didn’t hate it. he could never hate anything about you. all mikage reo was able to feel was love, love, love, an emotion so strong it nearly overwhelmed all of his senses, making him forget about all his worries and responsibilities — heck, even the whole world. and he didn’t mind if the world burned as long as he could keep you safe and away from the flames.

“what are you thinking about?” the whisper of your voice echoed the walls of your shared bedroom. 

“what makes you think i’m thinking about something?”

though reo couldn’t see you, he knew you rolled your eyes. 

“it’s usually how the human mind works, honey,” you answered, your wit making him stifle a laugh. “besides, you’re always so chatty, talking my ear off—”

“hey!”

“—so it always concerns me when you get quiet.”

the heir sighed, letting the silence linger a little longer to recollect his thoughts. reo usually didn’t have a hard time expressing himself with words, but sometimes his heart swelled so much it made it hard to think. so, pretty much every time he was with you.

“it’s just… i’m thinking about how i never really believed in past lives and reincarnation. i never really believed in soulmates, either,” he said, and you paid attention to every word. mesmerized by the wonder in his voice and even more by the sparkle in his purple eyes when he averted his gaze to yours. 

“but when i think about you, love… when i see you in my arms or when i rest in yours, i’m sure you are my soulmate, and that we were together in every lifetime. it’s always been you. it will always be.”

your chest swelled with love for the man laying in your embrace, and you tried to hold back the tears from falling. god, he was everything. you didn’t even know what you did to deserve a lover like mikage reo, but you were far from complaining. 

you gave him a chaste kiss on the forehead, trying to convey even a fraction of the love and adoration you held for him, and looked back to caress his face. then, smiling with the world in your eyes, you answered:

“it’s always been you, too.”

© 2024 itoshiexx. do not plagarise, translate, or repost any of my work on here or other sites.

[theowritesstuff]

Yours No More

Nikolai Lantsov x gn!healer!reader

Summary: Hiding an almost-relationship with the Prince of Ravka is hard enough, but it gets even harder to navigate feelings when he’s engaged to a Saint

Prompts: “are you really so oblivious?” & “it hurts, just how much I ache for you.”

A/N: What can I say? I love writing healer!reader. Also once again I’m mixing book canon and show canon

Sobachka - puppy

Moi tsarevich - my prince

Moi tsar - my king

SHADOW & BONE S2 SPOILERS

When thinking about your life, the young prince of Ravka seemed to be a prominent feature. There was before Nikolai, the life you lived before the palace, then there was after Nikolai, the life surrounded by other Grisha, serving the royal family.

You were offered up to the Lantsovs as somewhat of a personal healer, ready to tend to them whenever needed. The king and queen didn’t really have a need for a healer most of the time, and the older prince was often far from the palace. They younger prince however, the sobachka, had a tendency to dive headfirst into danger whenever he liked.

While this very well could have made Nikolai a thorn in your side, you’d quickly grown fond of him. It was impossible not to, what with his crystalline blue eyes, the blonde waves that adorned his head, and his charming, carefree spirit.

You’d been given an easy role. You’ve seen how other Grisha are treated amongst the other royals, sometimes even the soldiers from the First Army. Your poor friend Genya was dealt a terrible hand when it came to the roll she played in the palace, so you were grateful for the young prince’s kindness.

He became just as infatuated with you as you did with him just as quickly though. Whenever you ran to him healing a scraped knee, or when his parents sent you with him when he joined the First Army specifically to tend to him, you stole his heart little by little, until he could no longer call it his own. He almost looked forward to getting hurt, because it meant he could call upon you.

If asked he’d deny it, but he begged his parents to let him take you with him whilst he studied for his apprenticeship. They were hesitant to send you away, to lose their best healer, but Nikolai was persuasive.

He asked you to tailor him, just enough that no one would recognize the prince of Ravka on a ship. You reluctantly agreed, slowly waving your hands over his face, changing the features you’d grown to find comfort in. His blonde waves now a bright red, stark against his pale skin. His once sparkling blue eyes were now a muddy green color. The only thing that really remained of your prince was the ever present smirk he had.

“How do I look?” He asked you.

“Different.” You nodded.

“Good. No one will be able to pick me out of a crowd.” He looks over himself in a mirror.

“I could.” You stand behind him. “I think it’d be quite easy to pick you out.”

He smiles, but furrows his brows. “How so?”

“Well, let’s start with your posture. You’re still too regal. Relax your shoulders a bit. You’re no longer carrying the weight of a prince.” You place your hands on his shoulders, using your thumbs to massage the muscles. “Then there’s your charm-”

He quickly turns his head to face you, a bold smirk resting on his face. “You think I’m charming?”

You laugh. “I think you’re confident, sometimes overly so. I think you have this air about you that draws others to you.”

“Are you?” He asks, his voice barely above a murmur.

“Am I what?”

“Drawn to me?” He leans closer to you, his eyes shifting down to your lips.

Before he could press his lips to yours a sharp knock sounded from the door. You pulled away from each other quickly, both trying to hide your flustered states.

“Come in.” Nikolai called.

Tamar opened the door and poked her head in. “Love the new look captain.” She laughed. “Ready to go?”

Sailing the seas with Sturmhond took some getting used to. The few Grisha you knew helped you settle into this new life, while others in the crew wondered why their captain kept a healer so close.

You shared a bunk with a few of the other crew mates, but more often than not, Nikolai pulled you away to the captain’s quarters. He wanted to keep you close to him.

“What if someone breaks into my room and stabs me?” He asked, shrugging.

You shook your head. “Then you’d probably want the Bataar twins here to protect you.”

“Here I’d be. Laying on the floor, blood pooling out of my chest.” He collapses to the floor with a loud thud, a hand over his chest. “Slowly letting the life drain from my body.” He closes his eyes for a moment.

“Don’t be so dramatic sobachka. I know you wouldn’t take death laying down. You’d fight it until your very last moment.” You roll your eyes at him, but can’t help your smile from growing. “Even then, you’d probably drag your corpse to me.”

“I would.”

Occasionally, in the quiet night, he’ll allow you to wipe away the tailored face you’ve created for him, and bring back his softer Lantsov features. You brush a hand through his gold locks, pushing them away from his face.

He lets you admire him in silence. A clever quip waiting on the tip of his tongue, but he never allows it to escape in fear that it will ruin these moments with you.

“Moi tsarevich.” You sigh as your fingertips travel from his hair down the side of his face, tracing over his cheekbones.

“You don’t have to call me that.” He whispers to you. His eyes remain locked on yours as yours travel around his face, memorizing every detail of him.

“Nikolai then.” You give him a soft smile.

You reluctantly pull yourself away from him after a while, ready to tailor him back into his privateer persona. “It’s probably time for Sturmhond to return.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“Well,” now you smirk at him. “I think the prince is decidedly more handsome than the pirate.”

“Privateer. It’s an-”

“Important distinction. Yes, I know.” You laugh as you slowly tailor him back into Sturmhond.

Once finished you walk over to the other side of the room, where he’s added a bunk specifically for you. You blow out the few candles that were lit, and climb into your bunk.

“Y/n?” Nikolai calls from the other side of the room.

“Yes?”

“Do you really think I’m handsome?” You can hear his grin.

“Good night Nik.” You roll your eyes affectionately, rolling over to face the wall.

He falls asleep with a smile on his face, your new nickname for him floating around in his head.

You’d fallen into an easy routine with Nikolai aboard the Volkvony. You spent time with the crew during the day, tending to injuries, sometimes even practicing the heartrender specialties with Tolya or Tamar. Then the evenings you’d spend with Nikolai. You keep him company as he makes plans for where the ship is going and why, you show him what the twins have taught you.

“Watch this, I can adjust your heartbeat a little bit!”

He watches as you do the heartrender motions in front of his chest. He can feel his heartbeat quicken just a little bit, but whether it’s from your powers or your close proximity he’s unsure.

“You don’t need to use your powers to make my heart speed up.” He takes your hands in his and holds them to his chest. You feel his heartbeat through the thick blue coat he’s got on, and sure enough it’s beating faster than usual.

He’s smirking down at you, proud of how flustered he’s seemed to make you as you pull your hands away from his chest. You excuse yourself, and quickly leave him there, wondering whether or not he holds the same power over your heart that you do his.

Evenings are spent sharing moments with Nikolai, both of you teetering on the line that divides friendship and more. Quiet moments shared where you both wonder what would happen if you crossed that line. If you just leaned into each other, and took what your hearts most desired.

When Nikolai had taken in Alina Starkov and Mal Oretsev you were nervous. You knew Nikolai had a penchant for adventure, but harboring the sun summoner and a deserted First Army soldier was an entirely new venture.

You knew that he wanted to take them back to Ravka, to regroup with the First and Second Army there to find a way to destroy the Fold and take down Kirigan. He helped them find and kill the sea whip, giving Alina another amplifier to use, while you stayed behind on the ship, away from the danger.

Nikolai grew closer and closer to Alina as time went on, well after she learned who he actually was then punched him out of frustration. It was clear he was trying to create some sort of relationship with her, a type of alliance between the Ravkan royals and the living Saint.

Whilst Alina became closer with the prince, you started to form a bond with Mal. He was a bit hesitant about you at first, having a hand in keeping Nikolai’s identity a secret was a little hard to forgive, but he found you were a nice change from the air that Nikolai brought with him wherever he went.

“You spend practically every minute with him. You must find him insufferable.” Mal scoffs, watching Nikolai attempt to win over Alina.

It breaks your heart a little, watching him with her. It almost feels like you’ve been pushed to the side in his life. What was once a life long friendship has now turned into a mere partnership. He’s replaced you in his heart with a new Grisha, one much more powerful than you.

“No.” You shake your head. “His company means the world to me.” You tell Mal, quiet enough so he’s the only one that hears you. “You know what that’s like though. To spend so much of your life with someone that you form what you think is an unbreakable bond with one another.”

He gives you a sympathetic smile. He feels the same way. He knows Alina loves him, he’s sure of it, but like you, he fears that something could pull her away from him.

Being back in the palace separates you even more from Nikolai. Instead of sharing a room with him, you now occupy a room at the other end of a hallway from him. You both long for one another in the quiet night. His room is far too empty, and his bed far too large for just himself.

You think that maybe he’ll ask you to stay with him, like on the Volkvony. That you’ll share a space with him again and you’ll have that little bit of peace you once shared. But he never comes to your door, and you never go to his.

Nikolai doesn’t fail to notice your relationship with Mal starting to grow. While you once sat by his side during meals, Alina now occupies your seat, and you sit with Mal, laughing with each other about something only the two of you can hear.

He feels something in his chest, a sharp pain to his heart. This is something even you, the best healer he’s ever known, couldn’t fix.

You feel the same pain when he announces his engagement to the sun summoner. Unlike Nikolai, it takes a moment. He announces it at dinner, while the First and Second armies are gathered together, that their marriage will help heal Ravka. You’re frozen, too shocked to move. It’s Mal that pulls you back to reality, his hand on yours.

You feel the pain in your chest, a twisting sensation in your stomach, as you turn away from Mal to look back at Nikolai. He’s looking around at the cheering soldiers, but his eyes catch yours for a moment. He sees the red that begins to outline them, and the tears welling up. He looks like he might go to you, to assure you that you have his heart, and not Alina. But he straightens himself out, then sits back down.

He desperately wants to follow you as you quickly exit the room, no doubt heading back to yours. He wants to chase you down the halls, to wrap you up in his arms and wipe away the tears he’s the cause of, to whisper words of love against your lips. But he can’t. He must marry Alina for the sake of his country.

He keeps an eye on you at the engagement party his mother threw for him. You’re talking with other Grisha. You look breathtaking. The only thing missing from your ensemble is the Lantsov emerald. You don’t spare him one glance at all that night. That is, until chaos ensues.

Shadow monsters destroy everything in sight, and take the lives of so many. You search for Nikolai in the bustling crowd, but a hand grabs your arm, pulling you away. Zoya drags you away from the scene before you, tugging you through numerous hallways.

She leads you to a series of tunnels underground, all while you try to pull away from her.

“You won’t be of any use if you die trying to save the prince.” She grumbles at you. “You’re one of the few healers here, and we’re going to need all the help we can get.”

You hate to admit it, but as usual she’s right. There are dozens injured, some worse than others. You’re about to get to work when someone calls out your name.

You look down to the other end of the hall to see Nikolai. He looks fine, no visible injuries, but he does look distraught. He practically sprints to you, and pulls you into a tight hug.

“I couldn’t find you. You weren’t there, and I thought-”

“I’m fine, I’m fine Nik.” You pull away just enough to be able to look him in the eyes.

His scan over you, searching for injuries, until you lift his chin so he’s looking at your face again.

“I’m okay, I promise.”

He nods and takes a deep breath.

“Besides, shouldn’t I be the one worried about you? I am your healer after all.”

He huffs out a laugh. “Right.”

Alina pulls Nikolai away, asking if he’d seen Mal anywhere. You take that as your cue to leave. You start going from person to person, helping heal them in any way you can.

When it comes time to make a plan for Ravka’s next move, and Nikolai and Alina suggest finding the Neshyenyer, your mind starts to wonder. He’s sending Tolya and Zoya to go to Ketterdam and recruit the Crows to find it.

You think selfishly for a moment. It would be a way to get away from the soon to be king and queen of Ravka. A way to alleviate your heart of the pain you feel when you’re around them.

“I’d like to accompany Tolya and Zoya.” You tell him.

He looks surprised to say the least. “Why?”

“Well, there will be seven people looking for a mystical weapon, danger is bound to arise, they may need a healer.” You attempt to convince yourself and him that this is the reason you’d like to go.

“No. You’ll stay here.” He shakes his head. He can’t fathom so much space between you. “You’re my healer.” He puts emphasis on the word my, you don’t know if he notices it, but you do.

You listen intently for his heartbeat. It’s pace slowly accelerates as he starts to pace around the room.

You step in front of him, blocking his continuous path, and take his hands in yours. He closes his eyes, relishing in the feeling of having you so near. He leans his forehead against yours.

“I think we both know, I am yours no more sobachka.” You murmur.

He shakes his head and opens his eyes. You can see tears slowly start to build up. “If you insist that you must go, take this.” He reaches into his pocket, and pulls out his gold compass. “So you can always find your way back home.” Back to me.

The trip to Shu Han was definitely an eventful one. Tolya kept a watchful eye on you after being told explicitly by Nikolai to protect you at all costs. The Crows were an eclectic bunch, no one quite like the other.

Seeing Nina again was nice. She was still the same witty friend you remembered her to be.

“What? The prince let you off your leash?” She laughs when she first sees you.

“The king.” Zoya corrects her.

“Yes, he’s tending to his country, and his soon to be wife at the moment.” You tell her.

Her face falls slightly as she looks between you and Zoya. “Oh. My apologies, I didn’t-”

“It’s alright Nina. I’m really here to help forget about him.” You lower your voice. “Besides, he was never mine to lose.”

You stayed with Tolya through the heist, getting nearly killed by poisonous gas, and choking down a butterfly to save yourself.

Other than the poison slowly making its way through your body, the gas didn’t harm you physically. It lulled you to sleep, pulling you into a sweet dream.

You were with Nikolai, of course, in the palace. Light shone into his room from the large window, making the gold in his unkempt hair shine. His arms were wrapped tightly around you as you both lay the soft sheets of his bed.

“Hello my love.” His voice is deep, still strained from sleep.

“Moi tsar-”

He nuzzles his face into the crook of you neck, pressing soft kisses against the column of your throat. “How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that.” You can feel him smiling against you.

“Pirate Prince then.” You smirk.

He scoffs, then pulls away from his assault on your neck to look at you. “I wish we could stay like this forever.” He says, moving to cup your face with one of his hands.

You reach a hand up onto his bare chest, just over his heart. You listen, searching for the all too familiar rhythm, but you don’t hear anything. You give him a sad smile and shake your head. “Me too Nik. But I know this isn’t real.”

He pouts. “Promise me you’ll come back. Back to the palace. That you won’t find a new life in Shu Han, or Ketterdam.”

You know he isn’t real, that he isn’t actually asking you to come home to him, that it’s just what you wish he’d do. Even so, you press a kiss to his cheek.

“I promise.”

You wake with a burning sensation in your throat, in the dark temple. Tolya and the Crows are with you, some in a coughing fit, others completely silent.

