#i would of drew all of that but this is supposed to be just a quick drawing so yea

[badasoneandonly]

𝘋𝘐𝘌 𝘞𝘐𝘛𝘏 𝘈 𝘚𝘔𝘐𝘓𝘌 || 𝘏𝘞𝘈𝘕𝘎 𝘐𝘕-𝘏𝘖 × 𝘙𝘌𝘈𝘋𝘌𝘙

𝘞𝘤:1,090𝘬

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺:

In a zombie apocalypse, Hwang In-Ho is bitten while protecting his pregnant wife, Y/N. He urges her to survive for their unborn child. Y/N escapes, giving birth to their son, and names him after In-Ho, honoring his memory.

𝘎𝘌𝘕𝘙𝘌: !𝘡𝘖𝘔𝘉𝘐𝘌 𝘈𝘗𝘖𝘊𝘈𝘓𝘠𝘗𝘚𝘌¡ 𝘗𝘙𝘌𝘎𝘕𝘈𝘕𝘛 𝘙𝘌𝘈𝘋𝘌𝘙! 𝘙𝘖𝘔𝘈𝘕𝘊𝘌, 𝘛𝘏𝘙𝘐𝘓𝘓𝘌𝘙, 𝘈𝘊𝘛𝘐𝘖𝘕, 𝘋𝘙𝘈𝘔𝘈, 𝘗𝘖𝘚𝘛- 𝘈𝘗𝘖𝘊𝘈𝘓𝘠𝘗𝘛𝘐𝘊, 𝘋𝘠𝘚𝘛𝘖𝘗𝘐𝘈𝘕, 𝘈𝘕𝘎𝘚𝘛, 𝘋𝘈𝘙𝘒 𝘍𝘐𝘊𝘛𝘐𝘖𝘕, 𝘏𝘖𝘗𝘌𝘍𝘜𝘓 𝘛𝘙𝘈𝘎𝘌𝘋𝘠, 𝘔𝘌𝘓𝘖��𝘙𝘈𝘔𝘈

𝘈/𝘯: 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘶𝘴𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘴... 𝘓𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥 ｡^‿^｡

The world ended in the blink of an eye.

It was never supposed to happen this way—so sudden, so destructive. The virus spread like wildfire, faster than anyone could have anticipated. One moment, it was a distant threat; the next, it was on every street, in every home, devouring lives like a plague.

Y/N and In-Ho had always been prepared for chaos, but nothing could have prepared them for this. The infection spread quickly, turning the living into mindless, ravenous monsters. Society crumbled, and what was once a thriving world was now just a ruined, haunted landscape.

In-Ho, a man who had seen the worst of humanity, refused to fall apart. His love for Y/N kept him going. But even he couldn’t fight the unstoppable tide of the apocalypse.

It was early morning when the screams outside the safe house grew louder. In-Ho’s hand gripped his gun tightly as he moved toward the broken window. He hadn’t let Y/N out of his sight in weeks. They hadn’t been alone—there were others at first, people trying to hold on to their humanity—but they had all fallen.

Now, it was just the two of them. And Y/N was pregnant. Two months along. The news had been a surprise, a small ray of hope in a world that seemed to have none.

“We��re going to make it,” In-Ho whispered, his hand resting gently on her stomach. “We’ll survive this, Y/N.”

She smiled faintly, but she knew deep down that the world they once knew was long gone. The thought of bringing a child into this hellscape was both terrifying and comforting. If they could just survive long enough, maybe the child would be their chance at something better.

But survival, it seemed, was slipping further and further from their grasp.

The sound of glass breaking jolted Y/N from her thoughts. Her heart raced as In-Ho’s voice cut through the air, sharp and commanding. “Stay low. Stay behind me.”

He led her through the small apartment, past barricaded windows and bolted doors, but the sound of the infected—footsteps, growls, scratching—grew louder with each passing second.

In-Ho pushed her toward the back door. “We’re leaving now.”

Y/N clutched his arm, desperation flooding her. “No, In-Ho. We can’t leave. We have to stay hidden—”

“No,” he said firmly, his eyes dark and intense. “We move now, or we die here.”

Y/N opened her mouth to protest, but the words caught in her throat. A crash. The infected had breached the main door. The metal frame splintered, and the roar of the undead filled the air.

In-Ho pushed her into the hallway, shoving her behind him as he drew his gun. His eyes locked onto hers one last time. “I love you, Y/N. I won’t let them take you.”

The words barely left his mouth before he fired the first shot, silencing an infected man that had rushed toward them. The hallway erupted into chaos as more figures appeared from the shadows.

In-Ho fought with precision, keeping her behind him, but the numbers were overwhelming. Y/N could hear him grunting with the effort of keeping the horde back.

She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes as she watched him—her protector, her love—fend off the monsters, his every movement a display of the strength and skill that had once kept him alive in a game where no one was safe.

But this wasn’t a game. This was real. And suddenly, amidst the chaos, she saw him stumble.

He took a step back, his face tightening in pain. His hand gripped his side.

“In-Ho!” Y/N screamed, but her voice was drowned out by the snarls and growls of the infected.

He staggered, the look of shock and fear crossing his face as his fingers grazed his side. When he pulled his hand away, it was covered in blood. His blood.

She could see it now—the wound. A gaping tear in his shirt, blood slowly pooling at his side.

“No,” she whispered. “No, no, no—”

In-Ho’s expression faltered, his body going stiff as he turned to face her. His lips barely parted. “Y/N… I’m sorry…”

Her heart shattered. “No. You can’t be. You can’t be infected.”

“I am,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “I’m sorry.”

“No. Don’t you dare say that, In-Ho. We’re getting out of here together. We’re going to find a way.”

But In-Ho shook his head slowly, his gaze distant. The pain in his eyes was unmistakable. He had always been strong, but now… now he was fading.

She felt a sob rise in her chest, her knees threatening to give way. She reached for him, her hand trembling, but he pushed her away with what little strength he had left.

“Y/N,” he said softly, his voice barely audible. “Go. Go before it’s too late. Please… for him.”

Y/N froze. The mention of their child—a tiny life that was growing inside her—shattered her resolve. The love for this man, for their baby, was all she had left.

“I can’t… I can’t leave you,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

In-Ho smiled weakly. “You have to. You have to live for him.”

A wave of grief washed over her, choking her, drowning her in despair. She wanted to stay. She wanted to die with him. But she couldn’t—she couldn’t let their child die, too.

