#heaviest book in the world

[bernievm]

If you are still heart broken about the destruction of the Alexandria library, you will be happy to hear in a far away world, there’s a vast library hidden from the world for centuries, contains 84,000 books, which are planned to be digitised, translated and share with the world.

The Sakya Monastery in Tibet, founded in 1073 by Khon Konchog Gyalpo, is renowned for its vast library of ancient manuscripts, many of which remain untouched for centuries.

Most of these texts are Buddhist scriptures, meticulously handwritten in various languages like Chinese, Tibetan, Mongolian, and Sanskrit. But the depth of this collection is vast. It isn’t limited to religious teachings; it expands into the realms of literature, history, philosophy, the stars above with astronomy, the logic of mathematics, the beauty of art, and even the practical wisdom of agriculture.

The scale of this library is staggering. Picture traditional bookshelves stretching 200 feet and soaring to 33 feet, all packed with a whopping 84,000 books! Among these, there’s a standout: a single scripture that tips the scales at a massive 1,100 pounds, claiming the title of the heaviest in the world. Thanks to the region’s dry climate, the library also boasts a collection of delicate palm-leaf manuscripts, preserved in near-perfect condition.

The library is not open to the general public but is accessible to members and visiting scholars with permission. Efforts are underway to digitize these manuscripts, making them more widely available for research and study. This initiative highlights the library's role as a bridge between ancient wisdom and modern scholarship, offering invaluable insights into Tibetan culture and knowledge.

Now, these precious papers give us a peek into Tibet’s history. They show us how people lived, what they believed, and how they dreamed. Thanks to the Sakya Monastery, a whole world has been brought back to life from long ago. Everyone can learn and be amazed by the wonders of the past.

[Sources]:

*Earthly Mission: Tibet's Great Sakya Library (https://earthlymission.com/tibet-great-sakya-library-84000-scrolls-heaviest-scripture-world/)

*History Enhanced: Unveiling the Unseen (https://historyenhanced.com/unveiling-the-unseen-84000-unread-manuscripts-from-sakya-librarys-timeless-tales-discovered/)

*The Historians: The Secrets of Sakya Monastery Library (https://thehistorians.org/2023/12/24/the_secrets_of_sakya_monastery_library_in_tibet/)

[mononijikayu]

if the world was ending, i’d wanna be next to you — itadori yuji and ryomen sukuna.

“You’re scared, little one.” Sukuna observes, voice low and taunting. “Quite a face I’ve never seen in a long time.” Your heart pounds, every instinct screaming at you to run, to get away from him. But something roots you in place, the inexplicable connection between the face you loved and the one you now feared, pulling you in two directions at once. “How low you’ve come, little one.” he continues, his voice dripping with amusement. “Really? A green boy like him?” He leans in closer, his presence suffocating. “An insult to your standards, little one.”

GENRE: alternate universe - canon convergence;

WARNING/S: spoilers for jjk chapter 271, not safe for work, angst, fluff, one sided romance, eventual romance, conflicted feelings, hurt/comfort, reincarnation, happy ending, hurt, physical touch, character death, mourning, loneliness, pain, grief, afterlife, internal conflict, future, letting go, depiction of moving forward, depiction of one-sided relationship, depiction of rebirth, depiction of internal conflict, depiction of complicated relationship, depiction of character death, depiction of canon related violence, depiction of loneliness, mention of grief, mention of illness, mention of loneliness, depiction of happy end, true form! sukuna, itadori yuji, reincarnated concubine! reader;

WORD COUNT: 11k words

NOTE: this was highly requested, that concubine reader from the other woman has some closure and freedom and happiness in her next life. well, this is it. i feel like after having read chapter 271 completely, i feel like this was also a good sort of closure on sukuna's character. as ive said, i wasn't satisfied much, but i decided to write a path of my own here. and i hope you like it!!! i love you all <3

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kayu's playlist, side 1500;

THE PAST WAS SOMETHING THAT INTRIGUED YOU. You used to wonder if you had a life before this one. The thought lingered like a shadow on quiet nights, gnawing at the edges of your consciousness. You were always curious: Was it a good life? Did you laugh often? Were you loved? And in the end, did you grow old surrounded by warmth, or did your story close abruptly, lost to the currents of time? These questions, though unspoken, echoed through your mind like the turning pages of an unfinished book.

Yet, it’s in moments like this—simple, undemanding, and unexpectedly tender—that those questions fall away. You realize that the answer doesn’t matter as much as you once thought. You and Itadori Yuji, sitting side by side, the air filled with the sound of his laughter, his energy contagious and effortless. It's not always what you do together, but how he has a way of making everything feel lighter, even when life is at its heaviest.

In these instances, where time seems to slow down and the weight of the past dissolves, you’re reminded that perhaps the life before—if it existed at all—was not as important as the one unfolding now. This is where the heart finds its peace. Being with Yuji, you feel that indescribable warmth. It’s the warmth of being cared for, the joy of connection, the quiet happiness of simply being. Moments like this feel like the reward of a life well-lived, even if the past is a mystery.

Maybe in another life, you were loved. Maybe you weren’t. But in this one, as you sit here with Yuji, you feel blessed in a way that transcends time, as if this companionship, this simplicity, is enough to fill whatever came before.

You glance over at Yuji, who’s still laughing, the corners of his eyes crinkled in that way that makes him look so carefree, so utterly at peace. It’s moments like this that make you forget about the world outside.

“You know, Yuji,” you say, leaning back a bit, “sometimes I wonder if I had a life before all of this. Like, did I have a good life? Was I happy? Did I do anything important?” Your voice trails off, unsure if you’re even making sense. It’s one of those thoughts that sounds bigger in your head, harder to explain aloud.

Yuji pauses, the smile still lingering on his lips but his eyes now softening as he looks at you. “I dunno about a past life,” he says, shrugging in that easy, nonchalant way of his, “but I think it doesn’t really matter, right? I mean, what’s important is now, right here. And… if you’re happy now, then that’s enough, isn’t it?”

You look at him, surprised by the simplicity of his words. Yuji always has a way of cutting through complicated feelings with such earnestness, and it hits you every time.

“Yeah, but what if I didn’t get that? What if I didn’t get the chance to be happy then?” you say, not sure why you're pushing the point. Maybe you want to hear more of his optimism, that unwavering belief in the present.

Yuji thinks for a second, rubbing the back of his neck. “Then… maybe that’s why you’re here now. To have those moments. To feel that happiness.” He grins suddenly, almost sheepish. “And hey, if that’s true, then I guess it’s my job to make sure you’re having a good time in this life.”

You smile, something warm settling in your chest. "You think so? That’s your job now?"

“Yep!” Yuji says with a bright nod. “And honestly? I think I’m doing pretty good at it, don’t you?” He nudges you playfully, and you can’t help but laugh.

“Yeah,” you admit, feeling lighter. “Yeah, you’re doing a pretty good job.”

Yuji leans back, satisfied. “See? No need to worry about the past. We’re making good memories right now. And who knows, maybe in the next life, we’ll be laughing about this one.”

You chuckle at the thought, realizing he’s right in a way. The present, with all its little joys, is more than enough. And with Yuji by your side, it feels like it always will be.

Itadori Yuji was your opposite—he was vibrant, bursting with energy, like the sun at its highest peak. Where you were quiet, thoughtful, perhaps a little reserved, Yuji was a whirlwind of light, so bright it was impossible not to be pulled into his orbit. He was the type of person who loved easily, fiercely, without hesitation. In the short time you had known him, it felt like he had illuminated parts of you that you didn’t even realize had been in shadow.

Six months. That’s how long he had been in your life, and in that brief window, Yuji became your biggest friend. He was the kind of friend who made you forget your worries, who could turn a mundane moment into something extraordinary just by being there. 

You weren’t sure when it happened, but somewhere along the way, your feelings for him deepened into something more. You didn’t just care for him, you were falling for him. His smile, his laugh, the way he’d look at you with such unguarded sincerity—it all crept into your heart before you had a chance to stop it.

But then, as suddenly as he had entered your life, he was gone.

You mourned him in the rawest sense, the grief hitting you like a wave, unrelenting and suffocating. You had barely begun to process what he meant to you, and now you were left with nothing but memories. Memories that once brought joy now twisted into something painful, aching. The world felt dimmer without him, like someone had extinguished the light you had grown so accustomed to.

You grieved the moments you never had, the confessions that were never spoken. You grieved the time you lost and the love you never got to fully express. And in the quiet, lonely nights, you found yourself missing even the smallest things—his goofy grin, the way he’d always try to cheer you up, the warmth he carried with him wherever he went.

Itadori Yuji had changed your world in just six months, and now, with him gone, you didn’t know how to go back to how things were before him. Maybe you never would.

And now, you stand face to face with someone else. Someone you didn’t know—someone that terrified you. Ryomen Sukuna. The King of Curses, wearing Yuji’s face but twisted into something cold and malevolent. His presence was overwhelming, a suffocating aura that made your skin crawl, your heart race in dread. The Yuji you had known, the boy you had fallen for, was nowhere to be found in the dark, calculating red eyes that now gazed at you.

But as you meet Sukuna’s gaze, there’s something strange—something unsettling in its familiarity. Amidst the malice, the sadistic smirk, and the chilling sense of power, there’s a flicker of something that shouldn’t be there. Something… almost tender. A subtle glint of fondness that feels utterly out of place in someone like him.

Your breath catches in your throat. It doesn’t make sense. Sukuna should have no reason to look at you this way, no reason to show anything other than contempt or amusement. And yet, there it is—just beneath the surface, a strange warmth, a recognition.

He steps closer, and you instinctively take a step back, fear surging through you like ice in your veins. This wasn’t Yuji. This wasn’t the boy who made you feel safe, who filled your days with laughter and light. This was a monster. A curse. But the way Sukuna’s eyes linger on you, the way his lips curve in a slow, deliberate smirk—there’s something disturbingly familiar in it. A haunting echo of the person you lost.

“You’re scared, little one.” Sukuna observes, voice low and taunting. “Quite a face I’ve never seen in a long time.”

Your heart pounds, every instinct screaming at you to run, to get away from him. But something roots you in place, the inexplicable connection between the face you loved and the one you now feared, pulling you in two directions at once.

“How low you’ve come, little one.” he continues, his voice dripping with amusement. “Really? A green boy like him?” He leans in closer, his presence suffocating. “An insult to your standards, little one.”

You swallow, throat dry, unable to tear your eyes away from his. “You’re not Yuji.” you whisper, the words feeling like a betrayal, even though you know they’re true.

“No.” Sukuna agrees, a dark chuckle escaping his lips. “I’m not. I’d rather not be. But…” His eyes narrow, that strange fondness flashing again, almost as if he’s toying with something deeper. “It’s far better that it is I in front of you.”

Your chest tightens at his words, the weight of them sinking in. It’s impossible, and yet… something in Sukuna’s gaze—something about the way he looks at you—makes you feel like, in some twisted way, you’re still staring into the remnants of Yuji. Or perhaps the remnants of what could have been.

“Stay back!”

“How cruel, little one. When I was your life.” Sukuna says, almost thoughtfully. “You grieved for him. A brat. And yet, here I am, standing right in front of you. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

His words feel like a cruel mockery, slicing through your defenses with the precision of a knife. Yet, amid the taunts and the darkness that envelops him, there’s an undercurrent of truth that stings—a painful reminder of everything you’ve lost. You find yourself grappling with an unsettling confusion, a whirlwind of emotions that makes your head spin.

This is a monster, you remind yourself. A malevolent being born of curses and chaos. You do not know him, no matter how he tries to push, no matter how his eyes—those dark, swirling eyes that resemble Yuji’s—seem to reach deep into your soul, searching for something buried within. You’re scared. Scared of the implications, scared of the truth that threatens to unravel everything you thought you understood.

You had wanted Yuji back—longed for him, missed him so much that it hurt. The ache in your heart was a constant companion, an echo of laughter and warmth that once filled your days. You had spent countless nights wishing for a miracle, hoping to see that familiar, infectious smile again. But now, faced with the twisted reality of what stood before you, you weren’t sure if you could handle the price of that wish.

Could this—this—be the cost? A piece of Yuji entangled in a form so horrifying, so devoid of the light he once radiated? The very thought makes you recoil. You want to reject it, to deny that any part of Yuji could reside within Sukuna. But the familiarity in Sukuna’s gaze, the hints of fondness mixed with malice, make it impossible to ignore.

You take a shaky breath, grounding yourself as you try to separate the remnants of your grief from the reality before you. “You’re not him, stop. Stop talking!” you say again, more forcefully this time, but it feels like a hollow declaration. Deep down, you know it’s not enough. The monster in front of you wears Yuji’s face, and it shakes you to your core.

Sukuna steps closer, his presence a dark shadow looming over you, and you can’t help but feel trapped in this moment. You wonder if you should flee, escape the suffocating tension that surrounds you, but something keeps you rooted. It’s as if a part of you is drawn to this interaction, compelled to understand, to confront the tangled web of loss and longing that you’ve been avoiding.

“Tell me, little one.” Sukuna murmurs, his voice low and almost teasing. “What is it you miss about him? The laughter? The heroism? Or is it simply the idea of what he represented—hope?”

His words pierce through the fog of confusion, and you find yourself grappling with the truth of them. What did you miss about Yuji? Was it just the memories of the boy who filled your life with laughter, or was it something deeper—a feeling of safety, a light in the darkness that made everything feel manageable? The longing you felt was so raw, so visceral, but now it felt tainted, complicated by the monstrous form before you.

“I don’t know…..I….” you admit, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions. “I just know that I wanted him back. I wanted him to stay.” The admission slips out before you can stop it, a soft confession echoing in the heavy silence.

Sukuna watches you closely, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “And yet here I am, standing in his place.” he says, his tone laced with dark amusement. “Perhaps you should reconsider what it is you truly prefer, little one.”

His words hang in the air, heavy with implications you’re not ready to confront. The dread creeps back in, entwined with that lingering curiosity. You realize, with a shiver, that this moment is a threshold—a chance to either run away from the painful truth or face it head-on. You don’t know what it means for you or what it might cost, but deep down, you understand that avoiding Sukuna will not bring Yuji back.

Caught in this whirlwind of emotions, you stand there, heart pounding, feeling the walls close in around you. The weight of grief and longing collides with fear, and you can’t shake the feeling that in this moment, every choice you make could lead to something irrevocable. The haunting question lingers: What if you truly do remember? And what would that mean for both Yuji and the monster that now embodies him?

Sukuna smiles, a slow, dangerous curve of his lips, and somehow, even through the fear, you feel it—the remnants of Yuji still flickering in the dark recesses of this cursed form. And it breaks your heart all over again.

You swallow hard, your heart pounding as you look into Sukuna’s eyes, those dark, unsettling orbs that seem to mock everything you once knew. But you force the words out anyway, your voice trembling but determined. “I don’t remember you.”

Sukuna snickers, his laughter low and taunting. It sends a chill down your spine, as if he’s amused by some private joke you’re not in on. He leans in slightly, tilting his head, his smirk widening into something more dangerous, more possessive. “Is that what you tell me after all this time, little one?”

The way he says it—so familiar, so intimate—makes your breath catch. It’s like he’s speaking of something only the two of you should know, something hidden beneath the surface of your shared history. But how? You’ve never met Sukuna before. And yet… something in his voice, in the way he calls you little one, stirs something deep inside you. A flicker of something you can’t quite place, something buried.

You take a step back, shaking your head, trying to keep your composure. “I don’t know you. You’re not Yuji, you’re not….” you say again, though this time it sounds more like a plea. A desperate attempt to hold onto the truth, to make sense of the chaos swirling around you.

Sukuna’s grin only deepens. He watches you with a look that’s far too knowing, as if he can see right through your confusion, right through your walls. “Oh, but you do, little one.” he purrs, his voice dripping with dark amusement. “Perhaps you just don’t want to remember.”

Your pulse quickens as his words settle over you, heavy with implications. His gaze feels like it’s piercing through you, dredging up memories you aren’t even sure exist. Could there be something you’re missing? Something you’ve forgotten, or worse—something you’ve buried?

“Look at you, little one. More fragile than what you had been.” Sukuna continues, his voice lowering to something almost dangerous. “Pretending you don’t know. But your eyes betray you. You know me. Maybe not in this life… but somewhere, deep down.” He lifts a hand, lazily gesturing to himself. “You’ve always known me.”

Your chest tightens at the weight of his words, at the way they seem to pull you into something far more complex than you can grasp. You feel torn, the familiar pull of Yuji clashing with the terrifying presence of Sukuna. There’s a part of you that wants to run, to escape whatever this is. But another part of you—the part that feels that flicker of recognition when he speaks, when he looks at you—keeps you frozen in place.

“I don’t…” you start, your voice faltering. “I don’t understand.”

Sukuna laughs again, that low, predatory sound that makes your stomach churn. “Of course you don’t. But you will, in time.” His eyes gleam with something dark and possessive. “I’m not going anywhere, little one. So you’ll have all the time in the world to remember.”

Your hands tremble at your sides, the fear still coursing through you, but now there’s something else. Something far more dangerous than fear—a curiosity, a pull you can’t explain. Even though you know you shouldn’t, you’re drawn to him, to the way his words tug at something deep inside you, something lost.

Sukuna takes another step closer, his presence overwhelming, his gaze never leaving yours. “And when you do remember,” he whispers, his voice dropping into something almost tender, “you’ll realize that it’s not this brat you mourn, little one.”

Your heart skips a beat, the words hitting you like a punch to the gut. You want to deny it, to push him away, to convince yourself that the darkness in Sukuna’s eyes holds no truth. But you can’t shake the unsettling feeling that maybe, just maybe, there’s a twisted truth in what he’s saying—something buried so deep inside you that it makes your skin prickle. And that terrifies you more than anything else at this moment.

“You have better memory than that.” His voice is smooth, a honeyed drawl that curls around you, laced with a sinister undertone. He steps closer, and you can feel the warmth radiating from his body, a heat that’s both inviting and suffocating. His breath brushes against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine, and you find yourself caught in his gaze—those scarlet eyes gleaming with an intensity that both captivates and horrifies you.

“Try to remember me.” he continues, the words dripping with a twisted sense of familiarity, a beckoning that both draws you in and repels you. There’s an almost playful cruelty in his tone, as if he knows the power he holds over you in this moment—knows that your heart is already torn, straddling the line between longing and fear.

You swallow hard, your throat dry as you grapple with the conflicting emotions swirling within you. The essence of Yuji—the boy who brought light and laughter into your life—now feels irreversibly entwined with the dark curse standing before you. 

The memory of his warmth, his laughter, and his unwavering kindness feels like a distant dream, overshadowed by the reality of Sukuna’s presence. And yet, the way Sukuna looks at you, the way he carries himself, evokes echoes of the boy you loved. It’s confusing, maddening, and all-consuming.

“Don’t you want to know what’s buried inside you?” he taunts softly, leaning in even closer, as if sharing a secret only you can hear. “What really lies behind that grief? The truth of your feelings? Your past?”

