#i wasn't born strong
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simandy · 14 days ago
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Being invited to a 2000s party as a plus size woman
[Clown music]
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anthromimicry · 6 months ago
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jandy nelson, i'll give you the sun | jean anouilh tr, by lewis galantière | @soulinkpoetry | trista mateer, the dogs i have kissed | the bible
#NO SLEEP OF THE INNOCENT. NOT FOR YOU: character study.#the concept of having a complicated relationship with one's sibling.#because ryuuji was the second born and thus the responsibility of taking care of him was given to misao most of the time she found herself-#being jealous of him sometimes. and misao felt very guilty because of this but she just wanted to be a kid for a moment. so sometimes she-#would imagine that she was ryu instead of herself and their roles were reversed because misao would just get so overwhelmed with things-#that this was the only way she could cope with it at times. which is sad in every sense of the word but misao knew that it wasn't ryu's-#fault at all that thing's were this way. it wasn't anyone's fault really but it was so much easier to place the blame on him subconsciously#sometimes because the alternative was blaming herself for not being strong enough to be both a caretaker and a child at the same time.#and that was perhaps even harder for her to think about because misao has always strived to be perfect. and i mean this in everything-#she does. she wants to be the 'perfect psychotherapist' the 'perfect lover' the 'perfect friend' and it is a LOT of pressure to be honest-#to be putting on yourself especially when you are not fully equipped to open yourself up to people about how you are struggling because-#you've dealt with things on your own all your life. but yeah. misao might've felt resentment towards ryuuji even though it was misplaced-#though she also felt a great deal of platonic love towards him and even if the whole world were against him then she'd still be on his side#but misao has been out of contact with him for the longest time and doesn't even know if he is alive anymore. and she is kind of scared-#to inquire someone to find out for her like a private investigator or something. because i think misao would not be able to take both her-#mom and her half-brother dying because at the end of the day ryuuji is her last remaining family member. and he understood her-#in ways that even she couldn't understand herself.
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dailykugisaki · 7 months ago
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Day 162 | id in alt
GOJO STRAIGHT UP MAKING UP SHIT. KUGISAKI WOULD NEVERR..
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envolvenuances · 3 months ago
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lesbian masterdoc and the unforgivable damage of making people hear compulsory heterosexuality and think of "can lesbians have crushes on men?" (no) instead of "are heterosexual women settling in unhappy marriages with men bellow their worth because of economic and social pressure?" (yes)
#not claiming the theory was without flaws but it sure didn't describe some virus mental affliction that exclusively plagues lesbians#for starters the theory was primarily about marriage. so it did recognise the historical fact of lesbians forced into marriage to avoid#honor killings and the still present possibility and threats especially when it comes to cults and strong religions#(once again mentioning as a Jeová's witness in a brazilian periphery my girlfriend accepted the tool of losing her entire family and social#circles to reject an arranged marriage at the age of 17. and she's bisexual. but THAT is what compulsory heterosexuality alludes to)#but more often than not when it addressed lesbians it was as the inherent threat they pose to heteropatriarchy#that they mere existence proved women were not all born to serve men. and that their lives often proved women are much happier and#accomplished when away from the burden of men.#and this acknowledging just how much loneliness was a reality through lesbian's experiences#at the same time I can understand the frustration of that feminist theory being reduced to 'comphet is when lesbians in high school were#pressured into picking one of the Backstreet Boys to lie about finding attractive'. and even more so when that non universal and much less#serious example somehow morphed into 'comphet is when bisexual women either lying or confused about being lesbians have sex with men and#find it unfulfilling' because accepting that narrative erases and harms lesbians#so I understand the 'comphet isn't real' posts especially because written like that it tends to refer to lesbian masterdoc and following#fiasco. but at the same time that wasn't the original intent of compulsory heterosexuality the actual feminist term#this is just me complaining about how social media butchers theory tho unless they are specifically naming Rich and the many other feminist#who wrote about heterosexual marriage as an institution I won't bother lesbians for venting frustration about neoliberal erasure of lesbian#the original theory sure didn't claim lesbians were immune to all this misogynistic violence but the term was never exclusively about them#and tended to ask more of 'where do we stand as women and feminists as a group much more interested in destroying heterosexual marriage than#simply making it more bearable?'#this got a little messy and senseless I'm tired#.txt
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fragglerockopinions · 6 months ago
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You're supposed to ask for help. If you don't ask for help you're never going to get help and you will be condemned for being useless and taking no actions to help yourself. If you ask for help. no one is going to help you. you are not allowed to wish that anyone help you or expect anyone to help you or you are a selfish piece of shit. you are not allowed to wish things were better. You're not allowed to ask for help actually because you are selfish and you didn't think about how others might feel being put in the vulnerable and intimate position of being asked for help. your friends did not consent to being asked for help or explained why you've been having problems and you should have thought about the way they felt before you forced them to read your texts asking them for help. I'm not even joking I should just kill myself because there is actually genuinely no such thing as getting better or getting help or being a good friend ?
#I swear to god I could text you assholes 'i just got stabbed can you please call an ambulance' and you would reply three days later ':/'#you fucking cunts. what is wrong with you#Didn't anyone ever teach your stupid ass how to be a good fucking friend#Stupid stupid stupid stupid#'you can't expect everyone to just drop everything and help you :/'#Look at me. look in my fucking eyes. what is wrong with you#I'm so upset I'm so desperate for any amount of anything please help me what's wrong with me#Why was I specifically built to crave what is apparently not even a thing ?? People aren't friends anymore ?? Like societally ????????#'It's so hard to wake up in the morning I wish someone could knock on my door to wake me up for finals so I don't miss them :('#'awww you want them to bring you food and do your test for you and drive you there and change your diaper too?'#i want to take a long swim in acid. why live. what is the fucking point.#I am nothing. I'm literally insane.#I think I actually genuinely have schizophrenia and none of this is real I've been engaging the delusions a lot because I have no one else#Have I for my entire life just invented friendships that didn't exist. are any of you real. am I even alive.#I'm so angry I just want to be talked to#At the bare minimum. you don't have to love me or like me or help me or care but just talk to me#I'm so angry I feel like a cuckoo chick. born a huge monster who takes and hurts and kills before it can even open its eyes#it didn't know it's a monster it just acts based on instincts.#it was not supposed to be here and it killed the innocent and actual good children in cold blood.#that's what my twin brother was in the womb. i killed him. i was a mistake and a disease and he wasn't strong enough to stop me.
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dutybcrne · 1 year ago
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Smth smth, Khaenriahns having similar thing to the Ackermans in AoT
#//The whole 'power that can be Awakened in times of duress'#//Exhibiting increased physical abilities; gaining the combined power of Khaenri'ahns before them via some connection to them#//I like it v much#☆ ┆ ( .ooc. );#//Also v much like the Ackerman Protectiveness™ being PART of it. It wasn't inherently in the og; I know; but IMAGINE#//In addition to getting that Awakened Power; it also lets Khaenri'ahns form a sorta Warrior's Bond w the one fighting w them in the moment#//So the trigger for it would not only be survival; but also a sense of Protectiveness over sb. Not necessarily romantic or anything#//Just a strong feeling of attachment & fealty to the one would TRUST with your very life; reflexively as breathing. Who'd do so in return#//Which would make me both laugh and cry if you consider Diluc & Kaeya#//Just#//Lil bby Kae activating the bloodline instinct during an outing gone South; & having a Crisis bc Luc's not Khaenri'ahn#//Does it even MEAN anything? Will HIS instincts go haywire bc Luc's not Khaenri'ahn? Are the gods gonna PUNISH him for it?#//For imprinting on a Teyvat-born; gods-blessed mortal? Or worse; in doing so; would Luc be damned in the process too?#//Meanwhile bby Luc the INSTANT of their oath to be sworn brothers was just. Already Like That. No Khaenri'ahn bloodline influence#//Heck; mans dramatic ass was prolly Ride or Die; from the START; then with that he had MORE incentive. The perfect fit to complement it#//Close to mutual enough until The Confrontation; then Kae's left reeling. There was nothing to sever on Luc's part; but it still Hurt Kae#//It's in his BLOOD to care abt & protect him. Prolly drive Kae mad when Luc went off to Snezhnaya & went through Hell; knowing he Caused i#//STILL resolved to help & support Luc; as per the inherent purpose of the bond; even if Luc won't want him to. What else can he do?#//The pain of Luc keeping him at arms length & aftermath of the betrayal is Nothing compared to what Kae'll feel if Luc dies; he figures#//And in Different Case; imagine Dain & Halfdan. A bond formed in the most Dire of times for Khaenri'ahns; them already having been close#//Maybe love already having budded b/w them. Only for an extreme life or death to spark it further; as their bond was Sealed#//Imagine if the mutual bond also let them sense each other's emotions; perhaps not ENTIRELY; but Just Enough to tell if they need help#//So if the other needs them; they can Tell right away. To be spurred to action and rush to their side in times of need#//With that; them Immediately sensing the difference as of That Day. The JOY in realizing the very mutual feelings they had in additon#//Feeling each other's love seeping through their bond; fond little bursts & flares felt whenever they think of each other; when they smile#//Warm feelings shared; even when they were apart. ESP then. Them hurrying to the other's side when they sense a dip or cold feeling#//Imagine how it would feel when Dan died; Dain's reeling from his own anguish & Dan's pain; Dan's grief in leaving him like this#//& the Emptiness Dain would feel; as bond b/w them would Shatter as Dan draws his final breath. A part of his heart & soul carved out#//Lmao; this all happened bc I was like 'Ey what if Khaenri'ahns were just Built Different'#//I do like this concept; gonna file it away for later
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rosedhall · 1 year ago
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the other doodles on the same page as my prior rose drawing are her cuddling a toddler aged jim and her making harvey go mushy, truly the character of all time.. her range
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fistfulsofzen · 2 years ago
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Alright, who's trying to get uppies?