Tolya comes over to you, and rests a hand on your shoulder. “Are you alright?”

You nod. “Yeah, I’m alright.”

His eyes scan your face. “What did you see?”

You know he can hear your heartbeat spike. He glances down at your hand as you subconsciously reach for the compass that hangs around your neck, hidden under you clothes. You know you won’t get away with lying to him, but you do it anyways. “Nothing.”

You’re grateful that he doesn’t push for an answer.

After retrieving the blade, you all head back to Ravka together. The Fold has now expanded, nearly covering the entirety of the Spinning Wheel.

“Stay with Zoya.” Tolya tells you. “You’ll be able to help Alina.”

Your heart yearns to go with the other group, to find Nikolai, but you know saving the sun summoner takes precedence over anything at the moment.

“I’m sure he’ll be okay.” Nina tries to assure you. “He was always headstrong.”

Kaz glances at you as you wring your hands, about to follow Zoya, Nina, and Inej.

“Y/n.” He calls to you. He walks over to you and speaks lowly. “Watch over my wraith, and I’ll keep an eye on your king.”

You give him a grateful smile. “Thank you.”

The journey into the Fold was terrifying. You kept yourself as silent as possible as the four of you searched for Alina. She and Mal were near the edge of the fold, fighting what looked to be a volcra. It had a hold of Alina’s hair, pulling her further into the darkness.

Inej slashed the monster with the Neshyenyer, killing it. They both looked grateful to see your little group.

“We need to get further into the Fold to destroy it.” Alina nods her head towards what looks to be nothing but pitch black.

You check over Alina for any injuries as you head further into the darkness. You heal any small cuts or scrapes you find on her, quietly watching her skin mend back together.

“There. In perfect condition to destroy the Fold and save Ravka.”

She snorts out a laugh. “No pressure, right?” She creates a small bundle of light in her hand and stares at it.

You smile at her. You want to dislike her, but you can’t. The living Saint who has stolen Nikolai’s attention from you is actually amiable. She’s kind, very brave, and willing to do anything to end this war.

“You’re going to make the perfect queen when this is all over.” You tell her.

She looks up at you and shakes her head. “I never wanted this. Nikolai thinks this engagement will strengthen Ravka, but I know my heart belongs to another.” She glances to Mal. “Just as his does too.” She turns back to you with a pointed look.

“What do you mean?”

“He doesn’t love me. I don’t think he could love anyone the way he loves you.”

“He doesn’t-”

“Oh, I assure you. He does.” She scoffs. “When I accepted his proposal I thought that maybe we could learn to love each other, but I see the way he looks at you. I hear the way he talks about you. I may be the sun summoner, but to him you’re the brightest. You’re the shining light in his life.”

You feel warmth spread across your face. Did Nikolai really feel that way about you?

“If we succeed today, the crown may be mine, but I promise you, the heart of the king will be yours.”

You understood just how strong shared love could be when you saw Alina light the fold. Combined with Mal’s power she was able to cast an immense light into the darkness. Flashes of gold and pink spread around you.

Kirigan arrived not long after, ready to fight Alina, but she was able to assail him. You rushed to Mal’s side when he collapsed, trying your hardest to help him. Kirigan had delivered a near fatal blow. In all your years of healing Nikolai, you’ve never had to heal something this large.

Alina falls to her knees next to you, taking his hand in hers. You do everything you can for him, focusing all of your power on keeping him alive.

Streaks of light flew from Alina. Reds, purples, and golds flashed through the sky, breaking apart the Fold. She takes a dagger from Mal’s side, and plunges it into his chest, screaming out as bright blue lights surrounds you. You shield your eyes, but can still see the blue behind your eyelids.

When you open your eyes again, the Fold has dissipated.

“Can you heal him?” Alina asks you, with tears down her cheeks.

“I’ll try.” You nod at her, then turn your attention back to the now unconscious boy.

Kirigan slowly rises up, and walks towards you. Alina stands up, taking a protective step in front of you and Mal.

“Now, you know sacrifice.”

“Beyond anything you’ve ever known.” Alina tilts her head up at him. “And look what it did.”

“Indeed. Look what it did.”

You try to start Mal’s heart again, but can’t seem to get it. Nina kneels down next to you, lifting her hand to his chest.

“I’ll get his heart started again. You focus on the wound.”

You take a deep breath, then pull the knife out of him, quickly moving your hands to sew his skin back together.

You’re so focused on saving Mal, that you don’t realize Alina has knelt down next to you again.

“He’s putting up a good fight, this one. Like something’s holding him on the other side. Give him a reminder then, of what matters over here.” Nina tells her.

After a few moments Mal wakes up, gasping for air. You sigh in relief, leaning back to check over the rest of the group. Inej and Zoya are both unharmed, staring down at Kirigan’s body.

Zoya stays with the body, while the other five of you start the hike back to the Spinning Wheel. Your spirits lift as you get closer and closer, and enter through one of the walls.

There are bodies strewn about on the ground, and groups of people gathered with hushed conversations. Their attention all turns towards your group as you enter though. Most of them are watching Alina, giving her silent thanks for finally destroying the Fold. Kaz’s eyes are locked on Inej, only briefly scanning over her, before he looks to you and gives you a slight nod.

You look past him to see Nikolai sitting with Tolya and Tamar. He’s got blood smeared on the side of his head, and he struggles to rise to his feet. He can’t seem to take his eyes off you, slowly limping in your direction. You rush to him, holding his waist with one hand, and the other pressed against his chest.

“Nik, what happened? I leave you alone for a few days and you nearly get yourself killed.” Your words are teasing, but your tone doesn’t quite match.

“I’m okay.” He smiles at you.

“Let’s go sit down so I can heal you, alright?” You guide him away from the group to a more private area. He sits down on a crate, groaning at the pain in his leg.

You heal his leg, then sit next to him, with your hand hovering over the wound on his head. He’ll have to wash the dried blood off, but you’ve closed the wound.

His eyes wander over your face as you heal him. He feels whole, complete with you here next to him.

“I should go see if anyone else needs any help.” You say quietly, rising to your feet.

He grabs your hand in his, softly pulling you down next to him again. “Allow me to be selfish for a moment, and keep you here all for myself.”

You reach into your top, and pull the compass out from underneath it. You lift the chain up over your head and hold it out for him.

“It seems you need it more than I do.”

“No.” He closes your hands over it. “It kept you safe. And it brought you back to me.” He whispers.

His eyes glance down at your lips, then back into your eyes. It looks like he’s having an internal battle with himself. A battle that only ends when he leans forward and brushes his lips against yours. You lift your hands to his shoulders to steady yourself. He pulls you closer to him, deepening the kiss.

Everything comes rushing back to you in that moment. You softly push him away, breaking the kiss, and turn your head from him.

“What? What’s wrong?” He asks, reaching for your hand again.

You pull your hand away from his reach quickly. “This isn’t right Nikolai.” You stand up and take a step away from him. “We can’t do this, not when you’re engaged to Alina. I can’t-”

He’s quick to get up and move to stand in front of you. “Y/n, I assure you, my heart belongs to you.”

“You can’t say that Nikolai. You can’t just play around with my feelings.” You shake your head and wipe away the tears started to form in your eyes.

“Play with your feelings? Are you really so oblivious?” He scoffs. He takes your hands and holds them to his chest. “Listen to my heart. Hear the way it beats for you, just for you.” He takes a tentative step closer, so close to you that his nose brushes against the tip of yours. “It hurts, just how much I ache for you.”

“But Alina-”

“Was just a political move. I thought that an alliance with the sun summoner would strengthen Ravka.” He takes a deep breath. “But a marriage with her wouldn’t mean anything to me, not when I could’ve had you.”

“Nik…” You trail off, attempting to gather your thoughts.

He lets go of your hands, and moves to hold your face. “Tell me to leave. Tell me you never want to see me again, that you’re going to leave and live in Ketterdam, and I promise you, you won’t ever have to deal with me ever again.”

You can’t fathom doing any of that.

“Or, tell me that you’ll stay here with me, and that we’ll work this out. Tell me that you feel the same way I do. Because I will find a way to rule Ravka with you by my side, I swear to you.”

A smile starts to spread across your face. “You always have been stubborn sobachka.”

Before he can retort you pull him into a kiss, sealing your own promise to him, that your heart does in fact belong to him.

[ktredshoes]

HBO War Fanfiction Stats

Let me start by saying that I am not in any sense criticizing anybody's taste in HBO War relationships. In my opinion, any well-written fanfic, regardless of ship, is worthy. Heck, any fanfic is worthy — it takes a special type of creative courage to write and share a fanfiction story so that others might appreciate what you see in characters you love. So, that's the first thing.

Buckle up, I get wordy. More under the cut.

Tagging a handful of folks who showed interest in my decidedly unscientific findings: @onyxsboxes @jesslovesboats @itstheheebiejeebies @onekisstotakewithme @sparkling-strychnine

Trying something here: @meyerlansky @anachilles @astolovewithallmyheart @dano-png

I started down this fanfiction stat rabbit hole about four years ago when I started looking at The Pacific tags on Archive of Our Own (AO3). I was trying to figure out if it was just my imagination or not that everything other than Sledgefu in TP fanfic felt like a rarepair. I was not surprised to find statistical backup for what anecdotally felt true.

I love all the HBO War series — and for the record, I consider Band of Brothers, The Pacific, Generation Kill, and Masters of the Air to all be part of this fandom community. I won't get into trying to rank them or make the case that one is better than another — they are all related in being stories of men at war, and three specifically stories of men at war during World War II — but direct comparisons, in my opinion, are apples to oranges to prosciutto to tiramisu. They all have different raison d'etres. So that's the second thing.

(I will admit to a particular soft spot for The Pacific as the overlooked "younger brother" to Band of Brothers, precisely because of the tendency of some to negatively compare it to BoB. TP was never intended to be "part two" of Band of Brothers — I was listening recently to a podcast with Tony To, an executive producer of both shows, who asserted that BoB was, yes, about the brotherhood of war, but TP was about the cost of war. )

Anyway.

A couple of days ago, I saw someone post about the fact that the Cleven/Egan ship in Masters of the Air was about to hit 1,000 stories on AO3 — and since I knew that the total number of stories was only about 1,400ish, I figured it was time to take a look at MotA stats too. And that led to looking at GK stats and BoB stats and once I finished, I was really struck by what I saw.

I have a whole spreadsheet looking at the four shows, with breakdowns by relationship and character, with percentages of total stories. (I've posted some graphics from those spreadsheets below, not to worry.)

So what did I learn?

The Pacific and Masters of the Air both are overwhelmingly dominated by a single ship — Sledgefu in the case of TP and Clegan in the case of MotA.

As of August 10, 2024, there were 1,500 stories on AO3 tagged for The Pacific, and 1,485 tagged for Masters of the Air. Sledgefu features in 884 of TP stories, which is 58.93% of the total.

You might think that's an astounding total — but Clegan features in an astonishing 986 of MotA stories, or 66.4% of all stories. The falloff in the next highest ship in each fandom is precipitous: Hilldane in 14% of TP stories (210), and Crubbles in 8.82% of MotA stories (131).

If you are a fan of any ship aside from the most popular pairing in these two fandoms, that has got to be terribly discouraging. You wouldn't think the dropoff would be so high if you're at all active in the HBO War fandom on Tumblr, based on what's posted on a daily basis, but if your entry to HBO War fanfic is solely on AO3, what would you think?

I will once again state that I'm making no judgement on anybody's favorite pairing — I'm making a case on behalf of all the other ships. I'll also note that there are many, many fics posted to Tumblr that never make it to AO3, and I would very much encourage those authors to please please please consider posting your stories to AO3! (If you don't have an account on AO3, it currently takes about 10 days from requesting an invitation to receiving it, which is not that long in the scheme of things.)

The popularity of TP and MotA characters in these stories shows a similar disparity between the most popular and everybody else. In The Pacific, Snafu features in 63.53% of AO3 stories (953) and Sledge in 62.6% (939). No one else is as high as even 20% -- Burgie is in 17.2% (258) and Ack Ack is in 15.6% (234) and Hillbilly in 14.73% (221). The other two ostensibly lead characters in TP are Bob Leckie (12.53% or 188 stories) and John Basilone (1.67% or 25). I find that just shocking.

MotA is both better and worse. There are 10 characters who appear in 10% or better of posted stories on AO3 — but the dropoff from most popular to next highest is even more dramatic. Bucky Egan features in 77.9% of stories (1,157) and Buck Cleven in 74.28% (1,103). The next highest is not, as you might think, Harry Crosby or Rosie Rosenthal, the other featured lead characters in the series. It's Curt Biddick, who is in 25.19% of stories (374), followed by Croz in 23.7% (352). Next is Rosie, who is tied with John Brady — both in 16.9% or 251 stories. What a steep drop!

But, hey, at least there are a baker's dozen plus one of characters who feature in at least 100 MotA stories:

Egan: 1,157 stories (77.91%)

Cleven: 1,103 (74.28%)

Biddick: 374 (25.19%)

Crosby: 352 (23.7%)

Brady: 251 (16.9%)

Rosenthal: 251 (16.9%)

DeMarco: 243 (16.36%)

Payne: 225 (15.15%)

Lemmons: 181 (12.19%)

Hamilton: 167 (11.25%)

Marge Spencer: 146 (9.83%)

Douglass: 139 (9.36%)

Kidd: 130 (8.75%)

Blakely: 111 (7.47%)

After 14 years, will TP ever develop more diversity on AO3? Probably doubtful — though since I first checked the stats in 2020, Hilldane has gained 2%, so there's slow change but some change. Eight months in since the birth of the MotA fandom, and Clegan, and by extension Bucky and Bucky, are steamrollering the rest of the MotA relationships and characters on AO3 — based on what I see on Tumblr, I don't know if that huge disparity will hold up, but who knows? It's still a very new fandom.

But what about GenKill and BoB, you say?

Well, as you might have guessed, there's a clear delineation in GK between the top ship and the next ones below it, but the dropoff is not nearly as dramatic as in TP and MotA.

There are 3,024 Generation Kill stories on AO3 as of August 10, 2024, and the number one ship is Brad/Nate, with 1,261 stories, or 41.7% of the total. Next highest is Brad/Ray, with 677 stories, or 22.39%. The top three characters are Brad, featured in 63.82% of stories (1,930), then Ray, featured 52.35% of the time (1,583 stories), followed by Nate (45.44% or 1,374 stories). Next is Walter Hasser at 571 stories (18.88%), followed by Poke Espera at 284 stories (9.39%), Mike Wynn at 262 stories (8.66%), then Doc Bryan at 254 stories (8.4%). There's that dropoff again!

And as for Band of Brothers? After nearly 21 years on AO3 (the oldest story dates from November 2003), there are 5,016 BoB stories on AO3, with a huge number of ships and characters — albeit some quite small. Frankly, I stopped counting after getting to 70 relationships and 55 characters — I just got tired!

Still.

Let me add that the earliest BoB stories on AO3 are not well tagged for ships or characters — many don't have any tags at all. I don't know the reason for it — whether the tagging system in the early AO3 days wasn't easy to navigate, or maybe the lack of tagging was a holdover from earlier systems or archives? I have no idea how well-tagged stories were on LiveJournal, Dreamwidth, or Fanfiction.net. So anyhow, early BoB stories on AO3, if tagged according to current standards, would definitely change the stats but I have no insight on how it might shift them, except definitely upward for the most popular characters and ships.

At any rate: onward.

The top BoB ships on AO3 are 1) Winnix — 1,250 stories or 24.92%, 2) BabeRoe — 771 stories or 15.37%, 3) Webgott — 663 stories or 13.22%, and 4) Speirton — 662 stories or 12.4%.

Moving on to characters, there are a dozen that feature in 10% or better of the BoB total. Take a look:

Winters: 1,173 stories (34.35%)

Nixon: 1,652 (32.93%)

Roe: 1,380 (27.51%)

Speirs: 1,135 (22.63%)

Heffron: 1,125 (22.43%)

Luz: 1,063 (21.19%)

Liebgott: 1,058 (21.09%)

Lipton: 978 (19.5%)

Webster: 790 (15.75%)

Toye: 749 (14.93%)

Guarnere: 686 (13.68%)

Malarkey: 514 (10.25%)

That's a much more even distribution here, without the massive dropoff in the other three fandoms. Or as @itstheheebiejeebies put it to me: "BoB fans feast on variety. It's a grazing table instead of main and side courses." Just so.