“I will. I’ll survive,” she promised, her voice raw. “But I will never forget you. I’ll never forget this.”

And with one last look at the love of her life, Y/N turned and ran.

The world outside was still as brutal as it had been before. The streets were littered with the remains of those who didn’t make it, their cries for help lost to the wind. But somehow, Y/N found her way to an army camp—a makeshift sanctuary for those who had survived.

Her body ached from exhaustion, her mind fractured from the trauma. Yet she pressed on, driven by the memory of In-Ho’s love, the promise she’d made to him, a promise whispered on the wind of a dying world. Days bled into weeks. The camp, a haven of sorts, offered little solace. The constant fear, the gnawing hunger, the ever-present shadow of the infected – it was a life lived on the edge of a knife. But Y/N persevered, driven by the memory of In-Ho’s love, the promise she’d made to him.

Then came the day. The pain was excruciating, a mirror of the agony she’d witnessed in In-Ho’s eyes. But through the haze of pain, she saw him, a ghost in her memory, his hand gently cupping her cheek, his eyes filled with a love that transcended death.

She gave birth to a son, a tiny, fragile being, his cries a fragile melody in the harsh symphony of the apocalypse. He was beautiful, a perfect miniature of In-Ho, his father's eyes gazing up at her, filled with an innocent wonder that pierced her heart with a bittersweet joy.

She held him close, burying her face in his soft skin, the scent of his milky breath a balm to her wounded soul. But the joy was laced with an unbearable sorrow. The weight of her loss crashed down on her, a tidal wave of grief that threatened to consume her.

She whispered his name, a prayer, a lament, a vow. “In-Ho,” she breathed, tears tracing paths down her cheeks, mingling with the newborn’s soft skin. “He’s here. Our son. He’s here.”

She named him In-Ho, a legacy of love, a testament to a life lost too soon, a promise whispered on the wind, a flicker of hope in the ashes of a broken world. She would tell him stories of his father, of a man who loved fiercely, who fought bravely, who died protecting her, protecting their child. She would teach him to be strong, to be kind, to be brave, to love with a heart as boundless as the sky.

And as she held her son, a tiny hand grasping her finger, she knew, with a certainty that transcended the despair, that In-Ho’s love lived on, beating in the tiny heart nestled against her own. The world was broken, but within that brokenness, a new life bloomed, a testament to the enduring power of love, a fragile hope in the face of oblivion.

𝘛𝘢𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵: @warlabels @m0rtifiedg0th @ehcausewhynot @hwang-inhosb1tch @xcinnamonmalfoyx @filthygalli @d4rno @nightdark-dreamdark @inhomymanz @mothmorales @flow33didontsmoke @xxdiaqiaoxx @gwynethx @aregeeg5t @crystalizia

𝘈/𝘯: 𝘚𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘨𝘶𝘺𝘴, 𝘪 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 (𝘪𝘵 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘣𝘢𝘥)...

[swordgrace]

“𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞” — 𝐚𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐧’𝐬 𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐧.

┊ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: originally apart of part 2 of “what honor demands” before I turned it into the beach scene & whatnot. I honestly wish I kept this version in instead in hindsight.

read part 2 of “what honor demands” here.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4.1K.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut lite (mdni), fingering (fem!rec), praise kink, hair-pulling, outdoor sex, body worship, oral sex (fem!rec), grinding, dry humping, making out, breast play, lots of sweet antics, jacaerys is a certified munch, soft smut.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: aaaand we’re back !! also if this feels weird/out of place, it’s because it is — it’s a “deleted scene” so to speak and was supposed to segway into something else before I scrapped it! I honestly love it though & I hope you all enjoy! ❤️

IN THE OVERGROWN LABYRINTH OF AEGON’S GARDEN, YOU INTWINE YOURSELF IN JACAERYS’S AFFECTION, LIKE THAT OF BLOOMING IVY BLANKETING PILLARS OF STONE.

The scenery was something from a fairytale, cranberry meadows and wildflower patches illuminated by both moonlight and the dancing glow of fire. Balerion’s stony, ruby eyes gazed down upon the both of you, the blood of Old Valyria standing before him.

“I would never leave this garden, if I could,” You sighed, interlacing your fingers with Jace’s own. He kept your hand close to him, thumb brushing along the ridges of your knuckles. “This means a great deal to me. Thank you for bringing me here, Jacaerys.”

A tranquil veil blanketed your surroundings, inky dusk glittering with thousands of stars above. Moonlight touched your tresses, its breath of silver bathing you in an ethereal glow.

A chasm of silence drifted between you both, the wordless void more comfortable instead of awkward or terse. Many feet away, Vermax had reclined into the earth, the dragon’s slumbering shape rising over the peak of the tall, swaying grass.

Dusky curls were roused by the whispering gale, slithering about through the gardens. It was a primeval labyrinth of overgrown foliage, the earth draped in a layer of soft meadow grass and petrichor.

“Perhaps we needn’t leave,” Jacaerys crooned, fingertips ghosting over the delicate slope of your jaw, a crackle of heat simmering between you. “We could remain here — stay a thousand years.” In his candor, he exposed the folly of youth, the boyish fantasies of relinquishing his duties.

No longer would the whispers of his bastard blood plague his steps, loom like some grievous shadow above his birthright — and he would be free to do as he pleased. Jacaerys envisioned an existence without the crushing responsibility of nobility, and for a moment, he could taste liberation.

Impervious to Jacaerys’s stirring inner turmoil, even you could glimpse the flicker of desperation, this forlorn glint that revealed a deeper melancholy. As Jacaerys ascended into manhood, the reality of his being had become weighty, like iron manacles.

It was naive to believe that your shared life with Jacaerys would be full of whimsy and joyousness, when this world was already so cruel and unforgiving. You intended to navigate the tenuous political climate with him at your side — and that was all you truly needed.

Through a threadbare smile, you reached for the velvet of his doublet, brows knitting together as you considered his words. “How do you propose we survive? Live from the berries here, sleep beneath Vermax’s wings?” Your whisper placated his worries.

A huff of laughter escaped him, followed by an amiable smile, digits twined together with your own as he lifted your knuckles to his lips. “We would endure, you and I,” Jacaerys uttered, gaze resolute with confidence before he drew you closer. “It sounds like a pleasant life.”