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ailithnight · 30 days ago
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Danny: He's already got slightly higher odds cause his particular obsession is likely to go unfulfilled in life, so he'll most likely die with unfinished business. That, plus a violent or emotionally charged death, in the presence of a strong ectoplasm source* would only stack those odds even higher for him becoming a ghost.
*In this instance, that source being gateway spirits like Danny and, to a slightly lesser extent given the nature of her 'birth,' Ellie.
Danny, after running away moving to Gotham a few months ago begins making little commentary videos on a social media app.
It was fine and all with mostly friends viewing them up until his meta gene activated. He didn't even know he had a meta gene and kinda figured any of the ghost stuff he did as Phantom would have activated it if he did have one. Nope!
His newest video started out with him wearing a red beanie, "Hey guys! You know how I just moved to Gotham a few months ago? Well, turns out I have the meta gene!" He takes a moment to let that sink in before continuing, "Most people get there abilities or whatever through a lab accident or an explosion or something and end up with like telekinesis."
"I, however, am hated by the universe and got scratched by a cat," he then yanked off the beanie to reveal two large cat ears, "and turned into furry bait. On that note if you have any tips on how to avoid Catwoman please leave them in the comments section. For my sake."
Dick stared down at his phone in shock. He needed to show his siblings this
In the meantime Danny has to deal with his channels popularity skyrocketing. "This is not what I want to be remembered for."
Bonus points if Danny gets one of those FMK questions that are all bats and he responds with, "Kill? A bat? Listen, if I get put into a death match with a bat the only one dying here will be me. I cant even do a backflip, what makes you think I could even touch one of them???"
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hauntingblue · 8 months ago
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#i knew that wasn't momo omg...... that fucking witch.......#ODEN GET UP!!! THAT WAS JUST ONE HIT!!!#shinobu is gonna free them omg mvp.... omg tsuru.....#BOILED ALIVE????? the guard omg....#wtf. the worst part is that you know its going to work. but how.#talking tag#watching one piece#episode 972#i cant believe they will make the oden isnt oden without being boiled work. but they made the frog that swims crole style work so.....#jesus christ oden... AND EVERYONE ELSE??? oh jesus christ (x2) atlas moment#kaido es un cachondo.... they ARE in the pot....#there is no way this man inst a d.... like there must be something else... but big mom is weirdly strange too and isnt one either...#but still its not the same.... big mom is just strong and not like formidable... you know what i mean... well ace wasnt that much either...#still this man is something else... also toki was born 800 years ago when joyboy was still around??? HELLO??? before the empty century????#or after but still.... important#oden has some jesus christ like followers.... 9 samurais and shinobu (mary magdalene)... you wouldnt get it... 🚬#so they would just leave..... damn....#episode 973#the people begging orichi for oden omg.....#whooo was attacking wano when the kozukis closed the country down??? WHOOO#oden remembering shirohige in his last moments... he misses him so bad....#jesus christ..... executed....... kaido is such a wussy#his name must be a joke of destiny.... jesus christ.... the people remembering that phrase...#episode 974#these flashbacks so far have been: oden lore. GROUNDBREAKING ONE PIECE ESSENTIAL INFORMATION. oden lore. (not saying oden lore is bad btw)#SEE. HOW DOES HE KNOW ABOUT THE WAR. AND ABOUT 20 YEARS. HE KNEW ABOUT HIS DEATH. HE KNEW.#I THOUGHT TOKI KNEW. omg he laughed on her face when she said he won't die omg. HE KNEW. WAS IT WRITTEN ON LAUGHTALE ABOUT LUFFY?#ABOUT THE GREAT WAR?? JUST HOW THE SEA BEASTS KNEW ABOUT SHIRAHOSHI???#oh this is where the cat and dog got their beef. BUT SEE HE IS TELLING THEM TO GO TO ZOU WHEN THEY GET IN TORUBLE. AND WHAT HAPPENED. LUFFY!#episode 975
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astrxq · 5 months ago
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Amidst the Battle
jacaerys velaryon x healer!reader
words: 8k
notes: non-canon events! not following the show's timeline. warnings: kissing, talk of war and wounds (i think that's all) feedback is appreciated!!
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The acrid smell of smoke and blood hung heavy in the air as you made your way through the aftermath of the battle. Your eyes scanned the field, searching for survivors amidst the carnage. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the war-torn landscape, when you spotted him.
A young man, barely clinging to life, his curled hair matted with blood and dirt. You approached cautiously, your heart racing as you realized who he was – Jacaerys Velaryon, the dragon rider, prince, and heir to the throne of Rhaenyra.
You knelt beside him, your trained hands quickly assessing his injuries. Multiple lacerations, a deep gash across his abdomen, and what appeared to be a broken arm. His breathing was shallow, each inhale a struggle. Without immediate care, he wouldn’t survive the night.
“Hold on,” you whispered, though you were unsure if he could hear you. “I've got you.”
With a strength born of necessity, you managed to lift him onto your cart. Your cottage wasn't far, and you prayed to the gods, old and new, that he would make it there alive. As you guided your horse along the bumpy path, your mind raced. Treating a Velaryon, especially one as prominent as Jacaerys, could have been seen as an act of treason depending on who emerged victorious in this war. But as you glanced back at his pale face, you knew you couldn't live with yourself if you left him to die.
The journey felt endless, but finally, your modest cottage came into view. With great effort, you managed to bring Jacaerys inside and lay him on your bed. You worked tirelessly through the night, cleaning his wounds, stitching gashes, and setting his broken arm. Your stores of herbs were nearly depleted by the time you finished, but as dawn broke, his breathing had steadied, and some color had returned to his face.
Exhausted, you slumped into a chair by the bedside. You allowed yourself a moment of rest, watching the rise and fall of his chest. In sleep, the hardness of battle faded from his features, revealing a young man not much older than yourself. With a wet cloth, you gently cleaned his face, wiping away the stains of dry blood and dirt from the battle.
As you continued to clean his face, you couldn't help but study his features more closely. His curled hair, now free from the grime of battle, fell in soft waves across your pillow. You noticed a small scar near his left eyebrow, wondering what tale it might tell. His strong jaw was softened in sleep, and you found yourself tracing the line of it with your eyes.
A sudden twitch of his hand startled you from your reverie. You held your breath, watching intently, but he didn't wake. Releasing a sigh, you realized how dangerous this situation truly was. Housing and healing the son of Rhaenyra Targaryen could have cost you your life if the wrong people found out.