So what do I take from all this? I mean, in the case of MotA, I came into the fandom all gaga over Callum Turner and thus Bucky Egan. But then I quickly veered off into following Benny DeMarco (Adam Long) and for the past several months I've fallen under the spell of Everett Blakely (David Shields). Will I stay there? I have no idea! And that's kind of exhilarating.

But here's what I know for sure: as I continue to read and write HBO War fanfic, I'm going to be doing my best to support the ships and characters out of the top tier.

Creators: Don't just post your fanfic to Tumblr — post it to AO3 and tag it.

Be the change that you want to see.

---------------------------------

Now, as promised, here are the stats in graphic form.

[themotherofblood]

Dark!Daemyra x daughter!eeader but it’s their actual biological daughter (meaning rhaenyras the mom).

Remember in episode 4 when everyone thought that rhaenyra had her virtue taken by daemon? What if they actually had a kid?

Gosh I kinda made this a little too angsty so bare with me. I’m just really bad at writing to the point, I wanted to add some context to the smut hehe. So I hereby present

Dark!Daemyra x Daughter!reader

tw: incest, infantilism, cheating…(kinda?) murder, talks of more incest babies and kinda non con-ish? jason lannister (🤢) smut! oral, missionary kinda courrpution vibes. Threesome

7.8k words

A mistake, a grave mistake.

Not you, the one that had brightened Rhaenyra’s world with your little laugh, the one that had her hair and her uncle’s charisma - but the deed done to conceive you had been the most terrible of errors.

By right, you were Rhaenyra’s first-born child and heir; however, given the time of conception and the beautiful (pale, too pale) features you had been born with, it was obvious that you were not the offspring of Laenor Velaryon, but of her brutish uncle Daemon Targaryen. What remained were the rumours of Rhaenyra and Daemon coupling at a notorious brothel on the Street of Silk. Bastardy or the Iron Throne, that remained the question of your birthright to many. Your conception was a greater source of whispers and slander than that of your brown-haired ‘Strong’ brothers.

You weren’t raised in the Red Keep; with the brunt of the court upon your muña’s shoulders, she’d hoped to keep you shielded away from the cruel gossip that surrounded you even at the mere age of five. You hadn’t even set eyes upon her for years, making do with the letters that detailed how much she missed you and a chest full of trinkets and dolls to share with the young daughters of the vassal lords sworn to Dragonstone.

Daemon Targaryen, on the other hand was truly banished after word of his murdering his first wife Rhea Royce reached his brother’s - your grandsire’s - ears. While there was no formal accusation nor trial, Viserys was simply at his wit's end with the reckless goings-on of his younger brother. He had left Westeros even before your mother had realised that the moon tea she had consumed had not worked.

Daemon found his family elsewhere. After slaying a sea lord who was promised the hand of Laena Velaryon, he married her and then fled to Pentos with her and her dragon. The word of a Targaryen bastard being born from the Crown Princess was most certainly to spread like a plague, far enough to reach your kepa’s ears. He wanted to come back the second he heard of you, but his brother denied his request. When you were shipped off to Dragonstone, he wished to fetch you - but this time, his wife refused him, not wishing to raise the love child he had with his niece.

He had begun to send letters of Valyrian poetry, old texts of Valyrian romance and many other trinkets. You had written to him the day you claimed your dragon, which happened in a hilarious accident as you had trailed through the Dragonmont to make friends with a silver dragon, a she-dragon named Silverwing. Though the letter you had written had gone without reply, you had waited for a year and then accepted the dark truth. He had other daughters and another family. By request of the King, you were raised by Septas and the handmaidens at Dragonstone.

At present, you waited by the Painted Table. While one might not have been eager at the sound of people returning from a funeral, you indeed were. Mother had spent four moons at Dragonstone, leaving the Red Keep behind for good until the time arrived for her ascension. These four months had been bliss; you were introduced to your brothers. When you had first departed, Lucerys was still a babe suckling at Rhaenyra’s breast. Now, she returned with another little babe. -Your good-father returned as well, the one knight that could have flung your body high to the skies and caught you right in time. He had engulfed you in an embrace the moment he saw you.

Then came the letter of Laena Velaryon’s passing, and the world shifted under your good-father’s feet. With respect to Laena’s memory and the illegitimacy of your station, the Queen Alicent had advised Rhaenyra to not have you come along with the family. You were accustomed to such treatment; it mattered not. Yet the news of your kepa’s return churned your belly. You had never laid eyes on the man, having seen a mere few portraits hung in the grand galleries at Dragonstone. He looked much like you when he was a babe, and yet the older he grew you imagined him to be the embodiment of the courteous knights you read of in your books.

You had worn your nicest dress, and your preparations had begun with digging through all the letters he had ever sent you, having the chefs prepare his favourite foods and procuring a fat sheep for Caraxes. The household staff all lined themselves up by the halls. It had been years since their Rogue Prince returned home. While many admired the man, others feared him. Regardless of his reputation, there had been respect for his name upon every rock on the island.

Rhaenyra had walked in first with your brothers, her face softening at seeing you looking eagerly at the grand doors. She hugged you, rubbing the side of your arms as she stood behind you. Your sisters… You weren’t sure if they would have taken it well if you called them such. They were introduced first as a knight called out their titles. They bowed first, reminding you that you were a Princess and they only ladies. Then, everything went silent - you heard the thudding of boots before your vision was clouded by the image of shoulder-length silver hair.

Daemon Targaryen stood atop the steps, hands held together in front of him. He commanded the room with just his purple eyes. Your eyes. You were so entranced by his presence you almost forgot to ask about your good-father. He approached you, a princely smile upon his lips, and you failed to keep your lady-like composure.

The first thing that came from his mouth was your name. Your name had never sounded so wondrous as it did at that very moment. He greeted you, and your voice abandoned you as you opened your mouth to return his niceties. You must have looked like a fool, mouth parted as no words came forth. Your mother’s voice snapped you from whatever had possessed you.

“The honour is mine, my Prince,” you said, bowing your head. You wanted nothing more than to call him kepa - but there was so much unsaid. It didn’t seem appropriate to you at the moment.

Another two fortnights passed, and you were still grappling with the thought that both the people that created you now sat with you as you broke fast. Your brothers again ran wild in your chambers and now, you had two little sisters - twins.

One night, your mother came to your room, looking far happier than she usually was as she sat at the edge of your bed. You put your book away on your lap, awaiting whatever it is she wanted to tell you.

“Your kepa and I are to be wed!”

You had helped dress her for the very day. Your legitimacy was now sealed with fire and blood as your parents swore their vows to the Fourteen Flames. You had hand-lit every yellow and red candle along with your siblings, being perhaps the happiest you had been in all your life. Maester Gerardys had perhaps shared your joy, having raised you in these very halls and witnessing your disappointment whenever there had been no letter from Rhaenyra nor Daemon.

Their marriage was beautiful. Both looked far deeper in love than any poet could ever profess in words. There was longing, a sense of time lost between them. Perhaps, in a way - as they looked at you after sealing their union with a kiss - you were their love made flesh and bone, their blood running through your veins. Two ears, ten fingers and toes, and eyes that flared with the same longing Rhaenyra and Daemon had so long had for one another.

Both made concerted efforts between the sheets to reclaim the years lost, and they made efforts with you, offering you the attention you deserved from them. Daemon smiled ear-to-ear as he saw you loving up against his grandmother’s former mount, an elegant creature that matched your demeanour.

Daemon had once said “the gods give, as they take away.” Those words had come to royally interrupt the quaint life he lived with his family at Dragonstone. Word was to indefinitely spread about him marrying his niece, and soon did it grace the ears of his brother - and his cunt of a Hand. A white raven, the symbol of urgency, bore the demand that the entire household of the Blacks were to present themselves at Viserys’s court. There was no indication of whether the King approved or not, but naught was to be done other than abide by his brother’s demands. Thus, the older children mounted their dragons along with Daemon and Rhaenyra and set the course for their journey to the Red Keep.

Your memories had been rather faint of these halls. You remembered walking them and all your heart felt was its cold aura. It wasn’t home. Their welcome hadn’t been warm to be sure - a wheelhouse had received you at the Dragonpit alongside your parents, Baela, Rhaena and Jacaerys. Your Septa had squeezed you into a tight corset, one that you had never worn before, your hair braided far too tight for your liking. It was how the ladies dressed at court, they had told you.

The Targaryen guards had led your family straight to the Throne Room. Crowds of people assembled on both sides and the gallery crawled with young ladies, some your age, some younger. You had slotted yourself behind your kepa’s larger frame, finding an odd urge to hide as every eye in the room seemed to have been fixated on you and every whisper called your name. You hoped you were a lady enough to satiate whatever expectations these strangers had thrust upon your shaking hands.

Viserys was furious, as furious as he could be given his condition. He wasn’t the man you remember, his full cheeks and the head of hair that you had inherited and a hand gone. He pulled himself by using his sword Blackfyre as a cane, accusing his brother - your sweet kepa - of terrible obscenities. You wanted to defend him, you truly did. You wanted to scream, lecture the court on the man Daemon Targaryen really was. Of how much he loved his family, so much so that he had abandoned you the day his late wife begged him so.

There was much said and done, most of which made the corners of your eyes water with furious tears as you reached for your mother’s hands. Everything Viserys and Otto Hightower questioned about their union directly mirrored your existence.

It was a sham. You weren’t a sham.

It was a manipulation. You weren’t a lie.

It was a crime, that much was true; you were a bastard, after all. You were Rhaenyra’s first-born, yet stood to inherit nothing. You were the shield that politically protected your brothers. This marriage put everything into question. Who were you anymore?

What you were was a perfect example and a trap for Otto Hightower to lay in the King’s lap, offering you as an auspicious match with House Lannister. Of course, the words were never to be said, but this marriage was a blessing from the gods for the likes of you. You were ambushed by the Small Council on the second day of your return to the Red Keep.

The second the name of Jason Lannister spilt through your grand-sire’s lips, Rhaenyra was outraged. Never had you witnessed her this crazed over something, her eyes dark and voice low. She matched the intimidating aura of your father, perhaps giving you a glimpse of the similarities between them.

“She is to be my heir!” Rhaenyra argued, her voice booming through the chambers. “I will not have you sell her like you tried with me, father!”

The debate had grown heated. Jason was a proud man, from what you had heard, and your mother fought on your behalf for a different right altogether. For once (in your own stupidity) you saw purpose, a purpose you viewed as your grand-sire’s affection; a sense of duty you had never felt before. After so long spending your days wandering in the world of your own head, for once you felt a woman. A false sense of naive hope. When Rhaenyra urged that they in the least listen to what you had to say, your words echoing through the chambers were the last thing she expected.

“I will do my duty if that is what the King wishes,” you nervously mumbled. “The throne would not agree with me, mother.”

That had been five years ago. You were a proud lion now, or so said the letters that you sent home every other moon. You had been a dutiful wife to Jason Lannister, to be sure. Your bastardy had been allayed by the magnificent dragon you claimed, and your womb that would finally bring the glory of possessing dragon eggs to the Lannister name. He had been a good husband to you, showering you with gold and fineries beyond your needs, a perfectly dolled-up Targaryen wife dressed in the crimsons and gold of the Lannister heritage. You wanted to enjoy it, you truly did. You had craved such attention from a young age, but something in your mind nagged that it wasn’t genuine.

You spent much of your time hidden in the library, which Lord Jason had at first said would have made your little head spin.

You had claimed victory over it in a mere year, and so you had asked for more books; if he was to spoil you so, perhaps he could provide you with something of more use. And yet, your chests continued to be filled with more jewellery, the finest dresses and boots. You would scold yourself for not finding joy in this. There were children starving in the country and you complained of fine dresses being too much.

The love-making between you was respectable, quick. It was far easier than the complicated mess your Septa had chastely told you about. You would spread your legs for him and just lay there. However, once the first year of your union passed and you still hadn’t borne a child, things grew ugly.

Jason had been dismissive at first, petting your head and claiming your youth as the impediment of your lack of conception. Then, it was the Maesters hounding you with ways to be with child. from putting your legs high in the air after being pumped full of your lord husband’s seed to avoiding wines at feasts. They recommended positions to be placed in; then, they requested that you refrain from dragon riding. Your favourite foods were targeted soon after, the spices in them after that; and soon, your meals were left with just salt in them.

That bled to the third year of your marriage. The gossip that had been abandoned because of your wedding was now set ablaze yet again. You suffered it all with a stiff lip.

The latest requirement had been for you to remain abed for most of the day, a consequence for going against your husband’s wishes and riding Silverwing after eight moons without. There was just something in her eyes that begged you to ride her, perhaps to save you from your own misery. When you returned, you had been grateful that you rode her.

The flattery that your lord husband had doted upon you with before bedding you had long faded with frustration. Couplings had always been a chore, but now it was painful as you laid there wishing for it to end. He would enter your chambers, undoing his doublet and you just knew. You would push down your small-clothes and spread your legs for him before returning to slumber alone. You had counted every petal embroidered onto your canopy as Jason grunted in your ear. You would run your fingers down his back, his hair, hoping to make him peak sooner.

One night, you simply couldn’t bring yourself to lay with him from how exhausted you had been, barely being able to eat the boiled food and enduring yet another feast that ran from dusk to dawn. You refused him politely, hoping that he would lounge with you or leave you to your endeavours alone. Instead, he lectured you on your duty, his breath stinking of strong wine as he forcefully yanked you towards your bed. You had protested, fought against his hold, but it had no effect on him. He had easily torn through your shift as he had turned you to your belly. All you remembered were the stern words of your inability to provide him with heirs when the whores down at brothels of Lannisport had already birthed bastards for him, your head shoved into the pillow to muffle your protests, and then the dread as you felt his seed from within you spill onto your sheets.

He took you in such a manner twice more, growing further irate with the judgments of his family. He was your husband - he had the right. That was, until your sheets were stained in red once more. The handmaidens and the maesters all huffed in defeat yet again, and you were sure your husband had been at a brothel for his business down at Lannisport.

So you ran.

Silverwing roared as she perched herself upon Casterly Rock, scaring the knights in their golden helms away. She flew you swiftly through the skies, heading towards the one place you felt the safest, the one place you should have returned to years before.

“Dārilaros, Silverwing ēza sepār māzigon naejot se Dragonmont,” a Dragonkeeper hastily informed Rhaenyra.

Rhaenyra’s eyes shot to Daemon who was seated next to her by the Painted Table as they went over season books for the fourth moon. They wasted no time in hurrying past Aegon’s Garden to see you, their daughter, dismounting Silverwing in a red gown. They rejoiced, finally setting eyes upon their blood after five years. The second you laid eyes upon your mother, you rushed to engulf her. Daemon wrapped his arms around both his wife and you, placing a kiss atop your head.

You had returned to your bedchamber in the Sea Dragon Tower, claiming that you were overdue a visit and your duties had freed you for long enough to fly home. Neither Daemon nor Rhaenyra were daft; you had arrived devoid of any riding clothes, dressed in a heavy gown and jewellery. With no clothes nor belongings, it was obvious that something had happened, but they allowed you your space.

You were overjoyed at being able to let your hair down and wear your old gowns. You had slept that night, sprawled across your bed like a happy child, fed and tucked in.

As the days passed, you were introduced to your new siblings - not half-siblings, but ones who shared the same parentage, the same blood as you. You learned of the toddler named Aegon and a babe of one and eight moons named Viserys, and the healthy girl your mother had named Visenya. You found much joy in meeting them. They reminded you of your childhood, though you were perhaps a little envious that they would grow up in much better circumstances than you did.

Rhaenyra had found you one afternoon, humming a Valyrian lullaby to Visenya, the words of which you had forgotten years before but you had hummed to yourself at nights to remind yourself of the memory of home. You were the blood of the dragon; you were the daughter of dragons. That glint of sorrow in your eyes had told Rhaenyra all that she needed to know.

“It is a matter of heirs,” she had told Daemon as he helped her onto their marital bed. “I fear what they might have imposed on her, Daemon.”

Rhaenyra knew first-hand of Jason Lannister’s pride.

