#it always ends like this and we never learn

[tqlepatia]

Hi, umm, can you write about being arranged married to Sevika? Perhaps you both haven't shared an intimate contact with each other or just a mere kiss on the lips, and you just can't take it anymore, so you confronted her about it, and Sevika is just blushing the way you look and what you were talking about, and maybe a wee bit of smutty smut, wihihi. But if you are busy, you can just skip this one. Tysm, love your works. Have a nice week ahead of you

⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

𝒜rranged 𝑀arriage.

⌞tw : smut, dirty talk, strap on, dumbfication (only a little, i swear), angst ( i think?), arranged married⌝

It had been months since you and Sevika got married—an arrangement that was all about family ties, obligations, and strategic alliances. Your parents had met Sevika at some high-end party in Piltover, and when your dad found out she had money, he acted like it was no big deal, casually offering you to her like you were some kind of asset. On paper, you were wife and wife, but in reality, you were basically strangers to each other.

Sevika, ever the stoic and unreadable force, treated you with distant respect, never crossing any lines but never stepping closer either. She was dutiful, protective, and yet… untouched.

Not once had she kissed you, not once had she reached for you beyond the casual brush of hands when passing by. The tension had become unbearable.

And tonight, you couldn’t take it anymore.

You stood in front of her, dressed in nothing but a thin nightgown, your heartbeat hammering in your chest. The candlelight flickered between you, casting long shadows on the walls, making her sharp features look even sharper. She sat at the edge of the bed, metal arm resting on her knee, her dark eyes flicking up at you.

“…What?” Her voice was low, cautious.

You swallowed, gathering the courage that had been bubbling inside you for weeks. “Are we really going to live like this?”

Sevika frowned. “Like what?”

“Like we’re strangers.” You took a step closer, bare feet pressing into the cold floor. “Like this marriage is just some contract we signed, nothing more.”

She exhaled heavily, running her flesh hand over her face. “That’s what it is, isn’t it?”

“That’s not what I want,” you admitted, voice softer now. Vulnerable.

Sevika tensed at that, as if unsure how to respond.

“I want you.”

Her eyes snapped to yours. You saw the hesitation in them, the way her shoulders stiffened, like she was holding herself back from something.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” she muttered.

You took another step, close enough now that you could feel the heat of her skin. “I do.” Your fingers reached for her jaw, hesitating for only a second before gently tilting her face up. “Sevika… kiss me.”

Her breath hitched. She stared at you like she was searching for something, an escape, a reason to say no.

But she didn’t.

Instead, her metal hand found your waist, pulling you between her legs. The warmth of her breath ghosted against your lips as she whispered, “You don’t want me like that.”

“I do,” you insisted. “I’ve always wanted you.”

And then, finally, she kissed you.

It was hesitant at first, as if she was unsure if she should, but the second you melted into it, Sevika lost control. Her lips were warm, demanding, her grip tightening on your waist as she pulled you onto her lap. You gasped softly against her mouth, and she took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, her tongue brushing against yours with a desperate kind of hunger.

Her hands, one warm, one cold, roamed your body, learning, feeling. When her lips left yours, they trailed down your jaw, pressing against the sensitive skin of your neck, making you shiver.

“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” she murmured, but the way she held you told another story.

You threaded your fingers through her hair, pulling her impossibly closer. “Then show me.”

That was all it took for her restraint to snap.

You don't know anything, not even what time it is, what day it is, much less how many times you had an orgasm, for God! You just discovered that your wife is very insatiable or she is some goddess of sex.

Each thrust into you was a trip that your eyes took inside your head, you never felt so good, and fuck, you could cum again just from the words that came out of her mouth.

"Look so pretty baby, taking so good like the little wife you are, hm?"

"s-..mhmp! ...so pretty, i shoud take a picture of you and hang up on the biggest frame, mhmp!... fuck, in our house"

"Ooh, the little slut likes to be praised, huh?"

"She's almost swallowing me, she's greedy like u."

"shhhh doll, don't let your little dumb brain distract you, yeah? just focus on cum for me baby."

Your bodies moved together, skin slapping against skin as the room filled with the erotic sounds of their lovemaking. Your legs wrapped her legs around Sevika's waist, She could feel her climax building, the pressure coiling tighter and tighter in her pussy.

Sevika leaned down to capture one of the your nipples in her mouth, suckling and biting the hardened bud. Her other hand snaked between their bodies to rub tight circles around your clit. That extra stimulation was all it took to send you hurtling over the edge.

You came with a loud moan, with your cunt spasming almost violently around her dick. An white anel forming around it, soaking the sheets beneath your both. Sevika fucked you through your orgasm, drawing out her pleasure until she collapsed back onto the mattress, boneless and sated.

Sevika let out a deep sigh, her body relaxing into the mattress as she reached over to the nightstand, opening the drawer just enough to slip off her strap and tuck it away. The soft sound of wood scraping shut filled the quiet room, followed by the rustling of sheets as she rolled onto her back. Without hesitation, she pulled you on top of her, guiding you into her arms like it was second nature.

You melted against her, pressing your cheek against the warm, sweat-slick skin of her chest. Her heartbeat was slow and steady now, a comforting rhythm beneath your ear, her hand found your back, her fingers tracing lazy circles.

Neither of you spoke at first, just basking in the warmth of each other, in the quiet intimacy that followed. The scent of sex still lingered in the air, but beneath it was something softer, the faint traces of whatever soap she used, mixed with the natural musk of her skin. It was intoxicating in a different way, grounding you after everything.

"You okay?" Sevika murmured, her voice low, edged with that rare gentleness she reserved just for you.

You hummed in response, nuzzling into the crook of her neck. "More than okay."

She huffed a soft chuckle, her chest rising beneath your cheek. "Good."

A comfortable silence stretched between you, her fingers never ceasing their slow, soothing movements against your back. You felt her shift slightly, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head, then another against your temple.

But still, something lingered in your mind. A weight.

You bit your lip before finally speaking, voice quieter now. "Sevika… do you even like being married to me?"

That made her pause. Her hand stilled against your skin, her metal arm tensing slightly around your waist.

She didn’t answer right away, and for a brief moment, you worried that maybe you shouldn’t have asked.

But then, she exhaled, her grip tightening just a fraction. "Yeah," she admitted, voice softer than you expected. "I do."

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look at her. The dim glow of moonlight streaming through the window caught the sharp angles of her face, the scar on her cheek, the soft furrow of her brows.

"Then why haven't we…" You trailed off, feeling suddenly shy. "You know. Before tonight?"

Her lips parted like she wanted to say something, but she hesitated. Instead, she reached up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The touch was surprisingly tender.

"Didn't wanna fuck it up," she finally admitted. "Didn’t wanna… push you into something you weren’t ready for."

You blinked, surprised. "But we're married, Sev."

"I know." She sighed, rubbing a hand down her face. "But that doesn't mean you owe me anything."

Your chest tightened. You hadn't expected that from her.

Sevika. rough, blunt, sometimes distant, had been holding back all this time, not out of disinterest, but out of respect. Out of some quiet, unspoken fear that she’d mess this up before it even had a chance to be something real.

The realization made your heart ache.

You leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to her jaw, then another at the corner of her lips. She let out a slow breath, her grip on you tightening.

"You never had to hold back with me," you whispered. "I wanted this. I want you."

Sevika’s throat bobbed as she swallowed, her gaze searching yours. Whatever she found there must have reassured her, because she finally allowed herself to relax again, her hands settling on your waist.

"Yeah?"

You nodded. "Yeah."

She exhaled, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "Good."

You rolled your eyes at her, but the warmth in your chest didn’t fade.

Another stretch of silence settled between you, but it wasn’t heavy this time. It was… easy.

"Tell me something about you," you said suddenly, resting your chin on her chest.

Sevika raised a brow. "Like what?"

"I don’t know. Anything. We’re married, but I feel like I barely know you."

She let out an amused huff. "That so?"

You nodded, grinning. "What's your favorite color?"

She snorte, planting kiss in the top of your head and taking some strands of hair stuck to your forehead. "That’s what you wanna ask me right now?"

"Yes," you said, poking her side playfully. "Answer."

Sevika rolled her eyes but relented. "Blue. Like the ocean."

You blinked. "Didn’t take you for a poetic type."

"I’m not," she said flatly.

You smirked, shifting so you could prop yourself up on your elbows. "Okay, next question. What’s something you hate?"

She thought for a moment before shrugging. "Ice cream."

Your face twisted in exaggerated offense. "What?"

Sevika smirked at your reaction. "Yeah. Don’t like it."

"How do you not like ice cream?" You sat up, straddling her waist now, looking genuinely distraught. "It’s literally one of the best things ever created."

"Too cold. Hurts my teeth."

"That’s such an old person answer."

"I am older than you," she reminded you, smirking.

You gasped dramatically. "Oh, so you admit it now?"

She groaned, dragging a hand down her face. "Shut up."

You grinned, leaning down to press another kiss to her lips. It was soft, lingering, filled with all the affection that words couldn’t quite convey.

When you pulled back, you whispered against her lips, "I'm making you try ice cream again. You just haven't had the right one."

Sevika hummed, her hands trailing absentmindedly along your thighs. "And if I still don’t like it?"

"Then I’ll just have to keep trying until you do."

She shook her head, but there was a rare, genuine smile pulling at her lips. "You’re relentless."

"And you secretly love it," you teased, resting your forehead against hers.

Sevika exhaled, her fingers idly tracing patterns on your skin. "Maybe."

You sighed contentedly, letting the quiet stretch between you again. It felt different now—not empty, not distant. Just comfortable.

For the first time since your marriage, you weren’t just two people bound by obligation. You were two people discovering each other, piece by piece, in the quiet intimacy of the night.

And now, That felt like the start of something real.

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤALIEN GIRLㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Yandere Mark Grayson x Fem Qu Reader Part 3

☆⁠ HEADCANON : You were pregnant... And your pregnancy wasn't normal... Especially not something that mark expected...

☆⁠ NOTES : Qu is an alien species from the book All Tomorrows. You can learn more about her here. English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

Mark started noticing things.

It began with small stuff.

Shiny things went missing—coins, keys, a silver spoon, even his mom’s earrings (which somehow ended up under his bed).

Then there was the soft stuff. His hoodies, pillows, blankets—all gone.

And the food. Fruits he’d never seen before piled up in the corner of his room, untouched but somehow... perfectly fresh.

Mark was so confused.

At first, he thought you were just being weird. Because let’s be honest—you weren’t exactly normal. But then he caught you sitting in a pile of stolen goods, legs tucked beneath you, nesting.

That was when he finally asked:

"...What are you doing?"

You blinked up at him, tilting your head, hair cascading around you like a shimmering cloak.

"For baby," you said simply. Then, after a pause, you added: "Babies."

Mark froze.

"...What."

You pointed at your stomach with a serene smile. "Baby. Nest good for baby."

Mark’s heart stopped.

"WHAT???"

Mark. Freaks. Out.

You tilted your head, confused. "What?" Mark panicked. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN BABIES—PLURAL?!" You just shrugged. "Baby." You patted your stomach. "Yours." He felt his soul leave his body.

Mark didn't know how to handle this.

He immediately ran to his mom.

"Mom," he gasped, stumbling into the kitchen like he’d just seen a ghost. "She—she said she’s pregnant."

Debbie paused mid-dishwashing. "What?"

"She’s making a nest! She’s collecting stuff! She said babies!" Mark ran a hand through his hair. "Mom, what the fuck!"

Debbie dried her hands calmly. "Did you use protection?"

Mark gawked at her. "I didn’t think I needed to! She’s an alien!"

Debbie exhaled sharply. "Well, apparently, she’s an alien that can get pregnant."

Mark groaned, collapsing onto the couch. "Oh my God. I’m not ready to be a dad."

"Well," Debbie muttered, completely unbothered. "You should’ve thought about that before sleeping with her."

Mark let out a miserable groan.

Now that you were pregnant, your eating habits changed.

You ate. So. Much.

Especially meat.

Mark stared, horrified, as you tore into a raw steak, completely unbothered. "You know... we usually cook that."

You blinked at him, mouth full of blood. "...Why?"

Mark swallowed. "Because it's gross eating it raw?"

You just tilted your head. "But taste good."

Mark watched in silence as you continued devouring the steak.

You also developed a sweet tooth.

Cookies? Gone.

Ice cream? Destroyed.

Syrup? You drank it straight from the bottle.

He had to physically pry it out of your hands.

Mark learned that you were serious about the nest.

You dragged his hoodies into a corner of his room. You hoarded pillows, blankets, even his mattress.

Mark woke up on the floor.

"You kicked me out of my own bed!" he groaned.

You blinked sleepily. "Nest not for you. Nest for baby."

Mark sighed, rubbing his face.

"...Where am I supposed to sleep?"

You thought about it for a second, then patted your lap.

Mark stared. "...I am not sleeping on your lap."

You shrugged, curling up in the nest. "Then floor."

Mark let out a strangled noise.

One night, Mark found you hugging your knees, staring out the window.

He frowned. "Hey... what’s wrong?"

You stayed silent.

Mark sat beside you. "Come on. Talk to me."

You took a deep breath. "Miss... sisters."

Mark blinked. "Your sisters?"

You nodded. "We... always together. Always. Birth together. Hug under sky." Your voice grew soft. Lonely. "Now... alone."

Mark felt something tug at his chest.

You were always so strange, so terrifying, so otherworldly. It was easy to forget you could feel sadness.

Mark hesitated before wrapping an arm around you.

You looked up, surprised.

Mark forced a smile. "Well... you’re not alone anymore."

You blinked. Then, slowly, you buried your face in his chest.

"...Mark warm," you mumbled.

He chuckled, resting his chin on your head. "Yeah, yeah. I get that a lot."

"Mark," you whispered against his skin, nuzzling into his neck. "You scared?" Mark swallowed thickly. "...A little." You pulled back, blinking at him. "Why?" He exhaled. "Because you’re not human. And you’re... different." You tilted your head. "Different bad?" "...No. Just... different."

You considered that. Then, slowly, you reached out, placing his hand on your slightly rounded stomach. "Not different," you murmured. "Just... mine."

And somehow, despite everything, despite the insane, terrifying reality of his situation— Mark smiled. Because yeah. He was yours.

You were beautiful. Terrifying, yes, but his. You clung to him, kissed him randomly, slept on top of him. And God help anyone who looked at him the wrong way. One time, a girl at the store smiled at Mark. You hissed. Mark had to physically drag you away. "Can you NOT try to commit murder every time a girl breathes near me?" You pouted. "She want mate." Mark sighed. "No, she was just being polite." You narrowed your eyes. "I kill." "NO." Mark was exhausted. Not because of crime-fighting, not because of college, not even because of his dad suddenly being back in his life. No. Because of you. It started one night when Mark woke up to emptiness. You weren’t in the nest. Panic hit him immediately. He checked the kitchen. Not there. The bathroom? Nope. The ceiling? ...Also no. "Goddamn it," he muttered. Mark searched the whole house three times before he heard it—soft breathing. He turned to the darkest corner of his room. Two glowing eyes stared back at him. "Jesus—!" He nearly punched the wall. "What the hell are you doing there?!" You blinked slowly, like a cat caught doing something forbidden. "Hide." Mark exhaled, running a hand down his face. "From what?!" You shrugged. "Feel good." Mark’s eye twitched. "Get out of the shadows." "No." "Get out." "...No." Mark groaned. Debbie had seen some shit. She survived Omni-Man. She survived Viltrumites. But she was not surviving this. She walked into the kitchen one morning, and there you were—perched on the fridge like some kind of cryptid. "...What are you doing?" "Mark say no raw meat," you said blankly. "So I eat where he not see." Debbie sighed. "Please don’t tell me you’re eating it raw again." You tilted your head. "...I no tell." "...Oh my God." Nolan hated you.