Despite the dangers, you couldn't bring yourself to abandon Jacaerys to the impersonal care of a volunteer center. The prince's injuries were severe, and his condition delicate. Each day was a delicate dance of tending wounds, easing fevers, and ensuring he had enough nourishment to sustain his weakened body. The thought of him being at the mercy of soldiers or opportunistic enemies made your decision clear – his safety was worth the risk.
In the quiet moments between changing bandages and preparing meals, you wrestled with guilt and anxiety. Every noise outside your cottage, every unfamiliar visitor passing by, sent a jolt of fear through you. Would they discover him? Would someone recognize him?
You rarely left Jacaerys' side, tending to his wounds and watching for any signs of fever or infection. His condition remained precarious, teetering on the edge between life and death.
On the third day, as you were changing the dressing on his abdominal wound, Jacaerys stirred. His eyelids fluttered, and a low groan escaped his lips. You froze, your heart pounding in your chest as his eyes slowly opened, unfocused at first, then sharpening as they landed on you.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. You could see the confusion in his eyes, followed quickly by a flash of fear and suspicion. His body tensed, and he tried to move away from you, only to grimace in pain at the sudden movement.
“Don't,” you said softly, holding up your hands to show you meant no harm. “You're badly injured. Any sudden movements could reopen your wounds.”
Jacaerys' eyes darted around the room, taking in his surroundings. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse and weak. “Where am I? Who are you?”
His voice, while weak, sounded accusing, almost too sharp for it to match his tired expression. He could feel his throat dry and raw, each word an effort to push out. You reached for a cup of water nearby, offering it to him cautiously.
“Here,” you said, your voice gentle. “You need to drink.”
Jacaerys eyed the cup suspiciously, his gaze flickering between it and your face. You could see the internal struggle playing out in his eyes - the desperate thirst warring with his ingrained mistrust.
“It's just water,” you assured him, taking a small sip yourself to prove it. “You've been unconscious for days. Your body needs hydration to heal.”
After a moment's hesitation, he nodded slightly. You carefully supported his head, helping him take small sips. As the cool water touched his lips, his eyes closed briefly in relief. When he'd had enough, you set the cup aside and settled back into your chair. Jacaerys watched your every move, his body still tense despite the obvious pain it caused him.
“You didn't answer my questions,” he said, his voice a little clearer now. He ignored the grumbling of his stomach, having gotten used to being hungry because of the war. 
You took a deep breath, considering your words carefully. The Prince's wariness was palpable, and you couldn't blame him given the circumstances.
“You're in my cottage,” you explained softly. “I found you on the battlefield three days ago, gravely wounded. I brought you here to treat your injuries.”
Jacaerys' eyes narrowed, suspicion evident in every line of his face. “And you just happened to stumble upon me? Why would you risk treating an enemy soldier?”
You met his gaze steadily. “I don't see enemies on the battlefield, my Prince. Only people in need of help. It's my duty to heal, regardless of allegiances.”
A flicker of surprise crossed his face at your use of his title, but it was quickly replaced by a guarded expression. “How do I know you're not holding me for ransom? Or waiting to turn me over to my enemies?”
You sighed, feeling a mixture of frustration and understanding. “If that were my intention, I wouldn't have spent the last three days fighting to keep you alive. Your wounds were severe, my Prince. You very nearly died.”
He seemed to consider this, his eyes roaming over the bandages covering his body. A grimace of pain crossed his face as he shifted slightly. “And what do you expect in return for your... kindness?” he asked, the last word tinged with sarcasm.
“Nothing,” you replied simply. “Your recovery is payment enough.”
Jacaerys scoffed, wincing at the movement. “No one does anything for nothing in this world.”
You stood, moving to a small table where you'd prepared a simple broth. “Believe what you will, my Prince.”
He stayed silent, his eyes scanning your features. As you turned back to Jacaerys with the bowl of broth, you noticed his eyes following your every move. The suspicion in his gaze hadn't lessened, but there was a hint of something else now - perhaps curiosity, or simply the weariness of a man too exhausted to maintain his guard fully.
“You should eat,” you said, approaching the bed slowly. “Your body needs nourishment to heal.”
Jacaerys eyed the bowl warily. “And how do I know it's not poisoned?” he asked, his voice still rough.
You resisted the urge to sigh. Instead, you took a small sip of the broth yourself. “See? Not poisoned. Though I suppose if you're determined to believe the worst of me, you could argue I've built up an immunity.”
A flicker of something - maybe amusement? - passed across Jacaerys' face, but it was gone in an instant. He took the bowl from you with his good hand, careful not to let his fingers brush against yours. As you turned to take his glass, with the intention of getting him more water, you noticed him trying to push himself up into a sitting position. His face paled with the effort, a sheen of sweat breaking out on his forehead.
“Please,” you said, setting the bowl aside and moving to help him. “Let me-”
“Don't touch me,” he snapped, his voice strained. “I can manage on my own.”
“But-”
Jacaerys ignored you, gritting his teeth as he finally managed to prop himself up against the headboard. He was breathing heavily from the exertion, his good hand pressed against his bandaged abdomen.
You waited patiently for him to recover, then offered the bowl of broth once more. This time, he took it with a curt nod, though his hand trembled slightly as he brought the spoon to his lips.
As he ate, you busied yourself around the small room, straightening things and gathering fresh bandages. You could feel his eyes on you, tracking your movements.
“What's your name?” he asked suddenly, breaking the tense silence.
You turned to face him, surprised by the question. “It's Y/n,” you replied.
Jacaerys nodded slightly, his face unreadable. “You will be compensated, once I am fully healed.”
You shook your head gently, a small smile playing on your lips. “That's not necessary, my Prince. As I said before, your recovery is payment enough.”
Jacaerys frowned, his brow furrowing. “I insist. I won't be indebted to anyone, especially not...” He trailed off, seemingly catching himself before saying something potentially offensive.
“Especially not a commoner?” you finished for him, your tone mild but with a hint of challenge. “Or perhaps you meant to say 'especially not someone who could be an enemy'?”
The prince had the grace to look slightly abashed, though he quickly masked it with a scowl. “You can't blame me for being cautious. These are dangerous times.”
You nodded, acknowledging his point. “Indeed they are. Which is why I hope you can understand my reluctance to accept payment. I have no desire to be seen as profiting from this war, regardless of which side emerges victorious.”
Jacaerys studied you for a long moment, his dark eyes searching your face. “You're either very noble or very foolish,” he said finally.
“Perhaps a bit of both,” you replied with a wry smile. “Now, if you've finished eating, I need to change your bandages again.”
As you gathered the necessary supplies, Jacaerys watched you warily. “You never answered my question about where we are,” he said.
You paused, “We're in a small village near the God's Eye,” you said finally. 
His jaw tightened, but he didn't press further. As you began to work on his bandages, he remained tense, flinching slightly at your touch despite your efforts to be gentle.
You could see him squirm from the corner of your eye as your hands removed the bandage that covered the gash on his abdomen, he moved his hand to the sheets, tightly clasping them as an attempt of relief at the pain.
As you carefully peeled away the bandage, Jacaerys inhaled sharply, his muscles tensing beneath your touch. You paused, looking up at him with concern.
“I'm sorry,” you said softly. “I know it hurts. I'll try to be as gentle as possible.”
Jacaerys clenched his jaw, his eyes fixed on a point somewhere above your head. “Just get on with it,” he muttered through gritted teeth.
You nodded, returning your attention to the wound. The gash was deep, running from just below his ribs to his hip. The stitches you'd placed held firm, but the skin around them was angry and red. You frowned, silently starting to clean it gently with a herb-infused solution, feeling Jacaerys flinch and hold back a pained grunt with each touch.
“How long might this take?” he broke the silence after you’d adjusted his posture on the bed to wrap the new bandage around his torso. 
“I am almost done, my Prince.”
“No, how long until I can fight again?”
You paused, your hands stilling on the bandage. Looking up at Jacaerys, you saw determination burning in his eyes, mixed with a hint of desperation. You took a deep breath, considering your words carefully.
“My Prince,” you began gently, “your injuries are severe. The gash on your abdomen alone will take weeks, if not months, to heal completely. And that's not considering your broken arm or the other lacerations.”
Jacaerys' face darkened, his good hand clenching into a fist. “Weeks? Months? I don't have that kind of time. The war-”
“Will still be there when you're healed,” you interrupted, your voice firm but kind. “Fighting in your current condition would be a death sentence, my Prince. You'd be more of a liability than an asset on the battlefield.”