“She doesn’t look herself anymore,” Daemon agreed. While Rhaenyra dreamt of a beneficial way of helping you, Daemon had already dreamt of a far more violent one, for years beforehand.

A prideful man with a runaway bride has never been a great song. Jason had set sail himself to retrieve his wayward wife from Dragonstone, winged beast to lead back into your golden cage. His ship was filled with more trinkets and fineries to sway you and your parents to hand you back to him, a place he believed you belonged.

He presented himself at Rhaenyra’s court as she sat the throne at Dragonstone. Without an inkling of enthusiasm or warmth, she accepted her son-in-law’s presence with Daemon standing next to her, also unimpressed by the blonde fool.

“I have come to convey my sweet wife home. Casterly Rock is much too cold without her fire,” he cajoled, his voice echoing through the Chamber of the Painted Table.

Rhaenyra had sent for you the second she had greeted your husband in the chambers. You arrived but moments later, your cheeks filled with colour from devouring your lunch of roast goose. Your feet abruptly halted the moment you saw the hair yellowish-blonde hair, knowing it could mean only one thing. Rhaenyra’s eyes caught yours first, and then your husband turned to find you in what he would deem a distasteful gown.

You hiked your skirts and bolted down the other corridor, paying no mind to the rain pouring heavily outside and running through Aegon’s Garden. Silverwing had already perched herself atop the Dragonmont as she had felt your distress. Her roar echoed with the thundering in the clouds above. Daemon chased after you, his quick feet catching up to yours with ease.The household guard blocked your path from exiting through the gates of Dragonstone.

“No, no! Please!” you wailed as Daemon caught onto your hands. “I cannot go back! Please, don’t send me back!”

Daemon’s eyes flared in concern over your distraught face. He opened his mouth to reassure you, but you only screamed louder over the heavy pattering of rain.

“I will throw myself off the Windwrym Tower if you send me with him! Please, please, do not make me go back,” you cried. Your kepa pulled you closer, shushing your pained sobs as you begged harder.

Daemon had managed to reassure you that no one would force you back to Casterly Rock unless you wished it so. He had been horrified at how miserable you must be to threaten your own life in order to remain at Dragonstone, and his blood boiled to learn the truth of the matter. Rhaenyra had the servants prepare a room for your lord husband in an entirely different tower. You felt secure in knowing that Jason wouldn’t be allowed in the Sea Dragon Tower since it housed your chambers as well as your parents' chambers a floor above.

This is where you were brought after your handmaidens had helped you out of your soaking wet gown, huddled by the hearth crackling with a freshly stoked fire, a blanket of soft furs and a cup of warm tea in your hands. While you chose to sit on the floor, Daemon sat on his armchair, hoping to make you speak. Your wet hair clung to the sides of your face, a face that was once filled with so much light. Now, it hid something from him, and he couldn’t bear it.

“If you won’t tell me what happened, I cannot protect you,” he urged, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “What has happened, zaldrītsosi?”

You shook your head once more, making Daemon groan in frustration. You played with the rim of the tea cup, circling your finger around it, over and over again. You felt your father’s frustrations, gods know you had endured it yourself for years. In truth you were embarrassed of your inability to be a good wife, perhaps the harshness your lord husband had showed you- you deserved it.

The chamber door opened once more with Rhaenyra finally making her way to you, while Daemon felt clueless about what caused your outburst. Rhaenyra had her suspicions, she shuffled her skirts to lower herself next to you, she didn’t ask a thing but just wrapped her arms around your shoulders. Letting you know that you were taken care of, that you were home. Whatever tactic was this, it worked as the first words of your confession echoed through the chambers.

“I cannot go back,” you said, “He deserves to find another wife.”

You had tried to be the loveable wife your mother had been to both her husbands. She bore three sons for the first and three more children for your kepa, within the matter of five years when you couldn’t even conceive one.

“He is lucky to have a wife like you,” Rhaenyra pressed a kiss to your temple.

You shook your head again “I’m not so…perfect like you.”

Rhaenyra frowned, never once had she wanted you to feel this inferior but your insecurities had been radiating through your skin. Daemon remained silent, letting his wife coax your reasoning out of you, perhaps you would do it quicker so he could fetch Dark Sister and resolve the matter.

“Lord Jason is my husband, he has a right to be sure,” you whispered, nuzzling further into Muña's embrace. “The way he held me down, for refusing to lay with him…” your voice trailed “I n-never want to feel that, ever again.”

Daemon saw red, even more so for the reason that you had not a clue of what had happened to you. A crime he had dismembered many during his days as the commander of the gold cloaks, his wife’s eyes shot to him. Silently begging him to not act on his anger just yet, he agreed - you needed them more. Your cries were silent, calmer than the onslaught before, Daemon let your head as you whimpered in your mother’s arms.

Somewhere along the evening you had succumbed to your exhaustion, Daemon had carried you into their bed and tucked you in. The silence left Rhaenyra and Daemon with a grave decision, they would have to petition Viserys to have your marriage annulled, however to lay the history of what you had suffered bare in court. The plea had to come from you, Rhaenyra had shuffled under the furs that night, her warm fingers trying to soothe the frown you sported even in you sleep. Daemon hummed that familiar lullaby as you stirred, feeling their bodies mould to yours - only this time you remembered the words.

Come morning, Rhaenyra had sent for Jason Lannister early in the morning; she had left her lady in waiting - Elinda Massey - to watch after you as you slept sprawled across their bed. In very distasteful words, Rhaenyra shunned your husband, Daemon stood beside her with his hand eagerly gripped around the pompel of Dark Sister. He paced back and forth, internally begging his wife to let him have the Lannister cunt’s head.

When you awoke, Elinda had helped you prepare yourself for the day. Your shoulders felt lighter, like a burden lifted from your shoulders. A content smile had finally adorned your face as you lounged in your parents chambers (far too elated). Rhaenyra returned from court with Daemon at her heel, trying to walk away the burning rage within her before she greeted you. She had sat you down, telling you of how Jason had returned to Casterly Rock and that the Blacks were to petition the royal court once more to have your marriage annulled. You threw your arms around Rhaenyra, profusely thanking her as she petted your hair.

Rhaenyra’s eyes lingered over your face for a little longer, the fullness of your cheeks, the purple of your eyes; gave her glimpses of herself and Daemon. There was something that overcame her, a subject Daemon and Rhaenyra had spoken at length about - first after their wedding night and second was last night. Her thumbs stroked your cheeks before her rosy lips found yours, it wasn’t a chaste kiss and yet the feeling that churned in you belly. You had yearned to feel it through the five torturous years of your marriage, when she pulled away you were stunned. Eyes glossed and mind in shambles.

“You are the glorious thing that came from us, sweet girl,” she whispered “you are to remain with us now, forever.”

She had pulled you up to stand in between your kepa and her, he was silently observing your reactions. You felt entrapped, not in the malicious way you had been caged in your marital bed, but the tenderness they had for you anchored you down, engulfing you in warmth. Daemon turned to hold your face in his hands, his roughed digits stroking at your heated blush stained cheeks.

“Let us take you the way you were meant to, let us show you riñītsos,” he requested. What were you to do? Pull away from the affection you were being dotted with after beggin for it for years. You nodded, mumbling a meek yes.

Rhaenyra turned you towards her again, both kepa and her working with haste to strip your body off your gown, leaving trails of sweet kisses upon your pale skin. The back of your neck to the pulsing at your wrists, they showed you reasons to live; showed reasons of why you were the most precious thing in the Known world. The smell from Rhaenyra’s flowered soaps mixed with Daemon’s woody ones, encasing you between their larger frames. You perked breasts spilt free first, your mother’s warm mouth immediately trapped the pebble between her lips. Suckling to harden them, and leave bruises of passion apon your milky skin. Daemon joined her efforts, his lips claiming your neck as he held you hand.

You couldn’t breathe, one would find lust, passion or even contentment within the feel of their lips but a deeper pit bubbles in your stomach. When you blinked your eyes open, they welled in tears and your breath hitched. Fighting to take in a bigger gasp of air, the years went on and you truly felt as beastly as they saw Silverwing. One incapable being found desirable, that your husband would resort to pumping bastards into tavern whores. You face scrunched, scolding yourself to enjoy this and yet you didn’t want them to see you bare; perhaps they would hate you too.

Rhaenyra’s eyes softened the moment she saw your discomfort and kissed your cheek. Hoping you would confess your feelings without coaxing.

“I won’t be to your liking,” you hung your head low, more tears streamed down your face.

“Nonsen - you are the most beautiful girl in the Known world,” Rhaenyra reassured, lifting your face to look at her. Perhaps it was something in her eyes that made you want to believe her flattery.

“How can you know?” You sniffed, wiping the tears with your wrists.

“We made you, who else would know better?” Daemon said, his voice softer than usual as looked down at you.

Mother had been incapable of bedding Daemon since birthing Visenya two moons ago, she was still healing. They believed that it was your husband’s incapacity to impregnate you; all your life at Dragonstone your moonblood’s course had been near perfect. It was to their benefit, your womb deserved to carry pure Valyrian babes anyhow. A witted mind may even see this as an advantage, with you as Rhaenyra’s heir. The silver of your hair, the smile that matched Daemon’s and little Valyrian babes of your own. Your mother’s claim would remain untouchable.

Daemon had led you to their bed, perhaps now your own. Rhaenyra had stripped herself to just her corset and chemise, while she intended on assisting her husband she would be a fool to not find pleasure in Daemon bedding you. Your father had been displeased as you crawled into bed and spread your legs open for him. While he admired the gesture of you presenting yourself to him, he tutted at how bereft of pleasures you were.

“Fucking is a pleasure you see, for the man and woman,” he had sultry eyes set upon you as he devices of ways to have you screaming for him.

Your legs already remained parted for him as you held your inner thighs, you were expecting his cock to penetrate you and yet he was fully clothed. It was horror that filled you next as Daemon kneeled by the edge of the bed, his fingers gently stroked the sides for your mound before he flattened his tongue on your slit.

“K-kepa what are you d-,” a whine tore through your lips as you felt his lips suckling at your sensitive flesh. Daemon feasted on your cunny, like a delicacy with exotic flavours plated just for him. You muña had skittles herself next you, bracketing a leg to hold your thigh open as she paid much needed attention to your nipples. Her fingers toyed with one as her mouth nibbled on the other.

The throes of coupling were all you’d known awhile you dutifully suffered in the sheets, this - this - was tenacious; never ending as it hurtled you further into its depravity. The sounds of your squelching cunt and Daemon humming against your folds as Rhaenyra whispered the sweetest of endearments in your ears, their little girl…made just for them to ruin.

Daemon locked his palm against your, tangling your fingers between in him a silent call of, he was here for you, he would take care of you. Rhaenyra caressed your flushed face, the tickle of delicate fingertips distracted you from your insecurities. Your cunny felt the stretch of your Kepa's fingers, his thick digit knuckle deep within you. You hadn’t realised your body could even feel this way, so weightless that all you felt was the throbbing around your puffy bud. The textures on his tongue fondling with the tender flesh, how soft his actions were along with your mother’s ministrations of keeping the rest of your bare body ablaze.

You found your voice, as your breathy mewls turned to a shameless moans because of Daemon’s finger gracing a foreign spot within you; pumping in and out repeatedly. Your hips hiked off the bed, grinding into your kepa’s mouth. He gently held your hip down, you arched you back, unable to decipher the waves of tingles that ran up your thighs.

“Please, please!” you begged, unsure of it as you pleaded for, all you body seemed to yell at you was to find the ending.

A sudden, furious bliss burst through your core; you hadn’t felt anything like it before. You screamed their name, praying to the Gods to save you. You felt his tongue still laying soft licks on your bed as your thighs clenched around his head. You fell flat back against the beds, heavy breathing as you tried to gather your bearings.

“Wh- what…?” You couldn’t finish the question clouding your mind, your words lost on your lips.

“That sweet girl…was your peak,” Rhaenyra gingerly placed a kiss upon your temple. Her fingers mindlessly trailed up and down the valley of her breasts.

My peak…my peak you had incoherently whispered under your breath. “Will you bed me now?” You looked at your father expectantly.

“Would you like me too… would you like kepa to pump you full of his seed?” He whispered against your folded thighs as he pressed wet kisses across your pale flesh.

Your head eagerly nodded, wanting to feel more of what the art of pleasures had to offer. You wanted this ecstasy that Daemon spoke off. You wanted to drown yourself in it, having someone touch you so brutally broke a part of your aura - tragically - but your kepa and muña sewed your pieces back together. A cascading light that hurtled towards misery now floated high above the clouds, happy as you should have been.

“Say it riñītsos,” Rhaenyra whispered against your lips.

“Please bed me, kepa,” you asked, eyes flaring purple as did theirs. You shuffled against his hold on your thighs, the skin w clawing at your insides.

Daemon looked at Rhaenyra and chuckled, shaking his head at your niceties. “Such a polite thing, our daughter.” Rhaenyra indulged in stripping her husband for you, peeling his doubly away from him before freeing him from his breeches. Your kepa’s member was far more monstrous than your lord husband’s, it spurred a fear under your chest; the memories of bedding and the last night you had shared Jason’s bed were fresh within your mind. Daemon caught onto the apprehension that flared in the purple of your eyes. He pressed a kiss to your knee. “M’ going to be gentle…unless you ask me not to be,”

You hadn’t understood what he meant but your heart eased, preparing yourself to feel the bitter stretch of his bulbous tip at your entrance. Braced in position you waited for the burn to flare through your nethers but it never came. Merely the pressure of the hard line pushing you open, a little uncomfortable at best but the pain you had expected was nowhere to be found. You blinked your eyes upon, pulling yourself to grace upon where yours and Daemon’s body connected. You hissed at the fullness but appeared shocked, you looked to him; his eyes softened at the state of your discovery. Coupling was never meant to be a chore.

Rhaenyra circled her fingers upon your yearning pearl, you greedily raised your head pleading for her to kiss you and so she did. Her rounded mouth moulded against yours, a kiss that once rose bile to your throat - the tongues being far too much - your kittenish hum invited her in willingly. You could taste your shared breath, commanding you with the grape scent of her lips. Daemon had begun rocking himself, determined strokes rutting into your - his sweet cunny - his baby’s warm walls as he could barely contain himself from watching your mother dote upon you with honeyed vulgarity.

Daemon grunted, wanting to feel the touch of your lips as he tucked his hands behind the small of your back. You held your kepa’s face in your hands, lifting yourself just enough to taste the spiced wine that linger on his lips; his tongue raspily greeted yours. You mewled into his mouth, legs wrapping around his rear as your Rhaenyra and Daemon took turns whispering sweet obscenities in your ear. They made this cunny for them to use… kepa would breed you swollen of his Valyrian babes, pure babes. There perfect little dragon

Naught was of importance as you begged kepa to piston within you harder, you body smothered between the ones of your blood (warm, far too warm). Trickles of tears that fell from the corners of your eyes disappear in your hairline, Daemon wiped them - grunting louder - with his adoration directed straight st you. Rhaenyra had pulled him closer for a kiss, tasting you upon his lip as his hammering never once faltered. You wanted to peak again, you wanted to fly again.

“K-kepa, I- so good,” your words muddled at the tip of your tongue, but the way your cunt fluttered around his cock. There was just one reason to be sure. He looked to Rhaenyra, a short nod of his followed with your muña fingers working in tighter - quicker - circles around your throbbing nub.

“Oh - that’s it, pretty girl, come for kepa…wet his cock,” Rhaenyra cooed at you, your back arched off the bed. A longing whine tore through your lip, pleading Daemon to go harder. He obliged, haunching his body over as his shoulders laid flush against your chest. His heavy stones slapping against your rear. You wanted it, your insides clawed at you to peak.

“Our sweet little dragon, come - come now.”

Daemon’s order hadn’t gone unheard, in true fashion of a father’s daughter you peaked for him, your pleasures gushing through you core as your scream lodged itself at the back of your throat. Leaving only whimpers and squeaks behind as your finger nails dug into Daemon’s shoulder.

Days had passed since, once you had tasted the world of pleasures, the next four day you had spent either bouncing on your kepa’s cock; begging him to fill your cunt or muña fingers pulling peak after peak from your body.