He had been sitting at the table, drinking coffee, when Mark asked you something completely innocent. "So… what were you like before?" You perked up. Pregnancy made you talkative, and you loved talking to Mark. "Oh! Had harem. Many males. Many pretty. All do what I say." Mark choked on his drink.

Nolan raised an eyebrow. Debbie just stared. "Harem?..." You nodded proudly. "Yes. Male do all work. Listen to Queen. Bring food. Fight others. Make babies." Mark coughed. "Uh. What happened to them?" You tilted your head. "Eat them." Dead silence. Nolan put his cup down very slowly. Mark paled. "...WHAT?" You hummed. "Some live. But old way… Male weak, we eat. No waste." Mark looked horrified. "...You ate your husbands?" You shrugged. "Yes. But you safe." You patted his head. "No eat you. Like you too much." Nolan looked like he was having a stroke. Debbie got up and left the room. Mark, meanwhile, just buried his face in his hands. "Oh my God." One time, Mark caught you crying in the nest. Immediate panic. He rushed over, pulling you into his arms. "Hey, hey—what’s wrong?!" You sniffled. "Nest too small." Mark blinked. "...Baby isn’t even born yet." You hugged your belly. "Need big nest." "...How big?" You looked at him, eyes deadly serious. "Big as house." He wanted to scream. Mark learned way too much about you. One night, as you laid in the nest together, you played with his fingers and whispered— "I ruin species once." Mark groaned. "Oh God. Not again." "Yes. Make them better. Stronger. Then… too strong." "...You made a species that killed itself?" "Yes." You yawned. "Oops." Mark covered his face. "Mark?" "...Yeah?" "Would you let me change you?" "NO." "...Okay." Mark didn’t sleep that night. One day, Nolan took Mark aside. "Mark. Listen to me. You don’t understand what you’ve done." Mark sighed. "Dad, relax. She’s harmless." "She is a goddamn genetic nightmare!" Mark crossed his arms. "She’s cute." "SHE ATE HER OWN KIND." "She said she wouldn’t eat me!" "THAT IS NOT REASSURING." Mark rolled his eyes. "Look, she chose me. That means I’m safe, right?" Nolan looked pale. "...Mark. If she chose you, that means you are hers. Forever." Mark shrugged. "I don’t see the problem." Nolan grabbed his shoulders. "MARK. SHE’S HAVING YOUR CHILD." Mark smirked. "Yeah. And?" Nolan looked to the sky, as if begging the universe for patience. "...You are the dumbest child I have ever raised."

Once Mark walked into the house after training, exhausted, covered in bruises, and ready to pass out. Instead, he was met with an eerie silence. His stomach dropped. "Babe?" No response. He checked the kitchen. No you. The living room? Empty. The bathroom? He opened the door and— "RAAARGH!" "HOLY SHIT!" Mark fell back as you jumped out from the shadows, completely naked as always, landing on his chest. You grinned. "Surprise." Mark groaned. "You almost gave me a heart attack." You tilted your head. "I no have heart attack." "I’M NOT YOU." You hummed, then leaned down, licking his face. Mark sighed. "Okay. You really need to stop licking me." "No." Despite the absolute insanity, Mark was obsessed with you. You were weird. You were dangerous. You were terrifying. But you were his. And he wouldn’t trade you for anything. Even if you tried to eat his kids.

"You are... happy?" you asked once, tilting your head as you lay across his lap, your long hair pooling onto the floor. Mark blinked, swallowing thickly. "I—I mean, yeah? I think so? It’s just... a lot." You smiled softly, placing a hand over your stomach. Then, like it was the most casual thing in the world, you murmured, "I eat it if it bad." Mark choked. "WHAT?" You blinked. "If baby weak. Bad. I eat." His soul left his body. "YOU CAN’T JUST EAT THE BABY!" You frowned, confused. "Why not?" "BECAUSE—BECAUSE THAT’S NOT—" He buried his face in his hands, groaning. "Oh my god, I can’t believe I got you pregnant." You beamed. "I can."

One night Mark had come home late, exhausted. He expected to find you asleep in your ridiculous nest. Instead, he found you sitting on the balcony, staring at the stars. Quiet. Still. He sat beside you. "Couldn’t sleep?" You shook your head. "Stars nice." Mark hummed. "...Yeah. They are." You glanced at him. "You think babies like stars?" Mark hesitated. Then, slowly, he smiled. "...I think they’ll love them." You brightened, eyes shimmering in the moonlight. Mark’s heart skipped a beat. He was so screwed.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— NEXT ☆ Part 1. Part 2.

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, repost or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[muqingslover]

[ is that angst I smell? The menu for tonight offers the LADS boys and how they are post-breakup with you! yum! the reason for the break-up is open bc it's besides the point. Also, how do we feel about this layout? ]

Rafayel

Now playing: The cut that always bleeds by Conan Gray

Part of him had always expected this to happen. The ugly and resentful side of his heart that never believed in the so called "love" you held for him after the horrible things he went through and in the end he was proven right.

How many more reincarnations would he have to live through until you finally learned to love him? Or maybe this was his punishment for sacrificing the lives of his own people for someone who won't even look his way.

Personally, I don't think he's a weak, whiny baby most people describe him as. I firmly believe Rafayel can be resentful and angry, he just keeps it hidden so you won't see it. This time however? Oh you're seeing all the sides of him.

He wouldn't ever hurt you, absolutely not, but he will raise his voice when he questions why you were doing this to him, why were you forsaking him again, when he's given you everything he possibly could.

"Why is it never enough for you?! Why is it so damn hard for me to be enough for you?! Answer me!" The tears streaming down his face are something he doesn't even realize until his eyes begin to sting. How many centuries has it been since he had last cried?

For months he'd stay locked inside his studio and no one is allowed to visit, not even his aunt is able to help. The paintings he had of you were all ruined but Rafayel still found himself sketching your face like clockwork each time he stood in front of an empty canvas.

He feels angry, betrayed and he's just so, so hurt. I believe that depending on the reason behind the breakup it could very well be his last straw and will lead to him returning to the sea for good.

One day he's just gone without a trace and he's never coming back.

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Xavier

Now playing: The loneliest by Måneskin

He can't believe this is happening. Like, you choosing to break up with him was never even an option in his mind. Xavier would immediately assume it was his fault and beg for you to let him try and fix whatever went wrong.

His entire world shatters when you walk out the door and somehow it hurts so much more than when he held you in his arms as life left your body.

For months he would take part of the same missions you did, visit the same spaces, take the same train and do anything he could to be apart of your life. The silence between the two of you is suffocating but, surprisingly, Xavier is the one who makes the effort to make conversation about even the simplest of things.

His emotional state would completely drain him. He is so exhausted but he can't sleep at all. Not when he knows you chose to not be by his side.

Nevertheless, Xavier would keep trying, trying and trying and then some more. He brings you things he tried to cook in hope it'll make you smile the same way it did before only to end up throwing it away in a bin after you declined it.

Eventually his exhaustion would catch up to him and lead to a fatal mistake while out in a mission. He is stubborn, but there is only so much he can do when his own body is running into the ground.

"Can you see the sky from where you are?" He would ask during a call you received in the middle of the night in which, unknown to you, would be the last time you ever heard his voice. To Xavier however, he was relived he was able to hear your voice while under the same sky one last time.

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Zayne

Now playing: Promise by Laufey

The breakup itself is so quiet and calm. The two of you discussed things and he accepted it. Zayne would always, always, respect your choices. If being by his side was not something you wanted then he will let you go without any claw marks.

It was too awkward to be around each other so what follows are weeks of radio silence. He throws himself into his work, but he can't find the focus to properly do his job. His mind always go back to you— Were you okay? Were you thinking of him at all? Were you eating and sleeping well? Who was by your side now?

He breaks the no contact rule first to check on you and although he isn't sure if what he feels is genuine relief when he sees you doing well at least that's...closure. You're happy and healthy, even without him, and he couldn't ask for more than that.

Zayne feels as if everything around him turned dull and grey. His heart frozen in time after you left and he is nothing more than a husk that functions on autopilot until his body breaks down.

He feels cold regardless of the temperature now that you're not here and he believes it is what it is. He tried, he truly did his absolute best, but he can't take away from your happiness.

The two of you will return to being friends after a while and he will continue to support and care for you like he always did. To you, the moments you shared will soon be forgotten while Zayne he will forever remain frozen in those warm memories.

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Sylus

Now playing: The Moon will sing by The Crave Wives

His hands gently cradle your face as he asks you to please talk to him because there's nothing he wouldn't do for you. Except sometimes there are are things he simply can't do and that's something he would be forced to accept.

Sylus would ask to keep contact even if it's just for the sake of business and uses any and every excuse to see you or hear your voice. If he can't be wanted then he will be needed and if he can't be needed then he is okay with being used as long as it's by your hands.

In truth, he wouldn't ever give you up regardless if you fell for someone else or years pass. He will be frustrated and hurt at times, but he can be patient. He will wait until it's his turn to be deserving of your heart again.

Though that does not mean he will do absolutely nothing. Sylus would tell you every day that he still loves you and it doesn't matter what you say because he won't ever feel disencouraged.

"I'm not expecting anything or pressuring you. I'm only reminding you that my love for you won't change even if you're not by my side." His voice is like a gentle coo as his hand comes to pat your head, playfully ruffling your hair so you would drop the serious expression on your pretty face.

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Caleb

Now playing: In my room by Julia Wolf

The biggest CRASH out.

First, he knows you want to break up before you even gather up the courage to bring it up and he finds a way to stop you from saying it every. single. time.

"Caleb I think—" "Oh! I completely forgot! I got these tickets to the show you wanted to go! C'mon, c'mon! We'll be late!"

He is in strong denial after you finally manage to say it. He'd claim you're just confused about things and that it'll pass as long as you give it some time because you don't truly mean it. You need him, how could you ever think otherwise?

He will keep calling and texting you non-stop— He begs you to talk to him and rethink your choice. You're obviously making a mistake so please stop this already.

It would take a lot to make him stop. Unless you had an ironclad reason to not come back to him then he would keep going. When he does stop though? Oof.

Caleb could only endure the torture and damage done to him mentally and physically all those years because you were his anchor. His entire life is centered around you and now that you're gone he'd lose all of his motivation.

The last time you hear from him is through the news you'd receive about the colonel who took his own life.

"Please keep me close to your heart." Your eyes read the words on the letter while your other hand clutched the necklace he left for you. Would you grant him this one last, selfish wish of his?

[pazziescapism]

Break Our Ice - Chapter 2

pairing: paige x azzi

wc: 4.2k

tw: light sexual content, alcohol

au fic what??, figureskater!Azzi x icehockeyplayer!Paige

fake dating, just like playful banter teasing relationship to lovers, basically paige and azzi dancing around each other

a/n: okayy let go, we're back. firstly thank you for all the interest in this fic, i was afraid it'd be a little boring. i may not be able to update everyday but i promise to aim for at least a chapter a week. as always, let me know what u think and feel free to send me reactions. also, i wanna preface this and say i have never written anything remotely sexual for wlw so if its kinda choppy...hopefully that'll just improve with time which is why i kinda skimmed it over. anyway happy reading!!

“What the fuck” Paige says that following weekend, starting at Azzi’s belly piercing, as she climbs into her car. “You understand we’re going outside, right? Like where other people are?

Azzi looks down at her outfit, frowning slightly “Yes? What’s wrong?”

Paige doesn’t move, even though she had been the one texting Azzi to hurry up. Azzi looks down again, trying to see where the issue was. She’s wearing a dark grey skintight long sleeve that cuts right above her midriff paired with some grey sweatpants.

“I thought it was cute,” she says, “like casual and comfortable or something.”

Paige makes a strangled noise in the back of her throat, Azzi was right, it was – it was also a myriad of other things she could think of like hot, sexy, beautiful, gorgeous - and that was exactly the problem. “No, yea it is, I guess I’ve never seen you not in athleisure wear before.”

‘So, I don’t need to go back in and change?” Azzi asks.

Paige looks physically pained by the suggestion. “No, definitely not.”

“Okay, so can you tell me what we’re doing now?” Azzi asks, as Paige starts her car.

“Yeah,” Paige says. Her hand comes around the passenger seat as she looks behind her and reverses, her arm stretching behind Azzi. Whatever she says next flies right over Azzi’s head and is lost entirely as she watches the subtle flex of Paige’s biceps, pale skin bulging just slightly. Azzi’s mouth feels dry.

“-and it just feels like it’s not going well,” she hears Paige say once the arm is removed and she tunes back in sharply.

“What?”

Paige sends her a questioning look that Azzi’s gotten used to the last few days. “This whole thing- we just are really not good at it”

“Oh” Azzi says, and lets her head fall back against the seat. “Yeah, tell me about it.”

Jayden, who’s stopped by twice over the last three days, is clearly suspecting Azzi of lying. The only thing keeping him from accusing Azzi outright is probably some sick twisted urge to catch her in the act, vindicating himself forever in the process. Azzi isn’t sure how many more questions she can nervously stammer out fake answers to until she ends up contradicting herself in a truly catastrophic way.

The situation was so terrible that Sarah had turned to Azzi before leaving the locker room yesterday and said, as casually as she were asking about the weather, “Are you and Paige pretending to date?”

Azzi had spluttered; the water she had been drinking threatening to drip down her chin “We- I can’t-”

Sarah had only looked at her, like Azzi was a partially strangled insect she held trapped in a jam jar. “You aren’t very good at it” she had added, killing any sort of response of Azzi’s denial.

“We’re practicing” Azzi had said in response even though her pride stung a little to be caught on by a seemingly new freshman.

“You both seem a little uncomfortable.”

Azzi hadn’t even known what to say to that and had eventually mustered up a defensive, “We’re still working on it”

“The pretend relationship” Sarah had said, as though confirming.

“Yes.”

“Ah well,” She had said, vague and incomprehensible as usual. “No one laps before learning to swim.”

The strange exchange had been weighing on Azzi’s mind for hours afterward.

The problem is that Paige is a really, truly, exceptionally bad liar. And Azzi, who is meant to cover for that, hasn’t been in a serious relationship since the age of fifteen. To her slight embarrassment, she’s forgotten what dating someone even looks like, much less how she should act in a relationship. Much less how to act when she’s pretending to be in a relationship to someone she’s actually incredibly attracted to. The whole thing is beginning to seem like self-inflicted torture, a slow bleeding-to-death kind of torture.

“it’s fine,” she says, like she’s said the last three days, “we’ll get it eventually.”

“I think I have a solution.” Paige says, making a right turn that would have sent Azzi careening through the side of the car, if not for her seatbelt. “Oops, sorry, anyway I think we just have to get to know each other better.”

“Know each other better” Azzi repeats dubiously.

“Yes, exactly” Paige says. She parks with a screeching of tires and turns to Azzi with the battle-ready focus of a military general. “I’m going to pick up a pizza. You go into that liquor store and get something for us to drink. We are gonna get drink and figure this out tonight.”

“Ah wait-” Azzi says, but Paige is already heading into the pizza place.