His eyes flashed with anger, but you held his gaze steadily. After a moment, he looked away, his shoulders slumping slightly.
“You don't understand,” he said, his voice low and tense. He didn’t say anything else, lifting his arms so you could start to wrap the clean bandage. 
The silence that followed Jacaerys' words was heavy with unspoken thoughts and shared tension. His frustration was palpable, each breath he took a reminder of the pain he was in and the urgency he felt. As you continued to wrap the bandage around his torso, your fingers worked with practiced precision, yet you could feel the tight coil of tension in every muscle beneath your touch.
His skin was warm, the heat of fever not entirely gone, and as you wound the clean linen around his abdomen, you could see the fine lines of strain on his face, the way his jaw clenched against the discomfort. You tried to be as gentle as possible, but each movement seemed to draw a wince from him, a reminder of the toll the battle had taken.
“It’s not too tight, is it?” you asked, breaking the silence.
As you finished wrapping the bandage, Jacaerys gave a curt nod. “It's fine,” he said, his voice tight.
You could see the strain in his eyes, the way he held himself rigidly to avoid showing any sign of weakness. Gently, you helped him lean back against the pillows, ignoring his mumbled protests.
“You need to rest,” you said softly. “Your body has been through a tremendous ordeal.”
Jacaerys closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. When he opened them again, the anger had faded, replaced by a bone-deep weariness. “How am I supposed to rest when my family, my people, are out there fighting and dying?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Your heart ached at the pain in his words. Carefully, you sat on the edge of the bed, making sure to give him space. “By remembering that you're no use to them dead,” you replied gently.
“I do not wish to rest,” he struggled to push himself onto a sitting position, trying to get his legs off of the bed. He let out a grunt and a small whine at the pain, immediately stopping to place his good hand over the newly placed bandage. 
“See?” you said, “You can’t even sit without hurting yourself.”
Jacaerys clenched his jaw, frustration evident in every line of his face. “I've endured worse,” he said through gritted teeth, but he made no further attempt to move.
You sighed softly, understanding his determination but worried about the toll it was taking on his body. You stood, settling yourself before him and placing your hands on his shoulders. “You need to rest.”
“I’ve been resting for days!” 
You gave him a look which made him shut his mouth. Before he could protest any further, you applied pressure on his shoulders, making his body follow suit to your moves, and you laid him back down on the bed. “I will get you more supper, my Prince.”
As you gently guided Jacaerys back onto the bed, you could feel the tension in his muscles, the reluctance in every inch of his body. His eyes, dark with frustration and pain, followed you as you moved away.
“I don't need more food,” he said, his voice low and strained. “I need to be out there, fighting alongside my family.”
You paused at the door, turning back to face him. The sight of him, pale and drawn against the pillows, made your heart ache. “My Prince,” you said softly, “I understand your desire to rejoin the fight. But right now, the best thing you can do for your family is to heal.”
Jacaerys let out a bitter laugh that turned into a wince of pain. As you busied yourself preparing the simple meal, you could hear Jacaerys shifting restlessly on the bed. His impatience was palpable, filling the small room with an almost tangible energy. When you returned with a steaming bowl and a chunk of crusty bread, you found him staring at the ceiling, his good hand clenched into a fist at his side.
Jacaerys allowed you to adjust the pillows behind him, wincing slightly as he leaned back. “I can feed myself,” he said quickly as you reached for the spoon.
You nodded, stepping back to give him space. “Of course, my Prince. Just... take it slowly. Your body is still healing.”
He shot you a look that was part irritation, part grudging acceptance. As he began to eat, you busied yourself tidying the room, keeping a watchful eye on him without being too obvious about it.
“Tell me about the war,” Jacaerys said suddenly, breaking the silence. “What news have you heard?”
You hesitated, unsure how much to share. “I... I don't know much, My Prince. We're quite isolated here, and news travels slowly.”
His eyes narrowed, sensing your reluctance. “But you must have heard something. Please, I need to know what's happening out there.”
Sighing softly, you perched on the edge of the bed. “The last I heard, the fighting had spread to the Riverlands. There were rumors of a great battle near Harrenhal, but I don't know the outcome.”
Jacaerys' face tightened, his spoon clattering against the bowl as his hand shook slightly. “What’s wrong?” you immediately asked. He shook his head.
Your hand quickly moved to his forehead, seeing that his fever had gone up since you last checked. Jacaerys' skin was warm to the touch, a worrying sign that the fever, which had seemed to abate, was now surging again. You frowned, your healer's instincts kicking in. He swatted your hand away weakly, but you persisted, feeling the heat radiating from him.
“You're burning up,” you murmured, more to yourself than to him. “I need to bring your fever down before it gets any worse.”
He sighed, relaxing onto the pillow, finally giving up trying to convince you to let him get up. You left the room to get herbal medicine and a wet towel, lowering yourself to the edge of the bed to place the cloth over his forehead. He shut his eyes at the contact. 
The cloth felt cool against Jacaerys' fevered skin, and he let out a slow, shaky breath as his eyes closed. You could see the tension gradually easing from his body, though his brow remained furrowed with discomfort.
“Thank you,” he mumbled, barely audible, his voice thick with weariness.
Without thinking, you reached out, placing your hand over his. Jacaerys looked down at your hand, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you thought he might pull away, but instead, he took a deep breath, some of the tension leaving his body.
He swallowed the thick medicine, making a sour face before picking up his spoon again. As he resumed eating, you noticed a slight tremor in his hand, fatigue already setting in from the simple act of feeding himself. But you knew better than to offer help again, recognizing his need to maintain some sense of independence. Your hand was still in his, you tried not to pay much mind to it, he was wounded after all. 
You watched Jacaerys closely as he struggled to finish his meal, concern etching lines on your face. The renewed fever worried you, a sign that his body was still fighting hard against infection. As he set the spoon down, his hand shaking with the effort, you gently took the bowl from him.
“That's enough for now,” you said softly. “You need to rest.”
Jacaerys opened his mouth as if to protest, but then closed it, nodding weakly. The fight seemed to have gone out of him, replaced by a bone-deep weariness that tugged at your heart.
“I'm sorry,” he murmured, his eyes heavy-lidded. “I thought I was getting stronger.”
You shook your head, adjusting the cool cloth on his forehead. “Get some sleep.” His fingers tightened around yours, a small gesture of acknowledgment. You sat there in silence, holding his hand as his breathing gradually evened out into sleep. 
As dawn broke, you stirred from your uncomfortable position in the chair by Jacaerys' bedside. You hadn't meant to fall asleep there, but exhaustion had finally claimed you. Your hand was still entwined with his, and you gently extricated yourself, hoping not to wake him.
Jacaerys' face was peaceful in sleep, the lines of pain and worry smoothed away. His curls were tousled against the pillow, and you resisted the urge to brush them back from his forehead. Instead, you carefully checked his temperature, relieved to find the fever had broken during the night. 
Jacaerys stirred slightly, a soft murmur escaping his lips, but he didn’t wake. You noticed the lines of tension easing from his face, his breathing steady and deep. It was a small victory, but in times of war, even the smallest victories mattered.
Leaving the room quietly, you headed to the small kitchen area to prepare breakfast. You moved with practiced ease, gathering the few ingredients you had. The war had made supplies scarce, and you’d been careful to ration what little you had left. 
When you returned with a simple meal of bread, cheese, and a few herbs, Jacaerys was awake, propped up against the pillows, looking slightly less tense than the night before. His eyes followed you as you set the food down on a small table beside the bed.
“Good morrow,” he mumbled, reaching for the bread like a starved man. 
You offered him a small smile, relieved to see him awake and seemingly better. “Good morrow, my Prince. How are you feeling?”
Jacaerys didn't answer immediately, instead taking a small bite of the bread and chewing thoughtfully. “Better,” he finally admitted, though his voice was still hoarse and weak. “Thank you.”
You nodded, pouring him a cup of water and placing it within easy reach. “You're welcome. Your fever broke during the night, which is a good sign.”
He grunted in response, focusing on finishing the bread. After a few moments of silence, during which you busied yourself tidying up, he spoke again.
“Do you live by yourself?”
“Yes, my Prince.” you nodded.