The moment of truth arrived sooner that you had expected, you had flown to court once more. Viserys had been gravely ill, as a mourning grandchild your heart ached for what had become of the once proud king. As a wronged wife, you feared if Otto Hightower would have your best intentions in sight. Whil by marriage it would have been appropriate for you to wear an alarmingly bright red gown and jewellery of gold. You had come dressed in the darker crimsons of your house as you stood in between your kepa and muña.

Jason Lannister presented an elaborate case, claiming you as his - how your place was at Casterly Rock and not behind your mother’s skirts. He even made attempts to approach you, but the deathly glare Daemon had set upon your husband made Jason’s cowardice known. The Blacks and Greens had separated them on each end, and by the passing day it had become rather evident that if you returned with Jason, your support of your mother would be squandered under their golden foot.

Otto Hightower then called the Blacks forwards as he sat upon the Targaryen throne as if it were his own. Rhaenyra stepped forward to petition on your behalf but was dismissed by her old bitter companion Alicent Hightower - the Queen.

“Your daughter is far above her age to petition for herself, Princess Rhaenyra, unless she is daft…?” Alicent retorted.

Your eyes darted between your mother and father as they looked to your covering frame, they wanted to protest but what other choice had they given you. With cautious mannerisms you stepped forward, cultivating your sentences of beggary in your head to not stumble upon them. Your fingers fiddled with one another as you stood at the front of the throne room; with the entire court gathered to see your humiliation. Much of everything had sounded muffled to you, they would send you back, he would take you back. You should have flung yourself the first chance you had.

The night before, Rhaenyra had visited her father’s chambers. Maternal tears coating her face as she begged her father for you life. Daemon had told her of your threat to end your existence. What she thought were pleadings fallen to deaf ears, she had hoped to use her inheritance to save you from this curse or have Daemon flee with you to Essos. To remain there until Rhaenyra would take the throne.

Perhaps a call from the heavens answered your pleas (Rhaenyra’s efforts in truth) the grand door to the Throne Room opened, your grand-sire limping his way through a startled court. An old dragon lashing out to protect his blood once more, you moved away. Mouth agape just as the rest, Viserys had come to sit on his throne after four years of sabbatical.

To shield your honour, as your father - Daemon approached his brother to present your case in private. Telling him of the cruelties you had suffered and Jason’s inability to provide you heirs. To which Viserys coughed out his disdain on the Lannister’s lack of providing his granddaughter with heirs.

“Her heir? Tis my family that would be shamed because she is barren. Yet I choose to take my sweet wife back to my noble seat.” Jason scoffed, looking at Rhaenyra like she was delusional.

Rhaenyra passed a knowing look to Daemon before letting go of your hand. She looked right at the vast lords gathered at the court “My first born, my daughter is to be my heir. Your future Queen and a second wife to my prince consort.”

Horrid gasps echoed through the Throne Room, Alicent looked disgusted along with her father. You looked at your mother in shock, unable to grapple the titles she had just placed in your lap.

“Your grace! This is an abomination!” Otto Hightower protested, hoping for the King to see reason.

“She cannot be Queen…” Jason muttered, just as shocked as you.

“And w- why is that?” Viserys coughed.

“Well she is…” his blond brows furrowed tightly, his glare fixated upon you for embarrassing him. Your father raised a challenging brow to him, say it…say it Daemon prayed as he once again clutched the pommel of Dark Sister, he looked to his wife and begged like a toddler to let him end this. Rhaenyra looked at Daemon through his periphery and agreed, subtly nodding at him.

“She is a bastard,” he shrugged, looking appalled, finding this entire situation ridiculous.

Viserys groaned, huffing as he unsheathed his dagger; angered and ready to place his judgement. “I will have your tongue for that!”

Thwack!

You hadn’t realised when your kepa had moved from behind you to trail behind your husband - headless husband - your mother yanked back to look away from the decapitated corpse as knights all around charged at Daemon. He merely wiped his sword away at his cape, before returning to stand next to you.

“You’re a widow now,” he smugly whispered in your ear.

[cambion-companion]

i know you’ve written a lot of drunk reader stuff butttt i love it sm especially the way u capture readers interactions w aemond. Could you write a fic about aemond being the drunk one?? maybe he’s let aegon have to much influence lately? thanks ! 🥰

We shall do a little switcheroo from tradition haha Aemond has gotten a little tipsy (as I headcanon he would not desire to become fully hammered) while reveling with his brother and wife in the dining hall.

So I haven't written Aemond as being tipsy/drunk before...and he kinda took the reins on this one. Enjoy! It gets a little sad but...he wouldn't be a silly drunk that's for sure.

Aemond x wife!reader | tipsy Aemond | fluff

"Another toast!" Aegon raised his goblet high, almost letting it slip through his fumbling fingers. "To our Strong nephews!"

"Aegon." You groaned, massaging your temples. "That's the seventh one."

"To Jace, Luke and Joffrey!" Aemond rose from his seat once more, supporting himself with a palm against the table's surface as he toasted the empty dining room. "The wisest and strongest of our family!"

"Aemond."

Your husband didn't heed your chiding tone as he drained his seventh goblet of wine while Aegon cheered him on. You shot the eldest brother a reproving glare, his face falling comically when he met your narrowed eyes. "Don't blame me!" Aegon shrugged. "My brother needs little encouragement when it comes to making godsawful puns."

Aemond sank gracelessly back into his armchair, tapping his long fingers against his iron goblet. You stood, moving to his side and coaxing the cup from his grip. "Come, my drunken dragon." You teased lightly. "It is time for sleep."

"If 'sleep' is what you call it." Aegon chuckled into his goblet, almost choking on his own drink.

"Gods, Aegon. First you get my husband drunk, then you make terrible jokes."

"He's not drunk." Aegon tittered, looking across at Aemond's flushed face. "I'm sure he'd still perform...to your satisfaction."

"Isn't there a kitchen maid you want to go harass?" You sneered at the prince, your hands coming to rest defiantly on your hips.

"Y/N..." Aemond warned softly, unheeded by both you and Aegon.

"I don't harass them." Aegon rolled his eyes, leaning back so hard in his chair it almost tipped over. "I am an excellent lover."

You actually laughed, throwing your head back with the force of it. "You?" Tears of mirth began to form in your eyes. You even heard a low chuckle from Aemond. "I would bet good money that you haven't made a woman orgasm once."

Aegon stood abruptly as well, his face reddening with anger. You hadn't notice Aemond until he smoothly stepped in between you and his brother, his back to you. Even though your husband was clearly tipsy, his stance was still protective.

Aegon looked at you over Aemond's shoulder, then back into the face of his younger brother. Aemond didn't utter a word, just stood in front of you until Aegon sunk sulkily back into his seat, refilling his goblet of wine.

You walked beside Aemond, wrapping your arm around his waist, his own hand coming to grip at your arm for support. You let him out of the room and into the labyrinthine corridors of the Red Keep, making slow progress back to your chambers.

"You shouldn't antagonize him." Aemond said slowly, his words slightly slurred.

"He should leave the women in this castle alone." You snapped, a little sharply.

"I worry for your safety above all else." Aemond continued as though he hadn't heard you. "My brother can be vindictive."

"I don't fear Aegon."

Your husband was silent a moment. "I know."

You reached your rooms, sighing in relief at the warmth coming from a brand-new fire within your stone hearth. You helped Aemond sit upon the sofa, kneeling before him to unlace his boots. He swayed a little where he sat, bracing himself with his hands as his violet eye roved your features. "You are fierce." He murmured after a minute's silence.

You grinned at him, tugging his boots free and setting them upon the ground. "Am I?"

"Mm." Aemond leaned forward, his silver hair falling over his shoulders to tickle your chest. "And beautiful."

He brought his lips down to meet yours briefly. "And clever."

He kissed you again, tasting of buttered rum. "You are everything I want."

You smiled, kissing the tip of his nose as you reached around to unbuckle the leather eyepatch, setting it to rest on the cushions beside him. Aemond's sapphire eye caught the flickering firelight and glittered brilliantly. You undid his hair, carding your fingers through the silken strands as it fell loose about his angular face.

Aemond leaned into your touch, his lilac eye fluttering closed as you continued to massage his scalp. "You are divine, Y/N." His own fingers began muddling with the laces at your corset. "Marry me."

"We've been married for two years, Aemond." You giggled, his hands making slow work freeing you from the confines of your dress.

"Marry me again."

You laughed brightly, your voice mingling with his own low chuckle as Aemond caught your lips again with his, molding his mouth to yours with heated intent.

"Tomorrow." You batted his hands gently away from your back and expertly unlaced yourself out of your dress. "I promise I will marry you again after you sleep off all the toasts you made this evening."

"They were good, weren't they?" Aemond mused, leaning back upon the sofa looking satisfied as his gaze roamed the curves of your body appreciatively.

"I'd call it a strong start." You eyed him for a reaction, your smile broadening as he laughed at your bad joke.

"Very good! They make it too easy."

You laughed together, lapsing into an easy silence, letting out quiet giggles every now and then as you thought about more strong puns.

"Y/N?"

"Yes?"

"You love me, do you not?"

Aemond's voice was small. You looked at him in surprise, thrown by the change in his demeanor. He was looking at you with an earnest, almost vulnerable expression, his hands tightening where they rested atop his thighs.

"Of course I love you!" You tried to lighten the mood back up, touching knee lightly. "I wouldn't have married you otherwise."

"You will always love me?"

"Aemond." You moved from your place on the floor, rising to sit flush beside him, almost in resting in his lap. You gazed intently into his upturned face, brushing your nose to his. "I will never stop loving you. Even when we are gone and only dust remains, I will still love you."

He was silent, his bleary eye fixed on a point over your shoulder.

You took his face in your hands, kissing the corner of his mouth. Aemond responded, grasping your waist with his large hands. "You are the best thing that's happened to me, Aemond."

"Does that mean you won't cancel our wedding tomorrow?" Aemond smiled weakly, rubbing circles into your flesh through your thin undergarment.

"I wouldn't dream of it." You pressed your forehead to his before pulling him to rest against your chest, your head atop his own. "I would wed you a thousand times, in a thousand lifetimes."

"Y/N..." His voice was a whisper. "You are my soul's desire."

Your arms tightened around him in response as you fought back a welling of emotion behind your eyes. You kissed his crown, rocking your entwined bodies soothingly, already feeling his breathing against you deepening.

It did not take Aemond long to fall into slumber, inebriated as he was from all the wine he'd had. After many minutes of you holding his sleeping form, your hands smoothing through his hair as you breathed in the scent of him.

Slowly, carefully, you extricated yourself from your husband, laying him gently down upon the cushions of the sofa. You retrieved a blanket from the bed, laying it over him and tucking him in. You took your time, your heart about to burst with the overwhelming love you felt for the man before you. You lingered at his side, admiring his sleeping profile in the firelight.

You brushed away a stray strand of shimmering hair from his face, loathe to turn your gaze away. Eventually your own exhaustion caused your eyes to grow heavy and you sunk to the floor beside the sofa, propping your head on your forearms, still drinking in Aemond's sharp features. As the fire slowly died leaving behind burning orange embers, you slipped away into dreams, your head resting atop your arms, kneeling beside your sleeping husband.

[autumnteawithfriends]

before I start this little rant I just want to say that I 100% agree that vivzie canonizing alastor as mixed was the most bullshit way to save her self from the voodoo allegations and I don't condone all of the terrible stuff she has done and her inconsistent writing (I'm just saying this because my take might make me look like a vivzie stan lol)

But as a mixed person (I have light brown skin and curly hair), seeing people constantly claim that because alastor has pale (ashy af) skin and straight hair means he isn't mixed leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I suffered alot with racial imposter syndrome when I was younger and I never felt like I was "black enough" to be accepted into poc environments. And people seem to forget that if your mixed with black and white, that your also part white. And that your skin can be light and you don't need to have curly hair to be mixed. Now alastor is definitely just a cheap excuse because he litterally has no black features what so ever (like darker skin, curly hair, flatter nose, or bigger lips), but seeing everyone always portray him with dark brown skin and curly hair just shows that some people really do sometimes forget that not all mixed people are brown with curly hair lol

(I love your posts btw and I'm not saying that you are like this at all btw!! I'm just too much of a pussy to post this on my blog because im scared of stans lol, keep up the good work!)

Thanks for the ask! (And thanks for the compliment)

Yeah like, while I agree that Alastor’s POC coding definitely sucks since it’s obviously a last minute addition if you’re aware of the Voodoo controversy. A pet peeve I have with Alastor redesigns is that they sometimes make this man seem like he’s fully brown instead of mixed Creole like Viv stated he was. Also on a side note, a pet peeve I have with some Hazbin redesigns is that they usually go as creative as they want with the other characters, but when it comes to the POC characters (or sometimes just Alastor) they just give them brown skin and features from whatever ethnicity their from. Like, while I do like that redesigns actually make the POC characters look POC, it’s also kinda boring at the same time because some are willing to give Nifty whatever color skin they like (since she’s a insect) and Lilith purple sometimes. But they just give the POC characters brown/black skin and ethnic features and call it a day? (I hope this makes sense)

Also admittedly, I feel like Velvette’s coding is worse than Alastor’s because I believe she’s supposed to be fully coded as black instead of mixed (she’s voiced by a black voice actress to) yet she has the same ashy grey skin like-what the hell is the coding in Hazbin Hotel. This also applies to the Seraphim sisters (except Sera personally because at least she has darker skin compared to Emily)

Yeah, Viv’s coding legitimately sucks ass

[whrthewindgoes]

This is my first fic, this will be a lengthy, slow burn kind of series if all goes well. I’ve had this story idea for quite some time and I’m very nervous to finally post it! I also don’t know what I’m doing with Tumblr, so bear with me! Please be kind ☺️ I’m looking forward to writing this series. 18+ only, minors do NOT interact.

Third Wheel

Series Summary: After a terrible break up with your boyfriend of 5 years, you plan a long visit to Cincinnati to visit your cousin Ja’Marr. This was meant to be a time to catch up and make up for lost time, but no one could predict you’d fall in love with his long time friend and teammate.

Chapter Summary: You arrive in Ohio for the first time, excited and anxious for everything to come.

Series Warnings: Angst, mentions of anxiety, mentions of cheating, fluff, smut, alcohol, weed (that’s all I can think of right now!)

Chapter Warnings: Angst and anxiety

Prologue

You could barely contain your excitement when your oversized luggage hit the ground after picking it up from the airport turnstile. You rolled your bag away in a hurry, weary of the time as your cousin had been waiting at the arrivals area for quite some time after your delayed flight. You took a deep breath, walking swiftly through the very busy airport on this cloudy Saturday morning. It was March in the midwest, and while it wasn’t the coldest— the warm, sunny weather hadn’t come to stay just yet. You were dressed in yoga pants with your cozy tan Uggs, and an olive green oversized hoodie. Your curly hair was in a messy bun, allowing your best facial features to be highlighted on display.

You stopped in your tracks to pull your phone out of your pocket, quickly opening your messaging app to text, “Just got my bag! Where are you?!” You headed to the nearest exit, stepping out of the door. You looked from left to right at all of the cars that were lined up in the arrivals area, none of the vehicles striking familiarity to you. “Hey, over here Kenz!” You jogged your way over to your cousin Ja’Marr, slightly surprised at how much he had changed since you last saw him. “Oh my god, Marr!!!” You embraced each other in a tight hug, both of you taken by surprise at how much the other has changed physically. Ja’Marr was your first cousin on your mom’s side, and you grew up extremely close, as you both were the only child. Although you both had many blatant differences, especially with you being from a mixed family, you and Ja’Marr always saw eye to eye and were two teas in a pod. Ja’Marr was a couple of years younger than you, but he always acted like a big brother to you. However, life got in the way and as you went off to college, you barely had the time to see each other anymore. Weekly visits turned into monthly visits, monthly visits turned into yearly visits around the holidays. With each of you on your own paths, it was hard not get swept away by all life had to offer. Ja’Marr grabbed your luggage and loaded it into the open trunk of his luxury car. “Wow, things sure have changed huh? You’ve come a long way from that old beat up Nissan!” You giggled and closed the trunk of the car, making your way to the passenger’s side and hopping in the front seat of the car. “Aye, that Nissan got us where we needed to go! I didn’t hear you complaining back then.” Ja’Marr said as he got into the car, closing his door and lowering the volume on the radio so he could hear you better. “I miss those days so much, we had so many good memories in that car”. You put your sunglasses on and buckled your seat belt, the anxiety creeping in on the future that was to come.