“It does,” But it was not reality, and he knew this just as well as you did. “Perhaps in another lifetime.” With a gentle cadence, you peered toward the skies, examining the numerous constellations, and you did not yet feel the sting of exhaustion.

“In another lifetime.” Jacaerys’s lament did not sour the moment, and instead, his lips began to curl with a glint of playfulness. “In another lifetime, I hope that this remains the same.” He uttered, speaking in regards to your flourishing union.

“If fate wills it, I hope so, too,” Unable to mask the ebullience of your grin, a sweet giggle bubbled from your parted lips as Jacaerys began to escort you away from Balerion’s obelisk, and into the untamed meadow of Aegon’s Garden. “Where are we going?”

As he urged you to trail after him, he waded out into the sea of thickets and wildflowers, unceremoniously depositing a spacious bedroll onto the ground. It was a picturesque evening for stargazing, and the weather was amiable.

Perplexed, you watched as Jacaerys unclasped his cloak, the swath of rich velvet draped over the bedroll, and he lowered himself to the plush surface. “Come,” He canted his head to one side, chin jutting in the direction of the heavens above. “It is a perfect night for it.”

Gleaming celestials above provided an enchanting backdrop to the Garden, stars kissing the dark line of trees that surrounded you. Gathering your skirts, you lowered yourself to Jacaerys’s flank, casting your eyes towards the skies.

Serenity enveloped you, the ambient hush of nature providing a background hum as you laid down, sprawling out across the bedroll. You tucked an arm beneath your head, gaze momentarily flickering toward your companion.

Regal was a mere understatement — he embodied the posture of a prince, demeanor endlessly charming, as if it oozed from him naturally. A generous smattering of freckles blanketed his visage, most prominent along the bridge of his nose.

“We were made to study the stars, when I was young,” Dissolving the silence with a lament, your lips twitched into a fond smile. “Constellations are the constant companion of a good sailor.” A soft exhale escaped you, then.

Jacaerys laughed — an ebullient, jovial sound that warmed your insides. “You would make a good Velaryon,” He mused, leaning back upon his elbows, dark hues searching the empyrean. “Do you have a favorite?”

“The Moonmaid,” A hum vibrated from your lips, stare bright with the reflection of the heavens. “The free folk say that if one glimpses the red wanderer within the Moonmaid’s pattern, it is a good time for a man to steal a woman.”

It was your giggle that vexed him so, like the pealing of bells that graced his ears. The Prince’s brow quirked, likely born of playful apprehension. “How does a Celtigar lady come to know of Wildling superstitions?”

With a roll of your eyes, you craned your head, softening gaze glowering upon him, visage one of amusement. “Wildling superstitions,” Your cadence adopted his own, digits idly twirling within your hair. “I read often — plenty of nursemaids to regale me with stories, my Prince.”

A bout of congenial laughter permeated the night’s temperate breeze, as Jacaerys searched for your red wanderer. It was bemusing to watch him survey the skies, dark brows furrowing together before he shook his head.

“I do not see this red wanderer,” A peculiar inkling of suaveness crept into his tone, as smooth as poured honey. “Perhaps you’ve been fed too many of these free folk tales.” His tone became teasing, lips twitching into a smirk.

“Perhaps the Prince needs a better look,” With a mischievous counterpoint, you reached for his wrist, moving his hand until it hovered above a minuscule dot in the atmosphere, its glow a gentle shade of crimson. It was nestled amongst the stars, cradled in the hands of gods. “There.”

There it was, socketed within the Moonmaid’s center — the red wanderer, its gentle glow a faint contrast to that of the stars.

Jacaerys withheld the urge to grin, reveling in the sensation of your silken fingertips cradling his wrist, directing his line-of-sight toward the constellation. “Would the Wildlings agree that this is an opportune time for me to steal you away?”

His flirtatious remark was steeped in a warm lightheartedness, the spark of gallantry reaching his eyes, burrowing itself into your very bones. A familiar heat permeated your features, crawling along your spine like a raging fever.

Words turned to ash upon your tongue, countenance dissipating from playfulness to something tender, your gaze unable to tear itself away from him. He was smiling — pearlescent, debonair, that of a young man whose adoration was thinly-veiled.

“Perhaps,” A hitch formed within the depths of your throat as he grew closer, breath feathering over your brow, earthen hues appreciating your splendor. “If his Grace asks politely, that is.” The corner of your mouth pulled into a smile.

His handsome, gentle features and gallant disposition, the kindness that touched his eyes — he was nothing short of perfection. You envied the woman that would become his Queen; they would have only the best — Jacaerys deserved nothing less.

Careworn digits tenderly caressed along your hairline, where tresses kissed flesh, before sluggishly finding the slope of your jaw. “May I?” Jacaerys uttered, the husky inflection within his voice turning your stomach to molten liquid.

With a mere nod, you waited with bated breath, welcoming the curve of his mouth with a subdued glee. Hovering above you, you felt the brief brush of dusky curls tickling your cheeks, inviting his kiss with an excitable exhale.

It began as a crawl of a kiss — slower, intended to savor, rapture interwoven into each stroke of his lips. It was you who reciprocated with a growing fervor, one hand reaching toward the collar of his tunic, fingertips meeting a sea of velvet.

A salt-tinged breeze wafted through the surrounding grove of pine, rustling the small woodland with it. In the throes of midsummer, it was endlessly warm, and you welcomed it with such relaxation.

Jacaerys felt a tightening within his throat, canting his head to one side, deepening the kiss with a trembling exhale. Anticipation and exhilaration flooded through him, stirred to arousal when your digits wandered toward the nape of his neck.

A feather-light touch lingered against your cheek, the pad of his thumb absorbing the velvety warmth of your skin. You felt him move closer, torso partially grazing your own, one palm moving to rest beside your head.

Between ambrosial kisses, he met your doe-eyed gaze, teetering upon the knife’s edge of desire. Surrounded by the eclipse of wilderness, thickets of dragon’s breath and night orchid, your heart echoed his name, an amorous lament.

“Everything you do drives me to madness.” Jacaerys mumbled, his confession blistering through your ribs, evoking a wave of yearning from you. Elation rushed through him like the swell of a tempestuous tide, crushing him with such weight.

“Jacaerys …” A threadbare utterance, carrying with it a thinly-veiled affection intermingled with ardor. Reaching forth, your fingertips drifted across his visage, sculpted by merciful gods. You found his freckles, mapping them as you would a constellation.