You shudder at his words, feeling as though he’s reaching into the deepest corners of your mind, teasing out thoughts you’re not ready to confront. The idea of facing whatever remnants of Yuji’s essence are hidden within this creature, this manifestation of all your fears and sorrows, makes you want to flee. But the truth is, you’re caught in a web of curiosity and dread, tethered to the boy who once filled your heart.

“Stop it.” you whisper, your voice shaking. “You’re not him. You’re not Yuji.”

Sukuna chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that reverberates in the stillness around you. “Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong. I wear this brat’s face, little one. And I am here —whether you want to accept it or not.” His scarlet eyes bore into yours, a challenge lingering in the air. “And whether you like it or not, he’s a part of me too.”

The weight of his words settles heavily in your chest, a visceral truth that makes you want to scream. How could he say that? How could he twist the memory of Yuji into something so dark and cruel? But as you stand there, heart racing, you realize that he’s right in a way you’re terrified to explore. The grief you feel is a testament to the love you once shared, and now that love has taken on a new, twisted form.

As Sukuna’s presence looms over you, you feel the tension of this moment wrapping around you like a shroud. The air is thick with uncertainty, and you’re caught in a battle between wanting to retreat into safety and an insatiable desire to confront the truth lurking just beyond your grasp.

“Good night, little one.” he repeats, the command soothing and commanding all at once. “And when you wake, perhaps you’ll see things more clearly. I promise you, it will be… enlightening.”

With those final words, he steps back, allowing you to breathe again, but the weight of his gaze lingers. As he fades into the shadows, you’re left standing there, your heart pounding in your chest. The fear that grips you is palpable, but beneath it lies a flicker of curiosity—a yearning to understand what lies hidden within, to uncover the truths that connect you to both Yuji and Sukuna.

You know you should feel safe in your denial, but as you process everything, you realize that the only way forward is to confront this new reality. Whatever it takes, you have to know what Sukuna means, what truth lies within you, and what it might reveal about the love you lost and the monster that now stands in his place.

A THOUSAND YEARS HAD PASSED AND YET, HE THINKS A LOT ABOUT THAT LAST WISH. It was Ryomen Sukuna’s hope that you would not be reborn like this. After the years of misery he had put upon you, such loneliness and bitterness — this is not what you deserve. In the depths of his cursed heart, he had wished for you to have a better life—a life filled with warmth and love, a life free from the shadows that clung to him. 

He had imagined a future where you would thrive, where your laughter would echo in the halls of a home filled with joy and not tied to the darkness he embodied. He wanted for your hope to come true, for you to carve out your own path, one that didn’t intertwine with his own cursed existence. So that you may be free from the cage of him, and fly away.

Yet, here you were, standing in the remnants of a life he had never wished for you. A life as a sorcerer, a role steeped in danger and darkness, where you faced the very curses he had once commanded. And most of all, you found yourself in adoration of his vessel, Itadori Yuji—the very embodiment of what Sukuna had wanted to keep separate from you.

Every day was a constant reminder of that bittersweet reality. You had grown to love the brat, the boy whose spirit shone brighter than anyone else’s, whose laughter brought light to the darkest corners of your heart. He had an infectious enthusiasm that made the world seem a little less heavy, a little less daunting. And now that he was alive, Ryomen Sukuna could only watch as you found the joy that he could not give you.

“Hey! Are you coming or what?” Yuji called out, his voice cutting through your thoughts. He stood a few paces ahead, hands on his hips, a bright smile lighting up his face. “I thought we were going to train today!”

You couldn’t help but smile back at him, your heart swelling at the sight of his excitement. “Yeah, I’m coming!” You jogged to catch up with him, the momentary rush of adrenaline distracting you from the weight of your thoughts.

As you fell into step beside him, you felt the warmth of his presence, the way he made the air around you feel lighter. “You really are too slow sometimes, you know?” he teased, nudging you playfully. “I mean, I know I’m faster, but you’ve gotta at least try to keep up!”

“Please!” you laughed, shaking your head. “You’ve been training longer than I have. I’m just trying not to trip over my own feet!” The banter flowed easily between you, but even in this moment of lightness, you couldn’t shake the nagging sense of Sukuna’s presence lurking just beneath the surface, a shadow that never quite left you.

“Speaking of tripping, you’re not going to freak out again when I show you that new move, are you?” Yuji’s expression turned mock-serious, eyebrows raised. “Because last time, I swear I thought you were going to lose your lunch!”

“Okay, that was one time! I told you I wasn’t ready for a backflip!” you protested, recalling the embarrassment of that training session where you’d ended up flat on your back. “Besides, you can’t just expect me to be a natural like you!”

Yuji laughed, the sound bubbling up from his chest and enveloping you like a warm embrace. “Hey, you’ve got potential! I mean, you did get back up after I knocked you down. That counts for something, right?”

His encouragement filled you with a warmth that momentarily pushed aside the darkness threatening to creep in. He was everything Sukuna had hoped you would find—kind, brave, and full of life. Itadori Yuji’s laughter echoed in your mind, a stark contrast to the chilling presence of the curse that loomed behind you, hidden yet always felt, a constant reminder of the complexities entangled in your heart.

Yet, in the depths of Sukuna’s being, a flicker of something unexpected stirred—a faint, bitter jealousy. He had often wondered if he had ever truly felt envy regarding the affection you held for that brat, as he so often referred to Yuji in his darker moments. A part of him questioned whether he was conscious of the pain he had caused you, the heartache that clung to your spirit like a shadow.

“Do you even understand what you’ve done to her?” he mused silently, as if you could hear him echoing in your mind.

There was an awareness in him, a recognition that you had somehow managed to love all of him, even the twisted, cursed side of his existence. Perhaps that was what stung the most—knowing that you had opened your heart to him and, in doing so, had become entwined in a relationship that was more chaotic than he had ever intended.

But even amid that jealousy, he had no regrets about his feelings for you. His love for Hiromi—the one who had filled his heart with warmth before darkness overtook him—remained unwavering.

That love had been pure and innocent, a light that could never be dimmed by the shadows he had embraced. He could not deny it, nor would he wish to. Yet now, watching from the sidelines, he felt an ache in his chest, a realization that he could never be the one to bring you that same joy.

In the quiet corners of his mind, he harbored a secret wish—a hope that he could have made you smile like this. So vibrantly, so free of grief. A happiness so clear that one could see it gleam in your eyes, untainted by the complexities of his existence. The laughter you shared with Yuji resonated in a way that he could only dream of, a melody of innocence that felt forever out of his reach.

“What would it take?” he pondered, the thought lingering like a ghost. Would he ever be able to evoke such joy? Or was he forever condemned to dwell in the shadows of what he could never be?

Sukuna’s thoughts spiraled, twisting through memories of moments shared with you—soft smiles, fleeting touches, and the warmth of your laughter that once danced around him like sunlight. The contrast was stark; he had only ever known how to wield darkness, to embrace fear and chaos, while Yuji seemed to thrive in the light. The way you looked at Yuji, filled with admiration and affection, was a dagger in his chest, a poignant reminder of the connection he could never replicate.

Yet, in that moment of reflection, a different feeling began to take root—a deep, abiding wish for your happiness. Perhaps the greatest act of love he could offer you now was to allow you to chase that joy, even if it meant stepping aside, relinquishing his hold on your heart. You deserve every ounce of happiness, unencumbered by his darkness.

As you stood there, laughing freely, the shadows that had haunted him felt a little less suffocating. He knew he could not change who he was, nor could he rewrite the past, but perhaps he could shift his focus from his own pain to the happiness that blossomed in front of him. He wanted to see you flourish, to break free from the chains of sorrow he had inadvertently wrapped around you.

“Thanks, Yuji. I really appreciate that.” you said, your voice softer, the sincerity in your tone catching his attention. Your face flustered and shy. It was a face Sukuna had never seen from you.

“Hey, you don’t have to thank me. We’re friends, right?” His eyes sparkled with genuine warmth, but beneath that, you could feel a hint of concern lurking. “You know, if something���s bothering you, you can tell me. We’re a team.”

You paused for a moment, the gravity of his words settling over you. Sukuna knew that you wanted to share your fears—he could see it in the way your lips parted but never released a sound, in the slight tremble of your hands as they hovered between reaching out and retreating. It was written all over your face, the tension in your furrowed brow, the flicker of uncertainty in your eyes. Sukuna knew you too well, after all the years you'd lived together. He understood every unspoken word, every hesitation, even when you couldn’t bring yourself to voice your thoughts.

But this time, things were different. You didn’t remember any of it—not the life he had spoken of, not the shared moments he swore existed. The memories he claimed you both cherished were nothing but a void to you, a distant fog where nothing came into focus. Sukuna knew that too. He wasn’t oblivious to the confusion in your expression whenever he spoke of the past you shared. You couldn’t recall the way your lives had intertwined so deeply, and that lack of recollection gnawed at you just as much as it pained him.

And yet, despite your lack of memory, despite the blank slate that your mind had become, Sukuna still knew you. He could sense the turmoil bubbling within you, the words that remained trapped in your throat.

They were right there, on the tip of your tongue, waiting to be released, but fear held you back. What if speaking those fears out loud made them real? What if your confusion, your lack of memories, created a rift between you that couldn’t be mended?

Sukuna’s gaze never wavered from you. His usual harshness softened, if only slightly, as if silently urging you to speak. He understood that what you were facing was beyond your control, but he wanted you to know that he was still there, that he would wait. No matter how long it took for you to find your voice, to trust him again—even if the memories never returned—Sukuna wasn’t going anywhere.

“I… I’m fine, Yu.” you finally replied, forcing a smile. “Just a lot on my mind, you know? Training always helps clear it up.”

“Alright, but I’ll be here if you need me,” he said, his tone earnest, making your heart ache at the kindness in his eyes. “We’ll figure it out together, I promise.”

As you walked alongside him, the weight of Sukuna’s presence felt more like a lingering shadow, a reminder of your complicated reality. That was very much obvious to him. The joy you found in the brat’s company was intoxicating, but it was intertwined with the fear of what Sukuna represented—a darkness that loomed over everything you cherished.

But in that moment, as the brat’s laughter filled the air, you resolved to focus on what you could control. You would embrace the light he brought into your life, even if it meant wrestling with the shadows of the past. For now, you would fight alongside him, a sorcerer in your own right, finding strength in your love for him and the hope that one day, the shadows would fade into something less consuming.

“Okay, enough talking! Let’s go!” Yuji said, breaking you from your thoughts as he took off, racing ahead. You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound spilling out of you, bright and free, as you chased after him, if only for a moment forgetting the weight of the curse that loomed over your life.

You had become a sorcerer not merely to fight curses, but to protect what you had come to cherish. It was a decision that had grown within you over time, shaped by your encounters and the people you had come to love. You weren’t driven by blind heroism or reckless ambition. 

No, it was about preserving the bonds that had become precious to you, about standing your ground in a world where curses threatened the very fabric of those connections. But this choice—this path—you had taken wasn’t what Sukuna had ever wanted for you.

Sukuna never believed in foolish ideals like heroism or self-sacrifice. To him, they were weaknesses, things that would only lead you into harm's way. And that was what unsettled him most. He hadn’t fought for you, protected you, only to see you willingly step into danger for others. In your past life, things were different. 

He had kept you safe, shielded you from the horrors that roamed the world. Under his watch, you didn't need to lift a finger. You were his to protect, a treasure he wouldn’t allow the world to tarnish.

But now, things had changed, and not in ways he could easily control. A part of him resented the world you had been pulled into—a world filled with curses, death, and peril. He especially resented the boy. Itadori Yuji. 

Ryomen Sukuna had watched it happen—watched as Itadori had unknowingly nudged you towards the life of a sorcerer. It wasn’t malicious on Yuji’s part. The boy had only meant to encourage you, to bring out a strength he saw in you. But to Sukuna, that encouragement was nothing more than an invitation to danger. Yuji had no idea what he'd set in motion. And Sukuna couldn’t forgive him for that.

In your past life, Sukuna had made sure you were safe. There had been no need for you to risk yourself in battle or face the horrors of the world head-on. He had taken care of everything. You didn’t need to be strong; you didn’t need to fight. That was his role—to crush anyone who threatened you, to be the shield that protected you from harm. It was his way of keeping you close, of ensuring you never had to suffer.

But now, standing in this new life, all he could do was wonder—how could this brat, this boy, possibly take care of you? How could he, with his limited power and naive ideals, protect you the way Sukuna once had? It infuriated Sukuna to think that Yuji believed he could guide you in this treacherous world, when in reality, he was the one who had exposed you to its dangers in the first place.

Ryomen Sukuna clenched his fists, his thoughts simmering with frustration. You had been safe before, with him. But now, he feared that this world of curses you had chosen—this world where you now stood alongside Yuji and the others—would one day rip you away from him. And Sukuna wasn't sure he could bear that.

Sukuna felt a twisted sense of validation in the aftermath of Shibuya. It had been him—not Yuji, not any of your so-called allies—who had saved your life when everything went to hell. The moment the curses descended, the city had become a chaotic battlefield, one where even the strongest sorcerers struggled to hold their ground. But not him. Not Sukuna.

He had watched it unfold, his sharp gaze tracking the danger closing in on you, and in that split second, everything he had warned against crystallized. The fragility of your humanity, the danger you had willingly embraced—it all came to a head.

You had faced curses far beyond what you should have been dealing with. It was the recklessness, the vulnerability, the need to prove yourself as a sorcerer that had led you to the brink of death. And for what? To protect others? To fight alongside those who weren’t worthy of your devotion?

In that critical moment, when you had been on the verge of being overwhelmed, it wasn’t Yuji or any of the other sorcerers who had come to your aid. It was Sukuna. His power had surged through the chaos, his strength unmatched, obliterating the curse that had dared to lay its hand on you.

He had kept you from being crushed, from the fate that would have surely claimed you had he not intervened. The irony wasn’t lost on him—that in the midst of this world you had chosen, it was still his power that protected you, not the one you had turned to.

Sukuna could almost laugh at how right he had been. Your decision to become a sorcerer, your reliance on others to protect you—it had all crumbled in the face of reality.

In your past life, you had never needed to face this kind of danger, because he had kept you safe. It had been him who ensured your safety, him who made sure the world’s darkness never touched you. And now, in this life, despite everything that had changed, the outcome was still the same: you needed him to survive.

He hated to admit it, but a part of him reveled in the fact that you couldn’t escape his grasp. The boy, Yuji, had tried—tried to pull you into a world where you could stand on your own, where you didn’t need to rely on Ryomen Sukuna’s power.

But Shibuya had proven otherwise. The truth was undeniable: there was no escaping the fact that Sukuna was, and always would be, the one who kept you alive.

His crimson eyes lingered on you as you lay unconscious, the aftermath of the battle leaving you battered and bruised. He crouched beside you, his expression unreadable. 

There was no warmth in his gaze, no affection—only a sense of possession. A sense of knowing that you were a part of him. Whether in this life or the last, it didn’t matter. The world could change, your memories could fade, but the fact remained: Sukuna had saved you, and he always would. No one else could protect you the way he could, and in the end, he was the only one who truly understood that.

"You see now, don’t you, little one?" he murmured, his voice low, almost to himself. "No matter how far you run, no matter what life you choose, you’ll always come back to this. To me."

There was a finality in his words, a certainty that rang through the empty streets of Shibuya. In his eyes, this moment only reinforced the bond between you, one forged not out of love, but out of necessity, out of survival. And though you may never remember the life you once shared, Sukuna knew that as long as you walked this path, you would always need him.

And then, in the stillness after the battle, Sukuna froze.

A pulse of cursed energy rippled through the air, faint but unmistakable. It was old, ancient even, yet familiar in a way that twisted something deep inside him. For the first time in a thousand years, Sukuna felt her presence. Hiromi.

Sukuna's mind recoiled from the realization, the pulse of cursed energy stirring something long-buried within him. The sensation clawed at him—ancient, familiar, undeniable.

Hiromi.

His heart, or what remained of it, twisted with an emotion he hadn't felt in centuries. He had thought it impossible.

But there it was, a presence like a faint echo that had finally resurfaced after a thousand years. His eyes narrowed, scanning the distance as if he could pinpoint the exact location of the cursed energy.

Without hesitation, his body moved on instinct, the need to chase after that familiar presence overwhelming him. He didn’t even spare a glance back at you. The urgency consumed him. You’ll be fine, he thought to himself. You were unconscious, battered but alive—safe, for now.

“Uraume.” His voice was cold and commanding, cutting through the still air. Almost immediately, Uraume appeared at his side, their faces calm and collected, as if they anticipated his order even before he had spoken it.

“Sukuna-sama.” Uraume bowed slightly, eyes flicking toward your limp form lying on the ground.

“Take care of them for me.” Sukuna instructed, his tone flat, devoid of emotion. It was an order, not a request. His eyes were already fixed on the horizon, his mind far from the present moment.

Uraume nodded without question. “Understood.”

With that, Sukuna turned his back on you, his form disappearing into the distance with terrifying speed. You were unconscious, vulnerable, but he left you without hesitation. Because even now, after everything, it wasn’t you that occupied his thoughts. Not fully. Not entirely.

As the wind whipped past him, his mind raced, trying to process the flood of emotions that came with sensing Hiromi’s energy after so long. It felt like an eternity since he had last known that presence—familiar yet distant, like a memory from another life. He clenched his fists, the anticipation mounting as he closed in on the source of the cursed energy.

But beneath the rush of adrenaline, Sukuna felt something else, something darker—guilt. It was fleeting, barely noticeable, but it was there, nagging at the edges of his mind. He knew he was a hypocrite.

He had kept you by his side, held you close, and claimed you as part of his world. You had become entangled in his existence, and yet, despite everything, despite the way he protected you, he could never love you. Not in the way you might have wanted. Not in the way that mattered.

Because love had always been reserved for someone else.

Hiromi.

The name echoed in his mind, sharp and clear. Hiromi had been everything to him in a way that transcended time. Even after a thousand years, Sukuna could feel it—that deep, consuming affection that had once tied him to Hiromi like a chain. He didn’t need to question it, didn’t need to doubt. Hiromi was the one he loved, the one he would always love. That had never changed.

And yet, as he chased after the familiar energy, a dark, bitter thought rose in his mind. He had kept you close for so long, but not out of love. It had been care, yes, concern even—but not love. You were valuable to him, a piece of his life that he refused to let the world destroy. But love? No, that was something you would never receive from him. That part of his heart had been taken long ago.

He didn’t regret it. Not for a second.

As he raced toward the source of Hiromi’s energy, Sukuna's lips curled into a slight, dangerous smile.

“Hiromi…” he whispered under his breath, a mixture of longing and hunger in his voice. “After all these years, you still haunt me.”

The urgency in his steps betrayed his growing anticipation, but beneath that, another feeling simmered. A strange unease. Sukuna knew what this meant—what it would mean for him, for you, for everything. He was a hypocrite, and he knew it all too well. 

He had spent lifetimes keeping you close, ensuring your safety, binding you to him with his strength. He claimed you as his, possessed you in a way that transcended time and memory. He protected you, watched over you, but love? No, love had never been part of the equation.

