#he can make growth happen! for his son!!!!!

[touchmycoat]

Scum Villain’s Survival Guide where it’s Shen Jiu as the transmigrator. SJ gets tracked into this “Make The Target Happy!” mission system and is so resentful that at the end of every success he pulls the plug and ruins his target’s life, and it’s not technically against the rules is it? But now he’s gotta go back and right all his wrongs—there’s the demon lord he betrayed and killed, the war hero who thinks he’s an alien agent who betrayed humanity, etc. etc. At the end of the day it’s all about growth—he panics at the thought that he’s responsible for another person’s happiness so he’d rather crush it himself. Righting every wrong involves actually baring a part of himself and it’s mortifying and horrifying to let someone else choose to love him.

[wildsaltair]

do y’all ever think about how Maximus’ main joys are things that involve creating and nurturing life? he’s a farmer who loves tending crops. he’s a husband who adores his wife and probably wanted to have more children eventually. he’s a father who adores his son and wants to raise him. his leadership techniques are encouragement and kindness. he treasures the lives of family, his men, and even his enemies to a certain degree.

and still, he is constantly expected to kill and destroy simply because he’s good at it. I can imagine he joined the army because, like most young boys, he saw the glory and excitement of it. he’s a natural born killer with his foresight in battle and his ability to size up opponents in an instant. he’s brilliant at what he does.

but. that’s not what makes him rise in the ranks everywhere he goes.

as a soldier, it’s obvious he’s won the respect and loyalty of his men because he is honest, devoted, and caring toward them. he does not cast them into battle as pawns; he rides alongside them and supports them as equals in battle. Marcus wants him to be the next Emperor because he knows Maximus’ nature is not to be power-hungry.

even as a gladiator, it’s his refusal to kill Tigris that really puts him over the top in favor with the people. they love him for his ability to kill, but even more for his choice not to. he befriends his fellow gladiators instead of seeing them as obstacles to his freedom. he treasures the memory of his family by carrying their statues with him everywhere he goes. his last act of killing Commodus is not just to get revenge and set the city to rights — it’s protecting and nurturing the life of a little boy who reminds him of his own son, the grandson of the man he thought of as his own father.

and I just think there’s something so powerful in the way everyone recognizes Maximus’ humility and kindness and mercy just as much as his courage, prowess in battle, ferocity, etc. he stands out because he doesn’t glory in killing, he doesn’t relish in destroying lives. he mourns life lost. he longs to live peacefully and foster life.

how tragic? that it’s people’s obsession with his natural skillset that prevents him from doing what he wants most?? Marcus won’t let him go home, Commodus won’t let him go home, Proximo forces him to kill, the mob loves him when he kills.

and how ironic? that they all recognize his goodness and refuse to let him live accordingly? how ironic that all he wanted to do was be kind and the people who recognized that still forced him to be harsh?

[agatharkn3ss]

Nicky's Rio son too.

I feel there were so many lines that imply this and the finale is starting to make more sense - especially because the dandelion in the trial!

Jen explains that Green Craft™ is about the cycle of all living things - growth and decay in constant flow. So it's not just about dying but being born too.

So it would track that Rio's love for Agatha was so strong that it actually created life - Nicky. However, there would be consequences to this because proper balance had to be maintained somehow. Rio probably even warned Agatha about it, but Agatha always believes she is above the rules so in her head she probably thought she had every right to Nicky (maybe even her "prize" that she alludes to in their final confrontation). This would really add to Rio's hurt - Nicky was her son too. She thought she was giving Agatha a gift of life, but instead Agatha sees her as this cruel "evil" that "gave her nothing". To her Rio is the one who just "took."

It feels like it is also implied by Rio at the start of the episode when she says "This walk with another woman's son on a road that doesn't...". She could be referring to Nicky being her son.

But I think Agatha finally accepts her truth during the final trial when she sees the dandelion seed in her cameo. She even says "Out of Death - life" as she grows it because she finally understands the literal implications of that phrase.

That Dandelion is representation of Nicky. And sure enough, as soon as the flower grows and blossoms, it quickly enters the final stage - when it turns into the seeds that can be scattered by the wind again and continue the cycle of life. Because guess what, "dandelions produce seeds asexually by apomixis, where the seeds are produced without pollination, resulting in offspring that are genetically identical to the parent plant".

When Nicky is born, we could probably assume it was indeed asexual reproduction - Agatha says she didn't use a spell or incantation, but instead he was made from scratch (obviously a clever nod to his name). On one hand it could be read like Agatha is astonished how something this magical could happen without actually using any witchcraft. However, this also feels like a suggestion that maybe she is just amazed at how he could possibly exist. Kathryn Hahn in her recent interview alluded to how the witches didn't need men, babies were just born. So it was Rio's "dandelion seed" that made it happen.

It is the second characteristic of dandelion species is what seals the deal for me - "the offspring being genetically identical to the parent plant". Nicky as the offspring of Death needs bodies to survive in this realm. During his birth Rio says she can offer only time, because she can maintain the balance, as long as Nicky gets his bodies.

That's why she hates Rio and calls her evil - not because of Rio herself, but because of what her "genetics" did to Nicky. Agatha would rather have people believe that she is this evil witch killer that traded her child for the Darkhold, than anyone to know the awful truth that it was Nicky who was the cause of the killings.

In the flashbacks, there are those remarks about how they haven't "eaten for days" and that whenever Nicky was poorly he said he was hungry. Agatha said she couldn't create the food for him (and protect him from what's coming). She could've cooked that goat they had with them if they were really that hungry (btw, I still believe that goat is Senor Scratchy), but that wasn't the "food" that Nicky meant.

And just like Billy, Rio couldn't just take Nicky. He had to "turn himself in". It was his choice not to kill any more witches. On the day Nicky dies, he says "My mother needs me home". I think he is talking about Rio here, since he usually calls Agatha "Mama". This is the moment the decides for himself and goes home to Death.

I feel like this opens the possibility that we will indeed see Nicholas Scratch in the future (and have a role similar to the one in the comics). That maybe even he might not have "died" because he is an offspring of death, so he just exists in some Underworld realm, where he no longer needs bodies to survive. Maybe Agatha might have hoped that by killing more and more witches, she will bring Nicky back to life/this realm?

And the Ballad really was a protection spell she made for him too?

This would also be a more plausible explanation why Agatha went to kiss Rio when Billy asked "Is this how Nicky died?". I feel this was more of an apology to Rio for hating her for Nicky's treatment, because she finally understood why she had to do it?

[nickmarini]

Hello Nick!! Your role in Downfall was so amazing and I love the extreme nuances and choices shown in your role playing.

Can you share any how you used terms like “child”, “son” and “father” when referring to the dawn father? Was it separately characteristics of the same god or more showing perspectives in those moments as the mortal avatar? I am fascinated and it make me scratch my brain thinking of possibilities.

Thank you so much!

#CR Downfall

Thank you for saying that, and great question!

This is a round about answer but a lot of that wordplay came from simply the name. Dawnfather is such a name rich in meaning. Both aspects of it have ties to time and new beginnings.

Dawn is the suns' rise each morning, born anew to herald the coming day. Its consistent return gives mortals the ability to track the weeks, the seasons, and the years. To even learn that the suns' patterns can allow one to divine the seasons takes years of thoughtful study. Dawn dispels the darkness and stimulates natures growth. It’s constantly new and also always constant.

Father. One cannot become a father without time. To be a father, one must have been a child, it is a stage of life that must be reached. It necessitates change and growth as much as the dawn does. A father knows what it is to have been a child, to have been the dawn, and now he watches over it, paving the way for the new. If I’m going to show a different side of the Dawnfather then showing that previous stage of life seemed interesting.

Within his name itself is this story of growth. His was the first light, he fathered the dawn, and he has kept watch through the ages as the keeper the time. Sun, summer, time, agriculture, harvest, he is a hands on god, consistent, dutiful, present, with his hands in the dirt, it is what he knows. To become mortal and not tend to the world is hard for him.

Ayden is young, he is new, he is the Dawn, but not yet the Father. He is an aspect, the Dawnfathers hope sent down to Exandria to aid his siblings. He has more abilities pertaining to agriculture than the sun because that is the Dawnfathers newest domain. He comes late because the Dawnfather wants to wait till the absolute last minute to abandon his post. He has yet to make the journey.

All this to say that I wanted to explicitly show him growing from this experience. Ayden is not the Dawnfather we know…yet, he is the Dawnchild, on his journey. He has not toiled for ages tending to the world. I believe that the Dawnfather pre and post divergence is quite different. I think the divine gate separates him from the hands on nature of his expressed divinity. I think Ayden was a way to show this dawning realization that to be a good father one must empathize with children but also sometimes make the hard decisions for them, something they do not always agree with.

I wanted to play with him being both a part of the greater whole of the Dawnfather, and something seperate. His literal age of 15 means he is not fully formed despite being infused with the divine soul of the Dawnfather. Getting to play with “child” “son” and “father” let me highlight the differences and illuminate the growth that happens during this time of mortal incarnation and explore the inner turmoil with the Dawnfather himself as his various aspects interact with one another.

There is also precedent in some belief systems of Sun gods birthing themselves or being replaced by their own mortal incarnations. I think for a diety that rises anew each day it’s natural to associate imagery of rebirth or the journey of child to father.

And lastly I think it shouldn’t be overstated how much effect the Everlight and Trist had on Ayden. Nearly half of his levels are devoted to her. I think that sort of reinforces his mortal shell in a unique way and gives him the opportunity to be two things at once more fully.

[basementloser]

I would've loved an episode in which Danny and Dash switch bodies.

I imagine it happens because Dash is talking to Kwan about how cool Phantom is or something, and at some point he says "Man, I wish I was Danny Phantom!"

Of course Desiree hears this, she appears before him ("So you have wished it, so shall it be!"), and the next day Dash wakes up in Danny's body. Danny Fenton's body. In Danny's room.

At this point he's pretty familiar with Desiree, and he assumes she just heard him wrong, befause Fenton and Phantom do sound alike. ("Huh, how weird! How has no one noticed this before?" We hear Wes screaming in the distance as Dash makes this observation.)

But there is no way in hell that a puny little nerd like Fenton could be Dash's hero, so something must've gone wrong. He decides to find Desiree and correct his wish.

-

Meanwhile, Danny (to his horror) wakes up in Dash's body.

He assumes he overshadowed him for some reason, but when he tries to leave, he finds out he doesn't have his powers. He also doesn't feel Dash's presence in the body.

"I know i asked for a growth spurt, but not like this!"

This isn't good.

-

Dash makes his way downstairs, and is immediately greeted by Jack Fenton, who has a million chores for him.

"Come on, Danno! Those ghosts I fished out of the ghost zone with the Fenton Ghost Fisher™️ aren't gonna put themselves back!"

Before he can object he is pushed into the lab and has to fight a couple of ectopusses. This goes very badly at first, until Dash remembers the bit of ghost hunting training Danny gave him and his classmates, when they had to rescue their parents from that big pirate ship.

As soon as he's done, exhausted on the floor (Damn, Fenton really needs to work out more!), he hears Jack yelling down the stairs.

"Son, don't forget to change the ecto filtrator! You don't want Amity Park to blow up, do ya?"

More dangerous chores keep getting added for longer than Dash thought was humanly possible.

(At some point Jack gave him some fudge, which helped.)

How does Fenton live like this???

-

We switch back over to Danny, who is now looking around Dash's room. He already knew about the cute pink teddy bear collection, but he didn't expect to find what can only be described as a fan shrine to Phantom.

There are newspaper articles, pictures, merch ("Wait I have merch? How come i didn't know that? Who is selling Phantom merch?" it's Tucker), and a poster.

(the b-story of this episode is Sam & Tucker running a Phantom merch line, and trying to stop the Box Ghost from stealing all the boxes of merch.)

Danny keeps looking around Dash's room, and finding out more about him through his stuff.

At some point he finds Dash's diary. He contemplates if he should read it or not, but in the end he decides that since Dash is always such a jerk to him, he doesn't care about morals and reads it.

Reading the diary, Danny starts to feel kinda bad, because in the entries Dash actually seems human. He's insecure, and he actually struggles with a lot. He's afraid to talk about what he's going through.

His parents are very absent, and the A-listers kicked Valerie out when her life wasn't perfect anymore. He doesn't want that to happen to him.

(I personally headcanon Dash as an extremely closeted gay guy with a lot of internalised homophobia, who hasn't stopped trying to convince himself that he's straight, but his struggles could be about anything.)

After reading all that, Danny starts to feel kinda bad for him.

-

Over the course of the day ghosts keep showing up to fight or talk to Fenton, and Dash is incredibly confused by this. Also Danny must have a weird cold or something, because he's been exhaling cold air at random all day.

"I AM THE BOX GHO- Hey! Wait! Why are you running away? You never run away. You always trap me in your cylindrical contraption of doOoOoOm!" (The Box Ghost is wearing a Phantom t-shirt, and is holding a box full of other Phantom merch. After Dash runs away, Sam and Tucker appear, chasing the Box Ghost through the street, trying to get the merch back.)

Later Johnny 13 shows up to fight, because he and Kitty broke up for the 4th time this week, and he wants to let out some steam. "Shouldn't you change for our fight, kid?" Change into what? Wait he wanted to fight, right? Dash puts on his gym uniform, and boxing gloves. Johnny looks at him weird, but doesn't question it. They have a little boxing match in the backyard.

Youngblood came by to play astronauts with him, and was very disappointed that Danny didn't fly up to space with him. (Wait didn't that dead kid kidnap Dash's parents??! Also why in the hell does he think Fenton has the ability to fly?????!! And breathe(!) in space?!!!)

After finishing what seems like a billion ghost related chores (and dealing with way too many ghosts), Dash finally manages to get out of the Fenton house, and starts to look for Desiree.

-

Danny walks out of Dash's room, and runs into Dash's dad. He opens his mouth, but he doesn't seem to care about what he's going to say. "Son I am so incredibly disappointed in you." the dad starts, then continues to list all the reasons he is a huge disappointment who should try harder. "Those weird little bears in your closet!" and "Why don't you have a girlfriend yet?"

The whole interaction is horrible, and makes Danny appreciate his own parents (weird as they may be) so much.

Dash's mom also berates him about being a disappointment, because they found his Phantom collection ("He is a GHOST, Dash! He's dangerous!"), and because his grades are so low. ("What do you mean tutor? Just study harder!")