He furrowed his brows, making a face and stopping his chewing to shake his head. “Enough with the formalities, you’re not my servant,” he took a sip of the water, “Simply call me by my name.”
“Jacaerys,” you said softly, testing the name on your tongue. It felt strange yet oddly comforting to address him so casually. “And yes, I live alone here.”
He nodded slightly, seeming to relax marginally at the use of his name. “Why did you become such a good healer?” he asked after a moment, his voice still rough but curious.
You considered his question, moving to sit on the edge of the bed opposite him. “I suppose it was a calling of sorts,” you began, your gaze thoughtful. “I grew up in a small village not far from here. My mother was a healer herself, and she taught me everything she knew.”
Jacaerys listened quietly, his eyes fixed on your face. As you gazed at each other, something shifted in the air between you. Jacaerys' eyes dropped to your lips for a fraction of a second before meeting your gaze again. 
There was a vulnerability in his eyes that belied the prince he was supposed to be, a young man laid low by wounds and circumstance. You found yourself drawn to him in a way that surprised you, a healer's compassion mixing with something deeper, something unbidden.
“My mother always believed healing was a gift,” you continued, breaking the silence that had settled between you. “She taught me that every life saved was a victory against darkness and despair.”
Jacaerys nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. “And you chose to follow in her footsteps,” he murmured, more a statement than a question.
“No... I-,” you replied softly. “I am simply a commoner,”
“You’re not spoken for?”
The question took you by surprise, it must’ve shown on your face by the way Jacaerys scurried to clarify. “I was just curious-”
“I... no, I’m not,” you replied, caught off guard by his sudden inquiry.
Jacaerys hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering away before returning to meet yours. “It’s just... unusual, for someone like you,” he said carefully.
“Someone like me?”
He seemed to panic for a second, eyes widening for a beat before he cleared his throat, “I mean, you’re very kind.” he clarified, though his gaze remained steady on yours. 
You felt a slight flush rise to your cheeks at Jacaerys' words. The idea of being courted had always felt distant and almost foreign to you. Life in a small village near the God's Eye had been quiet and isolated, focused on survival rather than romance or social niceties. Most of the men you knew had gone off to fight in the war, leaving little time or opportunity for such things.
“I... thank you,” you managed to reply, your voice a touch quieter than before. 
As he finished the last of the bread, Jacaerys set the plate aside, his fingers brushing lightly against the edge of the table. His eyes, still heavy with fatigue but clearer than they had been in days, studied you with a mixture of curiosity and something else you couldn't quite identify.
“Tell me more about yourself,” he said softly, breaking the silence that had settled between you. “How did you come to live here, alone?”
You hesitated, caught off guard by his sudden interest. “It's not a very exciting tale, I'm afraid,” you replied, a small smile tugging at your lips. “After my mother passed, I inherited this cottage. It's been my home ever since.”
Jacaerys nodded, his brow furrowing slightly. “I am sorry, she sounds like a very kind woman,”
“It’s alright, it was years ago.” you paused, his chest heaved, lost in thought he bit the inside of his lip. 
“I’m sorry about your brother.”
He was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, to your surprise, he smiled. It was a small thing, just a slight upturn of his lips, but it transformed his face, softening the hard lines of battle and pain. “Thank you.”
Over the next few weeks, as Jacaerys' strength slowly returned, you fell into a comfortable routine. You would bring him meals, change his bandages, and help him with gentle exercises to regain his mobility. And in between these tasks, you talked.
Jacaerys, you discovered, was insatiably curious. He asked you about your life, your work, your thoughts on everything from the changing seasons to the intricacies of herbal remedies. At first, you were hesitant, unused to someone taking such an interest in your opinions. But gradually, you found yourself opening up, sharing stories of your childhood, your mother's teachings, the quiet joys and sorrows of your solitary life.
In turn, Jacaerys spoke of his own experiences, though he was careful to avoid mentioning anything too specific about the ongoing war. He told you of his love for flying, the exhilaration of soaring through the clouds on dragonback. He described the beauty of Driftmark, his family's ancestral home, with its shimmering waters and grand halls.
As the days passed, you found yourself looking forward to these conversations more and more. There was something about Jacaerys that put you at ease, despite his royal status. His quick wit and genuine interest in your thoughts made you feel seen in a way you never had before.
His arm had healed, the gash on his stomach still required careful tending, but it was gradually mending.
One day, as you were tending to the herb garden outside your cottage, you heard the sound of footsteps behind you. Turning, you saw Jacaerys standing in the doorway, leaning heavily on a makeshift cane you had fashioned for him so it wouldn’t hurt to walk. He looked stronger, more resolute, though still pale and somewhat fragile.
“You're up,” you said, a hint of surprise in your voice. “I didn't hear you come out.”
Jacaerys offered a small smile, his gaze sweeping over the garden. “I didn't want to disturb you,” he replied. “You looked... peaceful. I thought you might need some company,” he said, his voice lighter than it had been in days.
You smiled warmly, gesturing for him to join you. “I could always use an extra pair of hands,” 
He nodded, making his way slowly to where you were kneeling among the herbs. He grunted as he joined your position, hand cradling his bandage in discomfort, “What shall I do?”
As Jacaerys settled beside you in the herb garden, you couldn't help but notice how different he looked in the soft afternoon light. The sun caught in his curls, giving them a golden sheen, and his eyes seemed brighter, more alive than you'd seen them since he first woke in your cottage.
“Here,” you said, handing him a small trowel. “We need to thin out these chamomile plants. They're growing too close together.”
Jacaerys took the tool, his fingers brushing against yours for a moment. You felt a small jolt at the contact, but quickly pushed the feeling aside.
“Like this?” he asked, carefully digging around one of the smaller plants.
You nodded, watching as he worked. His movements were slow and a bit clumsy, but he approached the task with the same determination you'd seen in his eyes when he spoke of returning to battle.
“You're a natural,” you said, offering an encouraging smile. “I imagine it's quite different from wielding a sword or riding a dragon.”
Jacaerys chuckled softly, the sound warming something deep inside you. “Indeed it is,” he replied.
You worked in silence for a while, the only sounds were the rustling of leaves and the distant chirping of birds. Every so often, you'd steal a glance at Jacaerys, marveling at how at ease he seemed in this simple task.
“Tell me,” he said suddenly, breaking the silence, hands threading the weeds as he stole glances at your own hands to mirror your movements. “If you could go anywhere in the world, where would it be?”
The question caught you off guard. You'd never really thought about leaving your small corner of the world before. You hummed, “I... I'm not sure,” you admitted. “I've never been far from here.”
Jacaerys looked up from his work, his eyes meeting yours. “Surely you must have dreamed of other places?”
You considered for a moment, your hands continuing to work almost of their own accord. “I suppose... I've always been curious about Oldtown,” you said finally. “The Citadel, with all its knowledge and learning. It must be amazing.”
Jacaerys nodded, a thoughtful expression on his face. “It is,” he said softly. “The libraries there are unlike anything you've ever seen. Shelves upon shelves of books, stretching as far as the eye can see.”
“You've been there?” you asked, unable to keep the awe from your voice.
He smiled, a hint of sadness in his eyes. “Once, when I was younger. Before...” he trailed off, his gaze turning distant.
You understood. Before the war, before the weight of his responsibilities had fully settled on his shoulders.
“Perhaps...” Jacaerys began, then hesitated. “Perhaps when this is all over, you could see it for yourself.”
Your heart skipped a beat at his words. The idea was so foreign, so impossible, and yet... the way he said it made it seem almost within reach. The thought of Jacaerys showing you around Oldtown, of exploring those vast libraries together, sent a thrill through you that you couldn't quite ignore.
“I... I would like that,” you replied softly, meeting his gaze with a mixture of gratitude and something else you couldn't quite define.
Jacaerys smiled, a genuine expression that reached his eyes. “Good,” he said, his voice tinged with warmth. “It's a promise, then.”
Jacaerys' eyes met yours again, and for a moment, you felt as if you were teetering on the edge of something vast and unknowable. The air between you seemed to thicken, charged with unspoken possibilities.
But then Jacaerys winced, his hand going to his side where you knew his wound still pained him. The moment shattered, reality rushing back in.
“We should get you back inside,” you said, your healer's instincts taking over. “You've been out here too long.”