Sukuna was no fool. He cared for you, yes. There was a connection, a bond that had grown stronger over time. But it wasn’t love, not in the way most would understand. He knew that. It had always been about control, about ensuring that you remained part of his world, tethered to him by the invisible threads of fate. 

You had chosen a path filled with danger, and he had allowed it, begrudgingly, because he didn’t want to lose you. But he did not love you. Not in the way that mattered. Not in the way that consumed him.

That kind of love was reserved for someone else. Hiromi.

The name reverberated in his mind like an old song, the memory of a time long past. Hiromi had been the one he loved, truly loved. The one who had held his heart, back when he had one. The connection between them was something deeper, something far more potent than what he had with you. It was raw and ancient, a passion that transcended lifetimes. 

Ryomen Hiromi had been his equal, the one who had understood him in ways no one else ever could. And now, after centuries, Hiromi’s cursed energy was stirring again, calling out to him across time.

Sukuna felt the sharp contrast between what he had with you and what he had once shared with Hiromi. You were his, yes—but in a way that was almost pragmatic, transactional. He cared for you, protected you because you were his responsibility, someone he would never let the world destroy. But it wasn’t the kind of love that set his soul ablaze. Not like Hiromi had.

And that truth didn’t bother him. He didn’t regret it. He didn’t regret holding you close while reserving his deepest, truest love for Hiromi. That was how it was meant to be. You and Hiromi occupied different places in his life, and that was something he had long accepted.

As he sped through the streets of Shibuya, his mind was a storm of thoughts. He knew he was leaving you behind, abandoning you without a second thought to chase the echo of someone he had lost long ago. And yet, he couldn’t stop himself. The pull was too strong, the memory of Hiromi too powerful to resist. You were safe. That’s all that mattered.

But Hiromi… Hiromi was everything.

Sukuna knew, with absolute certainty, that no matter what he had with you, it would never compare to what he had with Hiromi. And he didn’t need it to. He didn’t want it to. He had spent a thousand years in the shadow of that love, and now, with Hiromi’s cursed energy suddenly awakening, all he could think about was reclaiming what had been his—what had always been his.

As Sukuna moved through the city, his chest tightened with anticipation. He was a hypocrite, yes, but he had no regrets. He would protect you, care for you, but the fire that burned within him was for Hiromi alone. You were never meant to hold his heart—not the way Hiromi did. And for that, Sukuna was unapologetic.

This was who he was. This was who he had always been.

Meanwhile, Uraume knelt beside your unconscious form, their expression unreadable as they gently lifted you into their arms. They glanced in the direction Sukuna had disappeared, their lips tightening slightly.

"Always leaving." Uraume muttered quietly, more to themselves than to you. They knew better than anyone what Sukuna was chasing, and why he hadn’t hesitated to leave. "It’s never enough, is it?"

They looked down at you, a strange softness entering their gaze.

"You’re fortunate he cares for you as much as he does." Uraume added quietly, though the words felt hollow. Because they knew, just as you might someday come to realize—Sukuna’s heart belonged to someone else, someone from long ago.

And no one would ever replace that.

HE HAD NOT REMEMBERED WHAT HE THOUGHT THE FIRST TIME HE DIED. But this time around, he did. As Ryomen Sukuna lay on the ground, his once-imposing form crumbling, the weight of his own mortality pressing down on him for the first time in centuries, he felt something stir in the space around him. A soft, familiar presence, like a breeze carrying the scent of a life long forgotten. It was not a presence he had ever felt in a long time. 

He opened his eyes, and there you were. Your past self, standing before him as though summoned by the final moments of his life. You were just as he remembered, yet different—there was a lightness in your eyes, a peace he hadn’t seen in so long. And as you approached, there was no anger, no bitterness, no pain. You smiled at him. A gentle, almost wistful smile, as though all the years of cruelty, all the darkness that had passed between you, had never existed.

“Sukuna–sama.” you greeted softly, your voice carrying an odd tenderness, as though you were greeting an old friend.

He stared at you, confused, his chest tight with an unfamiliar emotion. The weight of his sins, the centuries of violence, grief, pain and manipulation—all of it should have driven you away. And yet here you were, standing before him, smiling as if nothing had ever been wrong. As if he had never hurt you. As if you hadn’t hated him for it.

“You’re really here….little one.” Sukuna rasped, his voice rough, but there was a vulnerability in it he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in a thousand years. “After everything...you’re still here?”

You nodded, kneeling down beside him, your gaze soft but resolute. “I’m here, Sukuna–sama. But we both know this is the end, don’t we?”

He grunted, dark scarlet eyes flickering with both amusement and bitterness. “So it seems.” He paused, the weight of what was to come settling in. “And now what? What happens next? You’ve come to watch me die, little one?

You shook your head gently, your expression unchanged. “No. I came to say goodbye.”

A silence stretched between you both, heavy and profound. Ryomen Sukuna’s breath grew more labored, the energy draining from him faster now. His dark eyes never left yours, trying to read you, to understand what this moment meant. You were supposed to go wherever he was, you would follow. Words were wind and yet, your actions — they said other things. 

“Goodbye, huh?” he muttered, his lips curling into a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “And what am I supposed to do with that? After everything…after all these years, little one?”

You hesitated, looking down at your hands before meeting his gaze once more. “I need you to let me go, Sukuna–sama.”

Sukuna’s eyes darkened. “Let you go? I’ve kept you for a reason, little one. You’ve been mine for longer than either of us can remember.”

You exhaled softly, shaking your head. “Not anymore. Not this time.I can’t love you like this, Sukuna–sama. Not like I did before. That love—it’s gone.”

His jaw tightened, a spark of anger flashing in his eyes. “And why is that? Because of him? Because of that brat?”

He didn’t need to say the name. You both knew who he meant.

You didn’t flinch. “Yes. I love Yuji now. I had…I had been reborn now, Sukuna–sama. He’s who I’ve chosen. He’s who I am in this life. And I want to be happy, Sukuna–sama. Truly happy.”

Sukuna scoffed, his lips curling into a bitter smile. “Happy, huh? That’s what you want?”

You nodded, your voice soft but firm. “You always said you wanted that for me, didn’t you? You kept me close because you said you wanted me safe. But I don’t want to live like this anymore. I don’t want to be bound to something that doesn’t exist—something that’s only pain and emptiness.”

Sukuna was silent for a long moment, his breath shallow, his eyes narrowing as he stared up at the sky. “So that’s it then? After everything, you’re just going to walk away?” His voice was laced with bitterness, but beneath it, there was something else—a resignation, an understanding that this was inevitable.

You reached out, gently taking his hand. The gesture surprised him, and for the first time in a long time, Sukuna didn’t pull away.

“I want to let you go, Sukuna–sama.” you said softly. “But I need you to let me go too. So we can both be free.”

His eyes flickered with something unspoken, a quiet turmoil that even he didn’t fully understand. For so long, he had kept you tethered to him, not out of love but possession, out of the need to control, to keep you as part of his world. And now, here you were, asking him to release you from the very chains he had forged. Asking to be separated from you, forever.

“You think it’s that easy?” Sukuna whispered, his voice hoarse. “After everything we’ve been through, after all the years…”

“No, no.” you replied gently, a small ghostly smile on your face. “It's not easy. I know that much. But it’s what needs to happen. We’ve both held on for too long. You and I—we’re not meant to be like this anymore.”

Ryomen Sukuna’s eyes searched yours, and for a moment, he saw something he had long since forgotten. The softness, the kindness in your gaze—the person you had once been before all of this. And he knew, deep down, that you were right.

He had kept you close out of fear. Fear of losing the one thing in his life that had ever mattered, the one of the very few people who had ever made him feel something beyond the void of his existence. But you were no longer his, and he was no longer yours. It was never meant to be. He knew that from the beginning.

With a deep, labored breath, Sukuna closed his eyes, his grip on your hand loosening. “Fine, little one.” he rasped. “Go. Be with him. Be happy. It’s what you want, right?”

A tear slipped down your cheek as you smiled at him, the sadness in your eyes mixed with a profound sense of peace. “Thank you, Sukuna–sama.”

For a moment, you both sat in silence, the weight of all those years of history between you. And then, quietly, you leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. He lets the warmth echo through his flesh. He didn’t want you to let go, he didn’t want you to leave him. And yet, he had to let you go. 

“Goodbye, Sukuna–sama.” you whispered. “Be free. Choose your path too.”

With that, you stood up, turning away from the man who had once held your heart, leaving him to the twilight of his life. You didn’t look back as you walked away, knowing that this was the end of one chapter, and the beginning of another. You will never find each other again.

Ryomen Sukuna watched you go, his vision fading, a strange mix of regret and relief flooding through him. He had let you go, and in doing so, perhaps, for the first time in his long, twisted life, he had let himself go too.

IT WAS ODD, THIS PLACE. And it was where all souls go. At least that’s what his father used to say to him. Sukuna had not believed it then. But here is the proof. Here is the truth. The path of souls stretched endlessly before him, an ethereal twilight where time held no meaning and silence enveloped the realm. 

Ryomen Sukuna’s hand held firmly to Uraume’s own, though Uraume’s presence beside him was faint, as if they too were fading into the beyond. Uraume, after all, was too young to understand it all yet.

And he didn’t want to distress them. His crimson eyes scanned the surreal landscape, not for the first time wondering what came next. Death had always been an abstract concept for someone like him—feared by others, but never himself. Yet here he was, on this path, somewhere between existence and oblivion.

He felt a pull, a presence just ahead, and as they walked, familiar figures began to emerge in the mist. Among them, Mahito lounges carelessly, his usual playful smile twisted with curiosity as he looks over at Sukuna.

“Well, well,” Mahito said with a chuckle, “It’s been a while, hasn’t it, Sukuna?”

Sukuna glanced at Mahito, but his eyes were drawn past him, pulled to a figure he hadn’t expected to see again in this realm. Hiromi.

Hiromi stood a few paces away, her form illuminated by the soft glow of the path. Her presence was calm, unwavering, as though the centuries of separation between them had not dulled the bond that once existed. She smiled at him—a small, knowing smile, one that held both understanding and a quiet challenge.

"It’s been a long time." you said, your voice cutting through the haze of memories that clouded his mind. You had appeared beside Mahito, your eyes softer now than when you last spoke to Sukuna.

It had been a lifetime ago—literally. But here, in the land between worlds, there was no more need for pretense. It had been so long since you both had been truly honest with one another.

Sukuna’s expression softened slightly, though his sharp edges remained. He wasn’t one for sentimentality, and yet, standing here, he felt something stir within him. He inclined his head to you, acknowledging your presence, but his gaze drifted back to Hiromi.

“Hiromi.” he said with a quiet intensity, his voice lower than usual, almost…reverent. Uraume, sensing the moment, quietly stepped back, releasing his hand.

Hiromi stepped forward, her dark eyes locked onto Sukuna’s. She looked just as she had the last time he had seen her, centuries ago. The weight of their shared past hung in the air between them, unspoken but ever-present.

“It’s been too long….Sukuna.” Hiromi said softly, her voice carrying a quiet warmth. She looked at him with that same measured calm, though there was something in her eyes, something that had been left unsaid for far too long.

Sukuna remained silent for a moment, taking in the sight of her. He had never been a man to reflect on his emotions, to consider the consequences of his actions beyond immediate gratification or power. But here, now, on the path of souls, stripped of the pretenses of life, there was a clarity he couldn’t ignore.

“What path will you walk, Sukuna?” Hiromi asked, her voice steady but soft, as though she already knew the answer.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Sukuna smiled—a small, almost imperceptible curve of his lips. It wasn’t the predatory grin he was known for, but something quieter, something…honest.

“A path with you.” he answered, his voice carrying the weight of every century that had passed. There was no hesitation in his words, no mask to hide behind. Here, in this liminal space, he could admit what had always been true. “Even if there will be nothing between us.”

Hiromi’s smile deepened, though her eyes were tinged with something bittersweet. “Even if there’s nothing?”

Sukuna held her gaze, his expression uncharacteristically vulnerable. “I was bound to you the moment I met you. You know that too well, don’t you?”

His words were simple, but they carried the weight of a lifetime—perhaps several lifetimes—of unspoken truths. He had never been one to voice such sentiments, not in life, not when there was always another battle, another conquest, another way to assert his dominance over the world. But here, stripped of all that power, all that ambition, there was only the truth.

Hiromi’s eyes softened, and she reached out, her hand brushing lightly against his. The touch was fleeting, but it was enough. She didn’t need to say anything; the silence between them spoke volumes.

Mahito chuckled softly behind them, amused by the display but wise enough not to interrupt. “So, Sukuna…..” he teased back. “Even a human curse has your attachments, huh?”

Sukuna shot him a glare, but there was no real malice in it. “And what of it?” he muttered, though his usual venom was absent.

Hiromi gave a small laugh, shaking her head at Mahito before returning her attention to Sukuna. “It’s not attachments that hold you down.” she said softly, her eyes reflecting the soft glow of the path around them. “It’s what you choose to carry.”

“And what are you carrying?” Sukuna asked, his voice quieter now, the question more personal than he’d intended.

Hiromi’s eyes held his, the connection between them clear and unbreakable, even in this world of shadows and souls. “Only what I choose. And now, I choose peace.”

She let her hand fall from his, the warmth of the touch lingering between them. The path stretched out before them, infinite and unknown, but somehow, less daunting with her beside him. It was just like back then. When they were together. Happy. At peace.

Sukuna nodded, a rare understanding passing between them. He had been many things in his life—cruel, selfish, a god of calamity—but here, now, there was only one thing that mattered.

“I’ll walk with you then.” he said, his voice firm. He looks at Uraume. “Both of us will.”

Hiromi smiled, the kind of smile that held centuries of history, of pain, of love, and of letting go. “Then let’s walk together.” she said simply.

And for the first time in a thousand years, Ryomen Sukuna felt something other than hunger, other than rage. He felt…whole.

epilogue 

You and Yuji were crouched behind a row of bushes, peeking over the top like kids playing hide and seek. Except, instead of hiding from a grumpy neighbor, you were hiding from a low-grade curse that looked like a giant, angry turnip.

"Okay, so what’s the plan?" Yuji whispered, his face way too serious for someone talking about vegetable-based curses.

"I was thinking... you distract it, and I’ll sneak around and exorcise it fully." you replied, glancing at the turnip monster, which seemed to be getting more agitated by the second.

"Alright, alright. I got it." Yuji said with a determined nod. Then, after a beat of silence, he looked back at you, his usual playful grin sneaking onto his face. "You know, we make a pretty good team….They were right to assign us together for missions, hm?”

You chuckled softly, feeling your heart skip a beat despite the fact that this was the least romantic setting possible. "We do, don't we? Not many people can take on turnip monsters with such finesse."

Yuji grinned, then cleared his throat awkwardly. "Hey, uh, while we’re on the topic of being a good team, there's... there's something I’ve been wanting to say."

Your eyes widened a little, curiosity and nervousness stirring in your chest. "What is it?"

"Well, it's just... I like being around you. Genuinely…..It’s….I just….I like…I like spending time with you." Yuji said, rubbing the back of his neck, his cheeks turning a little pink. "Like, a lot. More than just the 'let's-fight-curses-together' way."

Your heart started racing, and you could feel your face getting warm. "I... I feel the same way." you admitted, trying to keep your voice steady even though your insides were doing cartwheels. "I’ve liked you for a while, actually."

Yuji blinked in surprise, then broke into the brightest, most ridiculous smile you’d ever seen. "Wait, really? Do you like me? Like, like me?"

You nodded, biting back a grin. "Yeah, I like you. A lot."

For a moment, the two of you just stared at each other, grinning like idiots, the turnip curse temporarily forgotten. Laughter echoes from Yuji and then you, and all at once, there was some harmony. The peace that you both had been craving to have. The joy that comes with being together.

"Man, I should’ve told you sooner!" Yuji said, looking like he was about to burst with happiness. "We could’ve been doing all this curse-fighting and dating at the same time!"

You laughed, your nerves fading as the warmth of the moment settled over you. "Better late than never, right?"

Yuji nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! And now that we’ve got that out of the way, I say we finish off this turnip monster and then—"

Suddenly, the turnip curse let out a loud, disgruntled roar, reminding you both that, yes, you were still on a mission.

"Right, curse first, dating later," Yuji said quickly, scrambling to his feet. "Let’s do this!"

In a blur of movement, Yuji launched himself at the turnip, giving you the perfect opening to come around the side. With a swift, precise strike, you exorcised the curse, watching it dissolve into nothing.

Yuji jogged back over to you, grinning. "See? Told you we’re a good team."

You smiled back, feeling a rush of affection for him. "Yeah, we are. And from now on, we’ll be a good team together—on missions and in life."

Yuji’s smile softened, his brown eyes locking with yours in a way that made your heart flutter. "I like the sound of that," he said, his voice a little quieter but full of warmth.

You reached out, taking his hand in yours. "Come what may, right?"

"Right." Yuji agreed, squeezing your hand gently. "No matter what happens, I want to be by your side. Happy. Together."

And with that, the two of you stood there, hand in hand, as the remnants of the curse faded into the wind, feeling lighter than ever—ready to face whatever came next, as long as it was together.

[sturnsdarling]

teenage dirtbags, part three

Skater!matt and overachiever!reader study in the library

vibe check: enemies to lovers au, a lingering look from reader? matt being goofy, bickering, just all the shit we love guys come on

1.6k words

A/N: this is like a filler part before the actual fun bit where they aren't just studying and bickering. ugh i'm sorry its taken me so long to get out a part three i'm so busy with uni. send me ideas for what you wanna see from them because your girl is braindead. also you know i had to make matt a feminist skater boy...being able to yap about philosophy in my fics gives me a little too much joy. anywaysssss i hope you love this

intro, part one, part two

love and cigs, merc

You had told Matt to meet you in the library, not wanting to be in a confined space with him like your room like you had been the last few times you'd studied, being around him was painful enough, you didn't need it to be a private one on one situation every single time.

You were sat, one leg up on the creaky wooden chair with your head tucked in your current read, absent-mindedly twirling a small strand of hair by your ear into a ringlet around your finger. The library is near enough silent, the only sounds being that of a whirling printer and a few whispers from people doing joint projects a few tables over.

The serenity of the building was quickly interrupted by an obnoxious slam of the giant stain glass doors, one hitting the door frame after the other. Everyone in the room turned to look at the noise with a scowl, and the loud crash was followed by a small 'sorry'. You were torn from your book, only to be met with the apologetic frame of Matt, shuffling through the tables, his board in hand and an apologetic look, that was hiding a boyish grin, spread on his face.

you couldn't help but roll your eyes as he sauntered over to you, not a care in the world as he loudly placed all his belongings on the old, shiny oak table you were sat at.

"wussup, y/l/n" Matt said, shocked that you were already here, "am I late?" he said.

you looked at the gold, vintage watch on your wrist with a deadpan face, "only three minutes" you said, looking back to him, "lets get started" you pulled your notes for him out your bag, spreading everything out on the table.