They threaten to take Pookie away if he doesn't get his shit together.

-

At some point Danny has deduced that this body situation must be some ghost bullshit, and he decides to go to Fentonworks.

Then he runs into Dash in his body, and they have a little spiderman moment

After the internal shock and "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING IN MY BODY GET OUT!"s have gone around, Dash tells Danny what happened.

Danny informs Dash that most of Desiree's wishes become permanent after 24 hours. They decide to team up to get Desiree to undo this wish before that happens.

It's noted that Dash didn't say the word "puny" or any other insult, when he says "I really don't wanna stay in your body.".

We see a compilation of Danny and Dash searching Amity Park for Desiree, and other wishes she has granted. They fight off a couple of small ghost things together.

(during this compilation we see Sam and Tucker chasing the Box Ghost around. "How is he this hard to catch?? We've done this millions of times already!!!" -"Well maybe if you didn't drop the fucking thermos!")

After the fight, Dash sighs and says "Man, I had no idea how difficult your life is, Fenton. I've only been living it a day and it sucks."

they have a little heart to heart, and Dash sincerely apologises for bullying Danny so much.

"why did you want to be Phantom anyway? I assume his life isn't that easy either." Danny says.

"I dunno, man. I just thought it would be cool to be, y'know, going ghost."

White rings appear around Dash. He turns into Phantom.

they have another moment like this:

"WHAT THE FUCK!"

"WHAT THE FUCK!"

"I"M- I- YOU- YOU'RE PHANTOM??!!!"

"NO! YES! NO TIME! FIGHT HER!!!"

Because of course, this is the moment that Desiree appears, and starts fighting them.

"I dont know how!!!"

The beginning of the fight is very awkward, with Dash not knowing how Danny's powers work, and Danny not being used to fighting Desiree without his powers.

Eventually they get the hang of it, with Danny telling Dash how to activate and use certain powers in the moment, and they defeat Desiree.

All the wishes get undone, and they suck her up into a thermos.

After that, they talk about Danny being Phantom. Danny tells Dash the story of how he died got his powers, and Dash shares some of his secrets with Danny so they're "even". (it's some stuff that wasn't in Dash's diary. Danny doesn't mention that he read that, but that can be conflict in a later episode)

They aren't friends yet, but it's a start. Now that he walked a mile in Danny's shoes, Dash feels so bad about bullying him all those years, and he starts to question his life choices. (start of a Dash redemption arc i guess). He promises to stop bullying in general, and help out Danny however he can. (He also promises to not tell anyone about Danny's secret identity.)

(The episode ends with Sam and Tucker, having finally caught the Box Ghost, only to realise that in the chase/fight all the merch got way too messed up to sell, so it was all for nothing. Tucker throws the thermos down in frustration, the Box Ghost gets free, grabs the Phantom shirt he wore earlier, yells "BEWARE!" and flies off. Sam sighs and gets ready to start chasing him again, but Tucker stops her. "I give up. Let him have the fucking shirt.")

[sepublic]

Thinking of how the Titan showed Luz the first glyph, Light, because she was kind to his son and listened to him, made him feel like his interests mattered when so many others overlooked the little guy and didn’t care about people like him. He didn’t force Luz to painstakingly find it on her own, as Philip did; The Titan freely gave this to her.

Then the second glyph, Ice, comes when Luz takes the moment to listen to the Titan; To say that she’ll learn on his terms, she’ll respect his body and work with him. Luz paid attention to the unheard son, and now the parent, speaking with and not for him as Philip did.

She gets the Plant glyph afterwards by continuing to follow that principle and give his son fun and company...

And the final glyph, Fire? Wing it like Witches is a major epiphany for Luz’s development, where it really hits her that she can’t drag her friends around in her attempts to play out certain beloved tropes and story beats she grew up on; In particular, this episode was about her desire to be the underdog hero, dragging Willow into relatively high-stakes consequences for a Grudgby match she did not ask for.

Sound familiar? I wonder if the Titan was low key afraid of Luz following in Philip’s steps, recognized that similar hero complex... Even if Luz was nowhere near as evil as Belos, well. Philip started off from somewhere, he didn’t begin as a genocidal dictator with countless sins to his name, he built his way up. Maybe the Titan is just being paranoid, Luz is so young after all! But in the end, he hid one final glyph from Philip because of his need for control, and it was admittedly Luz who jeopardized this precaution by giving Philip the Light spell.

Yet in Wing it like Witches, Luz really matures when she steps up and takes responsibility for her recklessness, for subsuming Willow’s problem and low key making it about herself, and what she decides for the group. Luz takes the full consequences of the stakes she set up so neither Willow nor Gus have to, and it’s this mature gesture of self-awareness that prompts them to reciprocate and forgive Luz.

So I wonder if THAT moment was what solidified to the Titan that yes, I really can trust this child. This human, the first after centuries of another who has been desecrating my corpse, bastardizing my name; She truly didn’t know any better, and meant well, teaching Philip the Titan’s last glyph. The first few glyphs were like little gifts, but giving Luz the last one meant she had full access to all of the Titan’s magic, so long as she experimented with glyph combos. And the Titan felt safe to entrust her with something he barred from Philip, because why?

Because Luz got over that fatal flaw of Philip’s; The desire to be the hero at any cost. That proved she wouldn’t follow in his footsteps, she diverged at a crucial point, and it meant she’d never become another Belos. They both worked and studied for the glyphs, but what mattered was the compassion that Luz had, and it was her kindness that began her discovery of glyphs. The Titan could trust his final glyph to her, Fire... But as he’d find out, it wasn’t even his final gift to Luz, either.

There really is this recurring arc of hesitancy from the Titan; Someone who was used, betrayed, and taken advantage of. And knew how easy it was for the same to happen to his son. So to see the little ways in which he opens up, recognizes Luz’s kindness and maturity and responds to each step in her growth... It’s like someone learning to trust again, realizing they’ve really found a friend after all. It’s no wonder Luz is treated like an old friend by the Titan, because she is one, and it makes his final gift and farewell to her all the more impactful.

On a lighter note! I’m just imagining the Titan figuring out how to show Luz the Fire glyph, after deciding he’ll do just that. I keep thinking of him watching Luz in the Grudgby game, cheering her on and giving Luz support by illuminating his last glyph in Boscha’s fire; “Here kid, take this!” It’s such a relatively casual and silly moment too, because the Titan isn’t obsessed with the theatrics and drama of godhood.

[warrioreowynofrohan]

Looking at the parts on Númenor in Unfinished Tales (and the LOTR appendix chronology) made me notice something Tolkien does with the history of Númenor that is very thoughtful, very important, and often neglected by other fantasy authors: he distinguishes between fighting on the right side and being the good guys, and he even delves into how those two things can work against each other.

Three times in particular, the Númenoreans help to defend Middle-Earth against Sauron. In Aldarion’s time, in the 800s, Aldarion spends much time establishing and rebuilding a port/haven on the coast of southern Eriador, to guard against invasion of the north through what will later be the Gap of Rohan. In 1700, Tar-Minastir sends a large force to drive back Sauron and rescue Gil-galad and Elrond and their people after the forging of the Rings and the destruction of Eregion. And, of course, near the end of the Second Age Ar-Pharazon sends the vast fleet and army that takes Sauron captive.

And each of these times are associated with successive stages in Númenor’s moral decline.

Aldarion is the first warning sign. His father, Tar-Meneldur, a wise man, discourages his voyaging, accurately fearing that it “sows the seeds of recklessness and the desire of other lands to hold”. Aldarion likewise marks the beginning of Númenoreans regarding nature as something to be valued for its use rather than for itself: trees as timber, not as forests. This is also when the Númenoreans begin to log Eriador - their logging will eventually be so extensive that, whereas virtually the whole area from the coast to the Misty Mountains to the Gap of Rohan was forested at the start of the Second Age, by the time of LOTR only the tiny fragment of the Old Forest remains. It’s not for nothing that the trees there are hostile to Men (and Hobbits). (This may not have been happening in the same way in Aldarion’s time - in Númenor he spends great efforts on replanting trees, nothwithstanding the ecological distinction between ‘tree plantations’ and ‘forests’, and he may have done the same in Middle-earth - but it’s still the starting point.)

And he does work extensively in Middle-earth to build defences against Sauron (or ‘the shadow in the east’; they don’t know it’s Sauron yet) and is described as “the friend and counsellor of Gil-Galad.” Yet the very growth in power, pragmatism, and expansionism that is involved in doing this is the start of Númenor’s downward path.

Next, we have Tar-Minastir, who drives back Sauron from Eregion during the War of the Elves and Sauron, following the forging of the Rings of Power, when Gil-galad, Elrond, and the Elves of Eregion are almost defeated. Unfinished Tales says “he loved the Eldar but envied them” and built a high tower to gaze westwards towards Valinor. And it is in the immediate aftermath of his rule that Númenor enters its phase of exploitative imperialism: his son Tar-Ciryatan is “a mighty king, but greedy of wealth; he built a great fleet of royal ships, amd his servants brought back great store of metal and gems, and oppressed the men of Middle-earth.” The next king, Tar-Atanamir, likewise “exacted heavy tribute from the men of the coasts of Middle-earth”, and was the first to be openly hostile to the Valar and the Eldar. The Silmarillion describes Ciryatan and Atanamir as “proud men, eager for wealth” who “laid the men of Middle-earth under tribute, taking now rather than giving”.

(As an aside: this is a period where I’m particularly curious about what Gil-galad and Elrond were thinking, and the decisions they had to make. The Númenoreans have just recently decisively rescued them, and it may not be going too far to say the Elves of Eregion and Lindon are military dependent on Númenor. And yet the Númenoreans are now mistreating and oppressing the men of Middle-earth. How to balance military/political pragmatism and ethics? Are the Númenoreans friends or not? Should they be trying to do anything to stop Númenorean empire? Can they do anything? Does benefitting from Númenorean military might while not doing anything make them complicit? Do they try to talk to the Númenoreans? And for Elrond in particular, on top of the moral vs pragmatic concerns, there’s the knowledge that it’s his brother’s descendents and successors who are doing this - in a sense, the only family he has left.)

And lastly, of course, we have Ar-Pharazon, who defeats Sauron but without being any better than Sauron, and who is corrupted by him, wreaks devastation on the men of Middle-earth and on his political opponents at home, and leads Númenor to its destruction.

It feels like this reinforces the themes of The Lord of the Rings, that victory over evil is not one by seeking to overpower it, but by renunciation of power. The downfall of Númenor highlights this by contrast by showing the corrupting force of accumulated imperial power, even when used against a foe that is genuinely evil.

[asofspades]

Finding out that there's people who say they started hating either Will or Nico after TSATS, or that "Will deserves better", makes me think some people have 0 critical thinking skills, like, you can like a character more or less and even have a favourite, but how can you genuinely read TSATS and conclude any of these horrendous takes I've seen:

- "Will has no personality outside of Nico" (we have insights to his doubts and worries regarding his role as a medic, a son of Apollo and his growth regarding his aversion to anything "dark")

- "Their only appeal is they're ligh X dark character" (the text is specifically about them realising they're not one dimensional and both have dark and light inside)

- "Nico/Will is selfish" (they're both self-sacrificial idiots, you don't even need to read tsats to see that)

- "Nico/Will deserves better" (I'm sorry did you just skip the whole book, because their growth as individuals and as a couple is obvious)

- "they're too cheesy/cringe" (half the cringe stuff is jokes like it was with Leo, they're also 14-15 and it's their first relationship, I am an aromantic person who generally doesn't like sappy romance and I didn't die reading this, you'll be fine)

- "they only made them a couple to show Nico can only be happy as a gay guy is he's in a relationship" (gay people can be happy single sure,however I feel like you might've missed the whole plot of the book, also we know what would've happened about Nico being gay in the fandom if he had stayed single, and I happen to find joy in seeing young queer couples learning how to have a proper relationship in media)

- "they're so grumpyxsunshine coded" (can we please stop reducing characters to a single aspect when they're multidimensional characters whose personality and thoughts are explored through the piece of media you read that lead to this comment)

- "Will is too controlling" (I'm sorry, are we reading the same book? Chat, is being worried about your very reckless and self sacrificial boyfriend who happens to have an ability that exhausts him and makes him pass out and encourage him to only use it for emergencies and have food and drinks ready for them when they do controlling?)

[ssokkasmoon]

THEM AS FIRST TIME DADS (headcanons)~

(All characters are aged up)

Wants to experience everything - being in the delivery room, doing diaper changes and late night feedings.

Absolutely smitten with his new baby boy. Can't stop kissing those little cheeks and commenting on how perfect he is. Wants to hold him all the time.

Takes more pictures and videos than you .

Struggles more with the crying/late nights at first. Gets frustrated when he can't soothe the baby right away. You have to remind him to stay calm.

Changes any dirty diapers without complaint. Wants to do his fair share of the work.

Worries constantly but tries not to show it. Always scared of dropping the baby or not supporting his neck right.

Crying every time the baby learns to roll over, sit up, crawl etc. So proud of his growth.

An extremely affectionate dad. Always telling his son he loves him.

Goes a bit overboard on baby toys. Wants to give him the best of everything.

Ultimately the best, most attentive dad.

He's absolutely smitten with his baby boy from the moment he's born. When he first holds his son in his arms, he can't stop the happy tears from falling.

He's a affectionate father. The baby is rarely out of his arms when he's home.

He takes countless photos and videos, proudly sharing each milestone with friends and family. His phone is stuffed full of baby pictures.

Bolin gets nervous when the baby cries inconsolably. He tries everything to soothe his son but gets anxious when he can't seem to calm him. You reassure him he's doing perfectly fine as a dad.

he adores showing off his son to admiring strangers and basking in their compliments of what a handsome boy he is.

Father-son dates to the park or zoo become the highlight of Bolin's weekends. He wants to make special memories with his little man.

Being a father has changed Bolin for the better.

He's absolutely terrified but tries not to show it. As the due date gets closer he gets more anxious and protective.

As soon as the baby is born, his tough facade completely melts away.

He's ridiculously gentle and attentive when caring for the baby.

Loves giving her Eskimo kisses and cuddling. Refuses to let anyone but you hold her for the first few weeks.

Almost never puts her down, afraid something will happen if she's not in his arms. Calms instantly when holding her.

Gets up for every late night feeding and diaper change without complaining.

Always encourages you to rest.

Posts cute dad photos but remains protective of her privacy.