Azzi sighs and walks into the liquor store. Twenty minutes later she walks out to a baffled Paige that she needs to come inside with Azzi and vouch for her age so that the man behind the counter doesn’t confiscate her ID.

Then she patiently waits for Paige to stop laughing.

By the time they get the pizza and their drinks back to Paige’s apartment, its six in the evening and the sun has set.

“I’ve never seen your apartment before,” Azzi muses, standing at the entrance as Paige unlocks her door. “But your building is nicer than mine.”

The apartment is nicer than Azzi’s too. Bigger for starters, with huge windows in the seating and dining areas that make it seem more spacious than it is. The space is setup to entertain, enough chairs to seat any number or people, complete with matching soft plush cushions.

“It’s weird seeing you this quiet” Azzi says, watching Paige lock the door behind them. “Are you getting nervous or something?” Azzi giggles staring at the giant television hung on the living room wall.

Paige playfully shoves Azzi's back, pushing her forward. “Trust me, I’m not. I just haven’t had anyone here in a while...”

Paige brushes off Azzi’s questioning glance as she sets up the pizza and glasses, pouring their drinks and taking a seat on her expensive looking carpet, leaning against the couch as she eats.

Once they’re several drinks in, the empty pizza box lying between them, Paige gets up and comes back with a sheet of paper. Azzi can make out her handwriting going all the way down the page.

“Is that a list?” Azzi asks, taken aback. “Are those all questions? Did you write me a list?”

“We’ll start easy” Paige says, a little flushed.

“Hang on, this can’t be an interrogation” Azzi interjects as she plucks the piece of paper from Paige’s hand.

“Favourite colour?” Azzi asks.

“Purple.” Paige nods in response.

“Okay favourite animal?” Azzi follows up.

Paige winces “I don’t know?” 

“What do you mean you don’t know your own favourite animal?” Azzi asks, exasperated. “it’s just which one you like best, which one do you like best?”

“Can we do the next question or something”

“No,” Azzi says firmly. “What’s your favourite animal?”

“I don’t know!” Paige protests. “I never think about it. What’s yours?”

“Dogs” Azzi says immediately, and Paige nods.

“That’s a good one. Okay, that my favourite too.”

Azzi stares at her, and Paige stares back gleefully. That jawline is ever as sharp, and her blue eyes are looking directly into Azzi’s. Life is worth living after all.

“Fine,” Azzi snaps, petulant. “What’s your favourite ice cream flavour?”

Paige smiles innocuously. “I don’t know, what’s yours?”

Theres a moment of silence, Paige smiling, chin tilted down, looking up at Azzi innocently and Azzi’s squinting stare is fixed on her. Then Azzi pulls a cushion off her couch and throws it at her, and Paige bats it away breaking into laughter.

“Paige” Azzi complains, but she’s laughing too. “You can’t just steal all my favourites! Are you twelve?”

“Don’t ask me such stupid questions then!” Paige says, still laughing.

“You were the one who wrote these questions to begin with” Azzi says falling back into the couch as she buried her face in the cushions. 

Paige stands up to look down at Azzi still flopped into the couch her hair slightly messier than normal.

“What? Azzi says, adorably confused with her one incredibly adorable dimple peeking out.

“God” Paige says, mournfully. “You’re kind of a loser, huh?”

Azzi shoots up pulling Paige to fall on the couch with her, shoving a pillow over her face.

They abandon the questions after that and start a movie instead. Azzi complaining about Paige’s poor hospitality until Paige caves and pours them both new glasses. The movie starts to play, both of them siting appropriately on two separate couch cushions as some men in suits start fighting on the screen. Ten minutes through the movie, Paige’s glass is empty and she’s starting to migrate closer to Azzi. Squirming until Azzi is squished into the narrow spot between Paige and the arch of the couch, Azzi’s legs swinging over Paige’s lap, Paige’s arm coming up to encircle her.

This is Azzi’s favourite, she decides instantly, when Paige is all around her, and all Azzi can smell in any direction is her Valentino cologne, and they’re pressed up so close together that Azzi can feel her chest rise and fall with each breath. She’d forgotten, at some point, what it was like to be so close to another person, so that her space became their space, their breathing evening out into the same rhythm. 

“Paigey” she says, not looking up from where a man in a suit is now yelling something on the television. “I can’t lie, you’ve really broken through all the walls I know I normally have up, its honestly a little scary…so we’re friends now”

Azzi continues to keep her focus on the screen although whatever that’s playing is truly the last thing she’s thinking about right now as she can feel the heat of Paige’s stare on the side of her face. Azzi doesn’t look at her, so Paige resorts to having the hand on Azzi hip squeeze a little. Suddenly, Azzi is glad for the darkness, so that Paige can’t see how her face flushes at the fondness of her gesture. She leans her head on Paige’s shoulder. She thinks about kissing her. Azzi is once again suddenly very aware that she could be kissing her right now, could be pressing her tonged against that chiselled jaw and those pink lips, yet she isn’t.

She’s honestly still considering it when Paige kisses her.

It’s exactly the kind of kiss Azzi would have expected, except its better because its real, because its flesh and blood moving underneath her, warm hands holding her jaw gently in place.

“What” Azzi says, pulling away slightly, her breath coming heavier than it should be, “are we doing?”

Paige smiles at her, a little crooked, her face a little red. “I thought that part was clear, honestly.”

Azzi is fairly sure she should move away. Its only that she can’t really remember why in the moment.

Azzi is really terrible at denying herself she realises a little later.

“It’s fine” she says, panting slightly. “We are just two adults. Two adults pretending to date. If anything, it’s just convenient” 

“Right” Paige agrees, though she doesn’t seem to be paying much attention, her hands slipping down Azzi’s back to squeeze at her ass, fingers tightening in a grip that is almost bruising, making Azzi gasp. “Can I take your shirt off?”

Azzi shifts where she’s kneeling over Paige’s lap and leans back away from the hot mouth on her throat.

“You first” she says, pushing up ineffectually at the grey hoodie Paige’s wearing. She only succeeds in wrinkling it, until Paige makes an impatient noise and pulls it off herself, exposing a long stretch of lean but muscled skin. Azzi groans overwhelmed and thrilled all at once. Paige’s already got both hands up Azzi’s shirt tracing over her ribcage, the feeling making Azzi shudder.

The urgency doesn’t disappear, not when Azzi pushes away to breathe, not when Paige gasps a shaky exhalation into the curve of Azzi’s neck as she rolls their hips together. Not when she Paige lays Azzi down on the cough looking up at her through her thick eyelashes with her eyes dark, and hair messy, making Azzi whimper uselessly into her hand and Paige pushes a finger into her.

Afterwards, with sweat cooling, tacky on both their skins, Azzi reaches down off the couch and grabs the sheet of paper Paige had brought in, now lying discarded on the floor.

“Did you handwrite all of these” She asks, amazed, pushing Paige’s face away with a hand and she tries to take the paper back. “Stop that I’m reading this.”

The questions range from general- her favourite colour, music artists- to Azzi-centric; questions about the routines she likes to perform, how she met Caroline and Kaitlyn, where she practices when not on the rink. Azzi’s jaw goes progressively slacker as she looks through the list, floored by how much attention Paige has been paying to her, how much interest she’s taken in in her, somehow keeping her unaware of it.

“Careful, or I might start to think you like me after all, p” Azzi says lightly, hoping it distracts from the obvious affection she’s sure must be inscribed all over her face.

“You asked me for help” Paige says, apparently giving up on trying to grab the sheet back. “I wasn’t going to half-ass it.” Azzi shifts to look at her and nearly falls off the narrow couch space they’ve squeezed themselves into, far too small for two athletes. Paige’s arms come up fast, pulling her back up, shift so Azzi is halfway on top of her, their legs tangled together.

“Do you ever half-ass anything?” Azzi asks breathlessly.

“I’m a whole ass kinda person,” Paige tells her, and her hand strays lower from where its resting on Azzi’s back, as if to prove her point.

Azzi ignores this, as well as she can with the heat flooding her face. “Since you made the list, it’d be a shame to waste it,” she says, and passes Paige back the paper. “You can ask three, and then it’s my turn. Make them count.”

Paige doesn’t seem inclined to play along, lethargic from sex, her eyelids drooping over her eyes. “I though you said they were stupid questions” she says, “what happens if I don’t answer?”

“I’ll kill you” Azzi says, then amends. “For every three you answer, I’ll give you a kiss.”

Paige’s eyes snap back open. “Is that a reward or a punishment?” She grumbles, but she’s already holding the paper up, scanning the list for questions.

Two questions later, Paige has learned that Azzi’s favourite move to incorporate into her routines in a Bielmann spin – lifting one leg over her head- and that she has two younger brothers.

Paige clears her throat, not looking up from the list ���Last one- why’s that Jayden guy so obsessed with you?”

Azzi furrows her brows. She didn’t remember seeing that one on the list. “Not sure,” she answers anyway. “Jayden used to live somewhere in Europe. I only met him about a year ago, when he came to help out with the business and rink.”

“Did you not get along?” Paige asks, Azzi shakes her head.

“Actually, I though he resented me at first, for taking so much of his dad’s attention because he’d never talk to me. He only got weird later.”

“So you didn’t date or anything?” it’s a casual question, thrown out as a follow-up but there’s something sharply honest in Paige’s voice that makes Azzi look up at her.

“That’s been two extra questions” she points out. “But no.”

Paige smiles, a little sheepish, and lets the paper drift off the couch and onto the floor, calloused hands cupping Azzi’s cheeks.

“Here,” she says, her hands moving to the side of Azzi’s face. “I’ll make it up to you”

Their first kiss (and a few following that) had been harsh, frantic. Teeth digging into lips, hard nails digging into flesh, desperate kisses followed by fumbling fingers.

This kiss is softer, sweeter. A hello, I’m home kiss and a goodbye, ill miss you kiss and a baby, you made it kiss. Azzi presses a little closer, small sounds leaving her lips, trapped between their mouths. Paige kisses her like she’s trying to memorize her, mapping out the spots that makes her melt, until half-formed whimpers are pushing their way out of Azzi’s mouth, tingling heat tracing its way up her spine.

Azzi pulls away with a wet sound that’s almost embarrassing. Paige’s lips are kiss-red, slick with spit and slightly swollen.

“If you keep doing that” Azzi says, her voice raw, “We’ll never get though that list.”

She must look similar because Paige’s eyes are heated as she scans Azzi’s face. “We’ll have time,” she murmurs, and pulls Azzi in again.

Azzi is in the midst of trying to get her key in the lock of her apartment, the only light to see by two small lamps on either side of the door. She keeps missing the lock, her hands a little shaky, scratching up the sides of the metal, creating loud noises every time she messes up.

“Well, well, well,” Caroline’s voice says from behind her, “look what we have here.”

“Don’t listen to her” Kaitlyn says when Azzi turns around. The two of them are standing in the doorway of Kaitlyn’s apartment, right across from Azzi’s, “Do your walk of shame with pride.”

“Caroline why couldn’t Kaitlyn live in your apartment complex.” Azzi says, more to the area at large than either of her friends. “Do I deserve this?”

“What has innocent Azzi been up to, coming back a little dishevelled?” Kaitlyn coos, ignoring her.

“It’s late you know” Caroline adds, faux disapproval lining her voice “you have practice tomorrow.

“Are you my parents?” Azzi asks snidely. “One of you come get my door open for me”

Kaitlyn steps forward and takes the key from her, unlocking the door, then entering Azzi’s apartment before she herself could even get in.

“Go on,” Kaitlyn says, taking a sea on her carpet, uninvited. Caroline sits next to her, both of them peering up at Azzi. She feels a bit like a kindergarten teacher. “Tell us about your date.”

Azzi makes indistinct grumbling noises and flops down beside them, cross-legged on the floor. Her socks are two different shades of black, she thinks, staring down at her feet.

“She’s stressed about her crush,” Kaitlyn whispers conspiratorially to Caroline.

“I don’t have a crush on her,” Azzi says, wincing. “That makes it sound so middle school.”

“Oh, sorry,” Caroline says, not sounding very sorry at all. “What would you call it? A lust-induced apoplexy?” 

Azzi stares very firmly at the carpet. Nice long wiry fibres in her carpet. “I don’t know. I think she’s hot, yeah. I like to make her a little angry but that’s just attraction (and maybe for attention), you know? I have eyes, so obviously I’m attracted to her.” 

Her voice trails off. Paige’s carpet was plush. You couldn’t see each individual rug fibre in it, like you could with Azzi’s. It probably cost a lot more.

“She’s a good listener too,” Azzi continues, “Better than you’d expect. I mean, you’d think she was a total musclehead, but she’s really smart. And she remembers things I say, like even small things. I like talking to her. I don’t know what you would call that.”

 She finally looks up from the floor, hoping to see some understanding, maybe some compassion in her friends’ eyes-

As Kaitlyn and Caroline struggle to contain their laughter, “You guys are the worst friends known to man” Azzi complains.

Caroline does not look particularly offended by this. “Sorry. We get caught up in the moment.”

Azzi stares. “‘The moment’ being the moment that my life choices start falling apart before my eyes?”

“Your life is always falling apart,” Kaitlyn says soothingly. “If I waited to have sex until you were free from crisis, I would still be a virgin.”

Azzi stares harder. Caroline pats her head, ruffling her hair. “There, there. Do you want a hug?”

“No,” Azzi says, pushing her hand off. 

“So, was the date good?” Caroline asks, raising her eyebrows. “Are the fake girlfriends now real girlfriends?”

“No!” Azzi says. “It was, you know, it was casual sex.”

Silence rings in Azzi’s living room.

“Uh-oh,” Kaitlyn says, muffled from behind Caroline’s hand. 

“You’re terrible at casual sex,” Caroline says, dropping her hand away. “Azzi, you are seriously bad at casual sex.”

“Azzi,” Kaitlyn says, horrifically sympathetic. “The two times you have tried to have casual sex have gone terribly. Please tell me you aren’t trying this again.”

“Tell a girl you want to die in her arms one time, and you get branded as bad at casual sex for life,” Azzi says. 

“It was two times,” Kaitlyn corrects, which is unhelpful. 

Azzi tips her neck backwards, stares at the patterns on her ugly ceiling. It had actually been three times, but she’s not going to volunteer that information. 

She had taken a cab home, alone, despite Paige’s slightly tipsy attempts to come with her. She had kissed her goodbye at the door, breathless and giggling, peppered small kisses across her face the way she had wanted to earlier, and then gotten in a cab and come home alone, pink with the rush of it.

“Third time’s the charm?” She tries instead. It doesn’t seem to be a comfort to anyone, much less herself. 

“It���s fine,” she says into the quiet. “Seriously. I’m not jumping into anything.”

Unbidden, an image of Paige’s face- smiling up at her, emotive and all, her hair splayed out against the carpet- flashes into her brain.

“You’re thinking something stupid,” Kaitlyn says, squinting at her. “I can see it in your eyes.”

“Don’t you have a house you need to go back to?” Azzi answers, tetchy.

Azzi’s sitting on a bench pulling her skates off of sore feet when Paige finally approaches her the next day, worn out after a long practice. Her fingers are trembling the lacing remaining stubbornly tight despite her efforts.

Its only when Paige steps in front of her and kneels to the ground taking Azzi’s ankle in one hand loosening the ties with the other that Azzi even notices her presence.