His throat bobbed in a valiant attempt to bottle his brief bout of nerves, digits stroking along your cheek, reaching toward your tresses. “I ache to see you and be near you,” It was as if your heart had swelled tenfold within your breast. “And even that is not enough.”

There was a weight to his confession that stole every shred of air from your lungs until you were left with nothing but a burning. An audible hitch formed within your chest, nerves set ablaze. A fire smoldered within your belly, one that demanded to be extinguished.

“Then you mustn't stray too far.” Beseeching your paramour to stay by your side, Jacaerys obeyed, forehead brushing against yours. It became increasingly difficult to withhold whatever desire you felt, letting it sear your veins like a raging fire.

Wordlessly, Jacaerys’s mouth ghosted above yours, inviting as ever. His lips were flushed, a delicate shade of rose that enticed you thrice over, just as they did now — and you met him halfway.

Gallant were his ministrations, treating you with the utmost consideration, a tender hand that you ached for. One palm snuck from the collar of his doublet to his chest, nails coursing over velvet until you reached his abdomen, listening to the hitch in his exhale.

Your lips tormented him in the most perfect way imaginable, silently pleading for more without needing to command him. Jacaerys’s mouth moved in a blissful tandem with yours, passion festering as seconds stretched into an eternity.

A faint moan coagulated within the pit of your throat, threatening to burst forth when his hand cupped beneath your jaw. Following a gentle caress, his digits continued; lower, lower until he found the silken laces of your gown.

A simpering gasp ripped through your diaphragm, bringing with it a wave of want. It was as if your entire being was tethered to him in — two souls, once adrift — now, two bodies joined as one.

“We do not have to.” Jacaerys assured, prying himself from the saccharine curve of your mouth, features permeated with scarlet. Every fiber of his being screamed for you in a way that transcended mere want.

Whatever fire he had stoked within you, it was smoldering, its heat so intense that it threatened to scorch you, too.

Without a whisper, your hand found his own, still hovering around the threads that held your gown aloft. Prompting him to tug, you watched his throat tense from the simple gesture, lips colliding again with a passion that dwarfed that of any previous entanglement.

A shudder cascaded down his spine, heart searing with an arduous want, gingerly unraveling you from the confines of your garments. He adjusted his position, climbing to find his purchase between your legs, hand drifting along your supple thigh.

“I want to,” A breathy sigh slipped past your parted lips, whispered between ecstatic breaths as Jacaerys kissed you once more. Your taste swarmed his tongue, that of sweetness and a gentle temptation. “Please.”

Resistance seemed nonexistent, resolve beginning to fracture before your very eyes as his hand glided along the length of your body. Peeling aside gossamer fabric and thin remnants of silk, he unraveled you, rapturously absorbing the intimate details of your physique.

Gooseflesh raked along your spine, a peculiar thrill stinging your stomach, heat beginning to coalesce as you urged him closer. Exploratory fingers make their way to the row of clasps that hold his tunic aloft, undone just as he disrobed you.

Untarnished flesh glistens in the moonlight, your frame exposed to him, gowns parting down the center as you coax him into a kiss. Passion flourishes like untamed ivy, able to feel his hand caress you wherever possible.

A weightlessness seeped into your posture, comfort unfurling from within, coupled with that of a mounting want. Dishonor did not feel sinful within his embrace, and you felt invincible — like obsidian, to be molded from his incessant flame.

Bodies continue to glide together, friction crackling where space becomes increasingly nonexistent. Flesh meets flesh, a seamless mold that prompts you to shiver, mouth a roaring flame as you continue your barrage of kisses.

Jacaerys groans; a low, sonorous sound that bleeds into your lips, lost within the chasm of your maw. It is your tongue that brazenly teeters along his lower lip, silently tempting him to mend the bridge — and he does, without faltering.

A ceaseless avidity unfurls from within your hearts, an exchange of adoration through physicality. He shudders at the sensation of your fingers raking through his curls, teasing and tugging wherever you please.

The mere tilt of your hips rouses a fire within his loins, the constant entanglement of enthused bodies only furthering the flame. Jacaerys hands worship your flesh, each caress whispering with devotion, with an endless craving.

A cacophony of nature’s hum teems around you, silvery tendrils of the moon’s glow enveloping the both of you. Its ghostly shade turns you into something ethereal, as if you weren’t beautiful enough in the eyes of your Prince.

Jacaerys steels himself, a tremor of an inhale blistering through his diaphragm. Exhilaration floods him in one blinding rush, excitement soon to follow as it dawns on him — love.

The executioner of duty, the bane of all sensibilities; he knew then that he could not part from you, and this ceased to be an amorous fling. Earthy-brown hues cast themselves to your visage, bewitched by the tender expression that paints your features.

He allows his lips to pepper themselves over the curve of your jaw, descending toward your collar, somewhat exposed by the sag of your dress. Your flesh tastes of summertime — a saccharine warmth that entices him so, dragging him further into your heart.

The celestial penumbra that hangs above you is picturesque — Jacaerys can see starlight pooling from your gaze, as if you were some goddess. His lips worship you further, come to spill confessions along the plane of your body.

Affectionate touches are lavished against his curls as your digits peruse through his tresses, sending shockwaves of delight throughout his abdomen. With his doublet undone, unceremoniously pooling into the grass, your delicate stare traces over countless freckles.

His movements are smooth, a regal posterity about him even as he levies kisses to your sternum. Eager, pouty lips find the peak of your breast, pebbling beneath the dusky gale, suckling gentle and feather-light.

A gasp inhabits your throat, sputtering out into the starry night as you tug at his curls, body responding instantaneously. Jacaerys’s hot breath blankets your flesh, digits shifting to cup your breast, careworn pads kneading into pliant skin.

A mere caress of your breast is enough to drive you mad, nipples pert and aching, screaming for his touch; the very air he breathes is one that invades your lungs. There is a subdued carnality to him that begins to bleed through, like ink spilled onto parchment.

“Jacaerys,” Wrought with mounting desire, you yearn for more, mouth parting as a myriad of whines escape you. His enthusiasm is palpable, able to be savored as he caresses you, teasing your breasts. “Gods, please.”

“You are devastating,” Jacaerys sighed into the valley of your breasts, the bridge of his nose ghosting over your velveteen flesh. He worries that you might slip through his fingertips, as if you are nothing more than a mere spectre, a figment of fantasy. “Divine.”