Completely spoils her but also aims to teach toughness. Wants to raise a "daddy's girl."

Still afraid to mess up but is a natural born daddy.

He's completely in awe of you during the entire pregnancy.

Nervous but excited for the birth. Cries when your daughter is placed on your chest for the first time.

Absolutely infatuated with his little girl. Spends hours just gazing at her perfect little face in complete wonder.

Takes countless photos to document her growth.

Extremely protective but also gentle father.

Loves late night feedings and diaper changes so he has alone time with his daughter.

Big softie. Can't bring himself to be stern as she gets older. Allows her to get away with murder with her cute smiles and giggles. Completely wrapped around her little finger.

Ultimate girl dad. Princesses and stuffed animals everywhere in their home.

Absolutely terrified but trying not to show it. Puts on a brave face for you but is secretly worried he'll screw things up.

Reads every book and article he can find on infant care, Wants to be the best dad possible.

As the twins are born he's completely enthralled and in love.

Constantly holding, feeding, changing and playing with the babies. Never wants to put them down.

Takes countless photos and videos so he can capture every moment.

A bit of a protective. Gets anxious any time someone else holds the twins for too long.

Never complains about late night feedings, Will get up with them without hesitation so you can rest.

Explores "Daddy's little girl" bonding time with his daughter. Total pushover who can't say no to her.

Teaches his son all about , tools, sports and "manly" things(whatever). Already planning father-son trips.

Calmer and more tender than anyone thought he'd be. Has really come into his role as a nurturing caregiver.

© 2024 ssokkasmoon

[callme-holly]

OKAY OKAY, HEAR ME OUT....

Darry x wife reader where they have a son, and he really really wants to be just like his dad and play football and is low-key a terror to his mom...

𝐝𝐚𝐝!𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 [𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐧]

𝐚/𝐧 : y'all wanted more dad!darry and im delivering. i was hoping to get a bunch posted but i feel like shit and ive been crazy busy

The second your son was born, you knew he’d be just like Darry, and he’d be an absolute nightmare.

Darry is so incredibly proud of his boy and with each passing day, you could spot more and more similarities between them 

As soon as he can walk, your son is toddling around after Darry everywhere he goes. This kiddo is obsessed. 

When he’s old enough, Darry would start teaching your son about football, and soon it becomes a routine for them to sit on the couch together after Darry comes home from work and watch the games together

Your son looks up to Darry like he’s some type of idol. He always says that when he grows up, he wants to be just kike his dad, and you can’t even be upset about it bc its so damn cute

The gang teases you all the time for it because having to deal with one Curtis boy is enough, but two? Chaos.

These boys are always playing football in the yard together. I’m talking 24/7. Whether its raining, windy, or sunny. They don’t care. It becomes a problem for you, however, when you’re the one who has to wash muddy clothes and makes sure they stay off the couches and go take showers. 

Your son copies everything Darry does, from the way he drinks his coffee and reads the paper in the morning (except he swaps it out for milk and a comic), right down to the way he walks around the house with his hands on his hips. 

Both Darry and your son are fiercely protective of you, and when he’s older, your boy will fight for your honour if it’s the last thing he does. If anyone makes even the smallest comment about you, he’ll glare at them, puffing out his chest whilst delivering the sassiest comment a kid can come out with.

Sometimes when Darry is working late, your son will help you “cook” dinner the same way his dad taught him. It more often than not ends with him covered in ingredients, and you do most of the work, but he gets 50% of the credit regardless.

At bedtime, Darry will sit and read to your son until he falls asleep. Sometimes he tells stories from high school or about the gang, and your son hangs onto every single word, thinking they’re the coolest stories ever. 

The teen years are when things get crazy

Your baby boy has a growth spurt out of nowhere and it isn’t long before he’s the spitting image of his dad: broad shoulders, serious expression, and slowly growing taller than you 

Arguments happen a little more often. Their personalities are so similar that they tend to clash and butt heads, leading to you having to bring everyone back down to earth. They end up making up eventually, whether thats through talking it out or soft teasing until the other laughs.

[stealingyourbones]

Submitted Prompts #144

*shakes a bag of bird skulls I found in the woodsI and places it on your desk like it's a bag of gold*

I had an idea:

What if the Fenton parents are, in fact very competent Hunters, but they love their children more than their work?

Say the first shot Maddie ever fired at Phanton actually lands, and the scream he makes sounds too much like Danny's voice, to a point even with any ghostly distortion, his own still recognizes the voice.

I can see her pulling Jack to the side, making a ruckus about how the "darn ghost got away just as her blaster ran out of juice". Mostly as a way to get Danny her darling son to leave and go somewhere safe, while his parents have a whole breakdown in the GAV about their dead son.

And so begins the stealthy studies on how Phantom's "human disguise" works, the Revelation of Horrible Truth, keeping tabs on Danny's growth and revising their whole attitude on Ghosts to account for the fact that Danny himself is, at least in some part, a Ghost himself, but all he's done is live his life (and be the little hero Mom always said he'd grow up to be).

Jazz stumbles across his secret and is immediately pulled aside to join the secret "Protect the Baby Ghost" family group chat.

"And what about all the times they shot at him in canon" I hear you ask?

They're damn good shots, but while Maddie can train herself to aim just so that the shot misses just enough it looks like Phantom dodged it, Jack has the Fenton Bazooka outfitted with a tracking HUD that purposely fails to hit everyone's favorite Ghost Boy.

Danny picks up on that, but not on the fact that They Know.

And so begins the single most convoluted training arc ever.

Next time Skulker's in town, Phantom has become untouchable. Not a single shot or electrified net reaches it's target.

(The electrified weapons in particular send the Fentons into a rage when Sam and Tucker finally can't keep hiding it, and come clean about what happened, since the Fentons have proven themselves to be trustworthy)

When Red Huntress comes about, and Valerie Grey becomes barely a distant acquaintance after having only just now started becoming more than a friend, and with the GIW sniffing about, Maddie and Jack pull Danny to sit between them and finally tell him they know, and they want to prove that they'll love him just as much as before, whether Human or Ghost.

Danny breaks down in the safety of his family's love, and takes some time off as Phantom to help his parents establish a proper line of communication with the Ancients, considering they've kinda adopted themselves into the roles of Aunts and Uncles towards their little Ghostling.

Which is a good thing, because in Phantom's absence the GIW make a giant spectacle of destroying several houses while chasing some blob ghosts. They're chased out of town by brick, stone and metal bat.

Next time Red Huntress actually manages to hurt Danny, the Fentons pack up and leave. The Portal can be transported somewhere else. It can be rebuilt.

Their baby boy can't be rebuilt, no matter how much he likes to be a little shit and ignore Reality to quote Shakespeare at his own head (thank you Mr Lancer, for not giving up on him) or "give them a hand".

As Fenton takes the last tour of Amity, Phantom disappears. The Protal has been left seemingly unguarded.

The Ghosts decide to have one last hurrah in Anity Park before Danny closes the Portal, as per their deal. They won't hurt anyone, just cause chaos, but in return Phantom won't stop them. It's not like poor Red has the energy to chase them down, now that she's been "upgraded" into Amity's sole defender (the one time Lancer compares her new lack of sleep to Danny's, horrifying pieces start lining up too well in her mind)

The Fentons move out. Into a quiet farm neighbouring the land that belongs to the delightful couple that are the Kents, and their darling son, little Clark, who stares at Danny mildly horrified whenever he comes by to babysit, or help out with fixing the stubborn tractor. One day under Danny's clever hands, and Jonathan Kent's eagle-eyed gaze, and that damned tractor has never worked so well before. The boy's alright in the old man's eyes, and he makes sure they kid knows it.

After quiet rooftop admissions of one small boy's growing powers (I know Adult Clark is a brick house of a man, but what if he was a little twig while young) and the reveal of Something More Than Human from his honorary older brother, the course of Time sets into it's best version, and an Old Clock smiles, as Superman rises, only to be scolded by Spectre for recklessness.

(Dunno how well it came across, but I'm envisioning Valerie's feelings towards Danny to go from bitter resignation because she " had to" push him away, to horrified despair when the truth starts falling into place. He's her "the one that got away". And it's not like she gave him much of a reason to trust her with his secrets.

Maybe older and wiser Red Huntress gets invited to the Justice League, and has to deal with not just Fenton, but also Phantom flirting with her, after a good long conversation on how dumb they both were as kids, and a mutual vow of "I think I can do better now, and I want to prove it to you")

[chaotic-starlight24]

Darry Curtis General Headcanons

Here he is! Darry needs a break for real though. Let this man take a nap or something.

Warnings: Spoilers, Angst, Mentions of blood if your squeamish about that stuff

When Pony and Johnny ran Darry felt that everything was his fault. In his eyes, since he smacked Pony and made him run away he was the partial cause of Bob’s death and eventually Johnny and Dally’s. It took a while before he was convinced otherwise.

He is one of the youngest guys in the roofing group. Most of them are 30-45 year old guys. Their names are Bart, Eddie, Jeff, and Rich. There are also 2 sixteen year olds who work occasionally and are more of interns of sorts. Darry likes the guys he works with, he just doesn’t like his job so much. It can throw him off that the older guys are talking to him since they call him kid and son most of the time. But they’re really nice.

He gets extremely sunburned when he’s roofing houses so Soda and Ponyboy bought him some sunscreen. He just about fell to his knees. It meant a lot to him that they listened to him whenever he mentioned things at dinner.

I stand with the headcanon that Soda accidentally named Ponyboy but I would also like to add to it. When a 3 year old Soda was running around saying that his mom was going to have a pony, a 6 year old Darry told his dad that would be a cool name to have. Which is when the lightbulb went off in Mr. Curtis’ mind. Darry does not remember this.

Him and Paul were best friends from their childhood and Paul really wanted to be there for Darry. But they were pulled apart and also under pressure from Paul’s parents. They felt he would be held back if he tried to help Darry out. So they eventually put it in his head that Darry was what he would become if he didn’t succeed.

The Curtis family was/is good friends with the Matthews so Darry and Two-Bit knew each other ever since they were little. Their duo was kind of the original gang. Paul was also friends with them and would join them when he could. But his parents didn’t like him being with “The lower class”. Two-Bit was always there for him and ofc still is.

Continuing with the Darry and Two-Bit friendship, on days when Darry has work off Two-Bit will drag him over to Buck’s or another party just to see Darry lose those years of tiredness.

Darry loves Elvis like the rest of the Greasers but there is one band that he likes the songs a lot of but will never show it. He really likes The Beach Boys. He heard it for the first time when he was 16 at Paul’s. His older sister was playing some of their songs as they were relatively new and he discreetly asked who they were. The only person who knows is Two-Bit as he caught him once jamming out to their songs. (If we are allowing my ocs in this, Rosemary also knows)

His least favorite chore to do is mowing the lawn. So he usually forces Soda to do it. He hates how the grass always ends up on him no matter what he does. And it’s really annoying to try and wash out of clothes or off the side of the house.

He has several times where he will be in the middle of roofing houses and just get lost in thought about everything that has happened that led him here and end up just staring at the ground. Until Eddie clanks a tool and tells him to “get his head out of the clouds”. Which is what he started to tell Pony.

He hit his main growth spurt and everything when he was 13 and ended up just looking like an almost grown man. But his voice didn’t deepen till he was about 14-15. It made him self-conscious. 

He wanted to buy a present for Pony and Soda for their birthdays, so he decided to try babysitting for a while. He was pretty good at it and ended up making bank. Two-Bit also joined him so he could make some cash.

He has the most prominent southern accent. He’s still understandable but whenever he’s upset it really comes out.

He broke his arm when he fell off a roof. He apologized to the couple whose house he and Bart were working on and they told him it was no problem. The wife was actually a nurse at the hospital so she quickly told him he needed to get over there and she would pay for it all. Bart finished the job and told him he needed to rest and he better not see him back to roofing until he’s healed up. Pony and Soda helped him out a lot with everyday things and Pony didn’t tell him but he held a garage sale of sorts to help pay for stuff.

Once Pony and Soda move out Darry would probably take up coaching at the school. He remembered how much he does actually enjoy working with kids and athletics. He also holds some training sessions for newer football players and such.

The night Pony ran away Darry sat on his knees at the door, tears streaming down his face but with just a stunned expression on his face. No sounds besides his heavy breathing. Soda called Two-Bit and Steve over while he was also sobbing. No one could get through to Darry. But after 2 hours of him like this he slowly got up and went to his room. And all they could hear was yelling, things being thrown, and then loud sobbing afterwards.

He hated how violent he acted after Pony left. He never hurt anyone else but he would throw things around his room. Then just sob afterwards because it was because of his anger that Pony was gone. And after he found out about the murder he just sat on the couch and stared at the ground. 

While Pony was gone, he would flinch whenever anyone would touch him. He never went out of his way to hug anyone or anything. Sometimes the roofing guys would pat him on the back and he would have to stop himself from snapping at them.

He would also be walking around and suddenly think he saw Pony or Johnny. But it would always just be some random kid or a weirdly shaped tree. It was mainly from his lack of sleep.

When he was in school a lot of girls had crushes on him. But he never really was interested in anyone. He dated one or two people but overall he was more focused on school itself. It was also because he thought the main reason anyone was interested in him was because he was popular instead of him as a person. 

He doesn’t really like his name. Not just because it is his dad’s but he thinks it makes him sound old. 

He has a really high pain tolerance but also gets injured a lot. Smaller ones. Like he’ll cut his knee open and be bleeding a lot and just say something like “I’ll just wait for it to stop on its own.” (If we are counting ocs Rosemary always scolds him whenever he does this and cleans and bandages him up. She also tells him to be more careful.)

He was always an older brother of sorts to Dallas whenever he first came to Tulsa. But they grew apart once Dallas got back into being a JD. Darry didn't like the example Dally was setting for Pony and Soda. But he would still help him out when needed. They eventually became closer again once the Curtis parents died and Dally would help Darry out with Ponyboy.

[pricegouge]

assassin anon again! There's a sword 🗡️ emoji. If it's not taken I will have it!

Still obsessed with papochka. Poor daughter!reader who's been raised isolated from pretty much anyone else. Only a nanny/tutor who aren't even around since she's an adult now. She can count on one hand how many times she's seen Nik. She's so sheltered she's afraid to leave home.

She has an accident. Something like falling off her horse or falling down the stairs. Either way she breaks a leg and maybe a wrist or something else.