“How long have you been here?” she manages to ask her head feeling tight and too full, stuffed with cotton.

“A while” Paige says and adjusts her grip to pull the first skate off. “You’re really good.”

Azzi smiles, “I know.”

Paige finally looks up at her, blue eyes locking into her with a sort of amused irritation. “Of course you do.”

“Hey,” Azzi says, as Paige stands back up, passing her her skates. Paige looks down at her, and Azzi feels that awful shyness again, making her want to duck her head, hide behind her hair. She resolutely maintains eye contact. “About, I mean, you know. We can, um, keep it casual. The whole thing, I mean, we can just have it be, you know, part of the, um, situation.”

She’s babbling, unsure of what she’s saying or what she’s meaning to say, too afraid to break eye contact, as though Paige will disappear forever once she does. 

Paige smiles at her. “Do you want to add sex to your little rules list?”

“It’s not a rule,” Azzi says indignantly, the nervousness slipping easily away from her body. “It’s just, you know- if you want to.”

“Trust me,” Paige says, endearingly quickly. “I want to.” 

Azzi takes a second to process that, struck by the easy honesty, and then buries her head in her hands.

“Hey,” Paige says, nudging Azzi’s head with her hand. “You good?”

“You’re adorable,” Azzi says, lifting her face back up, slightly more heated than she would prefer. “I can’t stand you.”

She had meant to create some distance between the two of them today, a pre-emptive measure before the fluttering feeling in her chest became too big for Azzi to handle. Except, Azzi was beginning to realize that she missed Paige when she wasn’t around.

She had created a space for herself in Azzi’s life, so easily and quickly, filling an emptiness she hadn’t even realized was there. 

She’s still looking at Paige when a familiar figure brushes into her periphery. Jayden’s still got that terrible coat on, long and sweeping his ankles, heading towards Azzi like he’s got an agenda. One that involves asking Azzi multiple jagged little questions, that Azzi will inevitably have no answer for.

“Fuck,” Azzi murmurs, and grabs Paige’s elbow to yank her in front of her, a last-ditch attempt to hide herself. “Jayden’s here, pretend we’re, I don’t know-”

She cuts herself off when Paige sits down on the bench beside her, her back to the door, her face hovering next to Azzi’s, her hand covering the curve of Azzi’s jaw. 

The kiss is quick, a fleeting touch of lips that leaves Azzi wanting more, her eyelashes fluttering shut and then back open to where Paige is still so close to her. 

“Is he still watching?” Paige murmurs, lips against Azzi’s skin. An unpleasantness twists under Azzi’s skin, an unwelcome reminder that they’re only putting on a show.

Her eyes dart over Paige’s shoulder, to the entrance of the rink. It’s empty.

“Yes,” she lies, and pulls Paige’s face back towards her.

[goldfades]

how do joe and reader go about disciplining hayes especially when they have different views on things?

this is such a good question because parenting is hard, especially when you and your partner don’t always see eye to eye on discipline 😭

joe and y/n are both really hands-on parents, super involved in hayes’ life, but they definitely have different approaches when it comes to discipline. y/n is more of a we need to talk about it, explain why it’s wrong, and make sure he understands type of parent. she believes in gentle parenting—not in a way that lets hayes get away with everything, but in a way that makes sure he knows why certain behaviors aren’t okay instead of just punishing him for them

joe, on the other hand, grew up in a very structured household. he’s not strict, but he’s definitely a “you do something wrong, there are consequences” type of dad. not in a harsh way, but he believes that discipline helps build character and responsibility

so yeah, they butt heads sometimes. like, if hayes throws a toy at the wall in a little burst of frustration, y/n’s first instinct is to get down to his level and be like “hey, we don’t throw things when we’re upset. let’s talk about why you’re feeling this way.” joe’s reaction is more like “hey, no. we don’t do that. go pick it up.” and if hayes refuses, joe’s ready to start dishing out consequences while y/n’s still trying to navigate the feelings side of it

but despite their differences, they always make sure to be a united front. if they disagree about how to handle a situation, they never argue about it in front of hayes. they’ll step away and talk it out privately, find a middle ground. joe has softened a lot because of y/n—he’s learned to be more patient, to slow down and listen instead of just reacting. and y/n has also learned that sometimes, discipline is necessary, and that teaching consequences doesn’t mean she’s being unfair or too harsh

at the end of the day, they balance each other out. they’re raising hayes to be kind, to be responsible, to be aware of his emotions while also knowing that actions have consequences. and most importantly, they make sure he always knows that no matter what, he’s so deeply loved🥹💛

[pintrestgrl]

BARRYS SISTER!READER WITH RAFE CAMERON

warnings — drug mentions , brothers bsf topic idk if thats taboo, lowk rafe manipulates her? provocative statements? girl idk but they dont fuck or do anything

based on this ask

CAN WE ALL APPLAUD ME FOR WRITING PLEASE AND THANK YOU ITS BEEN YEARS

it had became an understanding that you were to stay quiet when barry was dealing in the house. preferably in your room, but if you were around it, you weren’t allowed to say a word.

this rule had been instilled in you since you were in middle school. it was annoying, to say the least. you’d always wanted to help, at least a bit. you had basically learned the way the whole interaction was supposed to go, just from watching your brother.

the customer would get to the house, usually at night, come inside, pay, get their drugs, then leave quietly. it had become an art form to barry— and a source of entertainment to you.

however, tonight there was a customer staying in the house for a lot longer then usual. you knew he wasn’t a pogue, he didnt look nor act like one. he must be a kook. you could tell he was a bit coked out too. you became really good at figuring that stuff out after a while.

you didn’t talk to him, simply sat on the opposite end of the couch while him and barry conversed. you stayed with your knees tucked to your chest, observing. barry had a few customers come in and out, before getting a call.

you couldn’t quite hear what your brother was saying exactly, but you made out enough to know that his supplier was gonna be coming. you sighed to yourself, another thing barry wouldn’t let you participate in.

the supplier showed up after a near 20 minute wait, barry heading for the door. you expected the kook boy to follow him, but he stayed still in his place on the couch. barry seemed too focused to tell him to come with, too.

the room fell into an uncomfortable silence after that. that was, until the boy got up from his seat, moving across the couch to sit directly next to you. all while staying silent. you tensed a bit, confused and nervous. before he spoke, “what’s your name?” you looked at him unsure, “why?”

“just wanna know.” you rolled your eyes, facing away forward again. away from his gaze. “what’s yours?” he laughed, at your reverse psychology attempt. “rafe. cameron.” you knew that last name. sarah cameron. the girl from school. must be his sister, you thought to yourself.

“okay.” you spoke, simply. he looked at you, you felt his stare. “so, barry doesn’t let you help him deal at all?” you shook your head, humming out a no. “shame. he let you do anything? doesnt really seem like it.” you smiled a bit at his observation, speaking. “no, not really.” he nodded, analyzing your words.

“he ever let you go to a party before?” you furrowed your brows. how did he knew that you had been begging your brother to let you go to a party for years? “no. he hasn’t.” he laughed, amused at the answers you gave him.

“so, guessing you never been with a boy before either, huh?” you creased your brows yet again, confused on what he meant by his statement. “in what way?” rafe smiled, before speaking bluntly again. “you ever been fucked before?” you flinched at his harsh choice of words, before quickly shaking your head.

“what? no. why are you asking that?” you spoke, now looking at him as if he was fucking crazy. but he was just glad you were looking at him. he wanted to see your face. the face you kept so well hidden from the world. “relax, ‘m just curious.”

you looked annoyed, tense. but he didn’t mind. he was happy to get a couple words conversation out of you. “you shouldn’t even be talking to me, let alone asking that. barry would fucking kill you.” you told him. he laughed, yet again. “barrys like a brother to me. you can talk to one guy. what he doesnt know wont hurt him.”

you bit your cheek, before speaking. “and what if i did tell him?” he stayed silent for a moment, pondering the question. “then he would have to get over it.” you laughed, subtly. you didnt wanna boost the kook boys ego too much.

it fell silent again, but more comfortable this time. not fully, but almost there. the boy stood up again, speaking. “i’m heading out.” you nodded, looking up at him. he headed towards the door, before stopping and turning around.!

he gave you, and your body a once over before speaking again. “your tits look good in that.” your eyes quickly widened, narrowing in on him. “you’re a fucking weirdo.” you spoke. he laughed, turning back around and heading out the door.

you were still fucking astonished that he said that to you. that was the first time you ever even heard a boy think of you like that. but a strange part of you didn’t hate it.

you should’ve told barry, you really should have. but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. not with the risk that came with it, you not being able to see that blonde kook boy again.

tags — (dm if u wanna b added , or taken off)

@lacehartz @battybaby111 @maybanksangel @kittyreposts @littlelamy @theeternaloptimistt @sugaraanddiesel @enchantedstarfish @iwishiknew-69 @heavenlyangelbaby @rafesdoe @whinyangel

[22ayla21]

I thought of something about amphoreus male x wife reader. What if their mom used to be part of the nameless and their children asked their mom to tell them about her adventures ?🤔(Of course with their silliness with trailblazer😼)

Mom's adventures in her youth

The children always loved to listen to their mother's stories, but when they learned that she had once been Nameless and had traveled around the worlds on the legendary Astral Express, their delight knew no bounds - especially when the funny antics of the Pioneer emerged in the stories.

A warm evening in their house was a rare treasure, when nothing distracted their family from the simple joys of life. Mydei sat in an armchair, thoughtfully turning the pages of an old book, and their children were comfortably settled on the carpet in front of the fireplace. The eldest son was building something like an express train from wooden blocks, the youngest daughter was watching his movements, fascinated, slowly destroying his construction with her tiny fingers.

- Mom, tell me about your adventures! - the voice of the eldest son broke the silence, filled only with the crackling of the fire. She, leisurely sipping the pomegranate juice that her husband had brought earlier, raised an eyebrow.

- Which ones exactly?

- You were Nameless! - he clapped his hands, and his sister, catching his excitement, clapped her hands joyfully. - You flew on the Express! Traveled around the worlds!

Mydei looked away from the book this time and gave her a long, slightly narrowed look. He rarely asked about her past in the Nameless, because he knew that if she wanted, she would tell him herself, considering that parting with them, although voluntary, was sad. But now he was interested in what version of the story the children would hear.

The woman smiled and leaned back in her chair.

- Oh, where should I start? Probably with the first time I stepped aboard the Astral Express…

The children froze in anticipation.

She remembered that day. How the doors opened, how she was greeted by Velt and Himeko - a strict and reasonable senior comrade and a charismatic female mechanic smelling of coffee and adventure. How Dan Heng nodded to her reservedly, and March 7 clapped her hands, happy to have a new fellow traveler. And then, of course, the Trailblazer, whom she met a couple of months later. That same friend with whom it was better to be embarrassed than bored.

- We had a rule, - she continued, trying to hold back a smile. - Whoever stepped on board for the first time had to drink Himeko's signature coffee.

- Is this a test? - the son frowned.

- In a way, - the woman giggled. - If a person is still able to speak normally after that, then he is a real Nameless.

Mydei snorted, and the children looked at each other with delight.

- And then there was the Trailblazer, - the woman added. — So, this friend was like… a disaster that always happens suddenly.

— And what did he do?

She thought about it. How to explain to the children that he could run away from an important diplomatic meeting because “there was incredible street food in the neighboring city”? That he once almost started a revolution in a world where cats are banned, simply because “it shouldn’t be like that”? How March 7 always supported his crazy ideas, and Dan Heng only sighed heavily, watching them get into trouble again (but he, like a true older brother, got them out of trouble)?

- Well, he... - the woman bit her lip. - You know, everyone has that one friend who says "let's do it", and it never ends well?

The eldest son nodded immediately, because he knew two such boys at school (Phainon's sons).

- That's exactly what he was like.

She saw the corners of Mydei's lips twitch in a restrained smile.

- And what was the most interesting adventure? - asked the son, already prepared to hear something incredible. The woman thought about it.

- Probably the time when the Trailblazer decided that our life was too boring, and pretended to be an ancient prophet to get into an abandoned temple.

- What? - the son was amazed. She nodded.

- And we had to pretend to be his retinue, because otherwise we would have been thrown out of there.

Mydei raised an eyebrow.

- And did you find anything worthwhile in the end?

The woman shook her head.

- Just a warehouse with a bunch of old parchment and a throne, which he, of course, tried to take with him.

The children burst out laughing, and the youngest daughter looked at her mother with admiration.

- Mom, if you hadn't met Dad, would you still be Nameless?

The woman thought for a second.

- Maybe, - she admitted. - But then I wouldn't have you.

Mydei looked at her silently. Something tender flashed in his eyes, and he put the book down, pulling her closer.

- It's good that you met me, - he finally said.

- Yeah! - the eldest son agreed, hugging his younger sister. - And now we have a mother who can tell a lot of stories!

She laughed and, hugging her husband, closed her eyes. In this house, not only adventures awaited her, but also the most precious thing - family.

- Mom, tell me more!

Two pairs of eyes - the eldest daughter, almost a teenager, and the younger, a little girl full of energy - were burning with curiosity. They sat opposite their mother, eagerly awaiting new stories. Anaxa, who was peacefully drinking tea in the corner of the room, only sighed and put his cup down. He knew that sooner or later this question would be asked.

- Again? You were already listening to her stories last night, - he noted, folding his arms over his chest.

- But you weren't listening, Dad! - the younger one objected, waving her hands. - And it was sooo interesting!

Anaxa's wife, the former Nameless, smiled and stretched, as if thinking about which story to tell. Different moments popped into her head - from intense battles to awkward situations that the Trailblazer constantly dragged her into.

- Okay, then maybe I should tell you about that time when the Trailblazer and I almost blew up the kitchen on the Express?

- What? - Anaxa turned to her sharply, and his eyes flashed with disbelief.

- Yes, yes! - the youngest daughter exclaimed happily, ignoring her father's reaction. - How did that happen?

- It was like this... - she began, settling herself more comfortably. - The Trailblazer decided that since we had once again saved the world, we deserved a celebration. The problem was that he didn't really know how to cook.

- Oh, I know how it ends, - the eldest daughter chuckled, folding her arms across her chest.

- Yeah! But we decided to try it anyway. We found some rare recipe from a world where talking plants lived... And, of course, the Trailblazer suggested adding "a little spice."

- Blew it up? - Anaxa clarified, already anticipating the answer.

- Almost. Mr. Welt then lectured us for a long time on safety precautions, and March 7 laughed until she cried because our food tried to escape.

- Oh! Like in fairy tales! - the youngest daughter cried out happily.

- Something like that, - his wife smiled. - By the way, when Mrs. Himeko saw the kitchen after that... well, let's just say that even Dan Heng couldn't save us from her wrath.

The daughters giggled. Anaxa sighed, rubbing his temples.

- And this is how you spent your time as a Nameless?

- Oh, no, that's just a small part, - his wife answered with a sly smile.

- Ooo! Mom, tell me something else about the Trailblazer! - exclaimed the youngest daughter.

- Yes, he's your friend! You said that it was "embarrassing, but fun" with him!

Anaxa frowned with displeasure.

- I'm not sure I want to hear that.

His wife just laughed, patting him on the shoulder.

- Now that's not your zone of control, dear.

And while Anaxa drank tea with a displeased expression, his daughters continued to listen with delight as their mother traveled through the worlds, got into trouble and found friends with whom it was better to be embarrassed than bored.