"Jesus, not a minute to waste, huh?" Matt chuckled, sitting down opposite you and getting his notebook out, followed by all the readings you had assigned him.

"I'd like to cut the amount of time I have to be seen with you in public down to a minimum so, yeah" you said, shooting him a sarcastic smile that he returned.

Matt laid out his books on the table, all five of them riddled with little sticky notes and tabs, seeming to be very throughly annotated and read. You scanned his collection, you only assigned him three, albeit they were the heaviest with the dark green tabs you had given him, but not only had he actually done what you'd asked, he did more.

A small smile attempted to form on your lips but you quickly reminded yourself of your distaste and forced your face muscles into compliance.

"I, um, I liked this one a lot, she seems like she knows what she's talkin' about" Matt said, picking up Simone De Beauvoir's little red book and scanning it quickly.

"Beauvoir was one of the first modern philosophers I read, she's pretty cool" You nodded, focused on the hundreds of tabs in the pages, "you annotated these really thoroughly" you picked up his copy on Fanon, fanning through the pages and creating a little wind tunnel in front of your face.

"you asked me to" Matt said non-chalantly, shrugging.

You caught his eye line and let a downwards smile form on your face, raising your brows quickly before tearing your eyes from his.

You and Matt got right to it, going over everything he had written previously and cross referencing it with all the new content he had consumed. His approach was near enough perfect now it just needed its 'meat and potatoes', as Matt would say, and he was good to go.

It was nice, being able to talk to someone about philosophy in a way that wasn't just them trying to prove that they knew more than you, helping Matt study was easy and, despite the company, a nice break from the dick slinging competition your degree often felt like.

"I think I want to make Beauvoir more central to my point" Matt said, "I feel like this whole concept of 'the Other' can be applied to further corners of society and... I kinda wanna try" His final words came out more nervous than the rest, as if he lost faith in himself half way through.

"okay" You nodded, pulling out your own copy of Beauvoir and flitting through the pages, "you can definitely do that" you nodded with a shrug, not looking at the way his face lit up in response to your confidence in him.

You and Matt spent the next few hours reading basically every bit of text the library had on Beauvoir, silently flicking through everything she'd ever written, trying to find the perfect point. Matt was man spreading on his chair, back low against the seat as his leg bounced at a rapid pace against the old, dusty blue carpet, his fingers effortlessly twirling a highlighter in circles as he lost himself in the tattered book in his hand.

You were cross legged across from him, head hung low on its hinge as you chewed on the end of your pen, scanning through applications of Beauvoir, trying to find something that hadn't been said, and hoping Matt was smart enough to say it.

You knew he was, he wasn't an idiot, he just never tried. It was infuriating, how despite his complete lack of effort, he was still always on the podium with you, taunting you with his effortless wit and intelligence.

"can you stop shaking your leg" You said, growing more irritated by his movements by the second

Matt looked up from his book, "it helps me focus" he said, still shaking his leg.

"its annoying" you said, huffing and placing your feet on the floor

"more annoying than your little incoherent mumbles?" Matt said, cocking his head to the side

you slammed the book shut in your lap, "what are you talking about?" you screwed your face up at him

Matt chuckled and shifted in his chair, "so maybe if we, actually no, oh actually what about, hmm, no that won't work" Matt mumbled, mimicking you down to the pen in his mouth. Once he had finished his performance, he looked back to you with a smug smile

"I don't do that" you scoffed, looking him up and down

"yeah, you do" Matt nodded

"no, I don't" you pushed, tone growing more annoyed by the second.

"yes, you do" an unfamiliar voice sounded from beside you, a stranger, joining Matts side

You immediately turned your head to shoot him a dirty look, returning your attentions to Matt, his lips tight in a smile as he lazily pointed at the stranger as if to say 'told ya'

you rolled your eyes with a deep sigh, pulling your legs back up under you as you opened you book in a strop. Matt smirked, biting down on the end of his pen with a small shake of his head.

"nothing to say, y/l/n?" Matt taunted

"just read your book, Matt" you snapped, looking him up and down once more.

Matts eyes widened slightly as his smug smile grew on his face,

"yes ma'am" he said, sarcastically as he returned to his book, no longer shaking his leg.

You both returned to silence, losing track of time in your selected readings. Matts legs were crossed over one another on the table, creating a small bridge between the surface and his chair. He had taken his beanie off, exposing his fluffy brown hair that fell in a perfect yet messy middle part. A toothpick hung from his lips as he once again twirled a pen round his fingers, unable to just simply read without doing at least something. You were tucked up in a ball on your chair, back against where your ass should go and legs hung over the arm rest slightly as you held yet another text above your face, mumbling to yourself.

You caught yourself mid mumble, and it tore your attentions from your reading. You shifted in your seat, looking over to Matt, who was perfectly illuminated by the green table light, his bright blue eyes flitting over the lines on the page. You let your gaze linger on his mouth for a moment, watching how he let the toothpick dance over his teeth, guiding it with his tongue.

As if he could feel you looking at him, he locked eyes with you, his head and body unmoving. You quickly looked away and soon noticed that everyone in the library had begun to filter out one by one, leaving you the only people in there other than the librarian.

"we should go" you cleared your throat, sitting up completely.

Matt looked around, seeing all the lights other than yours turned off and hearing the jingle of keys from the librarian getting ready to lock up.

"why?" Matt said

"because the library is closing?" you said, explaining it to him in the tone you would a five year old.

Matt deadpanned at your condescending tone, tilting his head slightly, "I know that, dickhead, what I mean is, lets stay"

"but the library is closing..." you said, cocking your eyes to the side.

Matt let out a short chuckle and shook his head, collecting all his things messily and getting up, "come on" He said, ducking into the darkness of the towering stacks of books.

taglist: @sturniozalt@mattslolita@shaquilles-0atmeal@blahbel668@sleepysturniolo@le4hsblog @sarosfilms @joemamaaa42069 @2muchofaslvt @seluky10 @cherib3lla @jetaimevous @witchofthehour @sofieeeeex @ncm9696 @lovesturni0l0s @pepsicola-pussy @ifwdominicfike @dani-sturn @stupendousjellyfishpost @aesthetixhoe @sturn-rose @mattsnronebitch @chriscorqutte @elizasturn @ribread03 @st7rnioioss @maggieflms

[beforetimes]

if there's one thing that can be said about peter maximoff, it's that he's always got his ear to the ground when it comes to gossiping. it's like, his thing by now. if anyone wanted to hide their secrets from him they'd be fresh out of luck because despite how much he darts around and lets himself trail off sentences in the middle of them to zip off and do something else because he got tired of slowing himself down in the middle of it, he is surprisingly good at being quiet when he needs to and being at the right place at the right time. he has a very good record when it comes to this stuff, so he knows it's not bullshit when he's figured out that his dad—which, like, wow, his dad?—is in the dating scene. he knows it. what's more of a surprise is that he's gotten all strung up with charles xavier, of all people.

which, like, peter doesn't hate the guy. he doesn't! he was just under the impression that ten years ago—wow, ten years really fly when you really think about it, that day feels like forever ago and yesterday at the same time—that charles and erik hated each other. so he guesses he missed the memo where they kissed and made up after punches were thrown in the pentagon's elevator by a drenched, half-sober man who looked like he would laser erik to death with his eyes the way scott tries to do to peter about four times a week without even taking off his glasses in case he'd accidentally make it stick. though he couldn't, because, like. peter is very fast. duh.

so. the evidence behind his claims goes as follows (of course he collected evidence, peter says to ororo, affronted, when she asks if he even had proof. what was he, an ameteur?):

1. erik keeps taking lunch breaks.

it's not like he didn't before but he was definitely less likely to. when they were rebuilding the x-mansion after it blew up and he was their heaviest lifter, it would be rare to peel him away from all the construction. erik was actually weirdly good at building, which peter didn't really expect for some reason because he was always under the impression all the guy did was like. terrorize people. or kill them. or twist spoons into pretzels just because he could. but no, nowadays he's been taking more lunch breaks than ever and it's a very pointed difference, even though they've already finished construction a few months ago and erik didn't really have a reason to stay. unless the reason to stay was so he could be with charles! (scott stares at him with that unimpressed, laser-eyes look again so peter flips him off and continues past the sputtering).

2. he's also like, weirdly nice now?

which isn't to say that peter didn't think terrorists couldn't be nice. which sounds bad but erik might be the one exception. anyway, when peter saved him about a decade ago he remembered the guy being kind of an asshole when he met up with charles for the first time and yes he knows that it puts a damper on his dating theory, jean, but he's not done yet so wait a second. anyway, he was less of an asshole when he came back to help fix the mansion after trying to kill the whole world so peter guessed he kind of swings on a pendulum between good and evil and whatever they get on that day is like the worlds most important and demented coin flip. that's besides the point. so when he was back here to help fix things up he stayed out of everyone's way and he wouldn't do much to bother anyone because in peter's opinion erik didn't want to scare the little kids who knew of his reputation even if they didn't know his face. but, like, now he's been here a while it's like a complete 180. peter caught him teaching a seven year old how to tie his shoes the other day. a thirteen year old shortstack was rocking back and forth on her heels while erik got her a book from one of the higher shelves of the mansions newly refurbished library (who knew that once you saved the world there would be at least one or two places willing to donate books on top of charles' infinite wealth?). it was like stepping into the twilight zone. but it was real. like, peter saw the hint of a real smile on erik's face one time when he saw the man looking over the grassy field of the school. it freaked him out a bit.

3. charles knows how erik takes his coffee

this is admittedly one of his weaker arguments from the lead-in, peter concedes when he gets blank stares from storm, jean, scott, and kurt. like, even kurt! he didn't think that was a look he could pull from that kid. anyway, peter says that it's pretty damn obvious that erik has a whole thing when it comes to charles being in his head. he's heard from someone who heard from a friend who eavesdropped on a teacher who overheard charles and raven after a faculty meeting that the helmet erik wore all the damn time when he was evil was to keep charles from getting into his head. which explains a lot. anyway erik has a complex about charles getting in his head. but he doesn't wear the helmet now and peter heard charles one morning when he was getting ready to start the day off by eating at least two and a half boxes of poptarts. he heard the man say something like coffee? and he heard erik reply with a hum and charles went how dyou want it and erik said don't you know already? and peter had peered in then and seen erik gesture to his head. and he wasn't defensive about it at all and charles had this really weird look on his face that peter spend a few seconds examining in hyperspeed before getting away from the whole thing because the vibes were so weird. but yeah. erik let charles into his head just for some coffee after spending like two decades trying to keep charles out of his head. which has to mean something (and peter knows he's hooked them now because even scott is leaning in like he's interested and that kid would pretend he had a ticklish throat and needed a water bottle more than anyone else in the immediate vicinity if peter was on fire in front of him).

4. all the chess boards

like, they're all over the place. it's excessive. there's a different game set up in the library, on a table in the garden, on charles' desk in his office, on erik's desk in his office and his bedroom. and no one touches them because no one likes fucking chess except for cute little ten year old jenny because her grandfather taught her before she accidentally turned his house into clouds and seventeen year old thomas who's a prick because he thinks he's more distinguished than anyone ever because he came all the way over from europe or whatever the fuck and peter can't see either of them sitting down to play one game, let alone multiple. and he knows chess is charles and erik's thing because he saw the board in erik's room one time—(you were in his room? ororo asks with a very deep look and peter nods and goes yeah we've been bonding lately but it's kind of one sided because it's more like me showing up and him tolerating me until i leave but like it's progress!)—and peter asked before erik could get a chance to politely kick him out and erik actually paused and told him that chess was a shared hobby of theirs from a few years back and get this, peter says conspiratorially, leaning forward as the rest follow suit. he smiled. like a full on real smile with teeth. and peter was so taken aback he was like that's sweet man and then left before he could be kicked out. and now he knows that the only people who play chess in this mansion are dickhead european thomas and sweet little jenny and charles and erik, all the games all over the place have to be charles and erik's which means they spend a lot more time together than he thought before. and they plan to spend it together because a lot of these games are half finished, like they leave and come back every few days depending on how much free time either of them have. (and now everyone looks thoroughly hooked because the evidence peter brings is good because peter is a hell of a gossip, dammit. he won't have people questioning his skills when it comes to this. he was made to be at old little women's tea parties where they talk about their evil husbands doing war crimes. that's what he guesses goes on there, anyway, considering his first gossip session with his mom went that way)

5. charles is happier now

and jean frowns at this one right off the bat but no one really says anything because the way peter said it was soft and kind of less jokey than the rest of his tirade. because it was something he wasn't really expecting? because charles wasn't sad per se, he was always happy in front of the kids and he didn't try to drag them down with his own moods and ever since the guy got sober he's looked a hell of a lot more put together than when he showed up on peter's doorstep, tired and hungover and just plain heartbroken. but even in that small time frame between defeating apocalypse and the mansion being rebuilt, he was just... sort of happy. happy he lived, maybe. happy the world made it and his mansion was being rebuilt so he could home all these poor kids without anywhere to turn to that understood them. but wow, the stark difference between a charles that was kind of okay and a charles that was happy was like night and day. he was just so much brighter now that it took peter aback sometimes. he hummed under his breath whenever peter walked by him in the halls at a human speed and those old withered plants in his office started to stand taller, as if someone finally started watering them. and hank stopped staring at charles the way he did when peter met them a decade ago—waiting for something to give. so, yeah, charles is definitely happier now when no one even knew he was unhappy at all. and it all started when erik started taking lunch breaks.

and jean and scott and ororo and kurt are looking at him less like he's pulling their legs and more like he's made a point that makes them a little sad which wasn't the goal but he gets it. charles is like, jean's dad in a way, and the rest really look up to him despite only being here just shy of a year, so to hear this guy that they always saw as this strong bastion of optimism and goodwill was just sort of sad all the time right under their noses was probably depressing the hell out of the four of them. but it was the truth. and peter knows it was because he can practically see them recalling how the professor was before he got there and before he made up with erik.

so yeah. peter is right. erik and charles are probably dating and now four more people know that charles is happier than he was before and erik is too. and privately, peter thinks maybe if erik is happy to find family in charles, he'd be happy to find family in peter, too. but that's something for another day. he's just suddenly aware of the fact that he's so glad these guys who were so bent out of shape and angry and irritated and heartbroken and assholeish ten years ago are looking at each other like the sun took up custody of both their smiles or whatever.

anyway i'll see you guys later, peter tells them, and races off before they can say anything. he's already halfway across the school and in his room playing pac-man before any of them can blink.

[greenqueenhightower]

Thoughts on the Alicent x Aegon Scene in 2x04:

Aegon realizes he has no words of wisdom and zero contributions to offer his small council and sits there, listening to his councilors make all his decisions for him. It unnerves him.

Alicent is absent from the small council yet again. Is she in Viserys’ /the King’s rooms searching for crumbs of confirmation that Viserys cared for her and her children, or is she seeking the history books so that SHE might become a more informed and wiser ruler? Has she finally accepted that they are headed to war and that she needs to sharpen her political acumen?

Her sudden interest in the histories parallels Rhaenyra in 2x02 perusing the documents available at her library. Once again, the two heads of the factions mirror each other in their quest for wisdom and their attempt to make informed decisions for the good of their side before all hell breaks loose.

Alicent is dealing with the aftermath of her abortion as is evident from her need to steady herself and her teetering walk. Has she so much become like Larys in her ambitions and disposition?

“What thoughts would you have?” Alicent speaks her mind and doesn’t hide behind words anymore. She smirks at Aegon’s naïveté. Aegon is upset for not being taken seriously just like Alicent is upset for not being in a position where she can make meaningful decisions. However, Alicent understands that to become a significant contributor she needs to cultivate her mind and further develop her political skills. This necessity eludes Aegon. It makes her laugh because he doesn't see the worth in seeking his own advancement and pressing on to maturity ever since he's been crowned King.

“I ruled in your father's absence.” Alicent recognizes that she ruled ON HER OWN when Viserys was sick. Especially now that she’s embraced the high stakes and weightiness of their position, she wants to resume a more active role in the realm’s governance: “You should humbly be seeking OUR opinions and counsel.” Alicent tells Aegon that he needs to be observant and obedient to make studied and wise decisions.

“In the hope you might become half the king your father was.” She never hoped that Aegon, with his disinterest in history and his distaste for learning, would make a good king just as Viserys wasn’t a great king. Yet, she continues, if Aegon lets the most studied minds rule in his stead, he will compensate for his incompetence, like Viserys. Being compared to his father makes Aegon, once again, feel lacking and redundant.

“You have no idea the sacrifices that were made to put you on that throne.” Alicent wants Aegon to take on her heaviest weight on his shoulders, that of proving all her sacrifices worthwhile. She wants him to affirm her expectations of him and become that pawn that she and Otto thought would be easy to manipulate. The same pawn that she had been all these years.

“What would you have me do mother?” Aegon genuinely looks for his mother’s approval and guidance. He wants to please her and yet fails to grasp how he’s always been her political gasp for air, her passageway into a world of greater power. He doesn’t have to do anything for Alicent to achieve this.

“Nothing.” Aegon has always been dispensable. His father didn’t need an heir. His mother required an heir but now has no use for an impetuous and unruly King. The realm doesn’t need an Aegon II who speaks his mind because there will always be a member in his council who will make better decisions than him. No one has a use for his personality, his psyche, or his world, but no one has shown it before because he is the King. Alicent is the only person who dares to hit him in the face with the bitter truth: his sole existence ever since birth was to sit on that throne so that she might secure her family’s lives and her own ambitions.

Aegon, on whom his mother projects her own fears and insecurities and whose broken soul mirrors Alicent's unyoked and distorted pieces within herself, inherits Alicent's frustration with the system and the world he's born into. He responds to that condemnation the only way he knows how:

He rides Sunfyre to battle and to his—almost—death.

It's his own duty and sacrifice.

The price to pay for being born the unwanted, essential, and disposable Targaryen King, all at the same time.

[physalian]

Lateral vs Vertical Magic Systems

I… think I’m the only one to use these terms? What I mean by this is different than hard and soft magic, slightly.

Quick recap:

Hard magic systems have rules and strict definition for what can and can’t be done

Soft magic systems go more off vibes, magic exists but the exact mechanics are not important or don’t exist

—

I think you can have a lateral or vertical magic system that’s either hard or soft, and what I mean by this is:

Vertical magic is where everyone has magic of wildly different flavors but hones them all for the same specific purpose.

Lateral magic is where everyone has magic of the same flavor but uses it for wildly different purposes.

Here’s some vertical magic examples:

Percy Jackson: Nobody uses their demigod powers for anything other than staying alive, by and large, and there’s a huge variety of demigod power possibilities and very little overlap. Whether it’s physical combat or mental, these kids’ powers exist so they can fight gods and monsters.

Naruto: I have not seen most of this show so correct me if I’m wrong but, this is a world where ninjitsu is almost exclusively for combat. While there’s core principles, the heaviest hitters in the show all have wild and exclusive powers or special moves that only they can use that go far beyond skill in martial arts (except for Rock Lee).