This was your first time in Ohio, so everything was fresh and new to you. You were born and raised in Louisiana, and while you had traveled somewhat, Ohio was never exactly on your radar to visit until now. You were in desperate need of a change, still processing a break up that happened 8 months prior with someone you thought was the love of your life. It felt like the 5 years you spent with your ex was thrown out of the window in a matter of a few seconds. You sighed and tucked a few stray curls behind your ear, Ja’Marr instantly noticing the tension within you. “You good, Kenz?” He briefly looked to his right at you before turning back to look at the busy road ahead. “I’m good…” you intently paused while thinking whether or not you wanted to open up the emotional baggage that you had been storing away for months. “We may not hang out as much as we used to, but I can tell when you’re lying a mile away. What’s up?” Ja’Marr hit the off button on the radio, completely encasing the car in utter silence while he waited for you to open up. “I don’t know…I had this whole idea of how life would be for me at this point. I’m almost 27, I thought I’d be married and on my way to having kids. Now I’m practically moving in with my cousin, in a completely new state. It almost feels like I’m starting over, and it’s terrifying.” Ja’Marr heard from your parents how tough the break up had been for you, and how isolated it had caused you to become from the rest of your family and friends. You had always been close to your parents, but when you shut them out, they couldn’t help but continuously recommend a change of scenery for you. They had been in constant contact with Ja’Marr for months discussing you, Ja’Marr not thinking twice when your mother recommended you come for a visit. Ja’Marr insisted that you stay for a while since it had been quite some time since you two had one on one time together. Ja’Marr was finally at a place in his career where he felt secure with little to no distractions, and you working remotely allowed you to be anywhere at any time, so it was kind of perfect.

You were lost in your thoughts, instantly triggered by the conversation and recalling your conversation with your parents. “Mackenzie, you know we love you but we are seriously worried about you. I haven’t seen you hang out with any of your friends in months. Not even Jade, you guys are usually attached to the hip.” Jade was your high school best friend, the two of you would go off to college together at Tulane University and remain inseparable, at least until recently. “I told you dad, I DON’T want to talk about Jade. Her and I are no longer friends, now please—drop it.” You shot a look at both your mom and dad, grabbing the keys to your car and slamming the door on your way out of your childhood home.

Your cousin chimed in, pulling you out of your thoughts, “Kenzie, you need to stop being so hard on yourself. You can’t predict the future and you sure as hell can’t predict some bitch ass dude betraying you. I hate that I get the feeling you blame yourself for what happened.” Ja’Marr was right, you definitely took partial blame for the betrayal. But even with you taking partial blame, it was still almost impossible to talk about. You had been working with a therapist since college, and that was the only person who knew the full scenario with you and your ex. Even then, it took you months to be able to even discuss the smallest details of what went down. “I honestly just want to put it all behind me. This is a chance for a fresh new start for me, and I want everyone to stop pressing me about what happened. I’m not going backwards here.” You shot an irritated look at him, but he took that as a clue to drop the subject, willing to do anything to make you feel comfortable on your first day in town. “I get it, anyway I’m just happy you’re here. We have a few months before I have to get back to work, so that leaves us time to do anything you want. Just let me know what you have in mind.” He grabbed his sunglasses from the center console and put them on as you gave him a slight smile. “Thanks again for inviting me to stay with you, I know I’m impeding on your bachelor pad.” You chuckled, thinking of how awkward things could get if he decided to bring a date to his house while you were there. “You know, that hadn’t even crossed my mind. I think I’m just excited to have my cousin around, you know you’ve always been like a sister to me. What’s mine is yours!” You couldn’t help but feel the excitement creep back in, as you imagined all of the opportunities this time in a new state could bring. You were also excited to reconnect with Ja’Marr and hear all of the things you’ve missed out on in his life.

He turned up the radio, both of you singing along to songs on his playlist as you made your way to his house in the quaint and gated neighborhood. After what seemed like the longest drive after all your back and forth thoughts and emotions, you pulled into the driveway, your eyes going wide at the beautiful home in front of you. “Wow…I knew things were different for you, but I didn't know you had it like that!” You said sarcastically, freeing yourself from the seatbelt and quickly hoping out of the car while Ja’Marr followed suit. “I’ve done alright for myself, if I do say so.” The trunk opened and he grabbed your luggage, grimacing and giving you a puzzling look. “What the hell did you pack in here anyway?!” You tilted your head toward him responding, “Oh that’s nothing. This is just to get me started, my parents are sending the rest of my things in the next few weeks!” You shut the trunk behind him, following behind as he led you up to the front door. “You can’t be serious, remind me what I’ve gotten myself into again” He laughed, punching in the security code to his keyless entry. You both entered the large home, you being instantly stunned by how clean it was, considering he didn’t used to be the neatest person you knew. There were pictures of him in college with his friends and teammates, scattered along the hallway wall. As you stepped further in, he rolled your bag along the hallway, stopping once reaching the back of the home. “I’ll put your bag in here. This was going to be the guest room, but I’ve never had use for it, so it’s yours now.” You quietly stepped into the spacious room, making note of the king sized bed with plenty of pillows. There was a large window which allowed for a ton of natural sunlight, and plenty of fresh plants. You noticed the suite also had it’s own bathroom, equipped with both a walk in shower and large bath tub. When you walked further in, you spotted the closet in the back corner, “Holy shit, is this JUST the closet?!” Your eyes went wide and you immediately flicked the light switch on, spotting several shelves to put your things, and plenty of space to hang your clothes. You were in utter shock, and you felt way out of your element. While you didn’t grow up poor, you weren’t exactly well off either. All you could think about was how you wouldn’t have nearly enough things to fill up all of the space on the shelves. The situation began to feel overwhelming again, and you couldn’t help but have second thoughts of whether or not you made the right choice in coming here. There was also no discussion of exactly how long you’d stay, so this lingered in your mind as you stepped out of the closet. Ja’Marr stood to the side, allowing you time to take everything in and get acquainted. He noticed you suddenly went quiet, the excitement in your face replaced by weariness. “Hey, Ja’Marr…how lon—“ He quickly cut you off before you could even finish your sentence. “You can stay as long as you want, you know that.” He gave a slight smile at the look of relief on your face when he gave you an answer. Even though you guys weren’t as close as you were when you were growing up, he could still read your mind and know when something was off. “I can’t thank you enough. If you feel like I’m overstaying my welcome or getting in your way, please just tell me and I’m on the first flight back home!” You said, sitting on the plush and comfy bed. “Please, Kenzie. I’m glad to have you, it’ll be nice to have someone here to keep me company. Seriously. I’m used to being here by myself all the time that it can get lonely.” He gave a smile of reassurance and walked toward the doorway, “I’ll give you some time to get comfortable, know you had a long night of traveling. Just yell if you need anything.” You smiled back and replied, “Thanks, I’m definitely taking a nap once I unpack.” You said as he stepped out of the room, giving you some space. You sighed deeply and laid back amongst the bed and pillows. You could not wait to see where this new adventure would take you.

Hope you all enjoyed! I’ll get the next part up within the next week hopefully 💕

[justheretoposttrash]

day 4 of being incredibly normal about hawks and endeavor (but mostly talking about manga spoilers in general):

mha is a story incredibly interested in exploring generational support, generational abuse, and what people pass on to each other (alongside hand motifs and showing the childhoods of different characters). you pretty much can't get through any arc without running facefirst into a plethora of examples, but ofa and afo are fun (and perhaps appropriate) places to start!

horikoshi features doomed siblings almost as much as he features terrible fathers, and these two are no exceptions. alongside those versatile hand motifs, afo literally uses his hands to take from others, while anything he has to "give" goes to those younger than him, and it's pretty much always a direct vehicle for trauma. it works well that he's lived for such a long time, literally sustaining his own life thanks to hoarding more and more power and resources for himself, while also giving him that age hegemony over all other characters we meet. he thusly kinda becomes the mustache-twirly Evil Dad² in a metaphorical sense, ruining the futures of others as he attempts to write his own narrative exactly how he wants it (storytelling is also a big theme in mha, go figure. when i consider that one definition of trauma--as something that disrupts the narrative one has of themself--and how AFO hands out trauma also as a way of commanding power and controlling the narrative, it really all comes together).

Yoichi is, of course, opposite in so many ways, centered around giving instead of taking. the inception of ofa began as a (very, uh, heterosexual i'm sure) act of granting freedom and sacrifice.

the ofa wielders don't just give their powers to the stockpiling quirk; they also give their lives, through combat or through cutting their lifespans or both. opposite to afo's Big Mean Father² lifespan, the lifespans of the ofa wielders are very short. they sacrifice their own futures to make the futures of others brighter. and of course, through the act of passing on the quirk, ofa necessitates an act of giving from one user to the next. it's a hand-off of counsel, support, and duty that helps shape each receiver into the best kind of hero they can be. afo passes down trauma, and ofa passes down tools for one's betterment. pretty standard parallels to how a bad caretaker/good caretaker can, even through a single act, shape an entire existence younger than them. relatable! trauma nation rise up!! 💪💪💪

with these themes in mind, then, it's a no-brainer as to why mha features so many godawful fathers (also i'd bet a hundred bucks horikoshi has daddy issues. a thousand. a trillion, honestly. gimme money). though relationships that fall outside the clear-cut power-dynamic of a parent to their child still carry these themes well. peer-to-peer,

sibling-to-sibling, etc., the list of other examples goes on and on!

endeavor's character certainly straddles a lot of these ideas, perpetuating a lot of column A (bad) and a bit of column B (good). he receives trauma from his father in the form of spiraling thoughts about failure and mortality (and maybe those two things are totally equivalent, right?) ((they're not)). his response to that trauma then goes far in the other direction, an obsession with herodom and invulnerability (especially avoiding or punishing emotional vulnerability) that passes the trauma right down to his family. in all his desperation to avoid the tragedy of his father's death, he ends up causing the tragedy to repeat itself, this time with touya's (apparent) death. it's even a direct result of the quirk he gave to touya. every intangible and tangible thing touya inherited from his father would only go on to hurt him, and the worst thing that could possibly have happened does indeed happen. instead of coming to terms with the fact that he gave touya the wrong things---trauma and a fire to burn himself with---he gives more of the same to shoto. surely the same tragedy won't repeat a third time. surely what he passes down to his youngest will make him come out of everything gloriously successful and *alive* (and those two things are totally, definitely equivalent) ((and again, they're not)).

what blows my mind is just how close the todoroki family was to witnessing yet another repeat of the tragedy--that they might have watched endeavor die while failing to save someone, just as endeavor had watched his own father do the same---and that they nearly had to bury touya a second time.

similarly, when it comes to the past transferring to the future, childhoods are the foundations upon which peoples's futures are built. characters are not only shown in a state of emotional vulnerability when in Baby Form, but are also responding to and trying to find answers to each others's traumas and core drives.

in a sense, they don't just inherit their worldviews from the prior generations, but from themselves. when we see endeavor confront his younger self, he isn't only killing off who he used to be, but also all the conclusions he had drawn from his own childhood--a rejection of what his trauma response got wrong. most people have to learn to stop being cruel to their inner child, whereas his inner child is the cruelest voice within.

anyway, for all the Bad Shit endeavor has passed on to the next generation, the future and hope he provides for hawks is something else. despite all white-knuckled efforts, he doesn't end up saving his family, nor himself, and certainly not touya, but he saves hawks, and that one instance contributes to the entire idea of ofa and the question of what different people can give to each other.

as invested as hawks is in the future, he initially keeps himself pretty distant when it comes to those younger than him. there isn't much explicitly given as to why, but it's pretty natural to assume that he really doesn't have the tools to pass on anything healthy--not after what he's been given by others. the one good thing he knows how to give is the one good thing he's received, which is the act of saving itself. being a pro is the only language he has for the longest time, and once his back's to the wall and he has to give tokoyami whatever he can, we see how readily he assumes that what he has to offer just isn't good enough.

(not only did his parents pass trauma onto him, but in valuing or devaluing his wings and thereby making his worth always conditional, they also affected what he could then pass on to others ((or at least, how he conceived of what he could give)).)

in my view, hawks gives tokoyami flight and endeavor support, and from tokoyami he receives the idea that he's someone worth looking up to and fighting beside despite his shortcomings, while from endeavor he not only got saved as a child but also receives a proof-of-concept of the ability to radically change, to wind up in a morally/emotionally better place than where one started. (he not only contrasts himself against shoto for the kid's ability to forgive/work with his parents, but notably contrasts himself against endeavor due to the latter's willingness to engage with his past, which he views as a vulnerability but also as something admirable.)

given keigo's middling age in the main cast of characters and the interesting space he occupies, it's fitting that he would ultimately act as a sort of channel between the generations of heroes as of the finale, retaining some of the value from what came previously while also helping guide what comes in the future.

[midnightmoonkiss]

Devotion

Wednesday Addams X GN! Reader

Word Count: 1.4k+

Wednesday Addams wasn’t one to care too terribly much about birthdays, let alone her own.

This was something she explained to her, for lack of better words, ‘friends’ last year.

Though she enjoyed them when she was younger, when she could have parties that would terrorize the local youth she’d invite, that same enjoyment was hard to recreate as she got older.

Sure, she could order a crate of spiders and let them loose in Ophelia Hall or perhaps a classroom, the screams of her classmates no doubt going to amuse her, but it would only prove to waste her time.

Wednesday wasn’t a child anymore, though she was still full of woe.

She still did enjoy torture, just not at the expense of her valuable time.

She’d much rather celebrate by writing her novel for an extra hour in peace.

Only.. this year was a bit different than last.

Her bond with a few certain classmates grew, but also..

This year.. she had you.

Her darling (Y/N). Though she swore she’d never be so foolish as to fall in love again, her idiotic black heart couldn't help but yearn for you. So, she decided one day that she would have you.

Here you both are over half a year later, still together. It made her feel as if she was having a heart attack whenever she thought about it.

Wednesday supposes she would like to spend most of her day with you, if not all of it.

What a fine present that would be, your complete and utter attention on her for an entire day.

As if you didn’t do that already.

She’d never admit it, and deny it whenever brought up, but she does the same for you.

Her observant eyes always find you in a crowd, and despite an outfit that blends with the rest of the student body, you’ve always stuck out to her.

She was certain she could find you among a hundred lookalikes.

When you asked her what she would like for this dreadful and rainy day that felt like any other, she said exactly that.

“Give me your complete devotion.”

Oh, how easy a wish that was to fulfill.

You were already obsessed with the gothic girl, from her twin black braids to her tall boots.

Though her uniqueness drew you in, it was her own personal flare that made you stay.

How she acted as though she didn’t care about people, and most of the time she didn’t, but on some rare occasions.. you could see her care for others.

You also admired her boldness, something you admittedly did not possess. Oh, how simple the world would be if you were more direct and confident.

You needed a girl like her.

She reminded you of a finicky black cat. Crossing her path was supposed to bring you bad luck, but you’ve only been blessed.

Afterall, a cat’s claws are retractable if they like you enough.

A thousand mirrors could shatter in her presence, but all you would think is how the reflective surface couldn't handle the ethereal beauty that is Wednesday Addams.

Part of her charm is the enigma that shrouds her.

One of your hobbies was uncovering the mysteries, or indulging in them whenever she would share the truth.

Throughout the glorious stormy day, your attention was solely focused on her.

Wednesday couldn’t help but smirk to herself when she felt the consistent burn of your eyes piercing into her skin, nor could she extinguish the bit of pride that blossomed in her chest when you escorted her to her next class.

Typically she would escort you, but following for once wasn’t so bad.

And maybe she was a bit giddy when you showed up after boring lecture with a freshly baked batch of cookies from your cooking class, red velvet with black icing that spelt her name out a dozen times.

Her name was so long, and with this precision.. it must’ve taken you all of class to finish.

“My love,” You whispered, pressing a chaste kiss to her pale cheek, “I’d write your name a thousand times over should you ask me to.”

Yes, this is what she deserved.

A day entirely dedicated to her featuring you worshiping her entire being. She felt like a Princess of Darkness.

“Even if I were to ask you to carve it into your skin?”

Her face was as blank as a slate, and yet you could see the curiosity and excitement in her murky gaze.