The evening in the house was especially quiet, if you don’t count the two restless children who were hanging around their mother. Their father, Phainon, had already become accustomed to them always demanding a fairy tale or a story before going to bed, but today they were especially persistent.

- Mom, tell me about your adventures!

- Yes, yes! You were one of the Nameless, traveling between worlds!

The woman put down the book she was reading and looked at the children with a soft smile. A shadow of memory flashed in her eyes.

- Are you sure you want to hear the truth? - she asked with a sly squint.

- Of course! - the children exclaimed in unison. Phainon, who was sitting in a chair nearby, also tore himself away from his thoughts. He had heard about her past, but she rarely shared details.

- Okay... Then listen.

She settled down more comfortably, as if preparing to plunge into those distant days again.

— Long ago, I was part of the crew of the Astral Express, a train that travels between worlds, following the precepts of the Aeon of Trailblazere. We explored the unknown, helped those who needed us, and sometimes… got into some very dubious scrapes.

The children gasped in delight.

- Like the Trailblazer? - the younger asked, his eyes wide. The woman laughed softly.

- Yes, especially with the Trailblazer. He… always found adventure even where there was none.

- And always got into trouble? - the eldest son clarified.

- Oh, even worse!- she rolled her eyes. - When the Trailblazer was around, everyone was embarrassed. Especially me.

Phainon chuckled, but said nothing.

- One day, - she continued, - we found ourselves on a planet where the locals believed that foreigners brought bad luck. We had to change our clothes so that we wouldn’t be discovered. Mr. Welt looked like a strict teacher, Mrs. Himeko looked like a noble lady, and Dan Heng… well, he remained serious and silent as usual. But the Trailblazer… he gave himself away after five minutes, simply because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. The kids burst out laughing.

- And you?

- I tried to save the situation, but in the end we all got locked in the cage.

- How did you get out?!

The woman chuckled.

- Oh, that's a whole other story. But let's just say that if it weren't for Mrs. Himeko and her ability to find a common language with anyone, we would have stayed there.

Phainon shook his head as he listened to the story. He knew that his wife had a wealth of life experience, but sometimes it was hard for him to imagine her always getting into such adventures.

- Why did you leave? - the youngest son suddenly asked. She fell silent, thinking for a moment.

- Because I realized that I had already found what I was looking for.

She looked at Phainon, and then turned her gaze to the children.

- I saw many worlds, but none of them became my home. Until I met your father.

The children exchanged glances.

- But you could have taken us with you on the Express!

- Maybe, - she answered softly. - But then we wouldn't have such a cozy evening where I can tell you stories before bed.

The children thought for a moment, and then, with contented smiles, they snuggled up to their mother.

- Okay, then tell me another story tomorrow!

- Of course, - she promised, hugging them. Phainon only smiled, watching this scene. Even though her heart had once belonged to the stars, now it beat here, next to him and their children.

[gatorbites-imagines]

Coming in here on hands and knees begging for evil emperor mark info. I want that emperor OBLITERATED.

He's not super fleshed out, but evil emperor mark rose to the top through violence and smarts. He's always been smarter and more thought out than the average mark, so even back when he was just invincible, hero of earth, mark had major plans for what to do and the future.

He acted, for the most part. He didn't actually care too much about humanity, only really his mom and William, and he had no interest in eve outside of "well, we'd make great offspring". Maybe Nolan was a little more open about viltrum with his son, after catching mark killing insects or making comments about how people should just die, when watching the news or movies.

In the beginning he just wanted to take over earth, just because he could, so he played the role of the perfect hero. Until he learned about viltrum, their empire, and the fact that they have an emperor, then he wanted THAT.

He's very selfish and possessive, he wants power, he wants rank, he wants to be feared and admired. But he also wants someone to keep up with him, a rival if you prefer, someone to keep him on his toes. Be it in physical battle, battle of the mind, or in bed.

Evil emperor mark likes being the best at everything, and he's at least a thousand years old when we meet him, so he's picked up a lot of different talents. Like music, art, architecture, agriculture, etc etc. he starts homesteading when joining the harem, to one up the other marks.

Emperor mark doesn't see sex as something for pleasure, at least until he ends up in the harem. Before that, it's treated like a fight, where he will bottom yes, but he is in no way submissive. He ends up completely changing the status quo of bottoms across the Galaxy cuz he's a known bottom, but a very very dominant bottom 😭

He's also got the greatest ass and body you've ever seen, soft in the right places, hard in the right places, he's like a sculpture made out of the most beautiful marble. All the scars littering his body is seen as attractive by him too, so he loves showing off.

He likes showing off, wearing jewelry and being pretty, but also handsome at the same time. The only time he's ever had kids in his original dimension, was so they could grow up and he could fight them. It's never him that was pregnant in his universe, as he saw that as beneath him.

Evil emperor mark is thraggs size or maybe a little bigger, and even stronger than thragg was. He killed thragg for his title, and the two might have banged once or twice before mark killed him like a female praying mantis when done mating.

[pinkmoontaco]

Hug in the Limelight || Xu Minghao

Pairing: Idol Minghao X Idol Y/n Genre: Romance, Fluff, Idol romance Summary: When Y/n’s group wins their first trophy, she breaks down in tears—only for Minghao to hug her on live TV, shocking everyone. Authors Note: Hey everyone, 😊!! I'm back with a short story that was requested by one of you! First off, I just want to say thank you from the bottom of my heart for all the love and support you’ve shown for Fated to Love You. The incredible response honestly feels like a dream, and I’m beyond grateful for each and every one of you💕 Your sweet comments, reblogs, and kind words truly inspire me to keep writing, so please keep them coming!! Love you guys ❤️ And also feel free to make any request for any other members or other group

The music was deafening, the lights blinding, and the cheers of the crowd an intoxicating high. But even in the midst of all that, her eyes always found his.

Y/N was used to the chaos of the industry. The long nights, the endless rehearsals, the weight of expectations pressing against her shoulders. She had debuted five years ago, climbing the ranks of the industry, her group steadily growing into one of the top names in K-pop. She had learned to balance fame with sanity, but nothing quite prepared her for meeting Xu Minghao.

They met during a special year-end collaboration stage. Her group and SEVENTEEN had been paired together for a mixed performance, a fusion of styles meant to showcase their versatility. Minghao, with his effortless grace and piercing gaze, had immediately caught her attention. But she wasn’t the type to easily show interest. She kept things professional, exchanging polite greetings and focusing on rehearsals.

Minghao, however, was different. He wasn’t loud or overbearing like some of the other idols she had worked with. He moved through the world with an air of calmness, always observing, always calculating. And yet, there was a warmth to him—something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

Their first real conversation happened backstage after a long rehearsal. Y/N had been stretching when he approached, a bottle of water in hand. “You should take a break,” he said, offering it to her.

She raised an eyebrow but accepted it. “You sound like my leader.”

He chuckled, settling down beside her. “I just know how exhausting this industry can be.”

For some reason, she found herself opening up. “Sometimes, I forget what it’s like to rest. It’s always go, go, go.”

Minghao hummed in understanding. “Then you should find small moments for yourself. Even in the chaos.”

She thought about that conversation for weeks after. It wasn’t just his words, but the way he said them—like he truly understood. From then on, stolen moments became their thing. Between rehearsals, at award shows, in the quiet hallways of music broadcasts. A glance, a fleeting smile, a whispered joke. They were never reckless, never obvious, but they found each other in the places where the cameras didn’t reach.

One night, after another successful performance, they found themselves alone on the rooftop of the venue. The city stretched out before them, lights flickering like stars. Y/N pulled her jacket tighter around herself as the cool air bit at her skin.

Minghao leaned against the railing beside her. “You were amazing tonight.”

She smiled. “So were you.”

They stood in silence for a moment before he turned to face her fully. “Y/N… do you ever wonder if there’s a version of us that doesn’t have to hide?”

Her heart clenched at the question. She had thought about it more times than she could count. “All the time,” she admitted. “But we both know the reality.”

He nodded, looking up at the sky. “Then we’ll just have to make the most of what we have.”

She reached for his hand, fingers lacing together. It was dangerous. Reckless, even. But in that moment, she didn’t care. Because despite everything—the cameras, the contracts, the expectations—they had this. Their stolen moments. And for now, that was enough.

But then, everything changed.

A week later, a blurry photo of them holding hands surfaced online. It spread like wildfire, speculations running rampant. Their agencies moved quickly, arranging emergency meetings and discussing possible responses. They had two choices—deny or come clean.

Minghao was the first to make a decision. “Let’s be honest,” he said, looking at Y/N with certainty in his eyes. “I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

Her heart pounded as she nodded. “Me neither.”

The next day, they posted matching statements on social media. “Yes, we are together. We’ve found comfort and happiness in each other, and we hope you can support us.”

The reactions were mixed—some fans cheered, others felt betrayed. But through it all, Minghao stayed by her side, holding her hand just as tightly as he had that night on the rooftop.

And this time, they weren’t just stolen moments. They were theirs to keep.

The stage of Music Bank was deafening. Cheers, screams, and a wave of emotions crashed through the air as Y/n’s group was announced as the winner.

For a moment, she just stood there. Did she hear that right?

Her leader’s hands flew to her mouth, another member collapsed to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. Their dream—the thing they had fought for, cried for, bled for—was finally in their grasp.

Y/n tried to hold herself together, tried to keep her emotions at bay, but the moment she locked eyes with the fans in the audience, the ones who had waited years for this just as much as they had—the tears fell.

She covered her face with her hands, her body trembling as reality sank in. Her members wrapped around each other in a tight embrace, crying, shaking, overwhelmed.

And then, through her blurred vision, she saw him.

Xu Minghao.

Standing on the other side of the stage, his gaze locked onto hers. His lips were slightly parted, as if he was trying to find words, but the way his hands clenched into fists at his sides told her everything.

In that moment, he didn’t care about the cameras. He didn’t care about the industry’s rules.

He moved.

The entire stage seemed to freeze as Minghao crossed the boundary between them.

The MCs' voices stuttered. The other idols gasped. The audience erupted.

Before Y/n could even process it, she was in his arms.

A collective gasp filled the studio.

She didn’t hesitate—her arms wrapped around his torso as she buried her face into his shoulder, shaking from both the weight of the moment and the warmth he provided.

Minghao held her tightly, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other securing her against him as if shielding her from the entire world. He didn’t care about the rules. He didn’t care about the headlines.

She had won, and he needed her to know he was there.

The MCs didn’t know what to say. The idols behind them exchanged stunned glances, some covering their mouths, others clutching their chests in shock. The broadcast camera zoomed in, capturing every moment—a moment that would become legendary.

Y/n trembled in his arms, gripping his jacket so tightly that her knuckles turned white. “I—I can’t believe it…” she choked out between sobs.

Minghao exhaled shakily, his own eyes glassy. He pulled back just enough to look at her, his hands gently wiping the tears off her cheeks. “Believe it. You deserve this.”

Her lip quivered, fresh tears threatening to spill.

The murmurs of the other idols grew louder, whispers of “Oh my God,” “This is insane,” and “They really don’t care anymore” filling the air.

Finally, one of the MCs stammered into the mic, “W-Well… I think we just witnessed something… historic.”

The audience was already exploding, social media in flames with headlines flooding in real-time.

"SEVENTEEN'S MINGHAO DEFIES INDUSTRY RULES—PUBLICLY EMBRACES Y/N DURING FIRST WIN!"

"MINGHAO AND Y/N: LOVE IN THE SPOTLIGHT"

"IDOLS AREN'T SUPPOSED TO SHOW THIS MUCH EMOTION—BUT MINGHAO JUST DID."

But at that moment, neither of them cared.

Minghao cupped her cheeks, his thumbs tracing gentle circles as he whispered, "Let them say what they want. This moment is yours.”

Y/n sniffled, nodding, and for the first time that night, a smile broke through her tears.

With their hands still intertwined, standing under the brightest lights in the industry, they had never felt freer.

[halotica]

hi everyone, i wrote this short essay about time and the self that means a lot to me, if anyone here wants to read it :)

I went to an arcade today. a "retrocade", filled with 30% beaten up machines and the rest innumerously similar to one another. it was interesting, modern yet not. i saw games i've only heard spoken of or seen in youtube videos, games that i forgot, games that had been desecrated and left as cardboard husks, no screen, empty gun slots, abandoned because the parts weren't worth the cost. the guy at the entrance, the owner i believe, wouldn't stop talking about how there were no modern games, no 2000's "junk" just the 90's 80's and 70's. wouldn't stop making cocaine jokes either. he was a chill guy, but his reality felt trapped- joyously transfixed in one time, one space, pulling others into his truth.

i almost threw up at the end. it felt like a hotbox of flesh and subsuming meatwarmth.

i called my girlfriend, speaking for the first time in almost a year. she asked "who are you" when i messaged, and i had to agonizingly explain the multiple ego deaths and almost-real deaths that led to such a change in existence and expression. i couldn't believe she still loves me, it was like talking to a portal through time. like i was looking through a rift, back into the pov of that scared girl exploring the rotting parts of toronto, loving every terrified second of it. and the rift only let me look at the girl who dragged me along through it all. i wouldn't have gotten here without her, for better or (and, really) for worse. she gave me our memories back, filled me with a past. like there was a bottle of lightning in my heart, carrying thousands of volts of lives that could've been, and a single crack let it seep out. my body didn't stop shaking for an hour. all i could think of was everything she went through, how i could've been there, how i could've held her into the stability she now has. but then again, she recognized the utter dissonance between the me now and the girl then, she spoke of us with the same fondness while her voice twinged with, either curiosity or confusion im not sure. she told me she never stopped missing me. i told her the same. i left that reality to crumble because i thought i was already dead once i left it, but now i am alive, and i know otherwise. pulling bits and pieces that i desire, leaving the rest where they should lie.

no matter what she said about the past about the new about how things have become, you can't reach your hand through the rift. if i go back to toronto, which i am considering more by the day, it will never be the same. and i'm glad for that. "the ___ you knew is not the same ___" i know, sister, neither are any of us. you will never be the exact same girl that taught me how to two-step, how to love fully, how to make a mark. but if i can i'll come back and i'll hold you as new, and we'll exist for what we are now, no melancholic hesitation, no dreamy life huddled together in that streetcar headed towards the end of the bay, the end of what may be everything. this life will be this life until we die and then there's another. if there's anything i've learned through rebirth, it's that you can't escape time, but time is not an antagonist. time coddles you, time begs you to understand, even though you can't. time is always there, leading you to something, anything. you can do anything inside of time, it's a comforting blanket when you can feel the veil. when you know that time will always be there, until the end, you know that you must respect it, and do what you can with time as your eternal company, until it shows itself, and sits with you until the moribund rot sets in.

if my girlfriend messages me tomorrow as we said, i'll be overjoyed. if she doesn't, i'll still be Halo, i'll still be Trance, and the memories of her and the girl she knew, fighting in the back of the Cruel Intent pit where only the merch guys and the band members could see us, will still be here. and the memories will never be lost, or take over, memories are time, showing us its face. it wants us to see, that it has been here, and still is, it wants us to look it in the eyes and make new memories with it. memories are the only true motivational tales.

5 years ago today, i was three lives separated from now. even the twinges of feminization had barely reached me. the memories then are desaturated and cold. time has decided to relieve me of them, until i need them to see that it won't leave.