Nik comes to check on her and she's just instantly attached to him. Super clingy and weepy because she's in pain and her Papochka is finally around taking care of her. And oh man will Nik take care of her. Why not just sleep in his bed with him? That way he can be close by if she needs something. Don't mind if she wakes up to him grinding against her.

*emerges from the google doc like i'm rising from the fucking dead* it's the fact that you have no idea what you did to me when you hit send that keeps killing me lmao.

this screamed princess locked away in a tower vibes to me so i hope you don't mind i made it into an extremely poorly defined medieval/fantasy au and then proceeded to completely out myself as a complete slut for fantasy and spend seven thousand words just having fun with it 🙄

anyway, i imagine nik as some lesser lord. maybe just a landed knight even, granted some run down keep out in the middle of nowhere, plenty of land, as a thank you from his liege lord after an act of valor.

cw: f!reader. incest, skirting awful close with grooming. power imbalance/reader is very sheltered. period appropriate terms for pussy (sorry. i tried to make it as sexy as possible but sometimes it really makes or breaks the scene), virginity kink, multiple orgasms. touch starvation. minor character death, one of which is hinted at foul play but it's only mentioned in one line. please lmk if i missed anything. MDNI

it's easy to get himself a wife once he has a keep, harder to hold her. i can see her fading away after years spent in such isolation, growing more and more melancholy and distant until one day she just. well. the wounds on her wrists, it's hard to imagine such a gentile lady doing something like that, but it must have been what happened? surely?

she never gave him a son, but he's left with the daughter. you're a sweet little gurgling thing he doesn't know what to do with, especially not when duty calls and he's needed elsewhere again. so he gets a handmaid - of sorts. in truth he doesn't quite know what she is, her language one he's not overly familiar with, but she was hard at work in his lord's scullery when he found her and it was a simple matter to ask for another favor, really, even if she wails the whole time. 

war's war, a hard thing to pull away from when you've proven yourself as well as nikolai. harder still when your liege is a greedy man. he's rarely home, misses much of your growth. but his travels take him far and wide and he learns to speak the language of the handmaid, a good thing considering it's what you come to speak, his own daughter's tongue foreign to him. so far removed. like your mama, really, but where his wife had faded in isolation, you appear to thrive.

hard to miss something you never had, he supposes, but if that were true, he shouldn't miss you, not when he hardly even knows you, not when you don't even call him papa in the proper language. but he misses you like he misses his hearth - warm embrace and scent of home. he's ashamed to admit it, but it heats his blood some nights, when the loneliness of the road weighs on him. he's only a man and you've grown quick, as far as he can tell. one minute clutching the maid's skirts and the next helping her in the kitchen, grain enmeshed in the coarse weave of your sleeves. you're a lady, of some fashion - at least when compared to how he grew up - but you're content with this simple life, happy with the dirt under your fingernails. and what man could want for more? a simple woman at home to welcome him with soft arms and the scent of bread?

though he does want more for you, wants to spoil you like the proper little lady you are, his printsessa, so graceful, but ladies come with courts, whole teams of servants at your beck and call to feed you properly, brush your hair and bathe you. 

stable hands to teach you riding, shoe your horses for you.

more cocks in the roost.

you're the light of his life, his sweet dochka, so he can't be blamed for growing covetous. illiberal. it's unwise, will make you an undesirable match later in life when you can't do the things most ladies are supposed to, but there's nothing for it except to keep you squirreled away at home, no one to talk to besides your sweet maid who keeps you unlearned and simple, helpless even to speak with the rabble when you are permitted to walk to town on your maid's arm. 

helpless even to know you need help, until your maid grows too old to take you, too frail to feed herself. nikolai's away for that bit, returns some months later to find you beside yourself, hysterical. stir crazy. he's just grateful the old baba was clever enough to tell you how to dispose of her body - though you didn't do a very good job, the shallow grave you'd dug empty when he finds it under a tree in the east pasture. wolves, likely. he'll have to take care of them before he leaves again. 

it ends up being his longest stay at home in nearly twenty years. a good thing, too, because you need the time almost as much as he does, nerves unwinding under his care after so many months alone. you care for him too, when he lets you, singing to him by the fire until he nods off, thoughts too sluggish to keep up with the translation, your strange foreign tales washing over him until it's just sounds, just the lovely lilt of your voice. you're like a little bird. his little bird, so sweet.

he wants to keep you, clip your feathers, but he can't maintain them from half across the kingdom and there's no one at home to do it for him, so he has to trust you - for now.

the horse frightens you, and he tells you it well should, though it's no destrier, the gentle palfrey shirking from his own mount with flared nostrils and agitated huffs. she's a docile little thing usually, barely even knows how to canter. he teaches you how to take care of her and you pout about the added chores, but there's no denying the excitement he sees in your eyes when you realize the autonomy he's given you. he dampens it with a word of caution.

"remember, radnaja, town holds no friends for you. without your maid, no one will understand you, and an unchaperoned lady will draw many an unwanted glance. you must only travel in the event of an emergency."

there's more peeping, some half-hearted arguments. he doesn't know how the commoners have received you in the past, but you give in easily enough so it can't be a great loss. at least, not enough to outweigh your eagerness to please him, thinking it will make him stay.

you've only just settled when the next call to arms comes and he has to listen to you weep all night, keeping him awake when he really needs the rest. there's no soothing you, no matter how many times he reiterates that you'll be okay, that he's fixed everything, set you up with a year's worth of grains and root veggies in the cellar, and deliveries of cured meats. you know how to milk the goats, how to slit their kids' throats come winter. he doesn't understand why you're so upset, but then, he didn't understand your mother either.

he starts to, though, in the long months that follow; the loneliness that eats at him. at night he hears the trill of your voice in his ear, feels your plush hips in his palms, your weight familiar after too many times helping you onto your horse. he's not a good man, nor a proud one. after long days of trudging and battle, he doesn't fight it - succumbs to the quickest, easiest fantasy; more fleshed out now than ever before. the little woman he's got at home. it's like fuel within him, a flame that only gets hotter the longer it burns. he stokes it daily and it feeds him in turn, makes him bloodthirsty, efficient. there's talk of granting him a larger keep by the end of it.

lace, silks. he pictures you in dresses that tie in the back, maids swarming around you like gnats to keep you primped and pretty. he'd swat them away and lace you up himself if he had his way, grunting with how tightly he pulls your stays. in his thoughts you're already a proper lady, one of those simpering little helpless things who gather around to welcome the lords home. he dreams of seeing you waiting for him at the field gate as he rides home, hair all plated and pretty. like church bells, calling him home, hastening his trip. sometimes he even sleeps in the saddle, the leagues flying underfoot. he's never been this eager to be home, but the years add up; and he aches, just wants to hear you sing to him, too see if you'll be good to your papa and rub his sore knee.

perhaps that's why he doesn't notice the horse at first.

he'd crossed the border onto his own land some miles back, driving his heel hard into the flank of his mount. pines whip past in an endless sea, but he knows the path well, a game trail he himself has carved. his horse notices the other before he does, slowing to a trot and trumpeting. odd. a hardened beast, the destrier did not often feint, but nikolai spots the issue after a quick glance around.

poor creature, eager at the first sight of tail. must be as hard up as him.

dismounting, nikolai tuts to see your reins untethered and calls for you, voice stern as he begins his lecture about the importance of hobbling your mount.

but you never come. not so much as a twig snaps in answer, his own echo all that greets him.

he doesn't panic. not yet. he ties your horse to his own and sets off again, pace much slower for the benefit of your fat little palfrey, keeping his ears strained as he continues to call for you.

your horse's trail is easy to follow, the soft old girl having eaten her way across the fields. the worry sets in the more the path winds, long miles looping over his acreage. aimless. where were you while your sweet little beast was roaming?

he finds you as the sun sets, weather beaten and weary. you can't put weight on your leg and you yelp when he tries to pull you up with a steady grip on your upper arm, but your voice is too creaky to explain why, face twisting in pain with tears that don't fall - the streaks down your pretty face long dried. you shriek when he throws you over your horse's back, though, screams raw and jagged as he rides hard for home.

the first night is the hardest, long hours spent fighting his own exhaustion as he tries to ply you with much needed food and water. you can't move from the bed, can't help yourself even enough to hold the spoon of broth, and he can see why in the mottling on your chest when your smock falls loose enough to show where the delicate bone there should arch. you scream when he hitches your skirts up, his hands too heavy against the deep bruising which runs high on your thigh, perfect ring of a hoofmark dotting dangerously close to your hip.

he's seen men die of complications from such wounds, knows how close you came to the death sentence that is a broken hip.

you try to follow him in the morning, too delirious to understand that he needs to fetch a physician. he ends up having to tie you to the bed, a poor attempt to keep you from injuring yourself further. he leaves you with water and soup, one hand left untied so you could reach it, while the other was bound to your chest, keeping your arm in place. in theory, you could untie yourself, though the knots are so tightly bound he doesn't have to worry. still, when he returns he finds your nails frayed and bloody, the jute rope on its last thread.

they cannot tell if your leg is broken, keep prodding at it with bony old gnarled fingers which he thinks about snapping, if only to remind them what they're looking for. the process makes you sob and shake and cling, your one good arm reaching back to hold him close as the other remains bound to your chest. he sits flush behind you the whole while, cradling you between his thighs. holding the wood they place between your teeth in place, he rocks you whenever able. a pathetic attempt to soothe. and he blames the tears that stain his cheeks on you. transfer from how tightly he holds you, surely.

you sleep after they leave, the tincture they'd given leaving you pliant and soft. even still you cling to him when he settles beside you, careful of the sling that holds you together. he should give you space, let you sleep, but the thought leaves his limbs leaded, too heavy to abide when he tries to pull away. he squired as a boy. they said it was an honor for one so base-born, but he knows now it was only a testament to his size, his strength. even then there was no hiding it, plucked from the village by a passing lord who knew a weapon when he saw one, dressed it up as an honor. he'd play at knighthood when his master was otherwise occupied, stealing away with bits of armor and swords. the first time he'd donned mail, it had nearly made him buckle under the burden, his body unused to the weight. he feels like that now. untried.

you gurgle when he peppers kisses along your hairline. he'd left you completely alone, unwatched. unguarded. he's lucky to have found you alive at all. if he'd been longer in coming, if he'd died in the cause -.

you cuddle closer, snuffling after more kisses. it eases something in his chest, some tightly wound spring he's unaccustomed to feeling, here in the safety of his own home. his next kiss lands lower, the bridge of your nose, then another high on your cheek. your lips part, a soft sound calling to him and he melts into you as much as he can without causing further harm, lips soft against your own.

his sweet, little bird. clipped wing, still singing.

—

thoughts come wispy, barely connected. spiderweb threads which weave in and out of consciousness. there's pain still, but it's lesser somehow. dulled around the edges. you vaguely remember being fed some sticky solution, the bite of it as it slipped down your throat. it had reminded you of the grain alcohol your father sometimes brought home, the stuff you would sneak sips of after he'd started snoring in his chair. it left you loose the same way. easy, passive.

but this didn't help the ache in that same way, the hollow chasm in your chest you've lived with ever since nana passed. it yawns now, needy and desperate. you whimper as you roll, searching, expecting nothing -

and find the warm musculature of another body.

despite your wishes, it's hard to resist the urge to spring up, shrieking, but you manage. instead you turn slowly, fearfully, and nearly sob in relief at the sight of your father's sleeping moue. it's strange, how quickly the lingering effects of your medicine seem to clear. physically, you remain languid, but you've not felt more alert since his last visit, the first time you sat astride your pretty pony and felt for the first time, some modicum of control. this is different, but the effect is the same, leaves your very veins singing with excitement, the tallest tree in the forest, recently struck from the heavens and burning from the inside. you want to consume him with yourself, divine retribution for leaving you alone. more so, you want him to already be with you - an owl at home in the hollowed knot of your chest when you were engulfed.

but he sleeps too peacefully, strong brow obscured by the strands of hair which have escaped his severe style. thick arms encase you, heavy in rest. comforting. you enjoy it as long as he lets you, fingers growing bolder as the morning stretches on, tracing up over his furry forearm, smoothing the folds of his shirt where it rides up to his elbow. he doesn't stink like you'd expect, melt water crisp. he must have washed the filth of the road off while you'd slept, and you can't help but luxuriate in it, craning your neck up to nudge against his throat until he grumbles and snuggles deeper, returning the favor. you play with the thick, gold chain he wears and lay it flat as you can manage against his broad chest, intimate your knuckles with the coarse stubble of his jaw. he wakes when you push his hair back into place, catching your wrist in his big paw so quickly that it makes you jump, crying out when the sharp pain cuts through your hunger.

his grip turns soothing instantly, "shh, shh, malýshka, settle."

"you scared me," you pout, and then pout some more when he levels you with a warning look, rather unearned.

"and you scared me," he counters, kissing the inside of your wrist. his lips are hot against your skin, a relief from the chill of the early spring air. you tuck it back under the blanket when he releases you, the heat built under the cover more than enough to keep you warm; although you realize as your palm settles over the rough spun linen that you've been stripped to your chemise and briefly marvel at that possibility. he emits heat like the hearth, fresh fed. mornings are usually a frigid affair, the coals having guttered, leaving you shivering. but in your father's arms you are content. lazy. happy to sink your fingers into the fur of his belly where his shirt rides up and stave off the frost.

until he tries to squirm away.

"father, please," you whine, grasping for him.

slumping back beside you, he groans, hand over his eyes as if he can't even look at you. "i'll not go far, radnaja."

"just another moment, please? you're so warm."

he grunts when you try to wriggle closer, heavy hand falling on your belly. "and you're needy."

unfair, all things considered, but you don't think it's worth mentioning as much, so you settle for reminding him you're hurt.