X-Men: By nature of it being a comic book, the premise of the world is built in heroes versus villains and how they use their powers to beat the snot out of each other. In X-men specifically, mutants are persecuted and can’t use their powers legally, and have little choice beyond using their mutation to stay alive and “do good”.

Lateral magic systems might be something like:

Tinker Bell: You’re a nature fairy, by and large, and everyone gets their power from the same source, pixie dust, each using their flavor of magic to suit their niche purpose in the environment

Danny Phantom: Yes, he’s a superhero and must have fights, but all of Danny’s super-powered rogues are ghosts, with no exceptions, and everyone is limited to how creatively and uniquely they use the same basic ghost principles of possession, telekinesis, invisibility, and intangibility, + their special trait, but all also suffer the same issue that unites them more than once: They are dead, and good or bad, the living fear them.

Fullmetal Alchemist: Alchemy isn’t limitless, and its practitioners typically focus on one very specific kind of alchemy of their choice with the hard rule that everyone must follow of construct, deconstruct, and reconstruct, and get really, really good at honing it mostly for combat, but also in fields of science, engineering, etc. There is alchemy and only alchemy, and it has rules.

—

Last Airbender is both! Its bending rules are strictly limited to the four elements and how creative you can get with your element… but it is also a show that heavily features martial arts and how that bending can be used in combat, but it also built a world where bending factors into other jobs, arts, and the very fabric of society.

Why does lateral vs vertical magic matter?

When you’re designing your magic system, you have to think about how this magic would integrate into a world as if its always existed there. Is it hidden magic, like in most urban fantasy? Or is it baked into the fabric of society, like with bending? Does everyone start with the same basic tools and go wild, or does everyone start wild, and all chase the same aspirations?

Whichever you pick does depend on the story you’re telling. A lot of the media I mentioned is action-adventure, which means that all magic, lateral, vertical, soft, or hard, leans toward one thing in the end: Combat.

But beyond combat, how can your magic be used? Are people allowed to practice it without regulations or is it heavily structured by their fantasy society? If it has always existed, how would their would be fundamentally different than ours?

[mammons-lover]

Live Streaming with Mammon!

Mammon: Hey, chat! Today we're doing the quote of the day!

(Mammon slides into frame dramatically with a cheesy grin and a hypnosis wheel in hand.)

Mammon (Spinning the wheel): Quote of the day: always give Mammon your money. You don’t need it, give it to Mammon!

(Suddenly, Satan bursts in with fire in his eyes.)

Satan: Where the hell are my hypnosis books?!

Mammon (Nervous laughter): W-What books? You can’t just barge in like this, I’m live right now!

Satan: Are you seriously trying to hypnotize your fans into giving you money?

Mammon (Guiltily): NO! Of course not! I’d never do that to my little Grimmie gang! I love em! And they love me ‘cause of my charm!

Satan (Deadpan): Right. I’m telling Lucifer.

Mammon: Wait, no, no, please! Don’t snitch! I’ll do anything!

Satan (Smirking): Anything?

(Cut to Mammon on another livestream, holding a book like it’s the heaviest thing in the world.)

Mammon (Monotone): Today... we’re reading a book about a king and his loyal cat. It’s a very... touching story written by my wonderful little brother, Satan.

(Meanwhile, Satan’s lounging in his room, snacks in hand, watching the stream with a gleeful grin. He’s kicking his feet like a delighted child.)

Satan: This is better than the ending to Tale of the Seven!

[watermelonlovershigh]

The Diaper Blowout👶🚼

AN: this idea came out of nowhere but when i thought of it i started writing it imidiantly. i love some good dadrry so i hope you do too. don't forget to share your feedback. thx.

This story contains: VERY poopy diaper, mentions of throw up, fluff

{ dadrry - husband!harry - softrry - Rayne is two weeks old - au harry }

word count- 1,590

Your two week old daughter wakes up in the middle of the night with her first diaper blowout and when Harry realizes the situation is much bigger than he can handle alone, he resorts to waking you up for some help.

You and Harry just welcomed your little baby girl, Rayne, two weeks ago into this world. The labor process was one you'd rather forget but after seeing your little bundle of joy for the first time, you knew you'd do it a million times over just to have your baby.

Rayne makes you both first time parents but honestly Harry and yourself read every parenting book under the sun and went to every parenting class that when she was born everything came so natural to you.

Every cry and ounce of discomfort she lets out does of course cause anxiety to fill you, but luckily once she's in one of your arms, Rayne's little body relaxes and she knows everything is going to be alright now that one of her parents are holding her.

One thing you knew you'd expect after Rayne was born was how amazing Harry would be at fathering your baby girl. He was so attentive during your entire pregnancy process and now two weeks after she was born, it's still the same attentive man but ten times more.

Harry has always wanted to be a dad so you making him one was the best gift anyone has ever gave to him. He's eternally grateful for you in that aspect. Seeing Rayne be born and hearing her first cry into this world made him sob so loud in the delivery room that it startled all the nurses who was present.

Now just because you love being parents doesn't mean it's not hard. It's very hard at times. The lack of sleep. The sore boobs after not feeding or pumping for a few hours. The raw nipples from feeding so frequently that no one warns you about. But luckily Rayne is a pretty well behaved baby so you are grateful for that.

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It's two in the morning when the wailing cry from Rayne's nursery jolts Harry awake. He was never the heaviest sleeper before she was born but now he's an even lighter sleeper. Not wanting to disturb you, he gets out of bed and assumes he can handle the situation himself. Feeling confident he's a pro at this dad thing.

If she's hungry there was pre pumped breast milk in the freezer he could feed her. If she just wanted a cuddle he could give her some of those because he likes to think of himself as a professional cuddler, though you're the one who gave him that title.

As quickly as possible, Harry pads his feet in the dark until he reaches the hallway and rushes over to the baby's nursery down the hall. When he finally makes it, he flips the light switch on and moves swiftly over to her crib. "Hey," Harry coos in his soft baby voice, "what's the matter, little love? Huh?"

Once Harry is right in front of the crib, he goes to lift the small baby up to hold her and asses what could have her crying so hard in the middle of the night when all of the sudden he sees, and rather smells the issue instantly. Poop. Everywhere. Well luckily not near her hands or face but it's leaked out of her diaper and got on her sheets. Rayne had her first diaper blowout.

Now Harry would like to say that after becoming a husband and a father that his stomach is made of steal but that's just not the case. He can handle a little throw up from time to time and has changed Rayne's diapers several times. But none smelled and looked this bad. It has him holding down gags.

Being the good dad he is though, Harry pushes through his own weak stomach and grabs an extra baby blanket to wrap around her small body and lift her out of the crib. Then he scrambles to think of what to do. He really didn't want to wake you up but this is far too much for him to handle on his own.

He shushes Rayne in his hold while making his way back into your bedroom. Harry turns on the lamp and nudges your shoulder gently. "Love, Y/N, wake up f'me."

Thinking the worst, you jolt awake and sit up quickly. "What, what, is everything okay? Is the baby okay?"

Trying not to let a giggle out at the situation in hand, Harry replies, "Yeah, well I think everythin' is okay. Or will be okay but I need your help. Little miss Rayne shit everywhere and I don't know what to do. It's leaking out her nappy and got on her sheets."

Though you are concerned about your baby's tummy troubles, you can't help but laugh out loud. Harry looks so stressed which isn't inherently funny but the way you can tell he's trying not to throw up at the thought of the diaper blowout is hilarious. And the fact he had to wake you up.

"Don't laugh at me!" Harry retorts, not really mad because he has a small smile trying to peek out over his fake frown.

"Alright, it's gonna be okay. Help strip her clothes off and yours as well and I'll help you wash her in the shower." you respond as its the only solution to the problem right now. Harry carries her to your bathroom and begins to peel away the soiled blanket and her soiled onesie. Then he takes her diaper off to throw it in the trash can beside the toilet.

"You think I should shower with her naked?" Harry asks.

You reach in the shower to get the water going and the temperature just right before answering, "Yes H, she's two weeks old. She's not gonna remember seeing her dad naked. You'll get shit on her boxers otherwise."

With that, Harry holds a dirty and naked Rayne with one hand and his other hand reaches down to slide off his underwear. When you confirm the water is just perfect for a newborn, he steps in the shower with her cradled to his chest and allows you to instruct further instructions.

"Okay I'm not getting in but I'll hand you the soaps and stuff. First rinse her off with the water. The pressure shouldn't bother her. Just don't get it in her face." Harry does as told and carefully turns to face the shower head and allow the water to rinse off any poop she still had on hers and his skin. He even turns Rayne around in his hold to get her front really well rinsed.

You grab her baby soap and apply some to a soft cloth before handing it to your husband. "Here, now gently wash her bottom off. But start from the front to back so she doesn't get a UTI, please."

Though Harry already knew how to safely wash a baby girl he listened to you anyways. He takes the soapy cloth from you and while one arm cradles Rayne to his chest facing forward, the other hand very gently wipes over her vagina, making sure no poop got on the area. Then he hands the cloth back to you so he can turn her around in his hold.

While he washes over her bum area, Rayne just now starts to cry. She had been handling the shower really well up until now. "Oh, shush. It's okay. Daddy's got you." Harry coos to the small baby in his arms. As you stand on the outside of the shower doors all you can think about is how much you love them both so much. Snapping you out of your thoughts, Harry looks over to you and says, "All done. Take her from me while I wash up quickly."

"Yeah, of course. Let me grab Rayne's baby towel." You get a towel from the stack of towels specifically for your newborn and walk back over to the shower where Harry leans out the shower doors and carefully places her in your arms.

While you began to dry off your small, crying baby, Harry bathes himself off. Some poop did transfer onto him and he wants to make sure it's all gone and he's clean before going back to sleep for the night.

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

Once Harry is all clean and dry and he's put on a fresh pair of briefs you'd laid out for him, he walks back into the bedroom to see you sat up in bed, half asleep, with Rayne feeding from your right boob. The sight makes Harry feel all warm inside. The people he loves the most just looks so comfy and safe.

Harry rolls the bassinet over to his side of the bed and when Rayne is done feeding and you burp her, he places her inside to finish her sleep for the night. Her bed still had shit on it and that's something neither of you have the energy to deal with tonight. When he's made sure she's all nice and cozy in her bassinet, Harry climbs back into bed beside you and you instantly crawl over to cuddle into him.

Once the bedside lamp is off and the covers are over you both snuggly, you whisper, "Love you. Thank you for helping with Rayne tonight. She has the best daddy in the world."

Harry whispers back, "Love you too, baby. And you're welcome. She means the world to me and I'd do anything for her. And you too, you know. Night, night. Sweet dreams." With that, you're both off to slumberland until Rayne wakes up again three hours later....

(PLEASE REBLOG BECAUSE WRITING IS NOT EASY AND IT'S FREE SO JUST DO IT)

(no more tags are allowed because i've hit my number limit. sorry : ( )

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My Masterlist Masterpost

[makeyoumine69]

The Light in the Darkness

— PAIRING: Patrick Bateman x Fem!Reader

— SUMMARY: You like to think of yourself as a grown, independent person. But one day when the power goes off and you're all alone, your fear of the dark starts acting up and just then you realize how much you find comfort on Patrick's presence.

— CONTAINS: Fluffy romance, hurt/comfort, small mentions of panic attacks, soft but sassy Patty, pet names, a lot of hugs/kisses.

— WORDS: 1.7k

— SONG REC: Black Veil Brides - When They Call My Name

— A/N: This is dedicated to @sleeplessphantom. Love you bro, hope you like it!💞

— LINKS: [MASTERLIST] [support]💗

It was a normal evening,  you were waiting for Patrick to come back home, sitting in the living room of his fancy apartment and watching the sky split into pieces every time the lightning flashed with a loud thunderclap. To be fair, you loved the rain and the fresh smell that came after a thunderstorm, but not when you were alone and especially not at night.

With a sad sigh, you tried to concentrate on reading, but when you realised that you were reading the same sentence for the fifth time in a row, you put the book on the coffee table and got up from the couch. Slowly, you walked towards the large window and closed your eyes, feeling a growing anxiety in your heart. You couldn't help but worry about Patrick and why he had to be so late, he hadn't told you about any events or business that he was going to attend, so these worrying thoughts kept spinning in your head like a perpetual washing machine. What if something happened to him? You shook your head (as if that would help you get rid of these silly concerns), but you still felt sad. 

Sad and lost. 

Taking a deep breath to calm down, you tried to think rationally, but when you imagined how Bateman would laugh about this whole situation and remembered his pretty smile, you felt even worse.

"Damn it, Patrick! Where are you?" You asked no one and sobbed as the panic hit you hard, all those horrible outcomes like the one of a car crash or even a burglar attacking him with a gun started running through your restless mind.

Right when you were about to call his office, a huge flash of lightning came on, illuminating everything around you, and then a disorienting thunderclap almost broke the window from how loud it was. You didn't even have time to scream because the entire district seemed to black out, sweeping you into the darkness — one of your greatest phobias.

You stood still for a moment, holding a phone in your trembling hand and feeling the air stuck in your lungs. Why did all this happen when you were left alone in the big flat, and only God knows what creatures might be hiding in the shadows — Oh, hell no!  Scared, you put the phone down and sprinted to the bedroom, the endless flashes of lighting brightening your way.

Shivering, you weren’t even thinking when you climbed into the bed and hid under the covers. You knew it wouldn't help, but somehow you felt safer lying there, the sheets smelling of him, his scent oddly soothing. You closed your wet eyes and tried to get some sleep, deciding that it’s the best that you could do in this situation. You wished that when you opened your eyes you would find yourself wrapped in Patrick's strong embrace. Because at the end of the day - nothing lasts forever and even the heaviest rain would eventually stop. Using the blanket as your shelter from the outside world, you curled up on the bed and hugged the pillow, thinking of your beloved man, whose charming voice lived free in your head and was the only thing that helped you fall asleep.

Some time had passed, and the weather outside was getting better. You were finally at peace again. But when you heard the sudden sound of footsteps approaching the  room, you froze in place and even stopped breathing for a moment. After some seconds of silence, you felt a brief touch on your small frame, which made you flinch away and almost scream.

"Whoa, whoa, calm down, Bunny! I'm not the Big Wolf, it's just me," as soon as you heard that voice you sneaked peeked from under the covers to see Bateman's amused face. "Good morning, babydoll."

The way he smiled almost made you cry in relief, so you just snuggled into him with all your strength, causing him to giggle and press you closer to his firm body.

"You’re finally back!!" You sobbed, clinging to his broad shoulders. 

His perfectly sculpted eyebrows were now knitted together as he looked slightly confused. "Hey, what's wrong?" Patrick asked nervously, pecking your cheek and helping you to sit on his lap. "Did someone do something to you?"

You couldn't help but sneer, inhaling his scent as you hid your face in the crook of his neck. "No," you muttered, looking up at him, his hazel eyes scanning your features intently as if he was trying to find the answer in them. "It's just... I was afraid something might happen to you."

Bateman just snickered loudly and rocked you gently in his arms. "Like what?"

You paused and turned away from him, not really wanting to tell him things like that. 

"Baby, talk to me." Patrick noticed your sad face immediately and gently held your chin to entice you to look at him.

"Well, I was thinking about you getting in a car accident or someone attacking you in the street and—"

He chuckled again and pulled you closer, his brawny hands continuing to stroke your body here and there, sending little shivers down your back.

"Sweetheart, I'm a big boy and I can protect myself." Bateman murmured and brought your palm to his pouty lips to plant a small kiss on it. "Besides, this is one of the safest areas in New York."

"I know," you hugged him again, trying to get as close as you could. "But just the thought of losing you made me sick."

As soon as you said those words, you heard him groan and you even thought he'd got angry for a second, but as soon as his warm, big palm cupped your face, you lost the ability to speak and think. 

Looking deep into your eyes, Patrick murmured: "I'll never leave you, (y/n)," his thumb lovingly traced your lips, making you gasp silently. "I want you to remember that. Will you do that for me?"

You nodded and nuzzled against his hand. 

"And I'm sorry for being late. I just got stuck in a fucking traffic jam," he frowned before pressing his forehead against yours. "I know you don't like to be alone, especially at night."

It was a little embarrassing to hear him talk about your fear of the dark, but it didn't matter now. After all, he was your light in the darkness, and you were his.

Smiling, you wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing him closer to kiss his lips. You quivered when he kissed you back even more passionately, but then he suddenly stopped.

"Patrick?" You asked him a little confused.

"Why didn't you change before you went to bed?" His stern voice made you fidget in your place. "That's not what good girls do."

Even though he wanted to sound stern, Patrick couldn’t hold back a little smile, which made you relieved.

"I needed to hide somewhere fast," you chuckled awkwardly. "That thunderstorm really scared me."

"Jesus," he let go of you and stood up. "I wonder what you are not afraid of."

As you watch him walk away, you sit on your knees and whimper. "Where are you going?"

Bateman stopped and turned, his cocky smile growing even wider. "I have to change and I'll bring you your nightgown. Since you couldn't do it yourself."

He winked at you before heading for the closet, and as soon as you lost the sight of him, you let out a sad sigh. Even if you were really afraid, who wasn't? Moreover, you doubted that Patrick was fearless too, he just never told you about his fears.  Although he did mention one once — he was afraid of losing you as you were. 

Trapped in your thoughts, you didn't even see him come back, wearing only his white underwear. Without saying anything, you smiled at him as he beckoned you to the edge of the bed.

"So tell me, little girl. Do you need any help?" His sweet voice was so captivating that you accepted his offer before even thinking about it. "Good."

Slowly he knelt down in front of you and began to remove your pants, leaving little hickeys wherever he could, starting with your ankles and then going up to your hips. When you were completely naked, he gently laid you on your back as he took his place next to you. Smirking at how cute you looked when you were embarrassed, Bateman darted his fingers across your belly, eliciting a sharp breath to erupt from your chest. The way he was touching you right now made you levitate.

"Mmmm, so gorgeous, so innocent," he whispered, sliding his hand along your rib bones. "My little Bunny."

Bateman matched his words with a sensual kiss on your lower abdomen, and you almost squealed at how hot his lips were — you could feel that he wanted much more. Patrick clearly intended to devour you here and now, his rapid breathing scorching your tender skin, but he stopped himself and finished his journey around your body, kissing you lovingly on the lips.

"Patrick, I—" you murmured as he pulled away to finally put a nightgown on you. "I love you."

Shyly, you looked at him as he laid down next to you and opened his arms for you.

"C'mere here, Bunny," he paused as he watched you climb on top of him, your head pressed against his buffed chest. "Are you comfortable?"

"Yeah, this is exactly what I need right now." You closed your eyes and felt his palm stroking your head.

"Sleep, my dear," he lulled you, cradling you like a treasure. "I'll protect you even from the daylight if I have to." 

God, the feelings you had for this man were overwhelming, you wanted to scream how much you loved him, but now you slowly drifted off in his warm arms, feeling protected as never before.

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and turn on notifications to know when I update!

[strangersteddierthings]

Daily Ficlet 7

I’m challenging myself to write a little ficlet every day, using the prompts from this list. Today’s prompt is recipe book.