2 years ago, i was closest to a self than ever before. i cut my hair for the first time since COVID, i lived on my own for the first time ever, i was medicated for the first time, and had estrogen for a few months. it felt like life. and it fell as quickly as it came. time followed along, it kept those memories so i'll always know the catalyst of all catalysts, and know that they keep coming. life is a never-ending crux point, a point of damnating decisions. many think they come and go, but events are put in amber as they happen, dragged along like a rock. but i don't have to be the one to carry that rock, to let it chain me. you can let time carry it, it wants to be your pack mule, so you can carry yourself without the need for assistance. though you will need assistance, even time misunderstands. it will warp your memories to suit your needs, but isn't that so much better than living in pocket realities of space and time. i enjoy travelling through the pockets i'm given, knowing more realities will show themselves to me, will fade into this one until the previous is gone like the wind, dissipated until it can only be felt in the changing air, the heat transferring into me, being held on by my pores. another to be carried by my forever confidant.

now, in the hardest place i've been in in my life, i know it simultaneously is not that. there is no point of rock bottom or a peak of all peaks. this pocket, like every, expands with each second, entropy will find its victim, and i will be shot into a new continuum. dead and yet alive.

so it goes.

by the time that things are noticeably different, they will be entirely familiar. dozens of generations of cockroaches have died since i was a scared 15 year old, in my second-to-last year of high school, asking the lesbian from my therapy group if i was "allowed" to be transgender. they have all experienced time in its entirety, is that not a wondrous release, even for a creature as miniscule as such? they live, they go from house to house, or food source to food source. do you think they see the change from feasting on a rotten apple under the fridge for a month into feasting on the remains of chinese food on a fetid living room table, as a change of utter truth, a life-changing dissonance of realities? we are all in our own, and yet we can fill each other's with air, increase the space, further the movement of entropy, further the cause into the effect, take and give until the bubble pops, and the next one comes to subsume us.

i feel like i should've used up my 90 minutes ive given myself to write this by now. i guess time still wants me to keep going. i could talk to you forever, black text background plastered over the neonic glitch-effected image of some random anime girl. this feels like a reality in its own. for tomorrow will be another drop, as always, leading into a rise. like a roller-coaster, we are at the pinnacle, the daily crux, the climactic orgasmic influx of thought into the idea of the heart that is held inside the mind, and we drop, into the reality of screaming fear. maybe it will lead into a slow plateau for a while, maybe it will rise, maybe it will loopdeeloop and we'll have the most fun we've had in our lives. maybe i can have it all. scratch that, i will have it all. and if time can't stop me—which i know it would never—then nothing can. even as the feelings of that teenage boy from that bubble of time tries to mix into mine, i will take it and i will feel it and will touch her growing hair and i will braid it for the first time and i will tell her it will be okay. things will get so much worse, and things will get so much better, and you will find a self through any of it, you will never be the nothing you think you are, you will not only become so much, you will become so many. you will experience the lives of a girl, a woman, the boy you never got to be, a bug, a dog, a specter and a willing participant both. you will cry and you will cum and you will scream and you will fight and you will die and you will punch and kick and live even when you die. time is here, i am here, that ‘boy’ is here alongside me, and i will never be her again, but maybe i will be a different her in a year, or a month, or even years, but no matter what, i will *be*.

in 2 years i hope to have novels out. i hope to have started a foray into much more than this, games, films, mixed media of all i've learned. but if i haven't, then that is simply another reality that will crawl alongside me, like lines ever-so-slightly unparalleled, waiting to meet and dissolve into each other’s being. anything can happen. everything will happen. even doing nothing but waiting is a deeply consequential decision, one of the most. doing nothing when you are at the crux is no more than another plateau on the roller coaster. you are going to fall, whether you cover your eyes or not. and then the rise will come again, and so will the loops. and don't you want to have your eyes open for that? you will experience a thousand drops, and a thousand climbs, and none will be less vital than the last. you need to keep your eyes open throughout the wind. don't you wanna look at all the faces you made on the camera at the end? at every differing face you wore? a collage of every death and every life and every half-hearted dissociative fugue and every piece you created while crying and screaming is waiting for you to see, you won't be able to be the creator forever. i have been given the power of a god. to create as much as i can until the light fizzles, and then to create even more in the dark, until my hands grow weary and my fingers give in, bursting with caustic fluid and and leaving my reality. and then, i can hold them all. i will have everything.

time is my right-hand man, my little eunuch advisor, whether scheming or telling truths, i love her. and i'm going to drag her around on a leash until we reach the volcano, then i'm gonna throw every twink i could've been inside it, then i'm gonna watch, and i'm gonna turn to time, and i'll say "pretty funny, right?" and we'll laugh. and we'll sit by the heat with no suits, letting it peel away every layer. the girls and boys in my head who have told every me many things, who have driven me to this point, will wither as i huff the caustic fluids seeping from time's wounds, and i'll feel every reality that once existed within and without me, with each of their deaths, and i'll say "pretty funny, right?" and i will take one last drop into the final, into the last face of my realities. and time won't be there to hold me anymore. i will.

and i will know, i have had everything.

[moonlightmornings]

hannah's buddie fic recs || pt. 3 💫

soooo 8x10 drops tonight how are we feelin... next part of this series will be love languages edition!!

as always, if you're the author of one of these please reply and i'll tag your tumblr! and check the tags and warnings before reading!!

PART TWO -> hannah's buddie fic recs

put my heart inside your palms by markofalover / @markofalover | 3.0k words | teen+ How an accidental pet name, a thoughtful dinner, and a shared shirt gets their shit together.

i found love where it wasn't supposed to be (right in front of me) by finduilas / @ronordmann | 5.0k words | explicit It’s such a long time coming and still it takes Buck by surprise. It takes him by surprise even though he is the one that leans in and finally kisses Eddie. His second surprise is that Eddie doesn’t push him away, doesn’t even look at him with confusion. Or worse, rage. No, Eddie kisses him back like Buck is a tall drink of water and Eddie is severely dehydrated. Buck knows the feeling.

sick with it by taegyungie | 13.7k words | explicit The sound that Eddie makes is mortifying. It’s kind of like a whimper, but mostly he’s just crying. “Buck, I think I’m dying" [....] “You’re not dying.” [....] “Don’t judge me,” Eddie heaves, “but I’m so horny I think I’m dying.”

the distance to the stars by cloudydaisies | 27.2k words | general Everyone knows Eddie is dating Buck except for Eddie, literally.

invisible string (tying you to me) by bookinit / @bookinit02 | 5.2k words | teen+ Buck, Eddie, and the intimacy of a properly-tied shoe.

never known comfort like laying next to you by thelikesofus / @the-likesofus | 2.6k words | general A long shift ends with a quiet pizza and movie night within the walls of the Diaz house followed by a quiet confession beneath Eddie’s duvet.

made for a greater love by casfallsinlove | 1.9k words | teen+ It’s a good kind of ache, standing there with his chin on Buck’s shoulder and his arm around his waist, like digging a thumb into a bruise to feel alive, and Buck is so soft with him, gripping him firmly but not crushing his bad side, a heavy, steady weight for Eddie to lean into... (a 4.14 coda)

where the light enters by june_nights / @beecauseevan | 108k words | mature Chris is 800 miles away, and Eddie's house feels emptier than ever. As always, Buck is right there, ready to have his back, to catch him without hesitation if he falls. This is familiar, this is normal, this is the way they've always been. This is fine, until it isn't. Until Eddie finds himself drawn to Buck in ways he never expected—ways that might not be so new at all.

we can be saved by oracleofgarbage / @oracle-of-garbage | 87.4k words | mature Christopher's gone, Bobby's in forced retirement, Gerrard is a terror, and Buck is trying to keep his family together, at any cost... Eddie needs to learn who he is and what he wants outside of being a father, of being a firefighter. As they work to rescue the people of Los Angeles from perilous disasters, they just might find a way to save each other.

know you're not alone (i'm gonna make this place your home) by gay_internet_mafia / @queercomesthesun | 16.7k words | teen+ Buck has nightmares but Eddie being around makes it better. Cue bedsharing and a slow transition from friends to lovers that if they're honest, started long before the scope of this fic.

claim me by mickeysmyheart / @mickeysmyheart | 6.7k words | explicit New probie flirts with Eddie any chance he gets and Buck loses his mind about it since Eddie has secretly been his boyfriend for almost a month.

crossroads by hearmyplea | 65.2k words | explicit Eddie is on the cusp of breaking down [...] He comes across a flier for “Crossroads”. An underground exclusive nightclub aimed towards dark clubbing and exploration of self with full anonymity [...] Feelings he definitely wouldn’t mind exploring with that masked, tall and hunky dancer on that stage over there who just happens to remind him of Buck.

platonic co-parents don't kiss like we do by thelikesofus / @the_likesofus | 7.1k words | mature 5 times other people see Buck and Eddie kiss + 1 time they really mean it.

every thorn has its rose by anchrblack / @anchrblack | 16.6k words | explicit Christopher calls Eddie. a road trip, long overdue conversations with his mother, and a love that'll keep him safe through the dark. Eddie's boys come home.

you know i'll take my heart clean apart if it helps yours beat by bucksbicycle | 7.8k words | teen+ 5 times Buck secretly decorates Eddie’s bedroom + 1 time they decorate their bedroom together.

handle with care by writingfromforks | 5.1k words | explicit Bucks does something nice for Eddie and Eddie falls in love about it.

[strrykais]

(❤︎) ── eyes are the window to the soul

after your break up with chan, things were okay until the semester started and now you cant seem to escape him, not that you really want to ..

𐀔𓂃 kais note: part 2 to these four walls! definitely not proof read! can also be read without reading these four walls! 3.1k words

warnings : unprotected sex (dont do that!), oral (m. receiving), nipple play, swallowing, chan slight sub! and anything i may of missed idk

back to library | req? yes / no

Nobody really ever tells you that mourning a relationship you never thought was gonna end, hurts like hell. Its been about two months since you and Chan stopped talking, after he refused to start a relationship with you. It hurt that he never gave you a true reason. 

It took you days to get his smell out of your apartment and it took you the whole summer to not purposely stay up waiting for him to magically appear. It was hard, hours upon hours stuck in this room where you shared fond memories but that was all they were.. Memories.

It was the start of your senior year of this magic school and you were excited to graduate and continue on your journey into becoming a professor. You clutched onto your books waiting outside the bathroom for a certain brown haired boy to walk out. 

“Han jisung, come on, we are gonna be late for potions.” shouting into the bathroom hoping he could hear you, when no response came out. You huff readying to march in there when you run into a hard chest. You froze, you know this smell it took you days of open windows and nights of washing to finally get this smell out of your mind. But chan’s smell always put you at ease, and that was the last thing you wanted to remember. Pushing yourself back from his arms you continue to face the ground, hoping it would swallow him up whole.

“You cut your hair.” Chan's voice was soft, almost like he was imagining you there. He slowly reaches out, wanting to feel like you are really there.

“What's going on?” jisung pops up startling you both, Chan clears his throat mumbling a small bye. Your eyes never leaving his figure till Jisung cleared his throat.

“Was that him?” 

“Yes.” you turn to head to your class, hoping jisung understood and wouldn’t question you more than you would like.

It's been about two weeks since you actually ran into Chan, you never had the heart to go up to him, and he never had the balls to try to talk to you. But you could feel it, the eyes watching you, waiting as if they were waiting for the right time to pounce. It was frustrating you felt him watching you, you knew it was him because no one's eyes made you feel all tingly from head to toe. 

It was one of those days where you felt him constantly around, you didn't see him but you definitely felt him. No matter where you looked you just couldn’t seem to find him. Sighing you quickly get out your chair making your way to the back of one of the book aisles hoping he would follow you. You hide behind a shelf, waiting till you see a familiar set of curly hair.

“Chan, why have you been following me around these days?” you pop up from behind him causing him to jump up a little. You try to cover your small smile with a cough, but Chan noticed. Ever since he saw you outside the bathroom, you never left his mind. In all honesty you haven't left his mind since that night 3 months ago. He has been trying to gather the courage to come up to you but every time he would try to take a step he could only remember the way your face fell when he told you he couldn’t have a relationship with you. The way hope of you two seeped out your eyes only for him to be the reason you no longer look like you once did. 

“I haven't been following you.” Chan scratches the back of his neck, an easy tell that you learned meaning he is lying. Now that you were catching him off guard, you finally had a chance to really look at him. He looked the same for the most part, his hair a little longer but still as curly and messy on his pretty head. You couldn’t really tell but it looked like he had been working out, if only you could see what was under that jacket. Wait, you shouldn't be having these thoughts anymore. Shaking your head to rid them, you finally looked up into his eyes. His eyes were always your favorite, no matter how many white lies he has told you, his eyes always told you the truth, which is why looking at them made your heart flutter. They always held the stars, they held everything that you wanted and more. And right now they held a sense of longing, a sadness that you wanted to wipe away.

“Stop following me if you have nothing to say to me. I can feel you all over. It's annoying when I'm trying to work.” you picked at the end of your sweater trying to keep your hands busy, too scared that they might reach over for his like they did all those nights ago. 

“I. ive been trying to find the right words but every time I think they are okay and enough for you I stop and think, am I enough for you? Can I ever be enough for you.” His voice was soft, almost like he never actually meant for those words to be said. Before you could answer him the clock tower bells rang out. 

With a breath of relief glad to literally be saved by the bell “bye chan.” you say as you gently push by him. 

You were upset the rain ruined your night out, now stuck inside instead of bar hopping with your friends, you just decided to curl up and watch a movie. Gathering some snacks and your blankets you set up camp in the middle of the couch. A few moments pass by when a sudden knock at your door gathers your attention. Pausing the movie you make to the door, swinging it open to reveal a rained soaked chan.

“Chan?” 

“I'm sorry. I don’t know how I ended up here.” 

You know you shouldn’t, you really shouldn’t but the way he was shivering like a dog, and the way his eyes were practically pleading for you to let him in, made you side step pushing the door wider for him to come through.

Chan always felt your apartment was his second home, hell he liked it more than his actual home. He looks around, noticing the blanket mound on the couch and the movie on pause. He couldn't help but look around hoping that you didn't change anything since you two stopped talking. Chan was brought back to the nights you both would laugh in that same spot at some dumb movie you wanted to watch. He didn't mind it, just seeing your smile was enough to get him through the horrible plot.

“You know there's a spell to conjure up things… like I don't know, an umbrella?” Chan watches as you cross your arms over one of his band t-shirts, he gives a small smile towards you. He was glad you still had it actually. 

“The wet look makes me look more sad and pitiful, I'm pretty sure you wouldn’t have let me in if I was dry and had an umbrella.” you watch him as the corner of his lips come up in some sly way. Groaning, you head into the bathroom grabbing a towel and chunking it towards him.

 “Dry up, you are getting my floors wet. I think I have some of your clothes here from.. You know.” you rush upstairs trying to put some distance in between you two, hoping that this buzzing feeling will go away now that his eyes are off you. Rummaging through your drawers you quickly pull out some clothes, hurrying to get him dry as possible. 

Once chan was changed you both somehow ended up on opposite sides of the couch waiting on him to say something as to why he was here. Your body was aching to feel him, you really couldn't understand how this close proximity was messing with your senses. His scent mixed with the rain was making you feel like you were drunk. You kept your eyes closed trying to ground yourself when you heard chans whisper of a voice calling out.

“I'm sorry for the way I left. It was extremely douchey of me to not give you some type of explanation or even an excuse. It wasn't right of me to play with your emotions like that.” glancing over you already see him staring at you.