Jacaerys nodded, allowing you to help him to his feet with a pained sound from his throat. As you made your way back to the cottage, his arm around your shoulders for support, you couldn't shake the feeling that, even though he was still in pain as of now, he’d eventually have to leave for war again.
Your thoughts raced as you helped Jacaerys back inside the cottage, his weight leaning heavily on you despite his efforts to remain upright after having strained himself into a bad position for his wounds. The image of him in pain, yet determined to return to the battlefield, haunted you. You knew his wounds were healing, but not fast enough for him, not when his heart and mind were still with his family and the war effort.
Inside, you guided him back to the bed, where he eased himself down with a grunt of pain. His face was drawn, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he settled against the pillows.
“You shouldn't have pushed yourself,” you said softly, your voice tinged with concern as you adjusted the pillows behind him.
Jacaerys spoke, his voice strained. “I can't just stay idle while others fight and die.”
You sighed, sitting beside him on the bed. “I understand your need to fight, Jacaerys. But you're not yet strong enough. Rushing back into battle could do more harm than good.”
His eyes searched for yours, frustration and determination warring within them. “But every day that passes, I feel more useless,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
“You're not useless,” you countered gently, your hand reaching out to grasp his. 
Jacaerys sighed heavily, his fingers tightening around yours. 
For a long moment, Jacaerys was silent, his gaze fixed on some distant point. The tension in his body slowly eased, his fingers relaxing slightly around yours. “I don't want to be weak,” he admitted quietly, almost to himself.
“You're not weak, Jacaerys,” you said firmly, meeting his eyes. “You're healing,” you continued softly, squeezing his hand gently. “It takes time. And taking the time you need now will make you stronger in the long run.”
Jacaerys looked down at your intertwined hands, his expression conflicted. “I've always been taught that strength is in action, not in rest,” he murmured, more to himself than to you.
“Strength is also in knowing when to rest,” you replied gently.
As Jacaerys looked up at you, his eyes softened. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he reached out with his free hand to gently cup your cheek. Letting out a sound that sounded almost like a plea, he pulled your face down to meet his. 
The first brush of his lips sent a shiver through you, a gentle exploration that spoke volumes of unspoken emotions. Jacaerys' lips were warm and soft, molding against yours with a hunger that mirrored your own. His fingers threaded through your hair, pulling you closer, as if afraid to let go of this fragile moment.
You responded instinctively, leaning into him, your hand finding its place against his chest. Beneath your touch, you felt the steady beat of his heart, strong and steady, echoing the rhythm of your own pulse. The scent of earth and herbs mingled with the subtle fragrance of his skin, creating a heady mix that enveloped you both.
He furrowed his brows, trying to focus on the kiss and not his inexperience. He’d spent most of his teen years fighting in wars, after all. 
His lips moved tentatively against yours, a mixture of desire and uncertainty evident in his touch. His hand remained on your cheek, his thumb gently caressing your skin as if trying to commit every detail of this moment to memory.
His touch is tender, and his kiss carries a mix of uncertainty and desire. You can feel his heartbeat beneath your hand. Perhaps he's been so focused on duty and honor that he's only now allowing himself to explore softer, more vulnerable emotions. He kisses you as if it’s the last thing he will ever do, not hungry enough to be lust but soft enough for your mind to swirl with possibilities of why your heart feels fluttery in your chest. 
But then, as Jacaerys shifted his position ever so slightly, a sharp intake of breath escaped him. His hand instinctively moved from your cheek to clutch at his side, where the lingering pain from his wound had suddenly flared up.
You pulled back immediately, concern etched on your face. “Are you alright?” Your voice carried a mixture of worry and compassion.
He winced, his features tense with pain. “It's nothing,” he managed through gritted teeth, trying to reassure you even as he struggled to catch his breath. 
“I just... I wanted...” Jacaerys's voice trailed off, frustration evident in his eyes as he looked away, unable to finish his thought.
You gently placed your hand on Jacaerys's shoulder, silently urging him to rest against the pillows. His brow furrowed with pain as he settled back, his breathing still labored. The moment of intimacy between you both had faded into the background, replaced by the urgent need to tend to his worsening pain.
“It's alright,” you assured him softly, your fingers brushing lightly over his forehead. “Just breathe. Let the pain pass.”
Jacaerys closed his eyes briefly, focusing on regulating his breath. You followed the usual routine, giving him pain-killing medicine, stepping out of the room while he changed into your old father’s clothes, and continuing to provide the healing and care he needed in the following days. The conversation about the kiss was long gone.
As the days passed, Jacaerys continued to heal under your careful attention. The gash on his stomach gradually closed, leaving behind a thin scar that was appearing. His arm, once injured and immobile, regained strength. He was practically healed.
As Jacaerys's physical condition improved, a palpable tension grew between you both. The memory of that tender kiss lingered, unspoken but ever-present in the air. You found yourself stealing glances at him when you thought he wasn't looking, your heart fluttering at the sight of his tousled curls or the way his brow furrowed in concentration as he read one of your few books.
Jacaerys, too, seemed more aware of your presence. His eyes would follow you as you moved about the cottage, and his hand would often linger a moment too long when you passed him things. Yet neither of you spoke of what had happened, as if addressing it might somehow break the fragile peace you had found.
One morning, you awoke to find Jacaerys standing by the window, his posture tense and alert. He ran his hands through his hair in stress, wearing the same clothes you found him in the day you took him into your care. Your heart sank as you realized what this meant.
“Jacaerys?” you said softly, approaching him.
He turned to face you, his expression a mix of determination and regret. “Y/n,” he began, his voice low and serious. “I must return to the war.”
A part of you had anticipated this moment would come, but you dreaded it. You had known from the beginning that Jacaerys was not just any injured soldier seeking refuge – he was a prince, with responsibilities that extended far beyond the confines of your quiet garden.
You approached him slowly, reaching out to gently touch his arm. “Jacaerys, rushing back into battle–”
He cut you off gently, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of gratitude and resolve. “I need to do this,” he said firmly. “They need to know that I haven't abandoned them.”
You sighed softly, “I understand,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. 
Jacaerys's expression softened, his hand coming up to your chin. His eyes scanning your face for a few seconds, trying to memorize every freckle, every detail he possibly could before he left again. 
For a moment, you both stood there, the weight of unspoken words hanging between you. Then, with a sudden urgency, Jacaerys leaned in and pressed his lips to yours, his eyes fluttering closed as his lips met yours. The kiss was urgent, passionate, filled with all the unspoken emotions that had built up between you. His lips were warm and soft against yours, moving with a newfound confidence and intensity.
One of his hands cupped your face gently, his thumb caressing your cheek, while the other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him. You could feel the heat of his body against yours, the steady beat of his heart echoing your own racing pulse.
The kiss deepened, Jacaerys tilting his head slightly to better capture your lips. There was a hint of desperation in the way he kissed you, as if he was trying to memorize every sensation, every taste, every feeling. His tongue gently traced your bottom lip, seeking permission, which you granted with a soft sigh.
As the kiss intensified, you found your hands moving of their own accord - one threading through his soft curls, the other gripping the fabric of his shirt at his chest. The scent of him enveloped you - a mixture of herbs from your garden, the earthiness of the forest, and something uniquely Jacaerys.
Time seemed to stand still as you lost yourself in the kiss. It was bittersweet, filled with the joy of finally giving in to your feelings, but tinged with the sadness of knowing it might be a goodbye. Jacaerys kissed you as if it was both the first and last time, pouring every ounce of his gratitude, affection, and regret into this one moment.
When you finally broke apart, both slightly breathless, Jacaerys rested his forehead against yours. Silently, he moved his hands to your wrist, gently untying one of your bracelets and nudging your fingers with his. He held the bracelet in his hand for a moment, running his thumb over the woven threads.
“May I keep this?” he asked softly, his eyes meeting yours.
You nodded, unable to find words as emotion welled up in your throat. Jacaerys carefully tucked the bracelet into a pocket, as if it were a precious treasure. 
He grasped your face in his hands again, planting a soft kiss on your forehead. Lingering, he moved down to your cheeks, your nose, the corner of your mouth. He kissed every inch of your face, his eyes furrowed close as if he was trying to forget where he was going – if he was ever going to see you again. Finally, he reached your mouth again, giving you a slow kiss.