"and last time i was home, hm? were you hurt then as well?"

teasing, but you don't find it so funny. "can a heart not hurt?"

he doesn't seem to know what to say to that, instead huffs once more, breath warm against your face, and rolls away, slipping your grasp easily. his tunic is loose, untied at the collar. you've never noticed how hairy he is, pelt a deep contrast to the chain. it's good work, you think - not that you're overly familiar with the intricacies of fine metalcraft, but you've never seen anything like it, thick links so packed and tight it more closely resembled his mail than a proper piece of jewelry. you wondered where he'd acquired it, knew full well the smithy in town could never manage such finery. it was hard not to be a bit jealous, though the nature of it surprised you.

in all your nana's stories, such gifts were only given by loved ones.

~~~

he cooks potatoes and rashers of ham for breakfast. fresh ham, must've brought it with him when he returned. you lay on the bed and salivate, fingers itching. restless and impatient by turns. your nana would have taken a switch to your knuckles if she found you abed while your father cooked, but he seems unbothered by the work, if unpracticed. he lingers when he brings your plate, torn. you try to scoot up the cot to give him space, imply invitation, but he turns away when he sees you wince with the movement, settling at the table where the cold spring light is transmuted, glowing golden as it filters through the horn slats which pane the windows.

your nana's stories have never mentioned beautiful men, at least none like him - burly, old; more bear than man. you've no way with words, but you think you could write new stories, better, paint his hard, weathered body in a kinder light. if only he'd sit still.

"if you leave again, i'll die."

chewing, he eyes you over, the bulky shape of your awkward arm visible through the woolen blanket. that is not what to what you refer. "da. appears you are stuck with me for a while."

there's no hiding the excitement in your voice, not that you're socialized enough to know you should try. "you'll stay?"

another bite, fatty slice. he tears at it like a stray dog, tendons of his neck flexing as he works the piece between sharp teeth. "no choice."

it's not quite what you want to hear, but it soothes you nonetheless, a soft counterpoint to the ache that's slowly rebuilding in your leg. "what will you do if you're summoned again?"

he just shrugs, imparts some saying in his language, no doubt wise. "tell them to 'piss off,' i suppose."

"and after? when i'm healed?" if you heal.

blunt fingers drum on the table. he eyes you like a problem to be solved. "after, i leave."

he's unexpectedly sympathetic when you cry, cooing as he crawls onto the bed beside you. he speaks words that sound reassuring, but they aren't all in your shared tongue and you can only sniffle, holding onto him for all you're worth. you tell him you don't want him to leave, but he just nods, curling around you as best he can. you don't tell him that he jostles you too much, keep your grimace under tight control, the ache of the movement worth the comfort of his care.

despite the pain, you gather you can't have broken your leg when he lifts them gingerly, folds his own up under yours until the tops of his thighs rest under your rump. he's still gentle when he lowers you legs overtop his own, palm heavy and warm he slides it up your tender leg to palm at your hip, drag you closer into the wall of his chest. he's on your good side, knows it; pulls you so close your shoulder gets wedged into your side, pushing your breasts together. you brace his chest instinctively with the fingers of your uselessly bound arm when he leans over you, lips chapped and hot against your hairline as he keeps murmuring, language a tangled knot you can't unwind.

it's not what you're focused on, regardless.

your father is a large man, large enough that he'd single handedly skewed your perception of how a man should look. it wasn't until you were grown, standing next to the blacksmith while he fashioned some lock for nana that you'd realized it. the largest man in town, and you still came up to his chin - though he was admittedly slightly broader than your father. you'd come to appreciate your father's stature on his last visit, the ease with which he'd help lift you into your saddle, the way his height loomed over you making you feel safe, secure. here, now, his broad chest blocking out the room as he leans over you, heavy weight braced on an arm which flexes deliciously as he ducks to peck kisses across your face, you feel a little faint, the ghost of his hands on your hips making you ache to your core - that hollow pit, low in your belly, an emptiness that surpassed hunger, rivaled even that loneliness that's made a home in your chest.

it would eat you soon, if not fed.

"father, please. it hurts," you warble like a baby bird, maw agape. expectant.

he doesn't feed you, eats from you, instead. takes more, mouth hot and open against your own. you wonder if he's just as hollow. "i know, devochka, but you'll be better soon, hm? just need to let your papa take care of you, yes? need -."

"no." you whine when he pulls away, chase his lips as he sits back above you, out of reach. you forget to elaborate until he arches a brow at you, waiting. "not that… not there. here."

desideration has weight, caves your tummy when his eyes follow the path of your good hand low into the cradle of where he's got your legs hitched. he leans back further, bears his weight full on his side so his big paw can climb over the hills of your body, slip south like so many raids. when he presses, applies force, the sharpness of your hunger shocks you, breath going ragged. it draws his attention, dark eyes snapping up to your face so he can track how your lips part when he does it again, the way your eyes go slightly unfocused. it's strange, how he can stoke the fire within you while somehow also making you feel as close to quenched as you ever have.

it scares you. "should you get the doctor again?" something perilously close to anger curls his lip, sets you floundering beneath him, afraid to have disappointed. "sorry, it's only -."

"i have you, malýshka. papa will make it better."

this time when he lowers himself over you, he lets you take his weight, hand staying put on your belly. his other arm curls under your neck, props you up so he can return to his biting kisses, the ones that let him drink soft noises from your lips and feed you with his heavy huffs. you've never kissed like this before, his quick pecks normally placed on the corner of your mouth, or the divot above your lips. nana only ever kissed your cheeks, sweet things which had unfortunately grown sloppy with her age, often left you amused, if mildly disgusted. these are sloppy kisses too, his tongue hot and wet as it slips over your teeth. you imagine biting into it, an undercooked slice of meat, the hot flow of his lifesblood over your jowls. when your stomach flips, it is not with disgust.

you don't realize he's worked your skirt up over your hips with slow, clutching fingers until you feel them on your skin, calloused and warm above the thatch of hair that covers your woman's place. "father?" you whine and he tsks at you, tongue very nearly clicking on your own teeth with how close he stays.

"call me papa, radnaja. about time you learned to speak proper."

it feels good on your tongue, the soft pops as your lips brush against his. must sound good to him as well, for he doesn't wait to hear your question once you've spoken it, mouth returning to yours with a renewed hunger.

"papa, please, what are you -?"

his fingers are too rough when he hikes your good leg further over his hip, baring your flower. you yelp but he just eats that, too, breath turning ragged as it fans across your lips when his palm returns to cup your woman's place. even grabbing his wrist does no good, your fingers like brittle little branches which he shakes off with ease.

"told you, malýshka. papa's gonna make it better, hm? know what you need."

"but nana said not to touch there, not when i'm hungry."

you worry you've misspoken when he leans away from you, brow knitted. "hungry?"

"when i'm empty -," you start, try again more confidently when you wrangle his hand back up to that achy spot, low in your tummy. "when it hurts."

embarrassment blooms as he releases a shaky laugh, palm splayed wide over your belly. you try to wriggle from under him, but the arm tucked beneath your neck pulls you back, bicep bulging as he keeps you in place with a quiet shh. "your nana was right, dochka, and what a good girl you've been to have listened. but do you know why she said not to touch?" he shakes his head when you do, vaguely patronizing. "of course not, milaya, tak khorosho. she was protecting your maidenhead. do you know what that is?" this time when you shake your head, you're rewarded with a sweet kiss to the corner of your mouth, his hand pressing against your belly until you squirm again. "that's your gift, sweet girl. for your husband. but until you give it to him, do you know who it belongs to?"

you've never noticed how dark his eyes are, almost black. his grin is vicious when you shake your head again.

"to your papa, glupaya devchonka, so i'll touch you there if i please."

this time it's your head that follows after his, bobbing along absently as he nods encouragingly. your hand covers his as best it can, pushes it down toward the apex of your thighs - your gift. he said he knew what to do and you're eager, the ache worse than ever.

"that's right, little one. i've got you. papa will make it better, hm? fill you up." that last is a growl against your lips. a threat. he hikes your leg impossibly higher and tells you to hold it there, hip aching slightly. it's like he knows, thumb digging cruelly into the taut tendon that stems from your core as he palms one of your cheeks and spreads you for his inspection, fingers slotting embarrassingly along your seam. but he seems unbothered, and you suppress the whine that builds in your chest, heat flushing up your neck.

"ty by posmotrel na eto…" feather light, calloused pads trail up and over your flower. "such a pretty little thing."

your stomach leaps, his compliments far too rare. "th- thank you, papa."

dipping further, he sighs when he finds your dew hidden amongst your petals. "ought to thank you," he mutters, then steals your breath with another kiss, swallowing your gasp as his fingers pull up, brush over something which makes you jolt so hard your chest aches.

"wha - what -?"

he just coos. "shshsh. have to be still, malýshka. don't want you getting hurt again."

it seems inevitable. the whole process - too big, too much.

he's going to leave again.

"papa, please…"

"i know, i'll help." and maybe he does, in a way, but he's only ever made things worse, too; so when he works you over, panting heavily against your cheek as his fingers stroke that hard pearl he's found until you're a writhing mess he has to lean on to keep still, you aren't surprised when the tears fall, overwhelmed and scared. he kisses them away, touch still wringing slow, lazy shudders from you until your breath comes ragged, stomach heaving with toomuchsomuchnotenoughstillnotfull.

he waits until you're hiccupping to fold your knee up to your chest, hips hitching impossibly closer under yours. his breeches are roughspun, the suede placket soaked and sticky when it slots up under your cunt. embarrassment cuts through the haze of your pleasure when you realize it's your own juices, tips you over that edge of panic you'd been riding.

must be, he doesn't care. he calls you 'milaya,' asks if you can take more. you shake your head and he just huffs in amusement, hand already reaching past your cunt to unfasten his stays.

"father, no!" you shriek, pushing at his chest as much as you're able. he ignores you until you slip your bad leg off his own, trying to pull away despite the pain.

"ostorozhnyy!" he barks, settling you back into place. "where do you think you're going?"

nonsensically, you sob, "nowhere!"

"certainly seemed like -."

"i don't want you to go!"

you know little of battle, experience limited to the tales your nana would tell, and those more focused on the outcome than the practice. still, you're reminded of a bow when he stalls, tension in his poise, drawn tight. he looms over you, impossibly big. blocks out everything else, no getting past him. "radnaja," he hedges and your neck creaks with how quickly you turn away from him, try to hide your face in your broken shoulder. of course, he follows, elbow cracking when it catches his weight so he can lean over you, press his nose hard into your cheek. "milaya, look at me. look." his fingers are soft against your jaw, turning you back towards him with the utmost care. "i'll not leave you again. where i go, you follow, hm?"

unable to meet his eyes, your voice aches as it rips through your raw throat. "you promise?"

he doesn't, not until you look at him properly and he's rewarded you with a kiss between the eyes. but he repeats it when his manhood strokes your petals, uses it to settle you like one would a horse, voice low and soft, a constant murmur used to ground you as he carves a place for himself, kissing away the tears that come when the tight pinch finally gives.

it's a litany, his own hymn to counter the prayer he pulls from you. he's gentle, despite the way his chest heaves. you're reminded of how he trains sometimes, alone and shirtless in the yard. he laughs when you yank at his tunic, and nods, sitting up enough to pull it over his head in one fluid motion. when he settles, he's lower, face level with your chest. it allows him to sit deeper within you, fill you properly, as he said. his promises finally peter out when he draws your first breathy gasp, different now from the pained noises you'd been letting slip. his hand follows yours when it flutters from his hip, falls to that achy spot.

"still hurt, malýshka?" he looks just as hungry as you, just as consumed. when words fail you, he drags his hand up your chest and splits the panels of your chemise, exposing your chest as best he can despite your sling and groans when he finds your nipples pebbled.

first one, then the other, he inspects each breast with roughened hands, wide palms molding over them, fingers pinching until you whine. he soothes the ache with his rough tongue, lowering his head until he can pull the closest breast into his mouth, jaw hinged wide as if he wished to swallow you whole. his mouth is hot, wet. he suckles, drawing tenderness to the surface which he extorts with teeth and tongue, an alternating attack with no rhythm and no way to prepare yourself. you'd never known your chest could feel like this. you'd never known you could feel like this, hot all over yet shivering as if spring had receded, ebbed until the frozen tundra of winter battered the keep walls. chasing the feeling, you try to mimic his movement, rocking your hips down against his own and snaking your good hand up your chest, managing to worm your fingers under your sling before he snags your wrist and scolds you.

"can't have you hurting yourself more, radnaja. have to be careful."

"but i -?"

"i know. feels good, hm? but it will feel better here," he assures, dragging your hand back down, low - lower, until your fingers frame that pearl of flesh he'd found before. "remember how papa did it? show me what you've learned."

not much, it seems. you're uncoordinated, sloppy, too overwhelmed to find a proper rhythm. it's more intense with him inside you, causes you to flinch away from your own touch. you get distracted, too, reach past your pearl to spread your petals and frame where he's speared you. your fingers come away sticky and slick and you seize around him when you find blood.

you're not sure where it comes from. some long dead instinct, unearthed by fear and the novelty of his comforting presence. you call him papochka in a quavering voice and he makes a sound like he's wounded, reaching blindly for your hand to lick off the blood between broken fragments of sentences, odd threads of your combined languages twining into some semblance of a blanket he uses to soothe you. you think you hear something about your gift, that it just means you've been good for him. you don't catch much beyond that, thoughts whiting out as his own fingers return to your core. there's no flinching away from him.

he's not as cruel this time, lets you wind down without any interruption beyond the way he hikes back up your frame, cock slipping free so he can press open mouth kisses to your cheek. he's still talking, grasp of english steadier now. just needed papa to do it. can't even do it yourself, can you? papochka's got you, don't worry.

but he moves despite his words, letting your leg slip from the cradle of his elbow as he gets his knees under himself and straddles your sore leg. he's careful not to put any weight on it, instead leaning on the back of your other thigh until it folds back up toward your side, same as before.

"is this good, milaya? does it hurt?"

you shake your head adamantly. "no, papa. i'm fine."