Praises murmured into your heart sink into your bones, and you are left with the agonizing wake of desire. The hand that once toyed with your breast snakes down, seeking the honeyed apex between your thighs.

A jolt of pleasure stabs at the juncture between your legs, bleeding with heat as your hips roll into the pressure of his hand. “Do not torment me.” With a whine, your digits find his abdomen, nails raking across his lean musculature.

“I wouldn’t dare, my Lady.” His utterance bathes your flesh in warmth, plump lips continuing to decorate your sternum in reverent kisses. Your hips keen forward again, daring to cause a ripple of friction between your bodies.

Eager fingers slip against the seam of your cunt, gingerly dragging across your petals until they push inward. A shudder rolls down your spine, ripping wisps of air from your lungs as one of your hands caresses across his crown of curls.

Sighs of wanton passion drifted from you in droves, legs parted as he pressed his thumb to the pearl of your cunt. It was easy to evoke a reaction from you, the constant writhing, gasps and whines, the look of complete and utter bliss.

With exploratory strokes of his fingers, gooseflesh prickles your skin, a wispy breeze dancing across the wheatgrass that sways around you. His mouth is a relentless thing, driven by desire as he draws kisses against your stomach.

Lower still, his nose ghosts along your hips, earthen hues glittering with devotion, a beguiled smile that tugs at your heartstrings. “I have yearned to taste you again.” A breathy confession fell upon your thigh as Jacaerys kissed you there.

Inhaling a gust of your saccharine scent, Jacaerys kissed his way to the gathering slick between your thighs, palms smoothing themselves against your legs. Within his touch lies ardor, the very essence of devotion, spoken through a lingering embrace.

Molten heat coalesced against your nethers at his amorous remark, arousal slick and warm. With a hitch of your breath, you watched, enraptured; that familiar dusky mane descended to your cunt, lips flush against your inner thigh.

Freckled shoulders bullied their way between, garnering enough space for his appetite to be properly sated. His tongue raked embers across your cunt, which clenched around the phantom sensation of him.

It is fever you feel, a heat so blisteringly strong that it threatens to consume you still, licking across your flesh, only sated by your paramour. Jacaerys is disarmingly gentle in all things, the tender heart of a warrior-prince, whose kisses leave imprints upon your heart.

The tip of his nose brushes along your petals, tongue splitting deeper still, until he sluggishly laps at your core. Your taste permeates his mouth, bittersweet ambrosia that draws him into some lovestruck haze.

A myriad of moans shake your chest, fluttering through your diaphragm and into the open air. The ministrations of his tongue are divine, as if this skill is something he’s practiced for some time.

The coil of taut heat within your stomach seems to tighten as Jacaerys greedily laps at your cunt, like that of a man starved. A sharp groan blossoms throughout his sternum as you incessantly tug upon his curls, urging him closer.

A tremor gripped your thighs, twitching around his head as your hips lurched forward. The friction that simmers between you both is enough to keep him wanting, grinding against the bedroll in an attempt to relieve his own arousal.

It is then that he seeks the pearl of your cunt, pressing a string of wanton kisses to the sensitive clutch of nerves. A shiver of delight grips your spine, throat erupting with a moan as your back begins to arch.

“Jacaerys,” A whine escapes you, his name tumbling from your mouth as if it were a desperate prayer, uttered within the walls of the sept. A slithering breeze brushes over your naked flesh, form writhing atop the bedroll. “Please!”

His name rolls from your tongue with such reverence, enough to bring him to heel. Another broad stroke of his tongue laps across your cunt, gathering with it a slew of your nectar.

Knuckles turn taut as one palm haplessly fists the bedroll, the other caressing into your Prince’s curls, coaxing him further. With a twist of his mouth, he moves to the pearl of your cunt once more, pliant maw wrapping around it, stimulating you with his suckling.

Slurred cries of ecstasy slip past your lips, back arched, keening into any sliver of friction he offers. The dusk is vibrant — a celestial canvas hanging overhead, the scent of wildflowers and petrichor soothing your senses.

There is a primal messiness to his devourance, chin steeped in your arousal, mouth latched to your cunt as he evokes torrents of bliss from you. A rush of white-hot delight sears your bones, blanketing you in a wave of pleasure, stomach swirling with a violent heat.

A babble of neediness spills from your tongue, akin to some melody that Jacaerys commits to memory. Flush and feverish, you feel the onslaught of your climax, a fire lapping at the shoreline as you writhe beneath him.

Desirous moans and wanton whimpers serve as his own ecstasy, as his hips stutter into the uneven leather of the bedroll. With your thighs clenched around him, he dutifully laps at the remnants of your peak, drunk upon the sight of you.

With a shaky exhale, Jacaerys’s lips danced their way across your body, until finding the hollow of your throat, cementing your union with a lingering kiss. A smile toyed at the corners of your mouth, hands finding his biceps.

“You must tell me when the red wanderer is upon us again.” A teasing sigh fluttered beside your ear, wisps of pitch-dark curls tickling your cheek. Jacaerys settled beside you, body attached to yours, heart to heart.

Allowing yourself to beam, your fingertips trailed over the rosy dusting of his chest, inching toward the column of his throat. Hands remained pledged to one another, caresses unabated and tender.

“You were superstitious,” A playful remark of your own set his features ablaze, your lips gently peppering themselves along his shoulder, one kiss for every freckle — and there were many. “Not anymore, it seems.”

“You changed my mind on the matter,” Jacaerys uttered, digits cupping your chin, thumb drawing circles into your jaw. “Any more Wildling tales you have for me this eve?” His lips titled into a smirk of amusement.

“I am certain that I can think of one to entertain you.” A peculiar light crept into your gaze; a love overgrown, a love that was not subtle in the slightest. It was then that your mouth sought his own, and he was aching; heart placed within the palm of your hand.

[so-much-for-the-seashells]

A Jayce Talis x F!Reader NSFW Oneshot

Minors do not interact with this post

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

A/N: Whatsup!!! I know it’s been thirty years but I return with an offering 🫶 Please leave a comment if you enjoy this, I did my best!

Warnings: Smut, fluffy smut, fun smut, Jayce is bigger than reader, yeahh

“Hey baby,” Jayce greeted, hearing you close the door behind you as you stepped into your shared house.

“Hi,” you mumbled as you set your bag down before walking into the living room where you presumed he would be.

“I ordered pizza for- are you okay?” his brow creased with genuine concern, a little puppy-like look in his golden green eyes.