Jacaerys stepped back. He took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders as if preparing to face the world beyond your cottage. Unable to trust your voice to respond, you reached out and gently squeezed his hand, conveying your own gratitude and a silent farewell.
With a final, lingering look, Jacaerys turned away and made his way out of the cottage, his steps steadier than they had been in weeks. You watched him go, feeling a mix of pride and sadness as he disappeared from view. Alone once more in the quiet of your cottage, you leaned against the doorframe, your heart heavy with the weight of his absence. The memory of his touch lingered on your skin, his kiss still warm against your lips.
Months passed in a blur of uncertainty and waiting. As the war waged on, your heart remained tethered to Jacaerys, hoping and praying for his safety. You tended to your garden with a quiet determination, finding solace in the familiar rhythms of nature amid the turmoil beyond your cottage walls. Everytime a new black soldier came for aid at the care center, you’d sneakily ask about the war, for news, for numbers of wounded and dead – anything you could grasp onto.
News of the war's eventual end arrived like a bittersweet whisper, bringing relief mingled with sorrow for the lives lost. Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, as you continued your solitary existence, never quite giving up hope that one day Jacaerys might return.
Then, on a crisp morning that carried the promise of autumn, a knock echoed through your cottage. Startled, you set down your gardening tools and hurried to the door. When you opened it, your breath caught in your throat.
There stood Jacaerys, his once-pristine armor now battered and bloodied, a testament to the trials he had faced. His hair was unkempt, his face lined with weariness, but his eyes held a familiar spark of determination and relief as they met yours.
“Y/n,” he breathed, his voice hoarse but filled with emotion.
A rush of emotions flooded through you – joy, disbelief, and an overwhelming sense of relief that he had returned to you. Without a word, you threw your arms around him, holding him close as if afraid he might vanish again.
Jacaerys held you just as tightly, his arms wrapping around you as if seeking reassurance that you were real. “I'm here,” he murmured against your hair, his voice thick with exhaustion and gratitude.
Together, you stepped inside the cottage, the weight of the past months hanging in the air but overshadowed by the sheer relief of being reunited. Jacaerys sank into a chair, and you fetched a basin of water and a cloth to tend to his wounds. As you cleaned the blood and grime from his face and hands, your touch was gentle, conveying a silent understanding of all he had endured.
Once cleaned up, Jacaerys looked around the familiar surroundings of your cottage, a sense of peace settling over him. “It feels like a lifetime since I was last here,” he admitted softly, his eyes meeting yours.
You nodded, sitting beside him and taking his hand in yours. Your instinct made your hands  immediately go to his forearm, a cut that was no longer bleeding on it, tenderly tracing over the healed wound, feeling the scar that marked him.
“I'm glad you're back,” you murmured, your voice filled with a mixture of relief and lingering concern. He took your hand in his, his eyes searching yours with earnest intensity. 
“I want to stay,” he said quietly, his voice steady yet filled with vulnerability. “Here, with you.”
You squeezed his shoulder, a grin plastered on your face as he mirrored your movements. 
“Let me tend to your wounds,” you said softly, guiding him to sit by the hearth where you had once helped him find refuge. Jacaerys lowered himself gratefully, wincing slightly as he settled, his armor clinking softly with the movement. The air was thick with unspoken emotions, a delicate balance of relief and the weight of their shared experiences.
You fetched fresh water and clean cloths, moving with practiced care as you began to clean the grime and blood from his face and hands. Each gentle touch spoke of the months apart, of your worry and hope intertwined. 
Jacaerys watched you silently, his expression a mixture of exhaustion and gratitude, much like the first time you had tended to him.
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nobodysuspectsthebutterfly · 9 months ago
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#otto might not be devoted to hobert per se but he is devoted to the family and if the lord is the embodiment of the family it fits #and making your name through violence like daemon with the gold cloaks and his war in the stepstones to the point of becoming the king there #aemond with his knightly training and his love for the deadly art but no love for the pageantry of it and spurning gallantry#and otto in marrying off his child daughter to the king he is of age with in the name of self-promotion and the family name
i think there might be something to be said about how arguably the three men who started the dance are all second sons. doomed to live in your older brother’s shadow forever so you devote yourself to him and make your own name through violence
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figmentforms · 7 months ago
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Part 248 of  “A Tale of Two Rulers” (May 1, 2024)
A month late, but done! Thank you all so much for your patience. ^_^'
I got unexpectedly delayed by a wonderful surprise! After all the surgeries and ivf, my husband and i got extremely lucky. Our embryo lived and will be born around late fall/early winter! I'm just as surprised as I am thrilled!
 i'm also apparently one of those pregnant people who gets very, very, VERY sick in the first trimester. This was the hardest update i've done in ages just because it's very hard to think clearly and move one's hands precisely when you're constantly fighting off vomiting and unexpectedly falling asleep all the time. I was nervous to say anything at first because i wasn't sure if the baby would live, but it's been several weeks and so far he seems very strong so I think it's ok to give word of his existence (I'm so proud of my lil' one! Fight! Fight! Fight, Lil' Dude! <3).
----
★ Webtoon-  https://www.webtoons.com/en/challenge/a-tale-of-two-rulers/list?title_no=292453 ★ - I’m still building up this archive.
★Patreon- https://www.patreon.com/LorIllustration ★
★Store - www.etsy.com/shop/FigmentForms
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loveanddeepspaceimagines · 2 months ago
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Talking to your baby bump ɞ˚‧。⋆
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Zayne carefully arranged pillows to support your sleeping form before settling beside you on the bed, your baby bump now beneath the covers. His hand wandered to stroke gentle circles over the swell, awestruck as always by the miracle inside.
"Hey little one," he murmured softly so as not to wake you. "It's just you and me for a chat." A tiny fluttering kick met his palm, drawing a quiet chuckle.
"I want you to know how excited your dad is to meet you," he continued, voice full of wonder. "I'll teach you everything how to walk, talk...".
His eyes drifted to your peaceful expression, love swelling in his chest. "You're going to have the best mommy, you know. She's the kindest, bravest person I know." Brushing hair from your cheek, he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead.
Turning attentions back to your unborn child, Zayne smiled. "I promise I'll support both of you no matter what. We're gonna have so much fun together, the three of us."
Caressing the bump once more, he whispered, "I love you so much already, little peanut. Can't wait to hold you in my arms."
As if in reply, a stronger fluttering pressed against his palm. Smile stretching ear to ear, he rested his head by your side, content to keep watch over his perfect little growing family.
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You were curled up asleep on the couch, your baby bump pressing against the cushions as you rested. Rafayel came over quietly and knelt beside you, gently placing a hand on your stomach.
"Hey little one," he whispered softly so as not to wake you. "It's daddy."
He still couldn't believe there was life growing inside the woman he loved most. Your child wasn't even born yet and already he loved them fiercely.
"I just wanted to tell you how excited I am to meet you," he continued, rubbing gentle circles with his palm. "Your mommy and I have been waiting so long for this."
There was a flutter of movement under his hand and Rafayel's breath caught, overcome at even the smallest response. "I know you can't understand me yet, but I promise I'm going to be the best daddy."
Throughout your pregnancy so far, he had doted on your every need and craving. But in quiet moments like this, he also spoke his heart to your unborn baby through your belly.
"We're going to have so much fun learning and playing together. I'll teach you how to draw if you want!" He chuckled softly. "But most of all, I want you to know how much you are loved already, little one."
He placed a tender kiss to your abdomen resting his cheek there.
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The evening sun slanted gently through the bedroom window as you slept, your soft breathing the only sound amid peaceful quiet. Xavier lay beside you, propped on an elbow while watching your belly rise and fall beneath his palm.
9 weeks along now, just the faintest swell showed your child's growth nestled safely within.
Leaning down, he placed a tender kiss to your belly through fabric before whispering, "Hey little one. It's Daddy. I know you can't hear me yet but I just wanted to say hi."
He scooped gentle circles with his hand, half expecting to feel answering flutters even this early. His heart swelled impossibly at the idea of hidden tiny fingers and toes taking shape, getting ready to greet him.
"I can't wait to meet you. Your mom and I will do everything to take care of you, keep you safe and loved."
"You'll know so much love, little peanut. We're going to be a perfect happy family together - just wait and see." Xavier sniffed, emotion rising in his voice. His eyes strayed reverently to your peaceful face.