he calls you a good girl, but you whine anyway when he tells you you're going to give him one more. he hushes you even as he pushes back in, his head falling back with a groan as this new position finally allows him to sink all the way to the root, and you know instantly why this last turn was necessary, that tight knot in your belly winding impossibly tighter.

as if he knows too, his palm splays over your belly again, fingers digging into your soft flesh. "gonna fill you up, printsessa. just like you wanted. ready?"

the term leaves you breathless, not having heard it since you were little, perched on his knee. technically, you don't know what it means, but it's similar enough to your own language that you don't need his translation, and it leaves you feeling just as spoiled and loved as it always has. you nod, and nearly get shuttled up the bed with how hard he thrusts into you. he murmurs something you don't catch, hand wrapping around your leg to keep you in place. when he begins to move again, it's much slower, a deep grind that has your jaw working uselessly.

papa groans. "not even going to fucking need it, am i? feels that good?"

you don't really know what he's asking, just bob your head along as his thrusts rock you minutely.

"use your words, malýshka."

and you would, if you were capable of them, but he's not fighting fair, making you desperate with shallow little grinds, keeping that word locked back up behind his sharp teeth. hair has fallen into his face, loose strands which cling to his temples and hang over his eyes. it does not obscure the hunger there.

"yes, papochka."

it's not clear how he manages to keep himself restrained. not when he growls like an animal, grips your thigh with bruising force. but his thrusts are languid, deep, and his other hand is gentle when it cradles the base of your skull, thumb keeping your jaw tilted high so he can see how your throat works hard for each breath. he complicates the process further by leaning over you, slotting his lips with yours so he can swallow each noise he pulls, licking along your teeth with enough force you're worried you taste blood.

or maybe it's just the remnants of your gift.

no man would want you now, not even if your father managed to pull together a decent dowry. you'd be stuck with him forever, stuck in this dilapidated keep while he -.

he must feel the panic in your pulse. "promise, printsessa."

this time it works, the knot wrapping so tight it snaps, a taut chain that lets you fall when it gives, leaves you to clatter to the ground, stiff and fragile, until your father scoops up the pieces, collects you in strong arms as he finishes, fills you up just like he promised, buried so deep inside that you know you'll always feel it.

it's then you find he burns, too, his seed so hot within you that you imagine it would sear if not for how tempered you are to your own fire. you gutter out together, the bellows of his breaths too strong to keep you kindling. it's sweltering beneath him, the sweat of his back steaming in the crisp morning air. he kisses you when he's caught his breath, heedless of the fact you hadn't yet. your protests get swallowed up, same as the unadlylike grunt you emit when he slips out. he pulls away at that, seemingly just to laugh at the displeased look on your face when, for one mortifying moment, you think you've started your moonblood and you scramble to see.

a wide palm on your good shoulder stops you, keeps you in place. "you're okay, printsessa. i've got it. stay put."

his joints creak when he climbs from the bed and you're distracted from the shock of cold air by the vision he makes, all heavy muscles and dark, wiry hair. he'd brought home a bear skin once, many years ago. it still warmed your bed upstairs, though you liked this bear better. this bed.

when he returns, papa wipes a cold, wet cloth over your woman's place, coos when you jolt in discomfort. he places a kiss there when he's done and scolds you for trying to squirm away. as if you're the improper one.

you get tucked up next to him again once he's decided you're clean enough and you luxuriate in his embrace for as long as he allows, too afraid to ask any of the questions running through your head lest he get annoyed, change his mind, decide he needs to leave right then, actually, or -.

he kisses the crown of your head. heavy, lingering. you feel his lips move against your scalp when he speaks. "i'm expecting to be rewarded with a better keep soon. further south."

worry sinks like a stone to the pit of your stomach, tears a hole through the bottom, creates an endless chasm in your bowels you will never fill, not even if you lived to the end of time. papa does his best to soothe the worry by tilting your chin up, kissing you softly on the lips. he retreats to peer at you when he finds you lifeless and stiff in his arms and sighs heavily, almost fondly.

"you'll be coming with me, radnaja."

"really!?" you're not sure you've ever heard your voice so elated, a childishness to your tone that leaves you embarrassed, cheeks heated.

papa only laughs. "promised, didn't i?"

"well, yes, but -."

"you'll be my little printsessa, my proper lady. moya zhena, my wife. would you like that?"

there's no helping the way your eyes widen in wonder. "your wife? how?"

"it's not unusual for a man to take a wife while off fighting. a matter of honor, if she's got a little malýshka of her own." his hand finds your belly again, rubs proprietarily heavy circles there. "no one need know where i found you, only that it did. and it would be an easy ruse, what with your broken russian."

ordinarily, the thought of having disappointed him with your foreign language would make you flinch, but you're too caught up in the picture he paints, the pair of you dressed in modest finery as he leads you around some pretty new home, you dangling from his arm. "but what of me? your daughter? surly people will wonder?"

he just tuts, faux serious. "well you can imagine my heartache, returning to an empty home. that shallow grave out in the east pasture. no wonder the baba fled, probably thought i'd blame her for my daughter's death. a widower, no children. who could blame me for finding a pretty little thing to take south with me?"

divider by @/adornedwithlight

[sooniebby]

ఌ 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐍

꧁ 𝙊𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙭 𝙢𝙖𝙡𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 ꧂

Teaser ➤ with one lost is the gain of someone greater

Word count › 5k

Rating › NSFT

Warnings › none

Kinks › anal fingering, light nipple play, rimming

(Words to know—

Baobei: baby, affectionate from a parent to child

Ge: older brother (doesn’t have to be related, can be romantic)

Di: little brother

Wangliang: demons, spirits, any malevolent creatures

Jiangshi: hopping vampire that sucks one soul out)

╭┈─────── ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

╰┈─➤ ＢＥＧＩＮＮＩＮＧ

The soft sound of feet patter against the ground shook a woman awake as she saw her sun run up to her. Her son huffed, face stained with tears as he waited for her to say something. She only sighed as she got out of bed and guided him to the mirror on the small table.

She gently forced him down to a kneel, with her joining as well to be height level with his face. The boy stared straight at the mirror as his mother cleaned up his bruises, taking out any twigs in his hair as well.

This wasn’t the first time this happened. It always happened whenever the boy went out. Whenever he tried to gain his father’s approval.

“I’m pathetic compared to my siblings!” He suddenly blurted out as his mother cleaned up a slit in his lip.

She glared at him. “How can you say that about yourself?”

“He seems to think so! I don’t matter to him. I don’t matter to anyone!”

“You do matter, (Name). Emperor Chu is a very busy man. An important man. Emperor Chu gives you a life many other children dream of. Appreciate it.”

“Papa doesn’t care for me.”

“(Name). You know you must call the emperor by his title.”

“Why? I can call you mama.”

(Name)’s mother sighed as she gently pulled his hair out of the ponytail, allowing it to stay out. She continued to fix his hanfu, making sure it fit his more frail body. He had always been sick. He knew that. The hanfu felt a bit big on him. His sickness only caused him to be stunted in growth compared to other boys.

The shoulders of the hanfu had to be bunched up to not fall off. But his sickness was no shock.

How could it be when his mother herself was known to be weak as a child. She couldn’t play like the other children. Confined to her room as she coughed up blood. It was a miracle she lived so long, even having a baby boy. But it only meant he received her illness.

“Emperor Chu loves you. It may not show but Emperor Chu doesn’t have favorites—loving all of you equally, like a emperor must.”

“But he doesn’t love you equally like his wife.”

“Please, (Name), do not refer to His royal highness so casually. If you get tired of saying Emperor Chu so much, call him by his other titles. I want you to be safe.”

“He’s my Papa.”

“He’s an Emperor first. My Baobei, please, for me.” Her dark hair framed her pale skin beautifully. It was no wonder Emperor Chu chose her as a consort. Such a beautiful woman could only belong to a powerful man. (Name) didn’t understand this well at the age of ten but he knew deep down that his mother wasn’t as lucky as the maids thought she was.

(Name) simply nodded. “Sorry.”

“I’m sorry, it’s important to practice formal speech, Baobei.”

(Name) simply nodded. He didn’t like his life at all. Staying indoors. Being forced to watch his siblings be doted on by his father while he only sends a maid to give him gifts. It wasn’t like the illness was contagious. Many people came near him or touched him and nothing happened to them months later.

This silly illness. It was ruining his life.

ꕥ

“Seventh Prince! Consort Yuying has requested you. Please, get him dress.” A guard said outside his door. The maid in (Name)’s room, Xiulan, got up from her seat on the floor and began to pull out his clothes.

(Name) sat up from his bed, glancing out at the opened doors to the mini courtyard that belonged to him and his mother. Consorts usually got their own sections of the palace. Since his mother was the ninth consort, many expected she’d get the leftovers but her being the prettiest, they had earned the more fancied one. The first consort was the emperor’s wife.

So she wasn’t even truly a consort anymore. She was an empress.

Xiulan motioned for him to get up as she removed his sleepwear, slipping on his hanfu and shoes. He bent down a little for the short woman to pull his long hair up into a bun. No one ever cut their hair. It was the hair from their parents. They shouldn’t disrespect it. Shaving was mostly fine. But (Name) didn’t grow much on his face.

His illness, is what his doctor had said.

“Seventh Prince is ready.” Xiulan stated as she opened the sliding door on their right. The guard there simply nodded and bowed in respect to (Name). The lower class referred to any child of the emperor in terms of when they were born.

(Name) was the seventh son, so he was named the Seventh Prince. He was also the last child. The youngest. It didn’t help that he was also terribly sick most of his nights so almost everyone babied him to an annoying degree.

When he was younger, it bothered him but now, as he felt weaker by the day, it made sense. He could hardly walk far without needing to stop.

He was weak. He needed every ounce of protection they gave him. But he was only sixteen.

His mother…

She wasn’t doing good.

The room she was in was close to the Emperor. It was so he could visit her with ease. She was bedridden most of the time, asleep as her health deteriorated. (Name) didn’t visit her much. He knew it wasn’t good to do such a thing to do her.

She needed to see her only son but he was scared.

To be confronted with the reality that she’s dying.

That he’s dying, too.

“She’s inside, Seventh Prince. I’ll be waiting here.” The guard said, holding his staff close to him. (Name) nodded as he walked inside the room, for the first time in maybe months.

There was his mother, her hair thinning. It was no longer shiny and thick. It was almost breaking off. Her normally beautiful sharp cheek bones looked scary with her skinnier face. She was dying.

(Name) pushed through any sight of distress and walked over to kneel down beside her body. The maids in the room made sure to give a bit of space for him, but hovered around just in case her health took a turn for the worst.

“Baobei…” Yuying sighed, tears streaming down her face. She reached one frail hand up to touch his face, cupping his chubby cheek. A small laugh left her lips. She had missed this. His cute cheeks that puffed out whenever he pouted or stuffed his mouth.

Pouty lips that were turning too pale for her liking. Yuying grunted as she moved to sit up, much to the maid’s dismay. (Name) tried to make her stay down but she somehow pushed him off. Whatever strength she had was still there. She was supposed to be only thirty-five but she looked fifty.

“Baobei, I failed you.”

“No. No. Mama, I failed you. I got so scared to see you. I didn’t want to see you like this but that was so selfish of me. Please, forgive me.” He cried, leaning his head on her shoulder.

Yuying reached a hand into his hair and pulled out his bun, allowing his long black hair to fall out. (Name) pulled away and looked at her in confusion. He watched as she played around with it, a smile on her lips.

“I missed your hair. It was healthier than mines.”

“Mama…”

“Baobei, I don’t have much time left. They’re taking so much from me and I couldn’t stop them. What I have…” Yuying coughed, blood splattered on (Name)’s face but he was too shocked to react.

“No, the doctor said you had a few years left. Please, please. Don’t…”

“Baobei, listen to me. This isn’t a normal Illness. We aren’t sick.”

“What are you talking about Mama?”

Yuying glanced around, as if she was scared someone was watching.

“I’ve called a shaman to help you. He’s been here the entire time, watching you. He told me he’s ready for the attack.”

“Mama, you’re not making sense. Let’s lay down…”

“Baobei!” She yelled, a look of anger in her eyes. “Once I lay down I’m gone. Let me tell you this so you don’t face this fate. My mother came from the Xians. It gave me the ability to see the future with eternal beauty. This caught the attention of many Wangliang.”

“Wangliang…? But they don’t exist. Xians aren’t real. No one could be immortal.”

“Xians don’t just have immortality. But this doesn’t matter, what matters is that your illness is because a Wangliang is feeding off of you like a parasite. And it’s not just one. It’s why you have been getting weaker much faster than I did when I was younger.”

(Name) felt dizzy. He didn’t understand. His mother seemed to know from his face as she sighed.

“Baobei… I have a notebook that’s tucked somewhere in your room. Find it, it’ll give you more insight. But just know, your ability is something stronger than mines. Mines could only grant me ten seconds into the future. Your ability, it seems to deal with your heart.”

“Mama…. Why are you speaking as if today is your last..?”

“It is, Baobei. It’s too late to save me.”

“No. No! This shaman you spoke of, why can’t he save you?!” (Name) yelled, gripping at his mother’s hanfu. She simply smiled at him, cradling his face as she leaned in to press a soft kiss on his forehead.

“There’s only so much you can do for someone as old and frail as me. I used my ability for wrong reasons. I deserve my fate.” She pushed back a lock of hair to place behind his ear. “I’m blessed to say my goodbyes.”

Yuying moved to lay back down on her bed as she smiled up at her son. “I love you, Baobei.”

Then her eyes were closed.

(Name) screamed out as he shook his mother, hoping she would awaken. The maids in the room called out for the doctor, one trying to pull (Name) away from his mother’s corpse but was swiftly pushed away. He cried out in pain, a cry that was never heard from the boy ever in his life.

“Mama! Mama, please!” He chanted, rocking her body back and forth. People rushed into the room but (Name) couldn’t lay them any mind. His mother was gone. His mother, his only true parent was gone.

He was all alone.

Strong arms gripped him tightly and pulled him away from the body, easily subduing him. (Name) weakly fought against the man’s hold but could only whimper out for his mother to wake up. The one day.

The one day he went to see her and she was gone.

The man holding (Name) ended up being Emperor Chu and the Eldest Prince, Laohu who took over once his father had to check the body. (Name) cried in his brother’s arm, holding him close. Despite them having different mothers, they were close.

His twelve siblings all loved him well. Emperor Chu had seven boys and five girls. A good luck that many praised him for. Laohu was much older than most of the siblings. Close to his late twenties by now. He acted as (Name)’s father at this point as Emperor Chu couldn’t bother to be one.

“Ge… Ge!!” (Name) cried, wishing he had died with his mother. He couldn’t continue like this. Not without his rock.

“Di, can you stand?” Laohu muttered.