“Long day,” you said with a little smile. “Can I have a hug?”

“Aw, y/n,” he opened his arms, inviting you to sit on his lap on the couch. A tantalizing invitation indeed. You strode over to him, and then straddled his thighs, falling into his embrace. His strong arms encircled you, enveloping you in warmth and love. You sighed, resting your head on his shoulder, your face against his neck. He drew comforting circles on your back, waiting patiently for you to speak.

“You’re so warm,” you sighed happily, breathing in his woodsy aftershave. However, despite the scent of his aftershave lingering, his five o’clock shadow appeared to already be making a hasty return.

“And you’re so cute,” he said, squeezing you gently. You blushed, kissing the bottom of his jaw.

“Sorry for walking in like that. I had to deal with one too many bitchy people at work today, and it got to me,” you said, sitting back so you could look at him in the eyes.

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, baby,” he said understandingly, giving you a soft smile. You lean and kiss him appreciatively, and he immediately returns the kiss with his usual excitement, taking away every thought from your brain.

“Mmm,” you hummed wistfully into the kiss, he distant to pull away. You reluctantly do though, only to ask Jayce a little question. “So, when’s that pizza supposed to get here?”

He raised an eyebrow, playfulness evident in his expression. “Surely in enough time for me to get something done,” he said, innuendo clear in his voice.

“Dontcha mean someone?” you asked, your turn to raise an eyebrow.

“Ugh, just let me have this one,” he grumbled, before maneuvering you so you were on your back with him balancing on his forearms on top of you. His knee immediately made contact with your core. You instinctively ground down on it, searching for some friction.

“Easy, baby,” he grunted, leaning down to kiss down your neck. You felt one of his large hands tugging at the hem of your top, so you stopped him so you could quickly take it and your bra off altogether.

“Eager much?” he laughed.

“Shut up,” you said with embarrassment, your turn to tug on his shirt.

“Never,” he winked, pulling off his shirt to reveal gorgeous, sculpted muscle.

“Jesus, Jayce,” you groaned, giving him the once over as he palmed your breasts.

“You say that every time,” he blushes.

“I can’t help it. I literally get fucked by Hercules reincarnated,” you compliment, trying to make him more flustered. It worked, because he buried his face in the side of your neck and grumbled.

“You make it sound so vulgar,” Jayce said, his voice muffled by his lips pressed against your neck.

“It kinda is the way you get into it,” you pointed out.

“Fair enough,” he came back up to look at you with a sly smile before kissing you rough and giving you the friction you wanted from his knee in one move. You gasp into the kiss as his hand trails your waist band, fingers trailing lower and lower.

“Jayce, please.” All sentient thoughts were beginning to evade you as his fingers got closer and closer to your core, where you were growing wetter by the second. He tugged at your shorts, eager to get what he wanted. You heard a rip sound, and by the look on Jayce’s face realized that he forgot how strong he was and accidentally ripped your shorts. “Jayce!” you found yourself in a fit of giggles, especially taking in his guilty expression.

“I am so sorry,” he said, covering his face with his hands.

“It’s okay, now you can buy me new ones,” you said, your giggles dissolving and then coming back as he looked at you with a pathetic expression.

“I…” he mumbled the rest, opting to make an embarrassed noise instead. He held up the shorts, and on the inside lie the fabric of your underwear.

“Jayce! You ogre!” you started laughing again, unable to believe that he not only literally ripped off your shorts but your underwear too. Only your boyfriend.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his cheeks a deep red.

“Make it up to me,” you smirked.

“That I can do,” he said, the tone of your voice turning him on as much as your idea did you. “What do you want from me, baby?” he said, voice low with lust and eyes dark. It was your turn to blush.

“I want you in me,” you said, not trusting your voice under his steel gaze.

“Let me stretch you out first-“

“No, Jayce. Please,” you pleaded, lust clear in your eyes.

“Okay, okay,” he acquiesced, bunching his boxers and shorts in his hand and pulling them midway down his thighs, exposing his length. Rock hard and thick, it was always the perfect balance of stretch and ease to take him.

He gently rubbed the tip over your folds, smirking at your little whines as he did so.

“You sure about this, y/n?” He asked as he rubbed the tip over your clit.

“Please, Jayce-,” you couldn’t even form a coherent plead, your body far too excited for what was to come.

And then he began to push in. You had never felt him without being warmed up first, and it was fucking heavenly. Shallow thrusts allowed him to slowly make his way deeper and deeper inside of you, setting your nerve endings on fire. You moaned his name, writhing under his soothing touches.

“Easy,” he soothed, cupping your face with his large hand. “How are you feeling?”

“So good,” you said in tones of bliss. He grunted, feeling the way that you clenched around him then, and you could’ve sworn it was the hottest thing you’d ever heard. Eventually he bottomed out, kissing you on the mouth as he did so. Emphasis by on the mouth, as he panted into the kiss, accidentally albeit gently knocking teeth with you. His hand found your pulse point, not squeezing, but gently resting there as you began to get more comfortable with him in you.

He began to test the waters with gentle thrusts, far more gentle than either of you were used to on normal circumstance. However, you could feel every single ridge of him, every single slight movement and twitch, and the feeling transcended bliss.

Eventually you were both waiting for the chance to seek release with fervor, waiting on one or the other to say as much.

“Jayyyyyce,” you singsonged, your voice high and borderline whiny.

“Y/nnnnn,” he mimicked you teasingly, still moving at his slow pace.

“Can you-,” you were abruptly stopped, your voice hitching as he bottomed out and went just a little further, directly hitting your sweet spot.

“Can I what, baby?” his eyes were mischievous.

“Can you-,” he did it again, making you moan. “Jaycee,” you complained.

“Okay, fine,” he surrendered with a snicker.

“Never mind,” you said with a pout.

“C’mon baby, don’t be like that- what do you want from me?”

You blushed a deep red, and that’s when he knew. You were trying to ask him to fuck you.

“Want me to fuck you?” he asked, and the eager nod you gave him confirmed his suspicions. “You want it rough, dontcha baby. Wanna forget about that awful day of yours?”

“Yeah,” and you said it so pitifully. So softly, with your eyes wide, and he knew right then he was going to give you exactly what you wanted and more.

He pulled all the way out of you, and then slammed into you. He grunted at the way you moaned his name before setting a hard, fast, pace that had you gasping fractured moans with every thrust. His low grunts and soft whispers of your name accompanied the sounds coming from you, and you just felt so damn good.