She wanted to know your genuine answer.

“Yes, even then,”

You answered honestly,

“But I’d much rather have you do that, your handwriting is far better than mine.”

If you were going to have something permanent, it’d be better if it was given to you by her.

She scoffed with amusement, turning on her heel to go to lunch, you right by her, “You’re right, it’ll better show that you’re mine.”

Her birthday falling on a Friday was beyond convenient, as soon as classes were over you were both free until Monday.

So, with utter elation, you took her out to Jericho that evening.

She donned her classic cozy checkered sweater with her black jacket atop it as you walked to town, the scenic view refreshing your mind, even if there was a chill in the air that turned your noses red.

You had discovered the local theater was playing Friday The 13th this evening last night, and you were all too excited to bring her to it.

Even though she has definitely seen it a multitude of times, watching it with you on her birthday did make her lips twitch upwards.

She found herself smiling even more when she noticed the utter terror on your face while watching the film.

You were so cute, going out to watch a horror film with her despite being easily terrified.

Love clearly made people do dumb things.. but it didn’t feel that dumb when you clutched onto her arm, shoving your face into her neck when another gorey murder took place on the large screen.

Of course, she could think of many ways to make the murder more realistic or even more horrific, but..

What screamed devotion like seeking comfort in her? She was objectively the most terrifying person in this full theater — and yet here you were, cowering beside her yet seeking her for comfort.

Her cute little mouse. She’d spare you from death a million times.

Resting her head atop of yours, she let contentment fill her amongst the blood curdling screams of the audience.

The movie finished when the sky had turned dark, and walking out of a theater being greeted by night when you had entered with daylight was always a bit of a mindfuck.

“Stop complaining.” Wednesday simply said, or rather commanded, grabbing your hand and dragging you to the Weathervane.

There, you all too willingly paid for both of your to-go orders.

The walk back to Nevermore was nothing short of romantic in Wednesday’s eyes.

Fear still covered you like a blanket as you walked along the road next to the creepy forest, fully clutching her arm as you sipped your drink.

“I would never allow something or someone to harm you,” She suddenly said, making you both stop so that she could stare directly into your eyes, “So don’t be so tense.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, eyes softening as you looked into her own, you could see your reflection in them.

“Oh, so you don’t want me to cling to you? Alright,”

Just as you made a move to unlatch yourself from her, Wednesday was quick to pull you back in, “I did not say that.” Annoyance prickled in her tone as she held you tightly against her, and yet all you could do was giggle.

“Pulling away from me doesn’t sound like devotion.”

Her birthday wish from earlier today came into play, melting your face with a soft smile.

“Wednesday, there’s no one else I’d rather devote every fiber of my being to than you,” Your frigid hand came up to caress her warming cheek as you spoke. The stars above you sparkled in her eyes, leaving you utterly entranced.

Surely this was witchcraft, but you were all too willing to be under her spell.

“I’m yours, same as you are mine.”

Just as your lips found hers, headlights found you both.

The loud honking made you both jump, and you practically dragged Wednesday out of the middle of the road just in time for the vehicle to pass.

How you both wound up in the middle of the road.. who knows.

All you knew was the silent anger on Wednesday’s face as she glared at the car whilst it faded into the fog.

“I guess this is sort of a metaphor, only a car barreling down the road can separate us?” You joked, only for her to turn to you and declare with dead seriousness, “I’d rather be hit by it.”

Rolling your eyes, a stupid smile on your face, you kissed her once again.

Wednesday has plenty of time still to write for her novel tonight, surely a few minutes, or maybe more, spent in your embrace wouldn’t hurt.

Wrapped up with you, her lips upon yours, passion swirling between you both, she could get used to this on her birthday.

[joannerowling]

i'm just disappointed that the fandom latched onto the marauders and teens and do the most boring gay male ships imaginable out of them while basically no one but me thinks that the dynamic between lily and petunia is interesting to explore. disappointed but not surprised, because i know the fandom thinks writing (bad, homophobic) out of character yaoi is more fun than exploring literally any female characters (especially if they can't write sex into it). disappointed nonetheless.

You and me both. I'm doubly interested in Lily and Petunia's relationship because i can't stop myself from comparing it to Jo and her sister Dianne's relationship. (Truly, in general, siblings relationships fly under the radar a lot in this fandom, it's all about shipping, but when you look at canon the deepest and messiest dynamics are all familial. And it makes sense for a child lit series, i think! Fairy tales follow that very pattern, romantic issues rarely feature in them, even when the pursuit of a love interest is central to the plot; whereas parents and siblings are more complex, they can be the hero's strongest ally or enemy.)

Anyways, i'm endlessly fascinated by the fact that Jo mimicked her own familial structure with the Evans specifically, and the character she put in her own position - the older sister - is Petunia, who is jealous of her younger, prettier and kinder sister and of her literal magical powers.

I mean, it could have been the opposite, right? The older sister could have been Harry's talented and beloved deceased mother, but that's not the choice Jo made. We'll never know if she did it consciously or not but imo it kinda gives out a self-deprecating nature. I'm only speculating but it's possible she at some point shared some of the feelings of resentment Petunia has for Lily. We know from interviews that the Rowlings had a bizarre way of referring to their daughters as "the Smart One" (Jo) and "the Pretty One" (Dianne) which without overblowing it doesn't feel like something that would have been good for either of their self-esteem.

However, unlike Lily and Petunia, JKR and her sister are very close, in fact Dianne Rowling was the one who helped her after her first marriage ended and she came back to the UK. She dedicated Philosopher's Stone to her (alongside her mother and daughter). So perhaps she built Petunia as a version of herself that could have existed had she been unable to move on from old hurt or rivalry (again, all of that is speculative and my own musings).

Regardless of biographical connections, i find Petunia a very compelling character. Vernon Dursley is a great caricature (whose echoes continue to entertain in Jo's later adult books), but Petunia feels real past the satire. The way i see her, she's a deeply self-hating person who clings to "normalcy" because she feels abnormal inside. People don't naturally like her, she doesn't have Lily's charisma and easy personality, she's difficult. When she calls Lily a "freak", it's obviously a projection, she uses the insult she secretly would apply to herself. It doesn't make her too dissimilar from the likes of Hermione (especially since Hermione was supposed to have a little sister too!), and so i can't help but find her a bit sympathetic, despite her terrible life choices, cowardice and refusal to self-reflect. Much like Snape, she was terrible to Harry but she also saved his life.

[flam-burr]

Should absolutely post about raka 👀

*slowly coming out of my hiding* I-I should?

Yeah, I should!

*loud crashes ensue*

I missed you.

A/n: Hello! Hi! I'm very happy somebody actually cared enough to like that post and send a question. A question! The first! *giggles* So, this story is a take on @goddamnitlopori 's post, which stirred a lot of thoughts and sent me back to writing after so long. Thank you <3

Plot: He knew males of his descendant changed when the alpha died, he had seen it happen when he was younger. He had expected it to happen, someday, eventually nursing the idea of being able to see in himself what he had lost that terrible day.

But now it felt… wrong.

Or

Raka starts shifting from a beta to an alpha.

************************************************************************

Wind brushed gently through the lonely orangutan’s fur, the fresh scent of grass and earth bringing relaxation after a long day.

In the past he had sometimes neglected the simple pleasures of life, too caught up with his work to think there could be something more important than that, but it is known that one doesn’t fully appreciate what he has until he loses it. Or, in this case, goes terribly close to do so.

Raka closed his eyes, breathing deeply and basking in the euphoric sensation that being alive gave him.

He still didn’t fully believe his luck, but he thanked Caesar everyday for that log that stopped his rush towards the sea and gave him a chance to survive. He even kept a shard of it. Nothing big, just a reminder that now hung to his neck, where Caesar’s symbol used to be. He often entertained the thought of carving that same symbol in the wood, but some nostalgic part of him thought it was better not. It would never be the same as his old pendant.

He hoped Noa and Mae took care of that old thing, wherever they were.

He prayed for it to bring them the peace that used to bring him, even though he was quite sure the two would give each other way too much of a headache to be actually useful.

The orangutan sighed, chuckling at the thought of his old travel companions as he finally opened his eyes and made his way to the river - a way calmer one than the last - and carefully sat by the shore.

He dipped a hand in the cold water and started bringing it to his mouth when a glimpse of his reflection stopped him in his tracks.

Raka wasn’t one to indulge in this vanity. The rare times he had seen his face were for a purpose, like drinking or washing. Glimpses of fur and dark skin he could picture quite clearly with the eye of the mind to recognise himself if he saw his reflection-

But this one wasn’t his.

The reflection was wider, broadier, its neck was dark and started to be evident under the reddish fur. It looked more like an alpha male than a beta.

It looked more like… him.

Raka got struck by the realization.

Something awakened in his chest, stirring and clawing its way towards his heart as he sat, frozen, staring wide-eyed at the image in the water.

Had it been already this long since his death?

Raka tried to remember how many sunsets had been since he met Noa. Even taking in account having lost one or two after his almost fatal swim, it hadn’t been that long. He should have had more time to… he wasn’t really sure for what, actually.

He knew males of his descendant changed when the alpha died, he had seen it happen when he was younger. He had expected it to happen, someday, eventually nursing the idea of being able to see in himself what he had lost that terrible day.

But now it felt… wrong.

The chin was wrong.

The nose was smaller.

His fur didn’t fall this way on his face.

His eyes weren’t that shade of green.

Raka looked for his village in his new features, but he just wasn’t there.

The image shook and trembled.

Raka furrowed his brow as more drops fell into the water and he lifted a hand to his face.

Slow, salty, big tears rolled lazily along his new face to hang on his chin until they finally fell, blurring his sight and giving him some kind of mercy from the pain that tried to eat his racing heart.

Raka sniffed and lifted his gaze up. Over the blurry layer, he saw the sky was on fire, painting itself with the most stunning reds and oranges as the sun went slowly to sleep and night awoke.

It was beautiful.

It was merciful.

It didn’t stop the memories from coming.

Memories of long nights spent around the fire flooded his mind. Some were full of discussions, talking, attempts to crack the old writings in the new books they found. Others carried the sensation of a warm embrace, a scent strong and earthy, filled with a sensation of protection and eyes of the right green that watched upon him like he was the most precious of the treasures they hoarded.

Like all the answers they looked for were right there, in the space that existed between their lips, waiting for them.

Raka let the memories pass through him, welcoming the bitter-sweet pain they brought but wishing it was never there, and before he could think he gripped the wooden shard by his neck and held it close.

He traced the unfamiliar shape with his fingers, occasionally catching on some unrefined parts that hurt.

He winced. His old pendant was smoother, safer to hold.

But this one was good. This one grounded him.

Breath after breath, stroke after stroke, his heart slowed. The pain was there - always there -, but it ceased to try to suffocate him, leaving its place to a warmer feel and Raka mastered all his courage to lower his gaze once again.

His village looked back at him from the water, eyes puff with tears and sorrow.

He stared.

Trembling, Raka tried an experimental smile and his heart dropped with recognition.

The orangutan laughed, sweet huffs gradually turning into sobs, but happy nonetheless.

“Hello… friend.”, he said, voice raw with an emotion he didn’t think he could feel anymore.

“I… missed you.”

[fumikomiyasaki]

Finally I can upload him... Beelby was an oc I had for long but didn't upload yet but now he is finally real.^^

𝗕𝗜𝗢𝗚𝗥𝗔𝗣𝗛𝗜𝗖𝗔𝗟 𝗜𝗡𝗙𝗢𝗥𝗠𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡

Name: Beelby Zetron

Based on: Beelzebub (Helltaker)

𝗚𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿: Male 

𝗔𝗴𝗲: 20 (He says at least is probably as old as the universe)

𝗕𝗶𝗿𝘁𝗵𝗱𝗮𝘆: 6th of September

𝗦𝘁𝗮𝗿𝘀𝗶𝗴𝗻: Virgo

𝗛𝗲𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁: 187 cm

𝗘𝘆𝗲 𝗰𝗼𝗹𝗼𝗿: Red

𝗛𝗮𝗶𝗿 𝗰𝗼𝗹𝗼𝗿: Violet

.

𝗣𝗥𝗢𝗙𝗙𝗘𝗦𝗦𝗜𝗢𝗡𝗔𝗟 𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗧𝗨𝗦

𝗗𝗼𝗿𝗺: Diasomnia

𝗦𝗰𝗵𝗼𝗼𝗹 𝘆𝗲𝗮𝗿: Fourth year

𝗖𝗹𝗮𝘀𝘀: 4-D

𝗢𝗰𝗰𝘂𝗽𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻: Student, Quizhost

𝗖𝗹𝘂𝗯: Magical Shift

𝗕𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝘀𝘂𝗯𝗷𝗲𝗰𝘁: History of Magic

.

.

𝗙𝗨𝗡 𝗙𝗔𝗖𝗧𝗦:

𝗗𝗼𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗱: left

𝗙𝗮𝘃𝗼𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝗳𝗼𝗼𝗱: Pancakes, Red Tomato Salad, 

𝗟𝗲𝗮𝘀𝘁 𝗳��𝘃𝗼𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝗳𝗼𝗼𝗱: Insects at all, they are his friends

Likes: Bugs, Attention, being in company, Rose smell, being Clean,

𝗗𝗶𝘀𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲𝘀: being trapped somewhere, being ignored, dirty environment around him

𝗛𝗼𝗯𝗯𝘆: writing speeches, practising dark artes. 

𝗧𝗮𝗹𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘀: Entertaining, Jokes, Charisma

𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬 and Backstory:

Not much is known about where Beelby came from, his family, his home... or moreso how could he tell others he is someone who came from hell and walks along the mortals to observe them from off close... He is something called an Origin demon... demons that are as old as the universe itself... however despite that many of them leave the place they do their job as and give up a lot in favour of wanting to understand the simple people... and so did Beelby.

However despite that decision to settle down and live among the "Normal people" There is enough damage he left behind... in his younger days he picked much more fights and did the bidding of many other demons which led his relationship with Alioth to be very Rocky... as to punish the Celestial dragon for being Naive and bringing darkness to one planet Beelby took the horn of his father as a punishment... one that left these two with an issue with another.

Beelby also feels somewhat responsible for many things going wrong in the world, especially when it comes to the children of darkness he knows some origin demons did were to blame for some complications with them, as well as when it comes to his own dorm he also witnessed events first hand but... he is never allowed to interfere... he is only allowed to watch on knowing more things than others.

Overall thanks to this atonement he did take Gregory, Leroy and Flynn under his wing, knowing the chaos these three can cause if pushed into the wrong direction... he wanted to be their friend but also somewhat their mentor to lead them along.

Beelby is quite strong despite leaving hell still, owning a Fly form if things go drastic and some of his abilities even rivaling some of the gods he met. However given how he is he hides all of this power most of the time unless its necessary. He does have a love for Humor but his humor reaches from terrible dad jokes, to dark humor to the driest jokes. He is able to turn others into demons too with his powers, this however makes him weaker and aside aging long like him they won't get half of his strength.

The wings on his neck move when he is angry or excited. His love for bugs makes him quite made if anyone tries to harm them when he is around... after all they are just living beings like humans as well. He has strong magic, but tries to limit it to not give the Magic shift team an unfair advantage. In itself he does just try to live his life, do good for the bad things he did in hell, experience things for himself, and become a better person.

He may seem odd... especially has some weird thoughts... is very insecure about his body and some of his features... but he does own them on stage when he does his quiz host job. He can feign confidence if need but usually tries to stay humble and not involve too much into fights. If he falls in love he also falls hard... to the point he does write a lot of letters and things about them a lot but... he knows not everyone will agree to join him as a demon. So he is keen on making sure you want this for certain.

Overall... Beelby is just a demon who decided to become more human than any of his colleagues... for his sake and love of this world.. and to protect his fellow bugs personally.