-

Steve finds Wayne in the hallway, pulling what items he can from the closet there.

"Need some help?" Steve asks as Wayne struggles with a bigger box that seems wedged in pretty good.

"Sure. Just get yer hands up here and ready to catch," Wayne answers, shimmying the box to and fro while Steve moves to follow his instructions. The box isn't by any means light when it falls into his hands, but it's not the heaviest thing Steve's had to catch -don't think about it, don't think about Eddie's limp body awkwardly shoved through a gate. Don't-

"Thanks, son," Wayne climbs back down the stepladder he was on and takes the box from Steve' hands, walking down the hall to place it on the counter. The front half of the trailer is missing, the gate took it, but a decent amount of of the trailer remains (Eddie's room remains) and the government has finally allowed Wayne to return to pack up what he can.

It's better than starting over completely.

"What's in the box?" Steve asks, because it's the only item Wayne hasn't just demanded he load into the moving truck outside.

"It was supposed to be Eddie's graduation gift," Wayne says softly. "'Suppose it'll have to be a 'glad you woke up from yer coma' gift instead."

"Yeah," Steve says, even if he doesn't believe it. Eddie's been asleep months now. They saved the world, killed Vecna, closed the gates, Max woke up, and the kids have started Sophomore year; Eddie remains comatose. "Can I get a sneak peak at the present?"

"It's not much, and ain't nothin' new," Wayne says, opening the box and beginning the process of pulling things out. It looks a bit like the contents of a hope chest. Things to start living on your own with. Robin's mom has one for her that Steve's seen, and even contributed to. There's an envelope of $500 tucked along the side of Robin's chest.

"This was his grandpa's. My dad's," Wayne says, pulling out a belt buckle. "And my ma made this, not for anyone in particular, mind you, but just because she liked to keep herself busy." It's a blanket, thick and a little scratchy when Steve touches it. "And this. This is the most important." Wayne pulls out a binder from the bottom of the box, handing it over to Steve for inspection.

He takes it carefully even though it looks sturdy. Holding it in one hand, he flips it open. He was thinking maybe it would be a photo album or something but it's not. It looks like a recipe book. All the recipes are hand written on looseleaf paper, with post it notes sticking out randomly. "What makes this special?"

"That's his mom's handwriting," Wayne smiles but he sounds sad. "Eddie lost her when he was five. She got real sick, y'know, and never got better. But she wrote out all them recipes. I'm amazed Al kept the thing, but I guess I shouldn't be. No real value in a binder of recipes 'cept to the people close to the author."

Steve looks back down at the binder. He still has both his parents, however distant they might be, so he doesn't know if he'll ever fully understand the significance of getting this piece of someone back. "Does he not have anything else with her writing on it?"

"No, not writing. We got plenty of things they used to own. Eddie's caseworker let us go through the whole house, after Al'd been shipped off to the penitentiary, to gather anything Eddie might want or need. Was supposed to just be his stuff, mind you, legally speakin', but I think that lady knew if we didn't take other stuff, Eddie'd never see it again.

"So, Eddie's got things that were hers. But nothing that's uniquely hers. There's jewelry, and a coupla blankets, but all that stuff is replaceable and not... Well, I dunno what I'm tryin' to say, but that's just stuff that was hers. But this. This was her. Y'understand?"

And Steve does. There's a difference between having something that belonged to someone once, and something that really feels like them when you hold it. Steve doesn't have anything like that, personally, but he knows there will come a time when the difference matters. When everyone grows up and scatters into the future. He imagines a hand written letter from Dustin will mean much more for him to find after a long time of no contact than it would to find his old Roast Beef t-shirt in the back of a drawer or something, moth bitten and musty.

"I can't wait to find out if Eddie's an angry emotional, or a sad one."

Wayne laughs. "He can be both."

[awkwardandeccentric]

I made a joke five minutes ago about Blitz finding a DSM and he and Stolas finally figuring out why they’re Like That,

But now I’m laughing at the idea of Blitz obtaining the densest, heaviest, most random books he can find in the human world as a game for Stolas. There’s no rhyme or reason, either. Some of them are on botany. Some of them are novels. Some of them are engineering textbooks. Some of them are the history of drag in New York City. Some of them are binders of newspapers. Some of them are dictionaries for Klingon.

And the mental image of the red lizard man running around with a hardcover copy of War & Peace to chuck at Stolas’ head (don’t worry, Stolas will always catch it) when he gets home from work is so fucking funny to me. Someone draw this pls.

[celtigxr]

THE PINK DREAD - CH. 16 (Masterlist)

Chapter Summary: Hangovers, blackmail, & a favour for a Prince. Word Count: 5098 CHAPTER WARNINGS: Implied homophobia, insinuated (dub) noncon

Series tags: Aemond x Plus size!OfC, Aegon x Plus size!OfC, Celtigar!ofc, Plot with Smut, mdni 18+, Aemond End Game, Angst, Comedy, The Dragons Don't Dance, slow burn, friends to enemies to lovers, enemies to friends to lovers.

Credits: Lace Banner by Aquazero, pearl divider by Pommecita

Notes: This is a bit of an inbetween chapter, so I'll hopefully get the next one out soon. Chapter 26, 27, and 28 were taking me so long.

Arthor Celtigar wasn’t an early bird, he was simply an insomniac. It also did not help that his day-to-day activities were lackluster, and did not require him to be awake early in the day, unlike his elder counterpart. He could sleep for a few hours in the middle of the day, and no one would notice his absence. It was easy to be forgotten in the Red Keep, he realized, especially if you were a boy of little consequence, which he preferred. It made his hobby of eavesdropping all the more easy. 

He was in the family apartment’s shared solar when the door opened and Ser Steffon Hardy had ushered in his dishevelled and despondent sister before closing the door after her. Arthur briefly caught a glimpse of long silver hair standing in front of the entrance before the view was obscured by iron and wood. 

“Long night?” He asked Valeana, who predictably ignored him as she fell into a settee and buried her face in the cushions. 

He waited a few moments before he decided that she was unconscious enough to inspect her. Dress looked like she had spent the night in the dungeons, but it was otherwise intact; her hair had a few cobwebs stuck to it, and it was a bit frizzy. The humidity would explain the latter, but the former, well, he could only assume that was due to something far more scandalous. She also reeked of alcohol and body odour; so much so he wrinkled his nose in disgust. 

“Oh, Valeana…” He tutted, wrapping his arms under her arms and hoisting her up with quiet difficulty. “Floris is going to be absolutely chuffed to hear of this.” 

He was careful not to wake Shyla as he dragged his heaviest sister across the floor and into her bedchambers. With a soft grunt he pulled her onto her mattress, and dutifully picked up her legs after removing her shoes and laying them on the bed. Arthor even did her the favour of removing her prosthetic; with careful hands, he unbuckled the straps around her thigh, then knee, and slowly removed the wooden appendage. 

The youngest Celtigar couldn’t help but wonder if Aemond was privy to her exposed thighs that night. It would explain her appearance, though he didn’t quite know the prince well enough to determine if he was capable of being deplorable enough to take advantage of an inebriated noble maid. Particularly one that was so toxic for him. 

He supposed Valeana was attractive. In another life, had the Celtigars been more like the Targaryens and the Velaryons, Clement would have been married to her ages ago, and he would have been betrothed to Shyla. Sometimes, Arthor thought that’s exactly what Clement desired. The way he stared at Valeana was different to how he stared at Shyla, but then again, perhaps that was because they were full-blooded siblings and had a bond that neither he, Shyla, and especially not Floris could understand. Not to mention, Arthor wouldn’t know what lust and desire for a woman even looked like. 

Women weren’t attractive creatures to him. A fact that Floris knew and took advantage of by making him her personal spy. She had a way of spreading gossip and conjecture like a forest fire, and being a man of his… tastes, Arthor was not welcomed in this world. At least, not in Westeros. 

He returned to the solar, body laid out on the sofa with a book cradled in his hands until Floris awakened – she was always the first to. And she was used to seeing him already awake, or never haven slept at all, so she strode passed him with a soft ‘good morn’ and walked over to the table strewn with fruit, preserves, cheese and bread that had been laid out by a servant not a half hour ago. 

Arthor stared at her in hard contemplation, wondering if he should tell her what he saw. He considered not to, as an act of defiance, but surely there would be whispers by others, and Floris will undoubtedly realize that he would’ve witnessed Valeana stumble in at dawn with Aemond on her tail. Then, she would use her blackmail: Arthor’s sinful rendezvous with a lordling under their father’s banners. 

“I have something you would like to hear,” he forced himself to say. Floris’ large eyes perked up, all evidence of sleep clinging to her gone in an instant. She was politely chewing on grapes, but stopped so she could hear him in full. 

“A certain sister of ours returned at dawn, looking quite bedraggled.”

Floris swallowed, the ends of her lips quirking in a poor attempt to conceal her morbid elation, “Is that so?”

“She wasn’t alone,” he sat up, using his finger in place of a bookmark. “A prince had escorted her back.”

That smile was pulled into a frown. Now her brow twitched, threatening to expose her suspicion and rage over this as well. “Which Prince?”

“One-eye.” 

Floris scoffed and tossed her head back with eyes tightly closed. Her hand ran over her face, then she let out a growl of annoyance, “That bloody fool.” 

When Valeana dreamt that night, it was more of a nightmare fueled by the raging headache that gripped her temples like pincers. Body sore, hot, and filthy from sweat and dust, she was a bag of bricks in the center of her bed. She was in complete paralysis, a motionless victim to the terrors of her subconscious, which was fed by the alcohol of last night and the shame and humiliation orchestrated by Aemond Targaryen.

She dreamt of running through that same passageway, completely naked, being pressed between stone walls and having to wade through murky knee-deep water. There was something or someone following her, which drove her to flee in the first place. Val could hear him, but couldn’t see him. A shadow with pupil-less blue eyes, much like how light would reflect against a cat's eyes in the dark. The crippling fear of being taken by this creature of the dark caused her heart to beat rapidly in real time, and the pounding sounded like war drums in her mind. At some point she had considered allowing it to happen; to submit to the predator that moved steadily faster than her pace. Maybe he would not devour her; maybe he meant no ill will; maybe he was her only option; maybe she’d enjoy it. 

But the water began to rise and the walls opened up to the ocean, wide and endless, and plunged into a stormy darkness. A thunderous roar caused the surface of the ocean to ripple at its intensity, then the black water started to pull in various directions, collecting itself in a mountain that towered over her. The wall of the massive tidal wave folded in over Valeana, plunging her into its cold depths. 

She woke up to ice cold water being poured over her head. 

“Oh, you’re awake,” Floris’ self-satisfied greeting was met with rough coughing. 

Valeana sat up straight, gasping and trying to learn how to breathe through her now waterlogged nose. Water collected in her eyelashes, which dripped into her eyes and blinded her momentarily. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” The blonde started to wipe at her eyes as her coughing started to subside. 

“It’s past midday,” Floris tilted her head, a small smile uncharacteristically set upon her long face. “And I’ve done you the favour of ordering a bath. You desperately need it.”

Still wiping her face, Val was now able to see Floris, albeit through manic blinking. “I could’ve done that myself, you know.”

“You were still unconscious, and I was impatient.”

“Impatient for what?” Val turned away, moving her legs stiffly over the side of the bed. She looked down, seeing her stump tightly wrapped in linens from last night. She had no recollection of removing her leg, nor did she remember even making it to her bed. 

“To tell you the juicy little morsel that I heard this morning. It’s been a buzz all over the Keep.” 

Valeana’s eyes flickered over to her suspiciously and a bit nervously. 

“A little birdie told me that Prince Aemond was spotted dragging around a drunk woman all over the castle like a sack of rocks,” she guffawed, an obvious false laugh that made Valeana silently groan in annoyance. “Imagine the scandal. Imagine that woman’s family, and the shame they must feel because of her.”

The younger sister glared at the older, “I do not care about my reputation, Floris.”

“Father will care. Though, as it happens… People seem to think the woman he helped was just another Targaryen bastard trying to pretend they’re something they’re not. So you are off the hook, dear sister.” 

“Oh good,” Val’s tone dripped with sarcasm, “So this conversation is over.” 

“Not quite,” Floris’ expression became a little more conniving and sharp, which didn’t settle well with Valeana’s already unsettled stomach. “Father and mother will be home soon, and I am sure you do not wish for him to know what actually happened.”

“The problem with blackmail, Flo, is that you need something to prove what you are saying has verity, otherwise it is just hearsay.”

“Hm,” Floris smirked, “I have a witness. Two trusted ones, in fact, that father would believe.”

Val eyed her, “What do you want?”

“I want you to stop fraternizing with Prince Aemond.”

“You do realize I’ve been actively trying to avoid him, right?”

The brunette scoffed, “Please, I was not born yesterday, Valeana. I know your little game.” 

Val looked at her with clear bewilderment, “What ga–”

Floris continued, completely ignoring her, “It has come to my attention through a series of grapevines, that the betrothal between Helaena and Aegon is steadfast. So, it seems that I will not be the one to marry Aegon.”

“I thought we’ve established that Shyla called dibs–”

“-- That leaves Aemond. It is a smarter match, anyhow. We are of similar intellect, interest, height.”

Valeana continued to stare at her step-sister as if she was babbling nonsensical madness that needed to be decoded by a maester.

“You want to court Aemond?” Val asked, trying to process this information with black and white answers. 

“If you recall, you did give me your blessing.” 

Valeana wanted to laugh, but her heart was beating at her temples. She felt more angry, if anything. She had every right to be, given how she was woken up.

“Y’know what, Floris,” she pressed her fingers into her eyes and exhaled noisily. “I don’t care.”

Floris smiled satisfyingly, but it quickly vanished when Valeana continued.

“I don’t care if you tell father. In fact, tell the whole damn court – no, the Realm. I want the fucking Dothraki in their grass sea to know about it. Because, the worst thing that could happen is that he will put me on a ship back home until my choice of betrothal or-or septa-tude will be made for me, saving me from a bigger fucking headache I have right now. 

“I am not giving you Aemond. He-he was my friend first, and I honestly would rather see him… fall off his dragon, into—into the waters of the bloody God’s Eye, never to be seen again, than see him married to you, my dear, devious, deceitful step-sister. But! By all means, try. Truly. It would be very entertaining seeing you being knocked off that brittle pedestal you try to put yourself on.” 

The silence in the room was heavy and suffocating. Valeana didn’t know where that all came from. She blamed it on the headache. And she blamed Floris for exasperating it. She justified it all.

Floris stood up from the bed, face pulled into a frown. “You know, Valeana, oftentimes you can be such a bitch.”

Aegon was another soul in the Red Keep whose sleep suffered that night. He had gone to the Street of Silk as he intended that night after Throne Room, but had arrived back home earlier than intended. It didn’t matter who’s hand or mouth or cunt was on his cock, he couldn’t get hard. And that was unheard of for him. It usually took almost nothing to get Aegon hard and ready for any willing and wet hole. When he returned to his bedchambers, he tried to do it himself. He managed, albeit it took much longer than he’d like. By the end of it, his meat was raw as venison, and he came so pathetically, it might as well not have happened at all. 

When he did sleep, it wasn’t until dawn and the servants had started to come in with plates for him to break his fast. He managed to get at least four or five hours of slumber, and would have gotten more hadn’t it been for his grandsire waking him up in the only way Otto Hightower knew how: Loud, reprimanding, and merciless. 

He ripped the tangled sheets from Aegon’s legs and glowered at his nudity before barking at him to wash up and dress, for Daeron was home. 

Daeron. 

Fucking Daeron.

The golden child, right after fucking Rhaenyra.

Helaena had taken Dreamfyre more times than Aegon took Sunfyre to visit Oldtown. Aemond never seemed to bother, and that is probably why he was the smartest of the three of them. Daeron had always been insufferable; the level of his arrogance rivelled both his and Aemond’s combined. As a young lad, he always demanded the attention of everyone in the room the moment someone wasn’t paying attention to him. Always “look at me! Look at what I can do!”, and his Hightowers cousins all did, cutting off any attention they were giving to Aegon and Helaena. 

Aegon stopped visiting after Daeron’s thirteenth birthday, when he insinuated that Tessarion could best Sunfyre in a race. Aegon took the challenge, because of course he was wrong. 

The Blue Queen won and Aegon was so bitter about it, he decided that was the last time he would grace Daeron with his presence. But now he was in King’s Landing for the first time, likely to consume as much attention as possible from every damned corner of the Seven Kingdoms. What’s worse, Otto wants Aemond and him to sup with him, as well as his baby brother’s syndicate of arse-munchers – his cousins. 

There’s absolutely no bloody way he was going to sit at that table for longer than five minutes. The problem was that his grandsire would surely appoint a guard to drag him back into his chair after every try. Mayhaps there was a way to make it more interesting, or at the very least, tip the scales in his favour. Besides, it would be quite the sausage fest with only one woman in attendance… He would be doing his cousin’s young wife a favour by inviting more feminine guests to entertain her. 

It would also be a triple win for Aegon. Not only will he have a buffer between himself and Daeron, not only will he make Aemond incredibly uncomfortable (a small morsel of revenge for last night), but he also has an excuse to see– Hm.

Well, best not dwell on why he desires to see Valeana so much. 

Before he darkens her doorstep, he visits the kitchen knowing exactly what she needs, and has the cooks and servants prepare it for him. With a corked bottle, a bundle wrapped in canvas and twine in his hand, Aegon sauntered over to the Celtigar apartments, greeting their ever loyal knighted guard. 

“Good morrow, Good Ser,” Aegon smiled cheerfully.

The knight nodded, his look of suspicion not concealed, “Good morrow to you, as well, my Prince. What can I do for you?” 

“I was wondering if Lady Valeana was still in her rooms. I have something she’d appreciate, and I’d like an audience.” 

The knight stared at him for so bleeding long, Aegon was tempted to pull rank. 

“She is bathing.”

The thought of Valeana bathing made his balls quiver, which reflected in the twinkle in his eye. He looked too eager, he had to tone it down. 

“Ah. Right then. I can wait for her in the solar, then,” Aegon nodded towards the door. When the knight did not make a move to open it, the prince’s friendly smile turned into an impatient one. “Well? Open the door for your prince.”

The knight sighed through flared nostrils, then moved at a glacial pace as he opened the door with reluctance. Aegon gave him a smug nod and strode in with confident strides. He looked about the room as if it didn’t look like countless others in the Holdfast. When he turned around he was met with the same knight again. Standing at the entrance, hands on the pommel of his sword and eyes boring into Aegon like he could read his intentions. 

“Oh, you do not need to entertain me, knight. You may return to your post.”

“I am at my post, my Prince.”

Aegon’s lips went tight over his teeth in annoyance, “Right. Of course.” 

“I’ll inform my lady of your presence, my Prince. Remain where you are,” he kept his eyes on him as he walked over to the quarters to the right of the room, which likely led to the twin bedchambers that the girls had shared. Aegon watched him closely, determined to show he felt no discomfort under this recalcitrant, bothersome guard’s scrutinizing leer. 