(Name) didn’t answer. Laohu nodded towards one his other brothers, the Sixth Prince, and motioned for him to help carry him to his room. Sixth Prince, Donghai, helped Laohu carry their younger brother to his room.

The death of a consort, no matter how little she mattered to the emperor, was a devastating loss. Everything stopped as they were allowed to mourn. And it was warranted for Yuying. She wasn’t just a consort.

She was someone to the lower class people before Emperor Chu found her.

She was a light of hope in their dark days.

And now she was gone.

(Name) was never the same after. And neither was his family.

ꕥ

“Di, please, you’ve been through here a thousands times before. You should’ve found it by now if it was truly here,” Donghai said, watching as (Name) once again turned every pillow and blanket to find the notebook his mother had once mentioned.

(Name) glanced at his brother, “Ge, you don’t understand! She said it’d be here for me. She mentioned a shaman!”

“Shamans aren’t people you should trust, Di. Please, you’re already getting more frail,” Donghai grasped his brother’s hand, (Name)’s thin hands looked small against his.

(Name) knew everyone was anxious for him. His mother died earlier than the doctor had estimated. Everyone walked on eggshells, hoping to not awaken to the news that they lost him too. It had been only three years, (Name) was nineteen. But it still felt like yesterday some days.

Donghai was the one worried the most. He was the sixth son but eleventh child. They were only two years apart in age. He had a relationship to (Name) that the other brothers didn’t have.

Laohu and Donghai had a love for him that rivaled his mother sometimes.

The other four brothers didn’t speak much to (Name) but the rare times they did, they cared deeply for him. But they focused more on their positions in the military. Two were twins and one shared the same mother as Laohu. Only four years younger than him. The last one, the Second Prince shared a mother with the Eldest Princess.

She was the first child. But she was never home, having married off to a man in a neighboring state. But whenever Laohu visited, he always told (Name) she was happy.

“I will be fine… but thank you for worrying.” (Name) smiled.

Donghai didn’t looked convinced but nodded.

“Sixth Prince! Emperor Chu has requested you to the throne room!”

“I will see you at dinner.”

“Bye, Ge.”

(Name) waited for Donghai to leave before he continued his search for his mother’s notebook. He wished she had told him where. But all he had to go with is that it should’ve be hidden that no maid could come across it while cleaning.

Xiulan wasn’t going to enjoy having to clean his room after this mess he was making. But he couldn’t worry about that. His mother came first.

He was feeling weaker by the minute and if this notebook could save him, he’d find it. The sliding door open, pausing his search as he looked over to see Consort Yue Lin. She was Laohu’s mother.

(Name) quickly bowed, showing respect to her. The second consort. She was very important to the emperor behind his wife. Many wondered if it was because his wife only gave him a daughter with no sons. It certainly made her seem pathetic in terms of Consort Yue Lin.

“(Name), if I may call you that, how are you feeling?” Yue Lin kneeled down next to (Name), her brown hair pulled into an intricate braid with flower pins holding them place. She certainly dressed as a queen.

“I have had better days, Consort Yue Lin.”

“I lost my mother quite young as well. Not as tragic as you but I know your pain. Laohu loves you. Very much. I think he loves you more than me,” she laughed. “Know that he is someone to talk to. He has reached his thirties. He’s wise. A… a father figure.”

(Name) was shocked that Yue Lin acknowledge the poor parenting skills of an emperor. But she want wrong. Laohu was a father to him. Not Emperor Chu.

“The Shaman…”

(Name) stared at her in fear.

She simply grinned. “I saw him once. He’s hidden himself as a knight very well. But he’s around here. He’s one of the knights that guards the entrance to the gate leading to the forest. However, if anyone told you, I never knew.”

“Yes, of course!”

“As for the notebook, floor.”

“Floor…?”

“Floor.” With a curt nod, she rose up and walked out of the room, subtly pointing at a spot near the closet. The door closed behind her as (Name) rushed over the the closet door and felt around on the ground.

He gasped when one felt loose. With ease, he pulled off one of the floor board to see the notebook underneath. He quickly grabbed it and placed the board back into its spot.

He’d give an excuse to why one of the floor boards were broken. What mattered now was that he got what he had been looking for.

The notebook was mainly a diary. Laying down a timeline of Yuying’s time before she was found at age eighteen by Emperor Chu to become his last consort. By the next year, she was pregnant with him.

She was happy. Stating how much Emperor Chu loved her despite him being near 40s when he impregnated her. It didn’t shock (Name). He knew his father was creepy when choosing the woman he wanted. Past emperors choose their women the first year he was given the title. But Emperor Chu waited.

He waited for each beautiful woman to be ready for marriage and to bear children.

It give him twelve so many didn’t go against him, even if they wondered what he could’ve truly had in common with such a young bride.

“Baobei.”

That voice.

(Name) closed the notebook, right was he was about to reach his mother’s words on the so called ‘Wangliang’. He placed the notebook on the ground and followed the sound of his mother into the forest near his courtyard. (Name) struggled to jump over the fence but was finally able to when something grabbed him.

His head was hurting but his mother’s voice took over. Calling to him. The snow crunched beneath his bare feet as he walked over to wherever his mother was. He could feel eyes on him. Watching him as he walked to his death.

Grief was a powerful thing.

It clouded one’s judgement. They couldn’t think straight.

The trance he was in was gone once he reached the middle of the forest, dressed in a light hanfu, not made for the cold weather. He wrapped his arms around himself as he looked around. The night sky made the usually calm forest seem scary.

Only the moonlight was his light. It shined down on him, as if mocking him for being so foolish. The crunching of snow near him shock him as he turned around erratically, looking to see who was coming close to him.

“Baobei… come to mama.”

(Name) watched in horror as something tall and imposing walked from it’s hiding spot. It was lankey and tall, long limbs that no human could ever have. A white face with dark black eyes, a large sinister smile. Blood was coated on it’s lip as it bent down slightly to level itself with (Name).

“Baobei.” It said in his mother’s voice.

(Name) felt his knees collapse beneath him. He dropped to the floor, staring up at the unknown beast. This was a Wangliang…? It began to laugh, in a voice that belonged to a multitude of people.

It’s jaw unhinged as a long tongue slithered out, reaching over to caress (Name)’s face. He felt himself blank at the gross tongue touching him. Was this how he died?

Donghai… Laohu…

His mother.

He didn’t even get to see the shaman.

(Name) closed his eyes tightly as the Wangliang’s tongue tightened around his throat, leaning down with it’s wide jaw to swallow him whole when a shriek was heard.

The Wangliang cried out with it’s tongue but clean off. Black blood splattered across (Name)’s face, sending him into a quick shocking memory of his mother doing the same on her death bed. He could only stay still on the floor as whoever it was, killed the beast in front of him.

It was dressed in his people’s knight uniform. He swung around a Guandao with ease. A long staff with a sharp curved blade at the end. The Wangliang screamed as it tried to fight back only to easily be killed with a slice at it’s neck.

The head fell down not too far away from (Name) as black blood sprayed out of the corpse, covering the knight’s face and body. But he didn’t seem phased. He only wiped it away with his hanfu and muttered a quick prayer before sprinting over to (Name).

“Seventh Prince! Apologies for being late. I did not notice when you left.”

The knight kneeled down to grab (Name) only for (Name) to jump into his arms. He paused for a moment, wondering if there was something wrong only to see that (Name)’s body trembled in his arms.

“Are you… Are you the shaman Mama was speaking about?”

“Yes. Consort Yuying paid me to protect you. If she caught the Jiangshi before it fully killed you, she thought you will survive. But it isn’t just the jiangshi killing you.”

“I don’t understand.”

The shaman simply hummed. “I do not expect you to understand, Seventh Prince. You do not need to worry much about what is happening. What matters is that you trust me,” he wrapped one arm around (Name)’s waist.

(Name) pulled away from his neck and stared at him, wanting to get a good look at who this man was. His long hair was pulled into a ponytail, giving a clear look at his facial features. Monolids with medium size lips. A prominent nose that was actually beautiful to (Name).

He knew others would possibly view the man as ugly but he couldn’t help the flutter in his heart.

“Do you trust me?” The man asked.

“Your name?”

“… Fa Yichen.”

“That doesn’t seem like you’re real name.”

“It is not. But when you prove yourself to me, I will tell you,” Yichen said, a faint smile on his lips. It looked off for someone to be smiling while their face was splotches of blood but (Name) supposed it wasn’t human blood.

“I’ll call you Ge.”

“I do not deserve such title. Call me Yichen.”

(Name) pouted but nodded. Yichen stood up, holding (Name) in his arms with ease. The man was tall, having to possibly be 6’4 or maybe even 6’6. (Name) wasn’t sure. All he knew for sure was that Yichen had an intimidating stature.

Muscular all around. He put (Name)’s military brothers to shame. (Name) wrapped his arms around his neck, allowing him to carry him back to the palace. His feet were dirty with snow. But he couldn’t feel it well due to the cold.

He just wanted to warm up.

Once they reached (Name)’s room, Yichen placed him down on the bed and immediately went to leave.

“Ge!”

Yichen turned back to face him, “Yichen. I do not deserve such a kind title.”

(Name) grinned. “Sorry, I will not do it again.”

He will do it again.

“Is there anything you need? I can call Miss Xiulan to come clean you.”

“I want you to. We can get to know each other!”

“No.”

“Please!”

“I’m sorry.”

“How can I trust you if you won’t do a simple task?”

Yichen’s eyebrows twitched in annoyance before grunting. “I’ll start the bath.”

(Name) smirked to himself. Perhaps he could get Yichen into the bath with him. Hey, it might been a bit weird to try and get some random man into a bath with him but he wasn’t exactly thinking.

His first time alone with a very beautiful man.

“Seventh Prince, the bath is ready.”

(Name) walked over to the connected bathroom and began to strip out of his dirty clothes. He wasn’t sure how he could explain the blood on them. Maybe that it was paint.

His clothes pooled on the floor around his feet as he glanced over to see if Yichen was watching him. The shaman was looking away with a light blush on his cheeks. (Name) grinned. He wasn’t exactly doing anything with that.

He was just used to being naked in front of maybe people so he forgot not everyone would be comfortable with it. “Apologies. I was raised to not be bothered by nudity.”

“It is no issue. I’ll leave you to your bath.”

“No!”

Yichen stopped himself from leaving.

“Can you wash me? Xiulan does most of the work, I cannot suddenly do it alone.” (Name) said, walking over to the bath as he slipped in.

Once Yichen counted to ten in his head, he turned around to see (Name) fully covered by the water. (Name) grinned as he watched Yichen fumble around looking for the soap. It was different from Xiulan who moved with grace, sliding the soap all over him with ease and the muscle memory.

Yichen was slow. As if he was scared that if he went too fast, he’d tear (Name) apart. It wasn’t an unfounded fear. (Name) was small in every way compared to Yichen. Especially with their sizes.

Yichen’s hand almost covered (Name)’s entire back. And the brief moment they stood close together, (Name)’s head only reached his shoulder. But it was honestly the perfect height for him to just rest his head there if they hugged.

“Ge…”

“Yichen.”

“Why was my mother too far gone?”

“Consort Yuying had been losing her life force to the Jiangshi since birth. They went after her due to her soul being more powerful than any ordinary human.” Yichen reached down to trace (Name)’s chest, the area where his heart was.

“Jiangshi loves souls. The more powerful, the more they want it. It is more of an unfortunate situation that her parents did not know of the Wangliangs that roam the earth.”

“If they had know…”

“Consort Yuying could have lived a fruitful life. But that is the past, we cannot change what has been done. I promised your mother that she could pass with me caring for you.”

“Yes. I’m sorry. I just wish I knew…”

“She was fearful that she’d scare you. That it would have sent you straight into a Jiangshi’s awaiting mouth.”

(Name) hummed as he leaned back into the touch of Yichen. Yichen’s hand that held the rag roamed his body, not touching his legs or anything lower than his stomach. (Name) bit his lip, reaching up to grasp the hand resting on the tub.

Yichen hesitated for a moment before continuing, “do you want to wash your hair?”

“Another time. It’s a process.”

(Name) glanced down at his body, blushing at his hard nipples. Yichen seemed to not notice, really focused on bathing (Name) as if it was his job. It was a bit of a disappointment from his dream but he knew he had a weird imagination.

“Seventh Prince…”

“Yes?”

“I must tell you, sex is heavily influenced in your mother’s kind. The Xians.”

“Those immortal humans?”

“The original Xians were immortal, yes. But your mother’s family was a more muted version of them. You don’t live forever. But to awaken the power at first, a connection to the body is needed.”

“A connection?”

“Please, tell me whenever you are uncomfortable.”

“Yichen?”

A gasp left (Name)’s lips when he felt a tug at his nipples. He arched his back, his head resting on Yichen’s shoulder as he pulled at both nipples. Yichen’s much larger hands cupped his chest entirely. It sent a shiver down his spine.

How could he hands look against other parts of his body…?

“Stimulation is a great way to connect to one’s body. It is the fastest way other than meditation. Next time we can do meditation.”

(Name) did not want to do medication next time.

Yichen’s fingers rolled (Name)’s nipples around, watching every reaction the Prince gave him. In any other circumstance, he would’ve told his client to do it themself.

But he knew (Name). Ever since they were babies.

And he wouldn’t lie that he was physically attracted to him. There was no way he’d get another chance like this. (Name)’s soft whimpering filled in the room as one of Yichen’s hand moved downwards to grip his ass.

The squeak (Name) released, one that reminded him of a cute hamster, was music to Yichen’s ears. Yichen probed at (Name)’s hole, enjoying the sounds from (Name)’s lips.

“I’ll need to take you out of the bath so I can properly stimulate you.”

“Please…”

Yichen easily picked up (Name) and held him close as walked over to the bedroom. He checked to make sure the sliding doors were closed from the courtyard so no cool air came in. With that, he laid down on the floor, keeping (Name) on top of him.

“Relax and let me take care of everything,” Yichen pulled him up to bring his asshole near his lips. It was eye opening to feel something foreign touch his ass.

(Name) gripped at the floor beneath him as he cried out in pleasure as Yichen thrusted his tongue inside. He was shocked at the fact something could fit inside of him. Yichen’s grip on his thighs were tight, holding him close to his body as he explored his asshole.

He felt close. His cock twitching, ready to release. (Name) flinched when he felt something probe at his asshole, a finger this time. He blushed, wondering how Yichen’s finger would feel deep inside. One finger slowly pushed in as he pulled his tongue away.

His one finger was thick, it felt like two. (Name)’s body twitched as he cried out, feeling the finger drag against his warm walls. He clenched around the finger before feeling himself cum. Much to his disappointment, Yichen pulled his finger out and maneuvered (Name) to lay down on his bed.

“Do you feel differently?”

“I feel tired…” (Name) sighed. “But something feels… light…”

“Good. In the morning, we will talk more.” He moved to get up.

“Ge, don’t leave…”

“I—”

“Di! Where are….”

(Name) and Yichen stared at the door showing a shocked Donghai. Donghai glanced at the wet naked body of his younger brother and the strange man’s clothing that had indents of water.

Oh, he was about to kill this man.

╭┈─────── ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

╰┈─➤ ＥＮＤ

I went off the deep end. I wanted to do some medieval Chinese fantasy and I went too far…