“If you're here to just give an excuse now chan you can leave, ive come to terms with it. Really. Im fine now” 

“No, I wanted to tell you that.. I.. um i” 

“I think you should leave.” you get up starting for the door when his hand reaches out grabbing at your wrist to stop you. 

“I miss you, and I'm not talking about the sex. I miss everything about you. Everything reminds me of you and I feel like I lost myself when I walked out that room. I lost so much sleep standing out your window trying to stop myself from popping in. YN i’m sorry, people got into my head, my parents got into my head. Telling me you would never be good enough for me, I would never be happy.” hand still holding your wrist he stands up cupping your face with his other, “i let it get to me and i let it make me lose the only true happiness i ever had. And then I realized, would I be good enough for her? Can I even make her happy? Can she truly love me for me?” he lets go of your wrist other hand reaching to cup your other cheek, mouth inching towards yours, his breath fanning over your lips. “Im sorry, and if you have it in your heart please, ill even get down on my knees, please forgive me and lets really try it. Let's date.” 

Chan didn't dare make a move, he watches you process everything from his words to his facial expressions. Chan was trying everything in his power to not kiss you, he didn't want to cross a line that he was scared you drew. 

You knew he wasn’t lying, his eyes said it all. He wanted you, he needed you. That was all it really took for you to press your lips onto him, chan wasted no time in kissing you back tilting his head to try to kiss you deeper. Chan hands are hot on your skin, one falling to your waist rubbing small circles into his shirt. And the other firmly at the nape of your neck. A soft moan leaves your mouth, giving chan enough access to lick inside. You pull away, panting out of breath as Chan takes this opportunity to kiss around your face, on your cheek, to your nose, a soft one to your forehead, and one below your ear. Chan knew that was a sensitive spot, he could feel the way your body reacted to it. His dick growing harder in his sweats. 

“Baby we should probably stop for tonight.” Chan pulls away, he knew he wasn't gonna have restraint towards you, he never did. 

You took this time to plant kisses onto his neck, sucking leaving marks all over the exposed skin, but it wasn't enough pulling back you reach for the hem of his shirt hoping he got the idea that you didn't care. You needed chan, badly. You needed him for months and your fingers and your toys could never manage to hit the spot you knew he could. With chans shirt off you kiss down his collarbone leaving small marks. Chan was letting out small groans letting his head fall back, enjoying the way your lips felt on him. Chan was caught off guard when you started to rub him from outside his sweats. A huge imprint of his dick formed so beautifully it had you foaming at the mouth. 

“Take them off and sit back down.” You said, Chan wasted absolutely no time in ridding himself of his clothes. Chan really never let you take the reins but the way he was looking at you with his lustful eyes was making you feel even more needy than you have ever been. You place yourself in between his knees watching him watch you gently rub your hands on his thighs. You watch as chans dick bobs up and down, dripping with precum, waiting to be touched.

“Baby please.” his voice was whiny, this was new chan never begged much less use this type of tone with you. It only filled you with more pleasure imaginable. 

“Please what baby?” you say reaching out one hand grabbing his shaft as the other continued to rub softly on his upper thigh. 

“Please your mouth, please use your pretty mouth.” his head rolled back as you slowly started to rub him. Leaning over you let your saliva drip out your mouth falling right on the tip of his dick, chan moans out. Hips thrusting up into your hand, needing some type of relief. 

“Okay baby.” you say before placing a kiss on his tip before wrapping your mouth around him. Chan missed this, missed you. A moan so sweet escapes his lips as he reaches out finding your hair, gripping to keep him from melting in an instant. 

The sounds of your lips wrapped around him, were so sinful but they were mixed with the angelic moans of chan. It only fueled you more to continue to push down taking in more of him. You hollowed your cheeks, bobbing your head up and down using your hand to pump whatever couldn’t fit into your mouth. Chan started seeing stars when he felt your tongue lay flat on the bottom of his dick licking up and down against his vein.

“Baby” his grip on your hair tightens as he thrusts up trying to make your rhythm still letting you be in control. “Fuck baby.. If you… god if you keep sucking me like that im gonna.. I'm gonna cum.” his strained voice and moans fall short on your ears as you really wanted him to come in your mouth.

“Baby please, I'm not gonna last. You need to stop if you don't want it in your mouth.” he head flops to the side as he watches you pick up speed, spit falling out your mouth and tears running out your eyes, “fuckkk….” was all he could muster when you felt him push your head as deep as you could go, gagging when he pushing you farther down where your nose hit his base.

Chan releases you as your mouth makes a popping sound slurping up all his cum into your mouth. Chan takes you in with a dopey smile on his face. 

“Let me see.” you sit back on your heels, tilting your head back letting him see the mess he made in your mouth. “Okay swallow my pretty girl.” Chan sees your throat slightly move up and down then watches you open up to show you swallowed it all. “Good girl.” he reaches out, swiping the little bit on cum out the side of your mouth, bringing it to his lips and licking it away. “Should I show my pretty girl how much I miss her and what she does to me when she's being so good for me?” 

“I just need you to fuck me. Please chan.” you say standing up, chan helps you take off your shirt, leaving you in your underwear. As you reach down to take them all chan stops you. “No, keep them on, they are cute.”

“Im trying to fuck you and you are calling my underwear cute right now?” you straddle on top of him, slowly grinding your wet panties over his hard dick. You moan into his neck as he rubs his fingers over your wet spot, dipping his fingers inside your panties. 

“Did sucking my dick make you this wet? Such a naughty girl.” 

You felt your face get hot but you buried deep into chans neck inhaling him in. 

Chan pushed your panties to the side aligning himself with your hole, he turned to you pressing a kiss into your temple. “You ready baby?” he sees you nod into his neck, "I need words my love.” 

“Yes chan please.” you moan out feeling him drag you over the tip of his dick. 

Chan was definitely losing patience as much as he wanted to savor the way your walls wrapped around him like you were made for him, chan immediately started plowing straight into you, you squealed out by the sudden force but the pleasure was so palpable that you were letting out the most pornographic moans. You were thinking it was because you haven't been with anyone but chan, but you knew that wasn't the only reason. You felt this sort of connection with him, and it wasn't just during sex it was almost as if you were more than two people, almost like you were one. 

Chan didn't stop trusting in you at a relentless pace, hand gripping tightly at your waist as the other pushed up your bra, mouth immediately wrapping around your nipple, rolling around on his tongue. The new sensation was bringing you all sorts of pleasure, chan can feel you tightening around him signaling you were close. 

“Come on baby, i can feel you squeezing me so tight, fuck you feel so good.” 

“Chan.. im so.. Im so” your panting so hard trying to focus on your words.

“I know baby i know, just cum for me love.” Chan presses a kiss onto your shoulder before sinking his teeth into your soft skin.

You moaned out, as you felt yourself fluttering around his dick, chan groans spilling into you, his breath fanning against your skin cooling it down. Chan pulls you out his neck to plant a kiss on your lips. “You are so perfect and everything to me. Please don't leave me ever.” he watches as your eyes flutter open, showing the prettiest color in the entire world. Glazed over so filled with love. He never wanted this look to leave your eyes ever again, he would never let this look leave those eyes.

“If I remember correctly you left me.” you murmur out, lips holding a playful smile. Chan rolls his eyes pulling you into a tight hug, dick growing hard inside you. 

“Up for another round?” you laugh as he quickly lays you down onto the couch.

© strrykais ⋅ i tagged those who asked for part two! sorry if you wished to not be! i just wanted you to know its here finally !! >< please let me know if you want to be removed!

🏷️: @supertopsecretleebit @betweensupernovasandstars @modesttiger @miraitstan @karasusrealwife @crying497 @blackkflamecandle

reblogs, likes and replies are appreciated! feel free to send constructive feedback/thoughts in my asks!

[saintsenara]

Thoughts on Peter Pettigrew? And if you ship him with anyone, who?

thank you very much for the ask, pal! peter is a fascinating character and i always enjoy properly thinking about him.

because - let's be honest - he really goes under the radar, in both canon and fanon. he's extraordinarily cunning, ruthless, powerful, adaptable, emotionally literate, intelligent…

and yet you wouldn't get that impression if you take harry's narrative at face value. even after peter escapes at the end of prisoner of azkaban/cuts his own hand off in goblet of fire.

[which is one of harry's most interesting character traits - his tendency to split the world into black-and-white "good people" and "bad people" is something we talk about a lot, but he also has a tendency to split the world into "special people, who have agency" and "unspecial people, who don't"... hence his attitude to characters such as stan shunpike.]

but the main thing i find fascinating about peter isn't actually the way his talents are overlooked by the text. it's the way he embodies one of the series' central messages: that "it does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live" [PS 12].

when dumbledore says this to harry, it's as advice on how to deal productively with grief. and obviously that's a good and healthy message to receive - especially for the children who are philosopher's stone's intended audience.

but the statement has another application, which ties to another one of the series' themes: that all that glitters is not gold.

so much of the overarching seven-book narrative is about jealousy and longing - harry's longing for a family, ron's jealousy of harry's fame, petunia's longing for magic and jealousy of lily, snape's longing for lily and jealousy of james, etc.

and it's also about how this jealousy and longing leads us to see what we want to see - ron becoming convinced that harry's feelings for hermione are romantic, lupin's inability to criticise james leading to his rage when harry's appalled at him walking out on tonks, the death eaters being convinced that voldemort is a champion of pureblood oligarchy, fudge refusing to believe that voldemort has returned etc.

as both ron and harry learn after ron stabs the locket-horcrux, you have to live the life you actually have and you have to know the people you know as they actually are. you can't imagine them into something they're not, become sad and/or angry when they fail to meet expectations it was always impossible for them to fulfil, and then let that sadness and anger fester until the poison within you can no longer be contained...

which is the peter pettigrew special, really...

sirius' assessment of peter in prisoner of azkaban comes in clutch for us on this point:

"Because you never did anything for anyone unless you could see what was in it for you. Voldemort's been in hiding for fifteen years, they say he's half dead. You weren't about to commit murder right under Albus Dumbledore's nose, for a wreck of a wizard who'd lost all of his power, were you? You'd want to be quite sure he was the biggest bully in the playground before you went back to him, wouldn't you?" [PoA 19]

i love this line for a lot of reasons - especially sirius' tacit admission that he and james once met that criteria of "biggest bully in the playground" - but i particularly like the way it aligns peter with [dumbledore's assessment of] voldemort's school friends:

"As he moved up the school, he gathered about him a group of dedicated friends; I call them that, for want of a better term, although as I have already indicated, Riddle undoubtedly felt no affection for any of them. This group had a kind of dark glamour within the castle. They were a motley collection; a mixture of the weak seeking protection, the ambitious seeking some shared glory, and the thuggish gravitating toward a leader who could show them more refined forms of cruelty. In other words, they were the forerunners of the Death Eaters, and indeed some of them became the first Death Eaters after leaving Hogwarts." [HBP 17]

peter is fundamentally someone ambitious seeking shared glory. and he does this - like, it's implied, quite a lot of death eaters - by putting on his rose-tinted glasses and deluding himself into believing that the person he expects to share that glory with him actually will share it... until everything comes crashing down and he's forced to see that they actually think of him as unworthy of sharing anything with. and his fury becomes toxic.

because peter is someone who inherently views himself as a follower.

lord voldemort would never - to borrow sirius' phrase - do something for someone else unless he could see what was in it for him. but voldemort's selfishness is because he sees himself as the unparalleled superior of everyone he meets - there's no need to help those under you if they're the only people who benefit!

peter's selfishness is slightly different - everything he does is in pursuit of vicarious glory. he wants to be praised and rewarded by a leader he's made more powerful. he doesn't want to be that leader himself.

peter the marauder

indeed, canon emphasises that this is what attracted him to james and sirius:

To Sirius' right stood Pettigrew, more than a head shorter, plump and watery-eyed, flushed with pleasure at his inclusion in this coolest of gangs, with the much-admired rebels that James and Sirius had been. [DH 10]

obviously this is harry's subjective view ["much-admired rebels" is a bit of a stretch, let's be real…], which the text does acknowledge ["or was it simply because harry knew how it had been, that he saw these things in the picture?"].

but harry's assessment of the teenage peter here matches the one we're given across the series:

"Pettigrew... that fat little boy who was always tagging around after them at Hogwarts?" said Madam Rosmerta. "Hero-worshipped Black and Potter," said Professor McGonagall. "Never quite in their league, talent-wise." [PoA 10]

James was still playing with the Snitch, letting it zoom farther and farther away, almost escaping but always grabbed at the last second. Wormtail was watching him with his mouth open. Every time James made a particularly difficult catch, Wormtail gasped and applauded. After five minutes of this, Harry wondered why James didn't tell Wormtail to get a grip on himself, but James seemed to be enjoying the attention. [OotP 28]

peter is set up as someone who's understood by everyone not to occupy the same role in society [both "society" as in the social ecosystem of hogwarts, and as in wizarding society more generally] as james and sirius.

this is almost certainly for class and blood-status related reasons - and hello to another anon on this point:

the fact that the only parent mentioned in the text is his mother strongly suggests that he's a half-blood with a muggle or muggleborn father [which his narrative parallels with snape, his narrative relationship with voldemort, and his narrative contrast with barty crouch jr. also support].

the way his mother is spoken about by other characters in prisoner of azkaban - especially fudge: "black was taken away by twenty members of the magical law enforcement squad and pettigrew received the order of merlin, first class, which i think was some comfort to his poor mother" [PoA 10] - sets her up as the passive figure in her relationship to the state [the ministry deigns to provide her with comfort], thus implying that she was ordinary, middle-class, and respectable, but lacked the class-based social power to occupy a more active role in the relationship.

[contrast her, for example, with someone like augusta longbottom, who is a much more active figure narratively.]

but she also can't come from a working-class background, because otherwise voldemort wouldn't seek to humiliate peter by making him live in snape's slum house as his servant.

but peter is also set up as someone who - while he accepts that james and sirius are his superiors and doesn't want to usurp their positions - nonetheless thinks that the two of them will do all they can to increase his chances of helping them accrue more glory, thus allowing the glory he shares in to be all the greater.

and why not? after all, he has plenty of evidence that they'd be capable of doing this, given the lengths they go to for remus…

i think he can be very easily understood as somebody who thinks that - once the three of them have nailed the animagus transformation and achieved their goal of supporting remus during the full moon - then the next thing on james and sirius' list of priorities is putting in a similar level of effort on his behalf.

indeed, the text does imply this - in snape's worst memory, peter goes from being positioned with remus as james and sirius' inferior:

Snape was on his feet again, and was stowing the O.W.L. paper in his bag. As he emerged from the shadows of the bushes and set off across the grass, Sirius and James stood up. Lupin and Wormtail remained sitting.

to being physically positioned with remus but clearly wanting to be an active member of james and sirius' shenanigans:

Lupin was still staring down at his book, though his eyes were not moving and a faint frown line had appeared between his eyebrows. Wormtail was looking from Sirius and James to Snape with a look of avid anticipation on his face. [...] Wormtail was on his feet now, watching hungrily, edging around Lupin to get a clearer view.

to physically joining - but still being excluded from equality of power with - james and sirius:

"How'd the exam go, Snivelly?" said James. "I was watching him, his nose was touching the parchment," said Sirius viciously. "There'll be great grease marks all over it, they won’t be able to read a word."   Several people watching laughed; Snape was clearly unpopular. Wormtail sniggered shrilly. 

to being positioned as sirius' equal under james' leadership:

"Well," said James, appearing to deliberate the point, "it's more the fact that he exists, if you know what I mean..." Many of the surrounding watchers laughed, Sirius and Wormtail included.

to being included as both james and sirius' equal:

But too late; Snape had directed his wand straight at James; there was a flash of light and a gash appeared on the side of James' face, spattering his robes with blood. James whirled about; a second flash of light later, Snape was hanging upside down in the air, his robes falling over his head to reveal skinny, pallid legs and a pair of greying underpants. Many people in the small crowd watching cheered. Sirius, James, and Wormtail roared with laughter. [OotP 28]

but this symbolic ascent towards james and sirius recognising and including him isn't what actually comes to pass, is it?