Tears were forming at the corners of your eyes from the bliss, so Jayce took initiative to tease you. “Crying already baby? Hasn’t been that long yet, sweet thing.” He knew you loved when he called you sweet thing.

“Ngh, yeah, it’s so good,” you said, your eyes closing at a particularly rough thrust.

“Eyes on me baby,” he said, slightly firming his grip on your neck.

“O-okay,” you agreed, admiring the way that sweat began to form on his upper brow.

His hand drifted tantalizingly slowly from your neck to your puffy yet neglected clit. Once he finally reached it he began to rub tight circles on it, sending you a new wave of bliss. Everything was both too much and not enough, Jayce’s perfect sweet spot.

“Harderrr,” you whimpered pathetically, accompanied by a little sniffle from how good you were already feeling. Jayce adjusted accordingly.

“Like this?” he asked with that gravelly bedroom voice, the one that could tell you to do anything and you would do it.

“Yeah,” you moaned, feeling yourself getting more worked up by the second. You were fighting back literal tears of pleasure by this point, unable to help yourself when he made you feel so damn good. “Jayce- I’m gonna-,” you warn, your voice shaky.

“C’mon sweet thing, make a mess for me,” he commanded, thrusting into you hard enough that you were seeing stars and rubbing your clit fast enough that you couldn’t keep track. Finally you came with a cry of his name, and he came soon after, filling you up with his warm come. He slumped, practically laying his full body weight on you.

“Mmm,” you hummed contentedly, feeling worn out but oh so happy.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

“Yeah-,” Just then, the doorbell rang.

“Perfect timing,” he laughed, and you laughed with him. Good thing you were feeling hungry, and a better thing that your boyfriend always knew just what you needed.

[giveamadeuschohisownmovie]

Okay, I’m starting to get why Triple H went with Jey Uso as the Rumble winner. Before the Rumble, all the speculation was on who would challenge Cody Rhodes for the title. Punk, Roman, Cena, all of them were gunning for Cody. Because of that, it made Gunther look like the odd one out, especially since he’s supposed to be Cody’s equivalent on the other side.

Having Jey win and challenge Gunther puts the spotlight back on Gunther. Cody will be fine, the man is over enough with the crowd as is. Literally, you could just have Roman and Cody do one promo together and you’d have fans speculating about a Wrestlemania rematch. Gunther needed the Rumble boost.

As for Jey himself, it makes sense that he’s the one who will put the spotlight back on Gunther. They already have beef over the title. Seth Rollins is too focused on Punk. Roman is now shifting his focus back to Seth. Sami Zayn and Kevin Owens are probably going to be in a storyline moving forward. Cena and Cody are probably going to do the passing of the torch match at Wrestlemania. No one wants Logan Paul in the title scene so he’s out by default.

Drew is the only other person who makes sense, but if I were Triple H, I’d still go with Jey since Drew already had a world title run and Jey is a babyface. He’s the more logical dance partner for Gunther.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Lan Wangji Goes To Lotus Pier AU: Part 4: Deranged Bedfellows

(Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4.5)

[demigod-of-the-agni]

they all get called pullingo and are kicked out of the city

Pavitr and Bhim Rajeshkumar and Karna Prabhakar.. the spider bros...

[lewiscarrolatemybrain]

Something something feral jungle-children ASL something something the boys eating all their meals still a little bloody, or even outright raw, when the mood strikes. Something something Ace always complaining that meat on the Moby is overcooked and everyone else always yelling at him -- he's allowed to eat blue steak but every time he tries to steal bites of pork or poultry or sea king or whatever while it's still raw and bleeding he gets physically thrown out of the kitchen.

Something something a bunch of Ace's division getting into a confrontation with the law and a marine gets a lucky shot in, manages to get sea stone cuffs on Ace's wrists, and since he can't punch and he can't use his fire and his men are in danger Ace just lunges and tears the man's throat out with his teeth.

Ace killing three more men that way, lock-jawed and snarling, thrashing like a crocodile and tearing through flesh and tendon until body-warm blood spurts free from arteries.

Ace spitting out a mouthful of trachea. Ace turning to look at his friends with blood splattered all the way up to his forehead and dripping down his chin, his chest. Ace grinning and licking his red, red teeth.

"Everybody okay?" Ace says. And then "Whew! Man, that made me hungry. Anybody got the keys to -- oh, thank you!" And then "Hey, lets get cleaned up and then head back to that barbecue place before we head out. Suddenly I'm really craving pork."

[daphnalia]

faerûns most sarcastic, grudgeful, no-nonsense girlboss

[thatonecrookedsmile]

"Gaze into the space between the pixels on the screen There, you’ll see a place between the signal and the screams Feel the oscillation of the crystal in your dreams Just switch off your brain and let it sizzle in the beams"

-----

It took a matter of months to finish this drawing. (/j, it only took. 2 weeks? I think? maybe a little less,but that's an approximate)

It's been a while since I made a digital drawing. So far between April and now I have focused more on traditional drawings with digital coloring. These are (mostly) cool to do,but it's nice to go back to full digital every now and then. This is one of the cases where the original idea and the final result don't differ that much from each other,but there was still a certain evolution from when I conceived the drawing and how I ended up doing it. The Main Thing of the original idea is still here,I just expanded it a little.

Also,the lyrics at the beginning are from "Tune Into The Madness" by The Stupendium and Dan Bull. Great song,and one that I was listening to a lot at the time I was reading the book (and much earlier too). Because,you know. Mix of horror and TV. It made sense. (And yes,I know this song is about a totally different game,and the TV context in both stories are very different (as far as I remember, it's been a while since I played LN2) but I thought the lyrics could match the drawing anyway + it's my chance to recommend peak, so yeah) Listen to the song, it's very good! (The video do contains flashing images and lights tho,so viewer discretions is adviced)

Also,alt. versions without the text,because I thought that without the text it looks good too (+ you can now see Bendy's face)

[autoresponderdaily]

hal'd be a better parent than dirk

ok tbh. tbh. i agree. anyways take ur cursed bro-hal drawing

[itsmuffiiee]

*knock knock knock* Trick-or-treat! *holds out treat bucket*

Loaf!! Ty for visiting my void have a treat! Here are two trickster lollipops for you! I also really like your bucket so have some extra candy!! ‹𝟹

[eebi-after-hours]

do NOT let Blanche get into the X-ray glasses jar!!!!!!!! /j/ref

[sysig]

Without me, who am I (Patreon)

[zerothisnero]

More Abel art that I made for mostly myself because I'm carrying the Abel content in this Fandom 🫶

[good-beans]

hi i'd like to know about your transfem fuuta thoughts please. if that's ok

"if that's ok" as if I haven't been rotating transfem fuuta in my mind for a long time and dying for an excuse to post something 👀👀👀 Thank you so much Ah!! I was able to format my little ideas and headcanons into an actual write-up, I just love this concept so much! All the big murderous twists in the series and I’ll never get over it is what it is...