Yichen debut! He’ll be coming back in the far future after I do some requests first! Oikawa fic tomorrow!!

Tag list: @the-ultimate-librarian @chill-guy-but-cooler @mello-life69 @kiiyoooo

Number 1 fan: @rainnyydaysworld

Request by: @kazuhazuuu hope it exceeds your expectations! <3

[avianconcept]

Agency, value systems, and growth: the fate of the Perfect Court tattoos.

Been thinking about the Perfect Court tattoos today, and I’ve finally decided what I personally hope happens to Jean’s. I know there's a lot of discussion about a cover up like Kevin’s, suggestions like a flower, a sun, a fleur-de-lis; and I see that, but I raise you: he gets it completely removed. 

I think it has something to do with what the tattoos mean to each character. More specifically, how each character got them, and what that means to them. Most of this comes from a quote I found on my last re-read of TKM: 

The first time someone asked about Riko’s and Kevin’s tattoos, Riko hadn’t beat around the bush. He was the best striker in the game, he said, and he wanted everyone to know it. The story changed a little when Jean made his first public appearance with a “3” on his face. Riko was supposedly handpicking the future US National Team. He called it the ‘perfect Court’, and even though it was unofficial and unbelievably arrogant, his talent and upbringing gave some credibility to the idea. ‘

According to Neil in the first book, Riko and Kevin had been sharpie-ing on their numbers since they were children. This quote adds some more crucial context to that. It establishes that Riko and Kevin’s 1 and 2 came before the perfect court, and that the perfect court was what Riko decided their 1 and 2 (and newly minted 3) meant. This bit is what changed it for me, I think. 

Riko and Kevin are both referred to as the sons of exy. Both are heirs to the game, Riko through his uncle and Kevin through his mother. They do it to signal their place in the world of exy– heirs, future best in the game, destined for greatness. And then Jean comes along, and Riko changes the narrative. He comes up with the perfect court, and tells the world. The perfect court are his chosen players (read: his property). It furthers his control and possession of Kevin, who is allowed to be excellent, just not better than Riko. Kevin can be good, he just has to be good Riko’s way, subscribe to RIko’s model of success. 

Riko dies with his tattoo on his face. He dies clinging onto the idea of the perfect court, that he is the best, and that the only way to be the best is through pain and abuse. There is no real change for Riko in the series, so it fits that the way he’s marked himself (read: the way he defines himself) doesn’t change either. 

Kevin gets his covered up with the infamous chess piece. For Kevin, the challenge is reclaiming the sport that is also his birthright. He is physically free of Riko and Tetsuji, but mentally, he isn’t. Even with states between them and a new team, he is still understandably afraid of standing up to Riko. It goes against the status quo that has been beaten into him, and it takes him a while to be able to fully leave them and their limits behind. What holds Kevin back is that his greatness has always been defined. It has been defined by Riko, upheld by Tetsuji. He can be second best, a Raven, a prince to Riko’s King. Kevin changes his tattoo right before the final game– in order to beat Riko, he has to first reject Riko’s hierarchy, the limiting belief that was forced onto him that Riko was best, Riko was king. To me, its extremely fitting that Kevin’s evolution involved him putting his own mark on his talent. Instead of challenging Riko for ‘King’, or for that 1, he invents his own symbol. For Kevin, it's a reclamation of a game that was always partially his– just on his terms now. 

Neil’s tattoo gets burnt off by his father’s henchmen. This also fits well in my mind, because in my opinion, Neil’s number one challenge wasn’t actually Riko. Riko was Neil’s adversary, but Neil’s true terror was his father. The tattoos and their removal/evolution appear to be symbolic of the character’s growth, so it makes sense that Neil’s wasn’t on his face for long, and was taken off by (basically) his father. Each of the perfect court members had something keeping them trapped, things that wouldn’t let them grow into who they were supposed to be. Riko’s was the wound of his fathers rejection, and the toxicity created and maintained by Tetsuji. Kevin’s was Riko, and by extension Tetsuji. Neil’s is his father. Unlike Kevin, Neil’s not trying to be the best exy player in the sport. The sport makes him feel less like no one and nothing, and his continued playing is an expression of his will to live and his desire for personhood and a future. Neil wants better than what he has at the beginning of TFC, and the thing keeping him from that isn’t Riko. Sure, Riko is connected to the Moriyamas, and Ichirou owns his contract now, and Neil fights with Riko a lot. But to me, the thing that caused him real terror and stripped him of his personhood and autonomy was Nathan. Riko branded him with the 4, and Nathan’s people took it off, as if to say, “No, Riko isn’t who you have to reckon with, it’s me.” Neil’s internal fight was with being the butcher’s son, not with being number four. 

Jean’s situation is best described by a line in the EC– Jean never asked for this. 

In his own words, he loved exy, and was excited for what he thought was an opportunity to improve, but it doesn’t seem like he was ever vying for greatness. Then his father sold him, he was given the 3, and he was made perfect court. 

Much like Neil, didn’t have a say in his involvement. Unlike Neil, Jean adopts the mentality and hierarchy of the perfect court as his truth. Riko’s estimation of his value becomes his own. 

For Jean, the 3 has a lot to do with pain and self worth. In TSC, the only time Jean speaks positively about himself is when he calls himself perfect court, or when he talks about himself as a backliner. He has been conditioned that the only place he has worth is on the court. Nothing is important about him, just about what he is, the position he occupies. Where his personhood and bodily autonomy is denied over and over, his talent cannot be denied on the court. He is allowed to matter on the court, and nowhere else. In a sense, that 3 becomes the only thing about him that could be his. 

The other thing about the 3 is that he didn’t ask for it, but he has bled for it. So much of his relationship with the Ravens is defined by his rank.  Even though the Ravens do not like Jean as a person, they want to be his partner, to have that 4. The reason someone protects Jean from repeated sexual assault is that 3, and how it could lead to a 4. This is why Zane strikes a deal with him, why Grayson goes all the way to the Gold Court to hurt him. It is what the sexual assault from the backliners is blamed on. The 3 was given to Jean as a mark of something he didn't ask to be a part of, and then he was forced to fight tooth and nail to keep it.  It became the defining part of his identity because he wasn’t allowed to have anything else. He wasn’t even allowed to have his name. 

In my opinion, I think that the ultimate expression of Jean’s growth would be to take the tattoo off. He doesn’t have to subscribe to that value system. Covering it would feel like half assing it. He can change it, but he has to keep a tattoo of some sort, because Riko put one there. 

Note that I don’t think of the cover up the same way for Kevin. For Kevin, exy was likely always going to be important to him, with Kayleigh as his mother. He is inheriting it, same way Riko is, and this inheritance is symbolized by that 1 and 2. Kevin wanted to be the best, and so the ultimate expression of his healing is him becoming the best his way. Jean has his tattoo because he is seen as an object, a talent investment belonging to the Moriyamas. What is a limit for Kevin is a brand for Jean. 

For Jean, I think true freedom wouldn’t be freedom to be the best, it would be not having to be the best. It would be not having exy be the most important thing in his life. To not need to defend something he didn’t want. I hope he becomes so sure of his worth in the world, and so sure of his own autonomy that he doesn’t need the 3 to tell him he’s worth something. I hope he realizes that he is his own before he is anyone else's, and doesn’t need to carry around a value that someone else gave him.  

In TSC, the legacy, abuse, and dehumanization of the Nest is killing Ravens as soon as the Nest is taken away. Without the strict environment and the imposed value systems the Nest and team gave them, the Ravens crumple. They seem to feel they can't go back (I suspect that whether ‘back’ means back to their old lives or back to the Nest is different for every Raven), and that death is their better option. Ravens don’t seem to be meant to survive outside the Nest. It is designed to be all consuming. Jean doesn’t know who he is if he isn’t a Raven, if he isn’t perfect court, if he isn’t ‘3’ anymore. To live again, he has to leave the perfect court and its poison behind. He has to learn himself again, to rebuild and repair and create out of nothing. 

Neil says it about Grayson, that he could have chosen to walk away from Riko’s poisoned legacy, but it applies to all Ravens. To survive, to live a life worth living, they have to chose to fight their way out of that kind of thinking. Taking the tattoo off feels like him choosing to leave the Nest behind. Jean taking it off represents him shedding that entire ideology. No three, no expectation, just him and whoever he wants to be. 

In short, the toxicity that the perfect court represented killed Riko with its symbol still on his face. 

The Moriyama’s never really owned Neil, and they weren’t who he had to overcome. The tattoo was never going to be around long. 

Kevin was held back from his birthright. His potential was conditional, and there was a leash on him. He needed to reclaim the game that would always be his, mark himself in his own image. 

Jean needs to see himself as a person beyond his place on the court. He needs to walk away from the perfect court ideology and reclaim himself, with no one’s mark on him. 

[rootspiral]

Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 9 part 5

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1][2][3][4][5] ep6 [1][2][3] ep7 [1][2][3][4][5][6] ep8 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9] ep9 [1][2][3][4][5][6])

question for you: it that only a reflection from set lights, or did agatha have tears in her eyes?

because, well, this is agatha. she's putting on a show, so you know that she's not as confident as she wants to appear. I imagine that suddenly turning into a ghost is not an easy adjustment. super interesting from a nerdy scholary prospective, but psychologically?? idk

billy, as usual, has to beg her to PLEASE BE SERIOUS FR

I toOK A calCULateD RiSK

whatever you say you big loser

then she demonstrates being a ghost by trying to slap billy. it's scientific and not ridiculous at all

at long last, and very, very late in the game she explains the nature of the Road to billy - and notice how she's still not able to be completely honest, despite all the previous moments they shared. the song means the world to her, but she's not ready to admit that yet.

the Road was very very very much real, and all the deaths that happened do count

I'll die on the hill that billy is a good person at heart. the tower, the potential for tragedy and destruction, is just that, a potential that the people in his life - the kaplans, eddie, the coven and yes, even agatha - are helping keep unfulfilled.

agatha shakes her head, gently, carefully. and we can see there has been some growth here: the first time billy supposedly killed someone she went on a whole speech about how Killing Makes You a Survivor Actually, a speech that was more about her than him. she's at least considering his feelings now

and btw agatha's "death" not being final like the others' doesn't cheapen the message at all. these are shows about dealing with / accepting mortality, and that is a journey agatha has just started. she (somehow, crying and screaming and flying by the seat of her pants) cheated death and will get herself a new body, and that's just one step forward and two steps back on her way to learn to finally stop running.

remember when nicky was upset about killing witches and agatha avoided the subject by singing a song to him, because she didn't know how to relieve a child of the guilt that was hers and only hers? she is trying now. she sees how this is devastating billy and she (badly) tries to absolve him. she is the one who lured the coven into a trap, who didn't disclose the nature of the Road, who very much killed alice.

and mark my words: she knows who sharon is, she absolutely remembers her name. I think she feels the most guilty about killing sharon, because with alice it was kind of an accident, but she went out of her way to doom this poor little lady, and she's been distancing herself from her with callous jokes since the beginning.

look at her face. this is Empathy. I've talked a lot about how for agatha it's easier to feel empathy for people with similar stories and backgrounds to hers. she felt it for wanda and ran from it. billy has the added quality of being perfect son material (I'll get to that in a minute) and right now? she knows what he's going through. she was once a girl born with the power to kill people, a power she didn't know how to stop, and it ruined her life and doomed everyone who crossed her path.

and she's still trying to have her cake and eat it too! consoling billy while still keeping her "whatever I don't care anyway" fake vibes. I'd say that she's matured a little, sure! from toddler to at least first grader. she even dares to roll her eyes when mentioning jen, this actual piece of ghostly turd.

please please please let jen come back in a marvel property that doesn't suck / hopefully written by jac and her team. please please please let us see what she does next

"should I go check on how agatha and billy are doing? nope screw them bye bye losers omw to rebuild my empire!" *nyoooooom*

(I don't know what I'd like to see more, jen becoming a force for good right away or still on the road to recovery, clashing heads with agatha.)

agatha takes a deep breath (can ghosts actually breathe tho) and gives billy a speech reminiscent of what she told nicky all those years ago. if you want to survive, get used to this feeling. we are supposed to read this interaction with the added context of her relationship with her own son (hence the callback). so why does agatha gives billy the nicky treatment now?

I think billy is all that agatha hoped and wanted nicky to be - a partner in crime who can keep up with her intelligence and sense of humor, a powerful witch she can pass her knowledge to, and a son who will love her and stick by her side no matter what. billy is the whole package, from the very beginning she couldn't see him as just the carrier of the very power she needed to bring nicky back; another hunger took over, the hunger to claim him and raise him as her own.

which brings us to the crucial question: why does agatha want a son? why did she have nicky in the first place? the answer, in true agatha fashion, is selfish, flawed, tragic, human. she wanted to fix her own childhood. she wanted to raise a version of herself who had all the love and support of a mother. and so she made sure that nicky had what she never had, including books and lessons to learn magic from. she tried to make him immune to life's heartbreaks - get used to this feeling, like she never could (because she never managed to make her own heart impervious, she only hid it away and tried to ignore it.) she essentially imagined her child as a a mini-me who committed all the same atrocities with no guilt or remorse and the added bonus of a mother cheerleading them on. another cheat sheet, a way to fix herself without actually working on her issues.

except nicky wasn't exactly what she had expected. he didn't like killing witches. instead of a talent for magic, he showed a talent for music and, credit where credit's due, agatha encouraged and nurtured it. when nicky died, agatha was on her way to accept that he was his own wonderful person and that being a parent is an exercise in selflessness. despite all her mistakes, she did one fundamental thing right: she loved nicky so freaking much, and was genuinely loved in return. who knows what could have happened if they were allowed to continue on that path.

billy is also very much his own person (not to mention almost and adult) so he simply won't let agatha project her issues all over him. (agatha is like, "challenge accepted.")

her love for billy is not in question, but now she has to be selfless and admit he doesn't exactly need mentoring in serial killing. what did billy need from the Road after all? it wasn't power. it was a sense of identity, a community, help in finding himself and his brother. agatha knows this perfectly, she's just *gestures in her general direction* like that.

go to episode 9 part 6