The man knocked on the door, and a few seconds went by before it opened a few inches. Aegon strained to look over the hulking armoured fellow, but couldn’t make anything out beyond a thinly veiled opened window, the sound of water moving about, and the bonnet of the handmaid who answered the door. 

“Inform Lady Valeana that Prince Aegon wishes for an audience with her.”

The maid had a brief look of surprise before mutely nodding and closing the door. The knight turned around, and rested his back against the wall next to it, resuming his ever wavering glare at Aegon.

Aegon stood idly for about 7 seconds before the awkwardness forced him into a chair, trying to act nonchalant.

“So,” Aegon clicked his tongue, “What is your name, knight?”

“Ser Steffon Hardy, my Prince.”

“Ah, from Crackclaw Point.”

“Yes, my Prince.”

Aegon tucked his lips under his teeth and nodded, “Interesting peninsula I heard. Tell me, have you ever seen a squisher? I’ve heard many old wives tales.”

Ser Steffon merely stared at him for a moment before shaking his head very subtly, “No, my Prince.”

“Ah,” Aegon nodded. “How disappointing.” 

Just as the silence reached the precipice of painful awkwardness, the door finally opened, and Aegon immediately stood up. At first, he grinned cheekily, having a jest on her crapulous state on the tip of his tongue, but when she emerged, that was quickly forgotten. 

Valeana emerged in a burgundy robe, tightly secured around her waist, and a muslin chemise underneath. She was still damp from her bath, making little wet patches on the white material underneath her robe. Unfortunately for Aegon, both robe and shift was floor length, and hid her modesty well. Even her large breasts, no longer caged in a tight bodice that pushed them against her ribs, were covered by the thick fabric of the robe. What took him off guard the most was her pink appearance; she was completely flushed from the hot water. Her cheeks were the colour of roses, deepening the faint freckles that he never noticed before. Val’s nose also was pink, like she had just been sniffling, or perhaps that was just from the steam as well. Then there were her flushed lips, that above all else, he felt captivated most by. Instinctively, he ran his tongue and teeth over his bottom lip.

“Prince Aegon,” her brow was already furrowed when she emerged, but it deepened at the sight of him. Her hands moved over her damp hair, gathering it over her shoulder. Aegon was once again taken back by a new thing: her hair was long. So very long and thick, and soaking wet. It darkened the fabric of her robe when it landed over her shoulder. He watched, enraptured as she ran her fingers through it to squeeze out the water. “How can I help you?”

He could only assume the formality was for the sake of their audience, and that snapped him out of his trance. 

“I came bearing gifts,” He smiled politely, gesturing to the items he was cradling in his arm. “And to ask you a favour.” 

She raised an eyebrow, looking at the bottle and bundle of canvas in his arms, then back at him, “What’s the occasion?”

Aegon’s eyes flickered to the guard and maid, and then back at her, “May we speak privately?”

Valeana immediately looked to Hardy, who’s jaw clenched disapprovingly. Thankfully, before the knight could bark a refusal, Val gave a directional nod towards the entrance. 

“Ser Steffon, would you?”

“It is not proper for a lady to be left alone with a man, my lady. Especially after–”

“--I am aware, but my maid, Rosey, is here with me.”

Aegon watched smugly as the knight hesitated, fingers curling on the pommel of his sword before he complied. He bowed his head, sent Aegon a pointed look, and then stepped out of the solar. Once the door was closed, Valeana gave off a sigh and walked over to an armchair.

“Well, isn’t he a charmer,” Aegon eyed the door before returning his attention to her. 

“He is protective, and after what happened last night, he wishes to keep me near until my parents and brother return from Dragonstone.”

“Speaking of last night,” Aegon took a seat nearest to her and placed the objects on the short table at her feet. “These are for you. They’ll help with the–” he pointed towards her head. At the look of her confusion, he elaborated, “As you know, I am no stranger to drink. I like to think I’ve become quite the crapulent expert.”

The muscles in Valeana’s face softened as she gave a soundless laugh through her nose, “Right, of course. Thank you.”

She reached over and took the bundle of canvas first, then unwrapped it. The immediate smell of bacon, eggs, and buttered toast met her nose, and she looked up at Aegon, her amusement evident on her face. 

“Breakfast was a few hours ago, Aegon.”

He smiled, and shrugged, “It’s a reference from last night. Egg-on-toast, you called me…. Then said we were like eggs and bacon. So, I–” he gestured to the food. “I thought it would be an appropriate gift. As it happens, it will also help with your headache. And that,” he pointed at the bottle. “Will help the exhaustion.”

Valeana took the bottle to uncork it, then took a whiff of it and pulled away, “Hells, that smells like vinegar.”

“It’s pickle juice,” Aegon smugly confirmed. “Works every time.”

She gave him a skeptical look, “Is this a prank?”

“Never. I’ve grown out of that.”

She looked at him, completely unconvinced.

“... I’ve grown out of pranking you. Bloody hells, just drink and eat.” 

Valeana still eyed him suspiciously, but threw caution to the wind and took a tentative sip of the juice. She cringed and shuddered, making Aegon chuckle. 

“You’ll get used to it.”

After a short moment of her munching on her bacon and her ‘Aegon Toast’, she leaned back into the chair and crossed her legs. Aegon found it difficult to not stare, particularly since he could see the form of her legs underneath. The dark wood of her prosthetic was easy to see through the thin veil of the muslin material. 

“I suppose you want to know what happened last night.”

Her blunt comment took him a bit off guard. He glanced up at the maid, who silently stood by the door. Valeana caught his look, and shook her head dismissively. 

“She already knows… Rosey has been with me for years, she knows everything about me. And she’s mute,” Val craned her neck and gave her maid a kind smile, which the shy girl returned along with a short nod. 

Aegon cleared his throat, “What–uh, what happened then?”

“I don’t remember much. It honestly feels like it was part of the headache-addled nightmare I had last night,” she sunk into the chair further, then took a piece of bacon and munched slowly. “I remember Aemond dragging me along the floor, because I refused to move.”

The prince couldn’t contain his smirk, “I wish I had witnessed that.”

“Hm, I am sure it was quite the sight,” she went on. “Then I vomited at some point… very demure of me. At some point we went into a passageway to get to the Holdfast faster, and–”

Aegon watched as she folded her arms over her chest and sort of caved into the chair. His entertained demeanor faded. Aegon moved to the edge of the seat in concern, “Valeana, don’t tell me he–? What did he do? Did he touch you, did he–?”

Val sighed hotly through her mouth and pinched the bridge of her nose, “No… Well, yes but– I wanted him to. He didn’t force himself on me, and…it didn’t go very far. Just– just, y’know, my br–my breasts…” Her face turned into a deeper shade of rouge at the admittance.

Aegon huffed, his fingers curling into his palm as he tried to contain his anger. That fucking little prick; he had the balls to accuse him of taking advantage of her whilst drunk, while he went on and did that very fucking thing?

“Valeana, he took advantage of you–”

“Aegon, stop. I consented to it. I wanted him to touch me. I still– fuck. Bleeding hells, it doesn’t matter anymore. He stopped and looked at me like he was appalled of me. Like I was the most disgusting thing in the world.”

Aegon ran his hand over his face before resting his chin on his palm, and then his elbow on his knee. He shook his head, peering at her through his fingers, “You’re very much the opposite of disgusting, Valeana. Aemond is just a righteous fool with a massive spear stuck up his arse. If I know my brother, and I believe I do, he must have stopped because he realized how weak and pathetic he was appearing.” 

Valeana huffed a humourless laugh, “It didn’t feel like it.”

Freeing his hand, Aegon reached and grabbed hers, then leveled his eyes with her green ones. “Valeana… I may say this to a lot of women,” he spoke in a voice so serious that she had no choice but to remain quiet. “But I want you to know that I say this with all the sincerity in the world. You have the best tits I’ve ever seen, and I have never been more envious of Aemond until this moment.”

That got her to laugh. Her other hand slapped over her cheek as she descended into a fit of giggles. Even Rosey covered her mouth to shield her grin, but her shaking shoulders exposed her mute amusement. 

Aegon grinned as a warmth grew in his chest at the sound, “Honestly, I am very tempted to run him through with a sword in your bosom’s honour.” He allowed her to laugh it off for a moment before running his tongue over his lip again as nerves wracked him. Aegon wasn’t used to being serious, let alone with a female that he was trying to console. Consoling at all was a foreign to him, but it appeared he had talent for it, somehow. 

“In truth, Valeana, he wouldn’t have touched you if he wasn’t attracted to you, you must understand that.” 

She swallowed thickly, and then proceeded to blink rapidly as she stared off into the corner. “Perhaps he really is no different than any other man.”

“He’d loathe to admit that,” Aegon concurred. 

Val gave a rueful smile and a small nod of her head, “He always thought he was better than the average man. But he quickly turned into a ravenous beast the moment he saw flesh.”

Aegon raised a brow at that, “Is that so?”

“Yes,” the girl took a deep inhale of air and straightened herself up in the seat. It didn’t go unnoticed how she looked down at her chest, “His lips left bruises in their wake.”

The other brow rose with the first. Aegon’s eyes flickered to her modestly covered chest, and after a beat of processing that information, he asked:

“Can I see?”

She gave him a kick in the shin. 

“Ow! Alright!” He peeled away from her, rubbing his leg. “Alright. I get it, he marked his territory – I am jesting!” He moved further away from her when she went to kick him again. 

Rolling her eyes, Valeana relaxed into the chair, and took a tentative sip of the pickle juice, forgetting what it was for a moment. With another shudder, she quickly took a bite of the toast with egg. 

“You mentioned a favour?” She changed the subject, bringing Aegon back to his initial purpose of his visit. 

“Yes,” he crossed his leg, and cradled his knee with his hands, “You might’ve heard that my brother, Daeron, arrived on dragonback.”

“Mhm,” she nodded, continuing to eat. 

“My grandsire wants Aemond and I to dine with him and my cousins this eve… And I am dreading it. As estranged I am with most of my family, Daeron’s presence is a burden I do not wish to endure alone.”

Valeana put down her food and blinked at him, “Are you asking me to keep you company?”

“I am.”

“Wouldn’t the Hand be displeased with my presence? Especially since I have no relation to the Hightowers? I would be intruding on a family gathering.”

Aegon waved dismissively, “Do not worry about Otto. He will be civil in front of his nephew and his wife in order to keep up appearances.”

“And what about Aemond? I don’t know… I don’t know if I can see him after last night.” 

“Valeana,” Aegon reached out again, grasping her hand from the armrest. “Do not worry about him. I will not allow him near you. You can rest assured that your breasts will be in much more capable hands than he.”

“Aegon!”

“He left you in bruises, Val! The man’s a starved savage.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN SNEAK PEAK “I seem to have been robbed of a childhood growing up with you lovely ladies. I wish I had visited,” his smirk widened flirtatiously, “Seeing such beauty would have likely forced me to stay.”  Aegon’s face soured with every word spoken by Daeron, forcing Valeana to bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing.  “Perhaps you should have,” Valeana spoke, pursing her lips to contain her grin. “If only to sweeten our pallets from our otherwise bitter friendships with your brothers.”  Daeron cocked his head, “Oh? Were they that troublesome?” “Ah, Prince Daeron, if only we had the time. A day could not even cover the bullying we had to endure at the hands of your elder brothers and nephews.” Daeron tisked, throwing Aegon a look, shaking his head...

Notes: Aegon, Avenger of Tits. Oh, and if you're interested in the playlist I made for Pink Dread, it's posted in the masterlist, or the direct link to the spotify list here

Tag: @queen-of-elves, @keylin1730, @anakilusmos, @weepingfashionwritingplaid, @sugutoad, @desireangel

( if you wish to be tagged for this story, just give me a reply! )

Please do not re post, redistribute or plagiarize my work. The only other place this story is posted on is ao3 under the same username.

[confuselibrarian]

Haunting Adeline is bad.

It only gained hype because of the controversial themes because the construction is crap. A poorly written book with shameful dialog and characters shallower than the drain in my sink. The book makes an effort to be profound, showing how cruel and dark the world is, but in the end it tries so hard that it's more like those One Direction fics kidnapping Y/N. Adeline herself as the protagonist seems to have come straight out of a Wattpad self insert. It's also unnecessarily long. There's no justification for this story being 600 pages long, let alone a sequel. If you take away all the unnacessary bullshit, the whole duology could fit into a single book.

Such a long book, but it still fails to introduce us to the basic concepts of the characters. So many things are poorly explained that they basically expect readers to accept just “because...”? For example, Zade's motivation? I finished the book without understanding his backstory and why he would go so far to do what he does. “That's because he's angry about the existence of child trafficking”, congratulations Zade, you're a normal person who is outraged by child violence, so what? One person finding abuse wrong (which in itself is ironic when it comes to Zade, given what he does to Adeline) isn't enough to justify everything he does. He ends up being the author's puppet for action and smuty kinky scenes, rather than a complex character.

Speaking of kinky, I see a lot of people (including the author apparently) who don't know the basic difference between fetish and abuse. All fetish and kinks, including cnc, needs to be done in a healthy, safe and consensual way. These are the basics of the practice and are non-negotiable. Practically all the sex scenes in this book that take place between Adeline and Zade fall into the dub-con (dubious consent) spectrum. Whether it's because he's forced himself on her, coerced her, manipulated her, etc., from the lightest to the heaviest, all the sex between them has a non-consensual aspect in addition to the disparity of power in the relationship that was not negotiated between them. So you can't use the excuse that it's a fetish so anything goes, because that's simply not the reality. If you let go of the dark romance for a second and actually research how this works, you'll quickly realize that the way this book deals with fetish is extremely off the mark.

Lastly, there's the issue of human/child trafficking. I see a lot of people criticize how graphic the scenes are, which for me wasn't a problem, but very few people talk about how the vision portrayed in the book refers to a line of thought that connect whit the crazy right-wing american conspiracy theorist mentality . Whenever there was a scene involving violence against children, I had the impression that H.D Carlton had studied the subject on the QAnom forum. Anyone who does the slightest bit of research on the subject knows that the main victims of this kind of violence are not the white suburban American children of the traditional family, as we see repeatedly portrayed through Zade's missions. It's not a black van that springs up in an upper-middle-class neighborhood and steals away a beloved child while their parents cry copiously over the loss. Those who are targeted are usually non-white, disabled children from very poor areas who are generally forgotten by the system. Not to mention that the book kind of implies that most of the guys involved in the dirty work of kidnapping the children are Mexicans and mestizos. These are the people we see Zade, the white guy, fighting against to save the day. Also I'm not Jewish so I can't say 100%, but the way the author constructed the secret society plus all the strange and conspiracy-oriented things in the book gave me an anti-Semitic vibe. The secret society in this book is literally a ctrl+c ctrl+v of Blood Libel. Maybe I'm going too far with my interpretation, but considering that the author literally had to put a disclaimer at the beginning that she has no connection with conspiracy theory groups, I don't think I'm so wrong to notice parallels.

[kibblbread]

Fuckity Fuck. This’ll be a long one girlies!

AK!Jason & Pizza gorl have an unconventional romantic relationship! I headcanon JT as disabled since he realistically should be. He’s canonically able bodied & can most definitely still kick some serious ass, but mentally, he’s absolutely spent. Suspension of disbelief for the sake of this being based on a literal video-game BUT also I want to world build in my little delulu arkham verse!

As always credit to my favorite fic writer @morverenmaybewrites because she made the pizza gorl fic 🤭🍕

Please read! If you have read it, reread it!

SLEEPING 😴💤

In my world these two basically obsessed with each other but PG is extremely accommodating to JT’s mental & physical traumas. She strongly encourages him to do what’s comfortable for him in their home, as she wants it to be a safe space for them both. Jason does his very best to accommodate PG as well as he possibly can to return the favor.

J prefers to sleep alone most nights.

He sleeps on the pullout couch a lot of the time don’t worry he’s not cramped because of his nightmares and general anxiety/paranoia. Despite it though, he still desires the presence of you constantly, it brings him an immense amount of comfort. The doors in the apartment normally stay open. Even during showers. He can hear you sketching, typing, reading, or even occasionally snoring depending on how quiet the night is. It’s the perfect white noise in his opinion! The gentle presence of a loved one goes a long way for JT, he doesn’t feel alone nor watched or out of place. It’s the epitome of a happy medium for him.

When you two are actually sleeping together, it’s usually really cold out. The bed is extra toasty with your XL heating pad and fluffy duvet. JT makes a habit of burying himself underneath the comforter and tucking himself into your embrace, he sleeps the heaviest on these nights. He rarely overheats. Typically these are dreamless nights for him. During the peak of Gothams harsh winter, Jason is the most consistent with sleeping in bed with the exception of a couple random nights he gets horrible night terrors. He just can’t get enough of the encompassing warmth 🤭 Not to mention it’s much harder for his mind to construct nightmares when all he’s thinking about is getting warm.

PG obviously prefers to sleep with her significant other most nights but makes it a point to respect his boundaries. As much as she wants Jason to be guilt free when sleeping alone, he still feels no better than a bag of shit when leaving her to her own devices nearly every night after all this time together; especially during holidays like valentines or something similar. To combat this they’ll usually do an activity together before sleeping—like reading aloud to one another or crocheting or even a coloring book.

COOKING/CLEANING 🫧🧽🧼

PG loves to eat but couldn’t be more indifferent to cooking, it’s not a hobby or particularly fun experience for her. She does it simply because Jason doesn’t like to mix things up when he cooks. Not because he doesn’t want to either, he’s just good at a handful of dishes and hasn’t ventured beyond them. They’re both average but PG is marginally better since she cooks more.

Jason’s skin looks considerably better due to him eating more homemade food. He’s not nearly as greasy now.

JT having someone hounding him to hydrate and eat on routine gives him more energy… he’s lowkey shocked at how much more energy he actually has. PG is indefinitely annoyed at his antics but continues to nag JT to keep up with himself. He usually returns the favor by doing most of the chores, he seems to get some enjoyment from cleaning. It’s so easy for him to focus while simultaneously not actually think about anything. Head completely empty… only the sound of himself scrubbing away at grime.

Pure peace.

Sometimes when Jason runs out of things to clean it will lead to him stressing out unnecessarily. Unfortunately, it’s the only activity that helps alleviate stress at a rapid rate. The second best self soothing method is counting down from 10 thousand in increments 7 or something akin to that. But it doesn’t work nearly as well though..

As helpful PG finds this behavior, they’re both brainstorming better measures for calming him down.

HYGIENE 🪥

Pizza can’t really go more than 24 without a shower, she hates smelling like greasy fast food! She has a lot of scented products that help get rid of the stench pretty effectively. Jason only uses them when he needs to erase the scent of blood, otherwise he opts for the simple cleansers and shampoos.

PG loves to feel just as pretty as she smells so her hoard of hygienic products is never lacking. Jason is still genuinely curious how any girl could need so many oils, body butters, & moisturizers. It’s never ending. JT never comments or judges his significant other on her affinity for skincare. Something that makes PG so clearly happy makes him happier too. Not to mention, Jason also reaps some small benefits from her extensive collection; although he usually just uses what Pizza seems to ignore the most, some of his smaller scars have evened out and much of his hyperpigmentation has lessened. Jason himself hasn’t noticed this development in the slightest, but PG most definitely has.