So, as much as I enjoy headcanons about some big revelation moment, I think that Fuuta Terminally Online Kajiyama has been very aware of his identity for a while. He just never really got the motivation to do anything about it. He knows he's not completely satisfied with his gender, but isn't constantly suffering over it, so he thinks telling people/transitioning would be way too much of a hassle at that point in his life. He also struggles with people taking him seriously given his height, attitude, etc -- unconsciously he's also worried it will only make matters worse in that area.

He wouldn't dare say anything to his parents, and wants to avoid hassle with his friends. People paint them as judgy incels sometimes, but if they were really calling out ‘bad guys’ online, I always got the vibe they were those annoying type of progressives who will harass people for not being accepting in the perfect correct way, you know? They'd be outwardly supportive but there's still a level of high expectations and performance that comes with it, and so deep down Fuuta understands there'd be a "hassle," but can't really define why.

I mentioned in another hc post that Fuuta and his sister have a silent supportive relationship. I feel like she's the one person in his life who knows everything and is super accepting -- this is understood even though neither have said anything out loud. (When he was younger, she definitely forced him into skirts, dresses, and accessories "to check something for her beautician work.") She's noticed all the times he's picked a female avatar in games, or cosplayed in ambiguous outfits.

Then, Milgram. Thinking his life will be over soon anyway, he opens up to a few of the prisoners about himself. Their unexpected openness keeps it on his mind more often than before. Still, nothing changes. Through some rocky verdicts, he's declared innocent and released.

Back in the real world, he's pretty fucked up from the whole ordeal, and starts off extremely isolated. He's in touch with his family, but distant. He maintains contact with some of the other released prisoners, but it starts off only over the phone. He changes schools or maybe drops out completely. Having deleted all online accounts after the incident, he gets to work setting up a new online presence. He was planning on using an alias anyways, and goes with something gender neutral. "To be extra safe that no one guesses it's me," he tells himself.

Letting his hair grow out begins as an accident -- just a side effect of never going out or minding his appearance. One day he realizes how long he's let it go and grabs some scissors to cut it. He makes a comment in his chat, and someone begs him to send a picture first. He goes to take it, but is suddenly disgusted and ashamed of his self-neglect. He's forced to make himself selfie presentable first: brushing his hair and throwing on something clean real quick. When he goes to take the picture, he realizes it looks good. It feels good. He puts the scissors away.

Soon, the prisoners/some new online friends coax Fuuta to hang out more. That's when she decides to reintroduce herself into society as someone new. She ventures out with the name of a favorite video game character. (I'm going to continue saying Fuuta because I genuinely can't name a single popular character from games she'd play, but just picture the most painfully obvious one you can. The kind you hear and go "oh okay. You play X too much, huh." And please send me your thoughts so I can work them into my own personal canon 👀) 

She doesn't have any hatred towards her deadname, it's more the pain of association: she remembers it said accusingly from the mouths of ex-friends. She remembers that name being called a murderer. She's not trying to deny/run from that past, she just wants to be someone better. Well, some days it is her way of running away, but most of the time it's a healthy separation from the past.

Encouraged by the positive reception and abundance of privacy in her isolation, she finally starts to explore her appearance more. Mikoto left behind some earrings during a visit -- she pierces her ears herself and tries them on. (If she doesn't like them, the holes will just heal, right? She's not weak, she can take a little pain...) Yuno/Mahiru stayed over once, and left a bit of makeup in the bathroom. She tries that on too. With a beautician in the family, this self-styling comes very easily. Fuuta's cowardly tendencies have her torn between embarrassment and her typical 'fuck you' attitude that she can do whatever she wants.

You know when you solve a tiny problem and suddenly you're smacked with how much of a huge problem it actually was? Fuuta never believed she had any issues before, but all of the sudden she's happier. Every day is easier. She has more friends. True friends. She does better with school/work. Her personality is still fiery, but it's more passion than irritability now. Self-hatred she didn't recognize starts melting away. She smiles more. She laughs more. She has plans for her future. She's excited about her future. 

(Shameless art plug hehe, before I had the timeline nailed down I did a little drawing of that selfie Fuuta takes when she realizes she's satisfied with this appearance, and now has newfound motivation to move forward in life.)

Over time she experiments with other elements of transitioning, and maybe changes her name to something a bit more subtle lol.

Unfortunately, I don't think it would go over well with her parents, but she never much cared for their opinions, anyway. One day a bit in the future, she bumps into her old friends in the street. Once recovering from panic, she's pleasantly surprised that they don't recognize her. Fuuta thought her appearance/fashion wasn't that different, but to fair, the friends figured they'd remember a stunning redhead with a very noticeable eye injury if they'd met before...

And just a few quick prisoner reactions (because in my heart they're all making it out ;--;):

Yuno has similar relationship as Fuuta's sister, offering immense help without unnecessary words. She's Fuuta’s go-to contact for trying new things and asking questions. 

When Mahiru first finds out, she goes a bit overboard with a makeover attempt. She and Muu provide their most frilly, glimmering outfits. They paint her nails and do makeup. They style her hair. This obviously turns out to be way too much, earning them a Fuuta-typical rant. Still, she's secretly moved by their enthusiasm and kindness. 

After that, designer Mikoto tries his hand at helping. Fuuta had been really worried the two of them would lose their guys nights out and relaxed friendship, but their relationship never changes.

Shidou is very accepting and very awkward. He's trying!! He gets excited, sending her all this information and help for medically transitioning.

Fuuta invites Kazui to their first pride parade <3

Though there's no return address on the package, Fuuta receives a gift of miscellaneous earrings and piercings in the mail with a note that they'd suit her well…

[silverselfshippingchaos]

sleepy g.rimmer I think about you every day