Unique Magic:

Lord of Flies

Can communicate with any Bug and so he has his ears everywhere listening to any Conversation He needs to If a Bug ist nearby

[not-your-bro]

hi there! idk if u still do hcs, but if u do, can u do some platonic climbing class hcs? thank you!

hiya!! i am always doing hcs! depending on what i've got front of brain and how busy i am, it may take a minute for me to answer, but i am p much always ready & willing to yap 🫡

a lot of these hcs have been mentioned in fics of mine over the years, so apologies if any are familiar, but here's what i've got:

made short horror films together when they were kids. josh was the driving creative force, chris was the cameraman & editor. hannah and beth always featured in them, and so did their other friends from time to time. (jess loved being in them but she's a terrible actress LOL.) in an old fic of mine, i had josh make a dvd collection of these films and give them to chris as a present. josh would also keep a copy in the washingtons' media collection, and he rewatches them more than he'd admit. chris gets too much secondhand embarrassment to revisit them super often.

because absolutely nothing can keep them from yapping, they were nonstop note passers in school. josh was good at getting away with it, but chris wasn't - not as quick with the sleight of hand, and he always just looked like he was doing something he wasn't supposed to. at some point, josh had the bright idea to write their notes with invisible ink pens, so getting caught wasn't a big deal. in middle and high school, when they didn't spend all day in the same classroom together, they left notes in each other's lockers a lot.

always do joint halloween costumes, and they've been doing it for so many years that it's just an unspoken, understood thing that they'll be dressing up together. some costumes i think they'd do: billy and stu from scream; adam and lawrence from saw; wayne and garth from wayne's world; lloyd and harry from dumb and dumber (the ugly suits specifically); ian malcolm and alan grant from jurassic park.

chris was deeply into the lord of the rings movies as a kid, and even though he didn't get far in the books (not a reader), he thought it was cool that tolkien made up an entire language. so...you can guess what he and josh tried to do... it wasn't deep/robust - more individual words/common phrases than a proper language - but they liked being able to communicate with each other in a way only they could understand. sometimes they did it for privacy, other times to be annoying. like it bothered beth to no end, so the boys definitely just made shit up in front of her to get a rise, even though they had no idea what the other was saying.

chris drinks mainly to keep up with josh, even though he doesn't particularly care for alcohol unless it's masked in a mixed drink. but chris likes to smoke weed, and so does josh, so they're always slipping outside together to smoke. when they were younger, they really tried to keep it secret - had a little hideout in the woods and everything. later, they realized that a) it was pretty obvious what they were doing and b) nobody gave a shit. so as they got older josh liked to make up increasingly ridiculous reasons for why they needed to step out.

chris is largely the driver and josh the passenger princess, and if other friends are riding with them, josh has to get shotgun or it's, like, a problem. he's such a baby about it - he just feels it's his seat. when josh drives it's because he had an idea of something they could do together, and he just sort of...showed up at chris's house. leading to lots of text exchanges like this

in this vein, they hang out constantly but they don't often make set plans or decide what they're doing beforehand. it's really just a lot of hanging out, in the purest sense of the word, and they aren't opposed to parallel play - each doing their own thing in the same room, like chris playing a game while josh doodles and half-watches. lots of late nights turn into unplanned sleepovers, to the point that josh bought an extra toothbrush to keep in the bathroom for just such occasions. whenever friends or family are like "what'd you guys do?" they get shrugs and "nothing really." which sounds like a brush-off, but most of the time it is nothing really, and imo that's the best part of their friendship to me. they can do fuck-all for hours and still enjoy themselves together. no stress, no expectation. and i think this is crucial for both of them, for different reasons. chris has social anxiety and josh is always On. for chris, being with josh doesn't trigger that anxiety, and for josh, being around chris doesn't require the same level of performance. it's just comfortable.

[gamerbearmira]

BUT THE EVIL IS NECESSARYYYYY

Listen. I love Twilight by bôa that's what I was listening to when I wrote this 😭 NOW THE HOUSBROKEN KIDS DO GET TO BE HAPPY 🙏🙏 just. Not here. I will write fluff eventually, maybe some more of Alma being forgiven, idk 🤧🤧

In the meantime. More of their curse causing them to be feral lmao ❗❗❗

LEA GET IT

-----

Luisa stared at her hands, backing away. She didn't mean to. It was an accident. Sometimes she lost control of her gift, and she had found herself growing stronger as of late. And the curse? Well, it didn't help. She had even less control.

She didn't want to hurt any animals. Not unless it was necessary. And the buck was charging at her, she didn't have a choice! She tried to run, tried to move, but it didn't let up. And she didn't see the rock, she didn't know it was there. And she blacked out, for a moment, only a moment! And she...well they were running low on food. And Isabela couldn't use her gift, she was straining herself.

Luisa dropped the bloody antler, staring at the still, lifeless body of the buck. The bear ears atop her head flattened, and she held her hands close. She dropped down to the forest floor, crying. Was she a monster now? Had the curse taken over her mind too? What would the others think?

Luisa couldn't stop crying. She sobbed, feeling terrible. She didn't know what was wrong with her. She felt so helpless. So weak.

"Lulu?" Luisa turned around at the voice, hiccuping. She saw Isabela standing there, looking worried. Luisa stood, rushing to her 13-year-old sister, burying her blood-covered face into her chest. "Luisa? What happened? Dolores said you were crying."

"I didn't mean it! I didn't wanna hurt it!" Luisa sobbed, clutching Isabela's dress. Isabela looked at her in concern, kneeling and attempting to calm Luisa down.

"Breathe, Luisa, slow down," Isabela said, her ears dropping. Luisa was gasping as she tried to calm herself. She looked at Isabela with watery eyes. Isabela saw the blood on her face and furrowed her eyebrows. But before she could ask if Luisa was ok, the younger spoke up.

"I didn't mean to kill it. It was...it was gonna hurt me and..." Luisa said between hiccups, trailing off as she buried her face into Isabela's dress. Isabela was confused for a moment, but the smell of blood filled the air, and her gaze drifted to the dead buck, one of its antlers ripped away.

It was gruesome, to be entirely honest. Isabela knew that what happened wasn't by natural causes. What happened had to have been done by Luisa. But the extent of the buck's injuries didn't match up. Sure, Luisa lost control sometimes, which explained why the antlers were ripped away, and why its head was on top of a rock.

But that didn't explain the gaping hole in its torso.

Isabela stared at it for a long time, the only sound in her tall ears being the forest sounds and Luisa's crying. She looked down at her bloody sister, then at the buck.

"Luisa...what happened?" Isabela asked, and Luisa looked up at Isabela. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Isabela then looked at the blood drenching her mouth, and she shuddered but didn't pull away. "Luisa. What. Happened."

Luisa stared at Isabela more, not saying a word. Looking down in guilt, she bit her lip, her sharp teeth pricking them. "I...was so hungry. And we don't have much of any food left. A-And the fish aren't around," Luisa mumbled, her voice raspy from her crying. She looked up at Isabela again, tears already pouring from her eyes. "I just wanted to eat Isa. And it was right there."

Isabela looked down at Luisa. The bear features of the small girl seemed more enunciated. She didn't look the part of an innocent 9-year-old girl so much as she did a cursed child trying to survive in the rainforest. "Luisa, did you...?"

Luisa looked down, gripping Isabela's dress. Isabela's bobcat ears fell flat as she hugged Luisa silently. "I'm sorry. But I was hungry. I-I couldn't help it," Luisa said in a watery voice, her voice cracking once more.

Isabela could feel Luisa trembling. Isabela could feel herself trembling. She wasn't sure how to react. She didn't...blame Luisa. Not really. They were running low on food. Really, really low. Isabela could only use her gift so much, and she was getting tired. And winter was coming; and while it didn't necessarily snow, it got cold enough to the point that the fish were scarce, and what little fish they did catch didn't last. Especially not with Luisa and Camilo. By far, they ate the most, and that didn't even factor in how much Isabela herself, Dolores, and Mirabel ate. There just wasn't enough food.

Isabela looked at the deer. Could they? Well, Luisa seemed fine, if not a bit shaken. And it's not like any of them knew how to skin an animal and cook it. They barely knew how to cook fish. And most of the time, Luisa didn't even bother having hers cooked, she just picked it up and ate it raw. So...

"Luisa," Isabela asked, her voice a little detached, and Luisa looked up at her. Isabela's tall ears swiveled around before standing straight, twitching.

"Yeah?" Luisa said in a small voice.

"Did it taste...good? Was it weird in any way? Like rotten, or like maybe the buck had a disease?" Isabela asked and Luisa froze for a moment before answering.

"U-Um...no. I mean it tasted fine, I wouldn't say it was bad...I guess it was good," Luisa shrugged and Isabela continued to stare at the mangled buck before she looked at Luisa.

"Let's bring it back to the den," Isabela whispered, and Luisa's eyes widened. What? Actually? But it was a wild animal, and only other wild animals ate wild animals.

They weren't...they weren't wild animals, right?

"B-But Isa, we can't!" Luisa argued.

"Why not?" Isabela asked, looking down at her sister, her eyes wild, and Luisa flinched at the look in them. "Think about it, Lulu. That buck could last us for the rest of the week! We won't have to struggle to fish, and we won't have to rely on my gift anymore."

"We..." Luisa trailed off, unable to give an argument. Her sister wasn't exactly wrong.

"Come on Luisa. You don't want the others to be hungry, do you? And you won't be hungry either. We don't even have to cook!" Isabela reasoned and Luisa was breaking, slowly.

Isabela was right. Cooking was hard, and Isabela and Dolores only had limited knowledge of it thanks to Julieta. But other than that? Nothing. Luisa was the only one who ate the fish raw, though she knew there had been a few times where it had been undercooked and the others ate it; they were fine. Luisa knew Isabela couldn't keep making vegetation forever. She was tired. And they were always so hungry, they couldn't keep going without food. Other forest animals were far more abundant than fish as well.

"I...I guess you are right," Luisa mumbled, looking back at the buck.

"See! I knew you'd agree. Now, help me carry it back. The others will be happy we found food," Isabela said, standing, Luisa trailing behind her. As Isabela helped Luisa hoist the buck onto her shoulders, her mind raced.

She hoped they didn't go too far.

-----

OKOKOK I'LL STOP <\\\333

But as you can see. They are very conflicted. Of course, this incident only happens about one or two more times. It wouldn't have happened again unless the candle died and Casita fell, lol

OH WAIT. HAHAHA 👺👺👺👺

No but. They will be happy. Eventually. In the meantime I'm gonna do this ask and while I do. I ask who wants to see a mama Isa snippet I wrote thus morning 🤧🤧

[astriiformes]

hello!! this is kit. happy birthday!!! you don't have to answer all of these but

🎞️if you could change one scene from any of the movies, which one would you change and how?

⏲️what time period would you want marty to travel to and what would you want him to do? for fun or for something serious?

💫if you have any bttf related wips, here's the oppurtunity to ramble about them! (<-PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLSEPLSPEL)

Thank you!!

🎞️ - If you could change one scene from any of the movies, which one would you change and how?

Oof, just one scene is difficult, because the thing I'd like to change most would be how Jennifer's plot was handled in the second movie, and that requires a bit more overhauling. I think you could still make it better with a little tweaking though -- maybe she doesn't get knocked out and is simply told to stay watch the DeLorean, which still ends up being a problem when she tries to lure someone away from it, or something like that.

I guess that still modifies more like two scenes, but you get the idea! Anything to make her feel like she's got a little more agency. Because I like her a lot and it bothers me that the BttF movies aren't even that terrible at writing women (Lorraine and Clara are both really interesting characters!), but sidelined her anyways.

⏲️- What time period would you want Marty to travel to and what would you want him to do? For fun or for something serious?

Already answered this one but since there are plenty of time periods to choose from I will simply pick another. As someone who studies the history of science, I think that Doc and Marty could get up to some peak shenanigans in Enlightenment-era America (thinking late 18th and early 19th century here) when everyone was obsessed with the phenomena of electricity. I want to unleash Doc Brown on the people that thought lightning rods defied the will of God.

💫- If you have any BttF related WIPs, here's the opportunity to ramble about them!

OH BOY DO I

So, four years ago I started a diptych of stories I am yet to finish but that are some of the fics nearest and dearest to my heart, surrounding the idea of Marty being transgender. (I once called them my love-letter to transmasculinity, which is a little dramatic, but genuinely a bit how I feel about them)

The first is from Doc's perspective, and deals with the fact that, when Marty was first born, the version of him who'd been visited by 17 year-old Marty back in 1955 must've had an absolute heart attack at first. It features a very confused Doc and (eventually) a younger Marty figuring some important things out about himself, and is probably about half-written at uh. Almost 9k words.

The second, companion piece is from Marty's perspective, and set post-trilogy, dealing with him navigating questions of identity as someone who is trans and who now grew up in a different timeline. It follows his relationships with the important people in his life, his dueling existential crises, and the isolating feeling that maybe there's no one who understands you in the entire world -- and the relief that comes from learning that you're wrong.

I've done a truly monster amount of research for these fics--including having a librarian friend help me track down digitized historical documents during lockdown back in 2020--and am contemplating diving into the historical queer archive where I currently work for a second round, though we'll see what I can find. Regardless, I really want to finally finish these stories now that I've circled back around to having a lot of Back to the Future feelings again.

(Also to show the BttF fandom that I'm a much better writer when I'm not churning out only-mildly-edited 1-2k fics every day for a writing challenge, rip, although I'm honored people have been enjoying those ones, too! Just, you know. I can do better.)

[intheticklecloset]

Hihihi I just wanna say happy you’re back and love your all that you write but was wondering if you could do lee akutagawa and ler dazai with ribs. If not that’s completely ok and thank you for taking the time to read this I hope you have a great day❤️❤️

Ahhh I'm very late filling this request but I was so happy to get it and work on it! Thank you so much for the opportunity to write for these two! I couldn't help but make it just a liiiiittle longer, hehe. 💖

~~~

For years, Akutagawa had craved Dazai’s attention.

At first it was just that – an acknowledgement of a job well done, a satisfied nod, a proud smile, literally anything that let Akutagawa know he was doing well in the eyes of his mentor.

But then Dazai left the Port Mafia, and the weretiger came along, and his desire for attention became something…more. Now he wasn’t satisfied with a simple “good job.” He wanted affection. A hug, a ruffle of his hair, a pat on the back. Something physical. Something that would help satisfy his craving for the touch of another human.

But of all the things Akutagawa had had in mind, this most certainly was not one of them.

“I said ‘well done,’” Dazai told him with that tiny smile he reserved for when he was about to do something completely out of the blue. The brunette reached for him, and Akutagawa flinched on instinct. “What more you do want?”

“Anything,” Aku rasped, then cleared his throat and glanced away. “Never mind, Dazai. I’m grateful merely for the slightest attention from you.”

Dazai hummed. “Are you sure? Then why do you look like you want a hug?”

Akutagawa had to bite his lip to keep from gasping at the idea. It wasn’t that he was attracted to his former boss in that kind of a way – the universe had seen to it that the weretiger be the sole recipient of that honor – but the thought that he might actually get something so personal from the man he’d long admired was…well, overwhelming.

“No?” Dazai asked when Aku took too long to respond. “Then…maybe something else?”

Akutagawa finally dragged his eyes up to look at him. “Like what?”

There was that tiny glint of mischief. Aku barely had time to register it before Dazai was suddenly very much in his personal space, and the terrible, overwhelming urge to laugh rose up in him. He slapped a hand over his mouth in horror, his brain taking a few extra seconds to process why such an absurd idea would even cross his mind.

Dazai’s fingers were deep in his ribs. He was tickling him.

Shit.

“Wait!” Akutagawa’s voice was pleading, though he didn’t mean for it to be. His lips trembled as he fought off a smile. “Wahahahahait, no!”

“Atsushi says you have dimples,” Dazai commented casually, eyes scanning his features, looking disappointed that he couldn’t see any.

Blast that weretiger for ratting him out, and blast Akutagawa’s stupid pride that he couldn’t even stand disappointing Dazai even in this way.

He let himself give in and smile – really smile – just long enough for Dazai to exclaim, “Oh, you do have dimples! How adorable~”

“Stohohohohop!” Aku begged, raspy laughter escaping his lips as he squirmed. “Unhahahahand me at once!”

Dazai nodded sagely. “Atsushi told me you’d say that. Those exact words, even. ‘Unhand me.’”

“Dazahahahahai!”

“Buuuuut…” the brunette grinned playfully and wrapped his arms around Aku’s waist, further trapping him and tickling the backs of his ribs all in one move, making the younger man’s laughter rise in pitch. “He also told me you didn’t mean it~”

Akutagawa was going to kill the weretiger one day. A slow, torturous, painful death. But in the meantime, he had to find a way out of this predicament.

“Dahahahahahazai…!”