He’s very bashful when you compliment him and most of the time, Jason doesn’t believe you.. sometimes though, he can’t help but let his heart flutter at the directness of your attraction.

Every once in awhile, Jason will roll up his sleeves and ask you rub cream on his forearms. As tense and anxious JT will become while being touched, he wants to heal. He wants Joker to stop haunting him. Freedom is all Jason has ever wanted since the asylum. Becoming whole again is his ultimate goal; so he’ll sit through the discomfort, the self hatred and disgust of his mangled body, to exist as he sees fit. Not by what Joker had planned for him. PG doesn’t always do it as long as he’d like if she feels he’s on the verge of panic or an episode, but occasionally, Jason can beat personal records.

JT gets loads of praise from his partner either way.

Anything to do with prolonged touch is done in complete darkness 🙃 what kind of touch is up to y’alls discretion lol

[spiriteddreams]

I Know the End

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Reader Warnings: angst Word Count: ~2k A/N: season 2 is out who's ready to cry with me :D

Nothing ever ends poetically. It ends and we turn it into poetry. All that blood was never once beautiful. It was all red. But it’s easy to be selfish when you are in love. You hold onto the concept like a lifeline and become strung alone in this clothesline of hearts. Your emotions are spread thin, clipped at the edges at the result of a strained relationship.

A love with Gojo Satoru was never one for the books. It was whispered words when no one was looking and lingering touches when you pass by one another. How many years have you played this cruel game with him? The memories bleed together as do the years and yet you hold on selfishly. To him, the world did not need to know of the way his crystal eyes lingered a second too long on your figure, or the way he swore upon empty promises to no one but you. He loves so easily, sly with his words and so eager to be around you. His touch is a brand, his words a blunt knife, driving in, digging deep, dismantling you bit by bit. But the worst comes when the overwhelming weight of it all feels heaviest whilst you are alone. If there’s one thing that becomes clear the longer you’re around him, it’s that Gojo Satoru is far too good at pushing people away. He’s so easy to get along with and you find yourself falling for him before you even realize it. But he keeps people at a distance. No matter how close you may be, physically and emotionally, it’s like you run into Infinity everytime. 

And yet you glorify it in your head, pretend that sickly sweet words and phantom touches are real. You cling to the memories in the worst way possible, because everyone leaves you before Gojo does. And when he finally does, he does it so casually cruel that you think you feel his technique shoot through your chest and leave a gaping hole as you bleed. You tell yourself that you have parted on good terms, because in your head, it is easiest to remember the good rather than the bad. 

You remember high school days, hand clasped around Shoko’s as you chased after two boys who wobbled on a bike together. The blissful ignorance of childhood is one that you wish you would have treasured longer. Because a mission gone wrong turned the course of fate and you could only watch as both Gojo and Geto stumbled down their separate paths. Only that Gojo’s led towards you and your open arms. The guilt for not reaching out far enough for Geto still eats at you and you wonder if perhaps Gojo holds that against you.

But when you recall the memories and bury yourself under sheets and stare at picture frames that collect dust and his text messages you’ve chosen to ignore, you are selective about your memories. Because the good is warm and comfortable and loving and oh so cruel. But the good is followed by the bad in a tidal wave that crashes upon the shore during high tide. It pulls you into the deep, that freezing painful deep that stings your skin and shocks you to your core. And then you are drowning in hurt, in tears, in unrelenting sadness as you mourn over a relationship held together by cobwebs. 

But forever will you believe that Gojo Satoru is deserving of highest praise. His name carries across the stories of the legendary holder of the Six Eyes who, when he was born, shook the world. And he knows it. You relish the days when your friends, your family would tease you both. Words of appraisal cooing over the two of you even as Gojo looked away with a blush on his face and grumbled for everyone to “stop making a big deal out of nothing.” But even as he said those words, he didn’t pull away from your touch, instead leaning closer, as if chasing the brush of your fingertips against his skin.

Then it ends. It ends on a day you least expect it the most, when the sun is warm and caresses your face and you think that it is just another day of rest, basking in the sun. Despite that, the heavy feeling in your chest that had been building for the past few days has seemed to fester, ready to spill over. Something is near and you know it, can feel it and no matter how much you try to push away the growing anxiety, it sits heavy in your chest. You wonder if Gojo’s noticed. And as if he was reading your thoughts, he appears, calling your name with a tone that douses you in cold. Peeking through his sunglasses, his blue eyes look duller than usual.

“Are you okay?” you sit up, watching as Gojo looks down at you for a moment, then looks away. He is silent and you wish you could read what was going on in his head. Perhaps that’s always been one of the hardest things about loving someone who’s walls have been built up for so long that even when he allows you to peek through one crack, it becomes smoothed over in an instant, blocking you right back out.

He sighs, “I’m fine.” His words are far too clipped for comfort and you straighten up, staring up at him in confusion. You don’t prod him to speak, knowing that when he wants to, he will. Gojo likes to choose his words slowly, precise and careful with everything he says. He dislikes rushing into things, and gods knows how much he spends in his head mulling over his thoughts. It scares you, more than you’ll admit, to know that there are a million things that Gojo has, and will always, keep from you.

“I think we should end things.” The words take a moment to register, but when they do, you’re snapping your head up, eyes wide and mouth parted in shock. “Before you argue about it, I’ve already thought it over,” Gojo says bluntly. He still refuses to look at you. “I don’t think beneficial for us to see each other.”

You stare at him in shock. “Beneficial? You act as if this is just a romance of convenience.” The cold seeps into your tone before you register it. But Gojo looks unfazed, as if he was prepared for this. It scares you. It’s just another one of those things he’s kept to himself. “Satoru, what’s going on?” He hates the way you say his name, so breathy and concerned. Sometimes he feels as if you can see right through him. He wonders if you’ve caught onto his own lies that have begun to wrap around his own throat.

“The distance between us has grown too far, I don’t think it’s fair for us to continue to pretend that we feel the same,” Gojo shakes his head. You push yourself to your feet, gathering your composure before fixing him with a glare, the same defiant glare that drew him in. He takes a shaky breath and reminds himself that this is necessary in the long run. You will be safer if you are farther away from him and this path that he’s chosen to follow. The sacrifices that are sure to come will put you both in a precarious position where you will have to choose between one another and the greater need of Jujutsu society. And if Gojo can make that decision before it tears you apart on the spot, it’s a risk he’s willing to take. The apologies can come later, he’ll grovel at your feet if he has to, put aside his ego and swear up and down that he’ll never deceive you like this again. But for now, please, he begs, please just let him do what he needs to do before someone else forces your hand.

“No,” you shake your head, eyes narrowed as you take a step towards him and jab a finger at his chest. Your eyes widen momentarily when you make contact with the hard plane of his clothed chest; he let down Infinity. “No, you don’t get to pull this on me. One week ago you were telling me how I was yours for the rest of your life and now you’re trying to break up with me? Cut the bullshit, Satoru.” He hears the tremble in your voice and he’s not sure who you’re trying to convince more: you or him.

“Look, I’ve been thinking—”

“Then stop thinking!” you shout. You sound irrational and you know it. The tears gathering in your eyes are a clear sign of it. “You’re making it sound like this is all some thought out, self-sacrificing, selfish plan and—” You both stare at one another. Gojo hates that you know him so well because you come to the right conclusion far too quickly and he knows that you’re not going to back down now. 

“This is your plan isn’t it,” you say quietly, voice tinged with disbelief. Gojo was known for his plans, well thought out and well executed to success. So careful and thoughtful in the process and you’ve watched him time and time again commit to things without a second thought. So to hear that you’re part of this next selfish plan, placed in this position, ready to be swallowed up on his chessboard is a slap in the face. You can play dirty too and in this moment, with anger and disbelief clouding your thoughts and vision, you strike faster than him.

“Fine. You want to break up, then we break up. But we’re doing it on my terms,” your words are all bark and no bite but you refuse to let him see. You hold back the tears and push through your watery words as you step back.

“If you want to call it off, then it’s off for good. When all this shit is over I’m going back to Kyoto and I don’t ever want to see your stupid, pretty, face again!” you stumble over your words and Gojo only watches behind his glasses, mouth pressed into a thin line. You want to rip them off his face and force him to look you in the eyes and tell the truth. Far too cocky for his own good, you hate that Gojo Satoru is so effortlessly cruel and fuck does it make you angry. The words spill and you take low jabs, both verbally and physically and Gojo just takes it. He takes the watery calls of his name and the cursing, your gasps of breath and your own selfish cruelty that he knows damn well that you don’t mean.

By the time he disappears, you’re left with nothing but the crisp air of Autumn. Sharp and stinging in the back of your throat, you inhale sharply as you whip your head in the direction you know he’s gone in: your shared home. The worst part is that you had both kept things a secret, a little game where you both sat at other ends of a glass table and now that it's shattered, where do you turn to, who do you turn to?It is then that you finally realize that despite your own attempts to twist the game, you had fallen right in. Blinded by the sudden rush of anger and the overflow of anxiety from the past few days you had done exactly what he had wanted. A breakup is a breakup, whether or not it is on his terms or your terms. And you know that now the words have been said, it’ll be hell to try to find him and talk it back over.

If only he was still around to hear your cries of his name as you run towards him, bloodied and battered, voice hoarse as you frantically search for him in Shibuya. You catch wind of the words “prison realm” and your blood runs cold.

On October 31, Gojo Satoru feels his limbs stiffen and his mind races. You’re still out there, still fighting, still angry, still cursing his name with love disguised as hatred. You’re still out there but so long as you stay out there, stay alive then things are all going according to plan. And when he finds a way to escape, to destroy those cursed fingers once and for all, he’ll grovel at your feet and promise to love you to whatever end. 

reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! <3 Bonus: @shiinleaf and gojo kiss and make up and there was no official breakup and all is well

[lamemaster]

Love her, not me

Request: Hey I love your writing! Really like your finrod works I love him with an edain reader and I think the potential internal conflict with him about amarie and reader would be so juicy??? "Do I wait for my past elven lover who will be with me for eternity? Or explore this new love with an edain who will leave me eventually." THE DRAMA

Pairing: Finrod x Reader

Genre: Angst and ✨DRAMA✨

AN: This has been coming a long time I am sorry for the delay. I hope you like it anon💕

"Don't be so nice to me, it might get my hopes up." You push away the cup of tea presented in front of you.

Seated next to you Finrod's smile freezes at your words. An awkward but perfectly diplomatic smile settles on his lips. It is unlike the one you have come to love.

The king of Nargothrond clears his throat, his eyes wandering all over the room. Landing anywhere but at you. Perhaps it was too much to even look you in the eye. "It is merely tea between friends. We are still friends are we not?" He asks, his voice meek. It is different from the elf who manages to charm every race on the face of Arda.

"Friends do not cancel meetings to meet up for tea, friends do not insist on meeting alone; devoid of any other company." Your words are sharp. They seem to cut the air laden with tension between you both. "And we Finrod can never just be friends. My heart won't allow that without stringing itself to foolish hope."

 This marked your last chanced meeting with the King of Nargothrond.

Falling for Finrod Felagund was foolish but also foolishly easy. It was easy to forget that the world did not revolve around him. He, who was magnificent compared to any other creature to walk on the face of Arda, was not the center of the world. A presence too perfect that it felt as if Eru himself had taken the pain of shaping every inch of him.

So, yes you fell in love with him. It was inevitable. But you never intended it to be anything more than the burden of your own heart. You were afterall too prideful to confess to him like every other stary-eyed Edain. 

Your entire time was devoted to transcribing the oral legends of your language to his while keeping your eyes from staring at him for too long. But somehow, your eyes met with his smiling ones. A fragment of the moment that you wished to never have happened. 

The sole moment was enough to tug the King of Nargothrond by your side. What started as a conversation about rolling r’s lent itself into debates, evening strolls, sharing books, watching him play a harp, tracing constellations until the stars led your hand into his. And it fit so perfectly. As if it was made to be held by him. 

The path from fingertips to the caress of lips was a slippery slope. It felt too right to cradle his face in your palms and feel his lips on yours. His curls slipped into your fingers settling into your palms softly. 

You were eager. You wanted it more than anything else. Perhaps it was the eagerness of possessing that kind of love, that blinded you. 

But it did not take long for the sweetness of your kiss to turn into the bitterness of the realization. Your love was doomed to perish from its conception. The celebration of Finrod’s reciprocity to your affection was dulled by a growing ache of the truth that he was not yours. You had known it. The King of Nargothrond had a lover waiting back in the blessed lands. 

You pulled away from him. Your hands slipped off from his curls. Your heart had protested every single movement that took you away from him. You ached to be closer despite the abyss of truth between you and him.

However, more painfull the look of horror on Finrod’s face or how he had stormed off leaving you alone. It was a rejection that came with the broken hope of acceptance. 

For weeks you did not see him. Those felt the heaviest of your mortal life. So, you busied yourself in finishing your work during the days and blacked out drunk at night. But even a glimpse of him seemed to evade you. 

Bundling your misery into the fevor of finishing your labor, you stained your hands with ink. There wasn’t much that you could offer him but your absence. Then so be it. Finrod would never have to remember you or the insignificant kiss that centuries could bury into a forgotten memory.

You were ready to give him the present of your absence, until he showed up. Just the sight of him had deluded your mind into thinking perhaps…he too felt something. 

But the Finrod who returned was different. He returned with an oblivion to whatever had transpired between you both. As all your heartache was a construct of your own making. For a fleeting moment you believed it. 

He greeted you with a warm smile, the same smile that once marked the beginning of your friendship to him. It was as if the pages of time had turned, erasing the chapters of heartache and leaving only the ink of indifference.

"You seem to have been quite occupied in my absence," he remarked, glancing at the scattered parchments and ink-stained hands that bore witness to the agony you had poured into your work.

Your heart, which had dared to hope, now sank like a stone. The weight of his obliviousness pressed upon you, and you realized that the love that had gripped your soul had failed to leave a lasting mark on his memory.

With a forced smile, you replied, "Yes, I've been immersed in my tasks. A distraction, if you will." The bitterness of those words hung in the air, a subtle reminder of the wounds that refused to heal.

He could have fooled you, if not for the foreign distance that loomed between you both. Opting for the seat farthest from you, he did not pour over your work like he always did. He still laughed and rambled passionately about the characters of ancient legends but it was contained. It was King of Nargothrond not Finrod you had to yourself for a second of your life. 

You played along the role he assigned you. A friend, a coworker, nothing more. It was better this way. 

The distancing should have stirred anger within you, should have humiliated your pride, but instead, it became a silent torment that gnawed at your soul. Nights were spent in solitude, your mind spinning with futile thoughts of how to bridge the gap, how to reclaim the love that had slipped through your fingers.

In the quiet moments, when the world slept, your heart wrestled with the demons of longing. You crafted scenarios in your mind, scenarios where the King of Nargothrond melted away, and Finrod, with the sparkle in his eyes and the warmth in his smile, returned to you.

Perhaps his cruelty would have harderened your heart. Stripped you of irrsupressable longing had the slivers of his own desire not slipped into your meeting with him. 

Finrod was subtle in his desperation, a master at concealing the traces of his own desire. A mere mortal might not have detected the nuances, the subtle shifts in his gaze, the hesitation in his voice, or the way his fingers lingered on the pages of your work. But your heart, fueled by its own yearning, became a relentless seeker of any sign, any glimmer of reciprocation.

The unexpected errands, the discussions about tea, the orchestrated crossings of your paths—each encounter with Finrod seemed to hold the promise of something more, yet every meeting left you with the bitter taste of a friendship that refused to evolve.

In a moment of desperate rebellion against the unending cycle of longing and unfulfilled desires, you threw yourself into the arms of a random stranger who happened to approach you during dinner. It was a bold move, driven by the need to sever the invisible threads that bound you to the King of Nargothrond.

You felt his eyes on you, a gaze that had become a constant presence in your life. The decision to embrace the arms of another was not driven by the desire for a new connection but rather a desperate attempt to shake Finrod from his silent yearning. It was a calculated move, a ploy to force him to confront the reality of your actions.

As the stranger engaged you in conversation, you played along, allowing the charade to unfold. Finrod's gaze, once filled with a subtle longing, now bore witness to a scene that shattered the illusion of exclusivity. It was a painful spectacle, a dagger aimed at the heart of a love that had become entangled in a web of unspoken words.

You wrapped your arms around the stranger whose name felt awkward on your tongue. You let the man whisper filth in your ears. Words that could have been loud enough for Finrod to hear. You let his hands roam all over you. And then while you could still feel Finrod’s gaze glaring at you, you led the man to your room. 

You spent the night with him breaking all and every chance of ever attaining love you desired the most. Even as the man held your body, kissed your lips, you could not help but wonder how he, the one you love, would have done it. 

Finrod would have been more gentle, he would have never degraded you with the speech the man used taking you for an easy catch. He would perhaps have held you hand. But you don’t know. You will never know. 

The tears that flow down your face that night are not of pleasure but of sorrow. Even as your body trembles with pleasure, your heart feels nothing but the pain of the hurt you have caused him. 

After kicking out the stranger from your room, you lay back down on the sweat soaked sheets that smelled nothing like what you had once hoped for. 

You made the choice for him. You have surrendered to the fair elleth who waits for your beloved seas apart. The fates have played as they were set to do. He will be happier next to her, you tell yourself. He had to be. 

Someone out of you both had to find joy. It had to be him. 

In the final moments of Finrod's breath, his eyes remained fixed on you. There, right beside him, you kissed his wounds with gentle lips, a tender gesture in the face of impending darkness.

"You are one stubborn elf, Nom," you chuckled, your arms wrapping around him. In this moment, nothing held you back from him. In the passing moments of death, you could love him freely, even if only as a figment in his mind.

“I love you,” he whispered aloud, a confession that resonated through the darkness of Angband. Your kisses paused, surprise flickering in your eyes even within the dream. “I love you so much that I cannot stop. I tried,” tears streaked down his cheeks. “I tried not to love you. I stopped Aegnor, but I myself could not resist. I still love you very much.” Ages worth of grievances and confessions spilled from his lips.

You wiped away his tears with hands that still held the fragrance of ink and paper. “I love you, Finrod. There is no other reason for my existence but to love you,” you spoke, tilting his chin to kiss him once more. “All my actions, all my motivations have been for nothing but you.” He knew it better than anyone.

He had known it, and the knowledge cut deeper than any wound. His inability to act on his feelings had led you to make a choice, a choice to bow to a man you never loved.

Bleeding out on the freezing ground, Finrod, the firstborn of Arafinwe, dreamed not of Valinor, his siblings, his parents on nether shores, or of Amarie as you both had wished. His dreams were of you. In those dreams, Finrod leaned into the warmth of your hands, which seemed to numb his pain and replace it with the thrumming pleasure of your touch. In those dreams, he could finally love you without the constraints of the waking world.