"You're so lucky to have her as your mom. She's going to be the best." He murmured placing soft kiss to your stomach.
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You had drifted off to sleep early in the evening, Sylus sat beside you on the couch, watching your peaceful slumber with a quiet smile.
His large hand drifted to rest gently against the swell of your abdomen, feeling the occasional flutter of tiny movements stirring within. His child, strong and spirited even now, responding to his touch.
"Hey there little one," Sylus murmured low, careful not to wake its mother. "It's just us guys for now. You keeping momma company in there?"
A curious prodding against his palm seemed to answer. His smile widened as he continued his one-sided conversation.
"You're going to turn our whole world upside down soon. But me and your mom, we can't wait to meet you. We'll teach you everything - how to walk, talk. Maybe how to wrestle if you're up for it."
Soft chuckling accompanied the mental image before growing serious once more. "Most of all, we'll make sure you know how much you're loved. No matter what."
His fngertips traced soothing patterns over stretched skin, voice dropping lower. "We'll be here for you always, little crow. Me and your mom against the world."
Glancing once more at your sleeping form, he placed a tender kiss to your belly. "Be good to your mom, you hear? See you real soon, little one."
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©loveanddeepspaceimagines 2024
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Hope you enjoyed reading this peace! Reblogs and feedback are highly appreciated. I'm hoping i can find mutuals in lads fandom! Thank you for reading!
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agatharkn3ss · 13 days ago
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Nicky's Rio son too.
I feel there were so many lines that imply this and the finale is starting to make more sense - especially because the dandelion in the trial!
Jen explains that Green Craft™ is about the cycle of all living things - growth and decay in constant flow. So it's not just about dying but being born too.
So it would track that Rio's love for Agatha was so strong that it actually created life - Nicky. However, there would be consequences to this because proper balance had to be maintained somehow. Rio probably even warned Agatha about it, but Agatha always believes she is above the rules so in her head she probably thought she had every right to Nicky (maybe even her "prize" that she alludes to in their final confrontation). This would really add to Rio's hurt - Nicky was her son too. She thought she was giving Agatha a gift of life, but instead Agatha sees her as this cruel "evil" that "gave her nothing". To her Rio is the one who just "took."
It feels like it is also implied by Rio at the start of the episode when she says "This walk with another woman's son on a road that doesn't...". She could be referring to Nicky being her son.
But I think Agatha finally accepts her truth during the final trial when she sees the dandelion seed in her cameo. She even says "Out of Death - life" as she grows it because she finally understands the literal implications of that phrase.
That Dandelion is representation of Nicky. And sure enough, as soon as the flower grows and blossoms, it quickly enters the final stage - when it turns into the seeds that can be scattered by the wind again and continue the cycle of life. Because guess what, "dandelions produce seeds asexually by apomixis, where the seeds are produced without pollination, resulting in offspring that are genetically identical to the parent plant".
When Nicky is born, we could probably assume it was indeed asexual reproduction - Agatha says she didn't use a spell or incantation, but instead he was made from scratch (obviously a clever nod to his name). On one hand it could be read like Agatha is astonished how something this magical could happen without actually using any witchcraft. However, this also feels like a suggestion that maybe she is just amazed at how he could possibly exist. Kathryn Hahn in her recent interview alluded to how the witches didn't need men, babies were just born. So it was Rio's "dandelion seed" that made it happen.
It is the second characteristic of dandelion species is what seals the deal for me - "the offspring being genetically identical to the parent plant". Nicky as the offspring of Death needs bodies to survive in this realm. During his birth Rio says she can offer only time, because she can maintain the balance, as long as Nicky gets his bodies.
That's why she hates Rio and calls her evil - not because of Rio herself, but because of what her "genetics" did to Nicky. Agatha would rather have people believe that she is this evil witch killer that traded her child for the Darkhold, than anyone to know the awful truth that it was Nicky who was the cause of the killings.
In the flashbacks, there are those remarks about how they haven't "eaten for days" and that whenever Nicky was poorly he said he was hungry. Agatha said she couldn't create the food for him (and protect him from what's coming). She could've cooked that goat they had with them if they were really that hungry (btw, I still believe that goat is Senor Scratchy), but that wasn't the "food" that Nicky meant.
And just like Billy, Rio couldn't just take Nicky. He had to "turn himself in". It was his choice not to kill any more witches. On the day Nicky dies, he says "My mother needs me home". I think he is talking about Rio here, since he usually calls Agatha "Mama". This is the moment the decides for himself and goes home to Death.
I feel like this opens the possibility that we will indeed see Nicholas Scratch in the future (and have a role similar to the one in the comics). That maybe even he might not have "died" because he is an offspring of death, so he just exists in some Underworld realm, where he no longer needs bodies to survive. Maybe Agatha might have hoped that by killing more and more witches, she will bring Nicky back to life/this realm?
And the Ballad really was a protection spell she made for him too?
This would also be a more plausible explanation why Agatha went to kiss Rio when Billy asked "Is this how Nicky died?". I feel this was more of an apology to Rio for hating her for Nicky's treatment, because she finally understood why she had to do it?
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ladystoneboobs · 3 months ago
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so, one aspect of catelyn which i think is underrated (certainly the biggest adaptation loss which nobody talks about) is her, let's say superstitiousness, or better yet, let's call it genre-savviness, being one of the few adult characters open to magic and the supernatural in this fantasy world. we first meet her in the godswood, home of gods which are not truly hers, yet she is still very aware of their power. when she and ned talk of the deserter he killed, he hopes he won't have to go with the nw to deal with mance rayder, but she has even more fear of that idea bc there are worse things beyond the wall than just wildlings. ned scoffs and says she's been listening to old nan too much, but she's right. we already know from the prologue that she's right! and here she is, understanding the genre of their world better than her husband, who was actually born and spent his earliest years in this northern land of deep magic, listening to old nan's stories. same with the direwolves, where she was uncomfortable with them at first, but later believed in them as guardians from the old gods even after robb had lost his own faith. and once again, we know she's right even if she doesn't know the evidence to back up her instincts, bc summer and shaggydog did not fail bran and rickon and robb was almost certainly a warg like his brothers. (perhaps making it more fitting that she's the one brought back as a fantasy vengeance monster, not ned and robb, the most unbelieving dead starks.) and in her 2nd agot chapter, everyone focuses on her ambition in wanting ned to agree to the hand job (pun intended) and sansa's betrothal, and while she does recognize the value of their daughter being a future queen more than ned does, that's only her stated argument bc she thinks it's rational enough for ned to listen to. (if ambitious matchmaking were as important to her as to her father she never would have made those frey betrothals fandom loves to blame her for.) in her own head there's a deeper urge driving her. she keeps thinking of the dead direwolf with antlers in its throat, an omen which filled her with dread from the first she heard of it, before robert's arrival, and thinking of it again is what makes her desperate to convince ned not to refuse robert. she had to make him see. and really, she's not wrong, as jon snow would say. the dead direwolf was an omen of ned and robert getting each other killed. it's just one of those misread portents, with no way of knowing the danger to ned was in his loyalty to robert, not conflict with him. BUT the next time she's dealing with baratheons, she knows exactly what she's talking about. it's catelyn, not brienne, who sees the shadow slaying renly, and explains that it was stannis who did that through some dark magic. with no way of knowing how it was achieved and no prior expectation that such a thing were ever possible, she realizes with no hestitation that stannis was guilty and that his red witch was capable of pulling this off somehow. really, the only instinct of the supernatural she's wholly wrong about is her insistence that varys gathered his knowledge through some dark enchantment. however, though that might offend varys, given his own personal experience with a sorcerer, i'd say it's a reasonable assumption without knowing the dude had children moving through walls everywhere like oversized rodents. and imo it just shows she had a healthy respect and awe for varys's power which most other characters lack.
oh, oh, and let's not forget that she also believed in the curse of harrenhal, from her own childhood and the stories old nan told her kids. "and every house that held Harrenhal since had come to misfortune. Strong it might be, but it was a dark place, and cursed. 'I would not have Robb fight a battle in the shadow of that keep,' Catelyn admitted." sure, that wasn't enough to save robb, but he did not die from the curse of harrenhal. that doom was meant for his enemies from tywin lannister to roose bolton.
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