[and as a little shipping-related aside... this is an immaculate wormbucks or padtail premise.]

clearly, peter's experience from the beginning of his sixth year onwards [so from the autumn of 1976] is one in which his hero-worship of james and sirius [and it is just james and sirius - if he felt aggrieved enough by remus that he wanted to implicate him in the potters' deaths he absolutely could have done so] begins to crumble...

and then to fester...

until he's reached a point where the following isn't something he believes is actually true:

"THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED!" roared Black. "DIED RATHER THAN BETRAY YOUR FRIENDS, AS WE WOULD HAVE DONE FOR YOU!" [PoA 19]

[this - as an aside - is one of the major differences between harry and james/sirius. harry's understanding of loyalty and sacrifice is much less transactional: "dumbledore knew, as voldemort knew, that harry would not let anyone else die for him now that he had discovered it was in his power to stop it" [DH 34].]

and decides that he should probably transfer his loyalties to the much bigger bully who's just arrived on the scene.

enter lord voldemort.

peter the death eater

while there are some key differences [peter is the one who has to approach voldemort, rather than the other way round, and - as i've said here - i think voldemort withholds the dark mark from him to keep him striving], peter's recruitment by the death eaters has a huge amount in common with draco malfoy's.

[more on which... here.]

voldemort must win him over by validating his belief that james and sirius [and also dumbledore/the order] don't take him and his talents seriously, that they need to be punished for this, and that when peter has humiliated them, he will have the time of his life basking in the glow of the victorious voldemort, who will also reward him spectacularly.

this is what voldemort does with quite a few of his minions - including regulus [another fantastic ship for peter], barty crouch jr. [likewise], and, of course, snape [which flops], all of whom have that corrosive perception of themselves as always being overlooked.

in the first war, then, voldemort must be pretty nice to him.

[or as nice as voldemort ever gets...]

the threats and the punishment come later.

[as another aside, the implication of canon is that voldemort's use of violence against his minions is relatively infrequent - and only used in specific circumstances - in the first war. the egregious torture he subjects them to in the second - and the fact that he does this publicly - shocks, terrifies, and humiliates even the most ardent first war loyalists. i think we can assume, then, that peter returned to voldemort expecting to find him in the same "you catch more flies with honey" mode as in the first war. he was mistaken.]

the contempt 90s!voldemort holds peter in is iconic - so many of his best lines are times he's mocking him!

but something which always stands out to me is that voldemort's contempt for peter is inextricably linked to his previous position as one of the four marauders.

[indeed, i find it fascinating that voldemort says that peter "faked his own death to escape justice" [DH 33], because the only thing he can mean by "justice" in this context is that peter should have let sirius murder him...]

and the most explicit demonstration of this is the fact that he always calls him wormtail.

this is a fascinating twist on the way voldemort plays with the language of intimacy with his death eaters. his favourites get referred to by their given names, while the rest are referred to more formally, using their surnames:

"Severus, here," said Voldemort, indicating the seat on his immediate right. "Yaxley - beside Dolohov." [DH 1]

and, of course, his ultimate favourite gets referred to by her nickname.

but peter isn't being called wormtail by the dark lord as a show of affection... it's an expression of disregard.

it's clear that the voldemort of the second war deeply understands that peter's life between the potters' deaths and his unmasking at the end of prisoner of azkaban [that is, the period when he didn't get the glory he wanted, he just got a dead james, two friends who want to murder him, and a master who hates him] made him start to regret his resentment of james and sirius for not living up to the versions of themselves he'd invented in his head - especially following sirius' death, when he receives a second demonstration of voldemort's contempt for him, since the moment sirius is out of the picture, the dark lord declares him surplus to requirements and dumps him on snape.

voldemort also knows that peter can only suppress these regrets and pretend they don't exist for so long...

and so everything about their second war relationship is voldemort pre-empting a betrayal he knows will come, when peter's long-buried grief for his friends comes roaring back. hence him setting up peter's silver hand to kill him when his loyalty wavers.

or, more succinctly:

"You returned to me, not out of loyalty, but out of fear of your old friends. You deserve this pain, Wormtail. You know that, don't you?" [DH 33]

peter the [un]man

there's one final thing which i think is really interesting about peter's portrayal in the text, and that's his relationship with gender.

he's someone whose presentation as unmasculine is consistent across his appearances - and is consistently intended to be belittling. but he's also someone whose lack of masculinity is used both to underscore his villainy [and to emphasise that it's the worst type of villainy - to quote jkr, "i loathe a traitor"; peter is the most reprehensible villain in the doylist text's eyes] and to misdirect the reader away from it.

before he's unmasked at the end of prisoner of azkaban, peter is associated narratively with neville:

A hatred such as he had never known before was coursing through Harry like poison. He could see Black laughing at him through the darkness, as though somebody had pasted the picture from the album over his eyes. He watched, as though somebody was playing him a piece of film, Sirius Black blasting Peter Pettigrew (who resembled Neville Longbottom) into a thousand pieces. [PoA 11]

and - therefore - is associated with a lack of masculinity in a fond way. neville is a character the reader is supposed to like, but not a character the reader is supposed to aspire to be like.

the text uses both peter and neville's appearance - especially the fact that both of them are noted to be fat [neville gets described as "plump", which is understood as slightly more polite, but the meaning is the same...] - to emphasise this. they're soft and shy and unsporty. they're passive, in contrast to harry [and james'] masculine vigour. they're both followers, but in a good way.

or, they both occupy the role female characters tend to: conduits for the male characters' deeds and desires, but lacking the agency to have deeds and desires of their own.

[hence why i am extremely compelled by @whinlatter's theory that the best lightning-gen parallel for peter is ginny...]

this is the tone of the secret keeper swap. peter is chosen by james and sirius precisely because they understand him as a vessel. he can contain and surround and envelope the potters and keep them safe that way, while sirius - who embodies the active qualities of a masculine protector - protects them by fighting and running and being hunted.

but - of course - peter doesn't perform this feminine protector role. he corrupts it. and this another way the text underscores that he's its worst villain... he bastardises a role typically associated with motherhood.

he and sirius are set up narratively as the parallel to james and lily: sirius is the masculine figure, the father, the "take harry and run"; peter is the feminine, the mother, the "refuses to stand aside".

once peter is unmasked at the end of prisoner of azkaban and his corruption of his maternal role is revealed, the text's presentation of his unmanliness then becomes something used to emphasise how vile and creepy the reader is supposed to find him.

it does this while maintaining the corrupted motherhood metaphor - hence him having to nurse voldemort's pseudo-infant form in goblet of fire, and hence him being positioned as inferior to barty crouch jr., who joins voldemort and peter, his "wife", to take the narrative role of voldemort's son and heir.

this is extremely interesting, since the text typically uses a lack of maternal or pseudo-maternal experience to indicate that its female villains [especially bellatrix and umbridge] are to be understood as villains by the reader. the exceptions, petunia dursley and walburga black, are fascinating parallels for peter, given the way that they also embody the corrosiveness of resentment and the impact it has on truly being able to grieve.

but peter also becomes a second, specific form of unman once he's unmasked...

the eunuch.

it's really striking that - from the latter chapters of prisoner of azkaban onwards - peter is frequently associated with the theme of voyeurism:

But Ron was staring at Pettigrew with the utmost revulsion. "I let you sleep in my bed," he said. [PoA 19]

Snape held up a hand to stop her, then pointed his wand again at the concealed staircase door. There was a loud bang and a squeal, followed by the sound of Wormtail scurrying back up the stairs. "My apologies," said Snape. "He has lately taken to listening at doors, I don't know what he means by it." [HBP 2]

the sexual undertone to these associations is really significant, because - when combined with the presentation of peter as a follower/an outsider looking in and with the presentation of him as lacking in virility - it renders him sexless, but in a specifically jealous way. he's not voldemort, whose canon presentation as aromantic is used to underscore his villainy by implying there's something "wrong" with him... he's someone who should have been able to access the "normal" structures of love and family, but who has self-castrated himself from this "normality" due to his corruption arc, and who is forced to watch from the sidelines coveting what others have and regretting his decisions and loathing himself.

[hence my absolute conviction that the reason he's not at home on halloween 1981, when sirius goes to check on him and finds his safe-house empty, is because he's snuck into the potters' house in rat form to watch james and lily be murdered...]

and this idea of peter as somebody unsexed or castrated is really interesting as a lens to examine one of his most sinister moments - his role in the torture and murder of bertha jorkins.

nb: there is a discussion of rape in what follows.

i liked this post by @pangaeaseas - and the discussion in the notes -about voldemort's treatment of peter surrounding his capture of bertha jorkins. but i thought it was interesting how a lot of this discussion focused on the ways voldemort is insulting peter's intellect in this context... and not the ways he's attacking his sexual prowess.

the text is pretty clear - not least in the enormous victim-blaming undertone to the way many characters [especially male ones] talk about bertha's disappearance - that peter brought bertha to voldemort after convincing her that he wanted to engage in some form of consensual sexual encounter [described by voldemort, in pg-13 terms, as a "nighttime stroll"]. voldemort's astonishment at peter managing to accomplish this isn't so much him being shocked that he had the way with words/quick thinking abilities to talk bertha into going with him, it's him being shocked that someone he considers to be so unmanly as to be impotent managed to pull.

and then - it is heavily implied, both in the text itself and in jkr's statements since publication that her editor looked like she wanted to be sick when she described how voldemort was restored to a rudimentary body - to rape:

"He was the penis able-bodied servant I needed, and, eunuch poor wizard though he is, Wormtail was able to violate a woman follow the instructions I gave him, which would return me to a rudimentary, weak body of my own, a body I would be able to inhabit while awaiting the essential ingredients for true rebirth." [GoF 33]

[with-my-murder-flute]

Re: The Tomb of Dragons ship situation/ending, spoilers for A Companion to Wolves and Angel of the Crows

Like I respect Addison's right to write the stories that feel meaningful to her, she doesn't have to just feed us fanbait, not every author has to do that

but I was white-knuckling up to the very last sentence of the book

I have trust issues ever since A Companion to Wolves, where the first book ends and you're like. I guess they have somehow found a way to survive and be happy in their unusual approach to society's sexual mores! And then the next book begins and it's like "Oh actually the main character is just resigned to permanent unhappiness with this, maybe he will dredge up a thin trickle of joy in life focusing on something totally different." And I'll be honest, I put that book down and never picked it up again, because I did the good girl Catholic thing and thought "Oh well I'll never experience sexual joy or deep enduring love but maybe I'll have like idk a career or some shit" long enough for one lifetime. NO MORE. I just gave up and went back to Every Marine a Wolfbrother.

And then Angel of the Crows was like, "I got shot down every single time I reached for queer joy or relationships and the one relationship that does remain is not really what I want or need and maybe I am a bit fundamentally unlovable, but I'll survive, we get by," and I was, again... I recognize this is not a story for me. It's not what I want from a story. But also, I am so disappointed and tired here.

So with this series I was just so much like... she does not owe us fanbait, I have trained myself to think it's tacky and bad to get upset that an author has not provided the exact kind of representation we want exactly how we want it. I watched the Good Omens fandom explosions and don't want to do that.

But at the same time. We have been hearing about the extreme gay agony of this beautiful muppet for FOUR BOOKS STRAIGHT. He is the world's most sopping wet little meow meow, and quite respectfully, if you do not want your fans to form a frenzy and start burning down uninhabited buildings due to an overload of unrequited textual sexual tension, MAYBE DON'T FOCUS ON IT QUITE SO MUCH.

So I'm here at the end of Tomb of Dragons going, "I guess I'm okay with this? I guess I can live? It's not exactly what I wanted and it's not delivered to the degree I wanted, but I guess we can get by here."

Is this what Stockholm Syndrome feels like? I literally don't believe Stockholm Syndrome is a real thing, I think it's been bunk since the day it was created, but also, this feels like what Stockholm Syndrome would feel like.

I will probably be able to like the new love interest! I can see myself in the future being happy with the way the story ended up going in, once I get over the fact that it went there! This makes sense and I can see it and reconciling all those feelings is what fanfiction's for!

I just also... am not so excited to see what else Addison's working on now. Because this overarching theme or emotional focus on the yearning for warmth and closeness and empathy and touch and desire, and the realization that you will just have to make do with slightly unsatisfying substitutes instead, is just way too similar to the defeatist ways I learned to approach life with when I was a child. It's exactly the mindset I wanted to get away from then and am still learning to let go of now.

I don't want to squash the fandom with my disappointment and negativity, and if fandom does just turn into everyone being angry and bitter that the author personally flipped them the bird and actually everything about these books is proof that they've always been shit, no thanks, not hanging out with that again. If I stick around, it's for Thara getting railed in exactly the way he wants in some happier future, and figuring out what that would look like.

[strangelittlestories]

Once upon a time, I was a Chosen One.

—

The spell spins through the air and I duck just in time. It turns a section of the wall behind me into a fractal skeleton of brick-shards.

—

Since all that was taken away from me, I had always expected to die forlorn, wistful and alone. But I had hoped that it wouldn’t be *today*.

—

The brick skeleton opens its red ribcage to swallow me and I scramble away.

The second mage's spell catches me in the shoulder. My tendons unwrap and attempt to burst out of my skin to strangle me. I push them down with my dwindling anima and they settle grudgingly back into place.

—

I’m getting ahead of myself. You may be wondering how someone becomes an ex-Chosen One. Well, being a Chosen One does not - contrary to popular opinion - make me special. 

I feel the absence of The Embrace constantly; like I’m stuck in the moment on a rollercoaster where your stomach falls away. This does not make me special either. There are a handful of other former avatars scattered about and I know they’re not doing well either (I scry on them from time to time). And besides, we hardly have a monopoly on the churning loss of purpose. 

—

I throw my anima into my fists. I don’t really have any to spare, but I’m done for if I just play defence.

There’s no clever working here, no cunning curse or complex incantation. I just ball up my hand, crush my spirit until it’s solid, then punch it out. The air ripples in a line of force connecting me and the second mage. It catches her in the stomach. I feel agony erupt as she collapses in three different planes.  

It is not nearly enough.

—

I have learned since I left the Mycelial Coven that yearning is a warm and open hearth. All are welcome to sit by the fire at the centre of the yawning void, staring at the flames until they burn the whole world away.

It is worse because I still think it’s correct. We designed The Embrace to be a temporary measure. A distillation of collective power, drawn from a collective of magicians distributed  across continents and consciousnesses.

Sometimes a crisis demands a champion. A single point of focus. A locus of amassed anima from around the world. It is given freely, and this avatar is Embraced; girded in belief, love and enough magic to jumpstart a star.

—

A third mage arrives. He is holding a curse above his head that spreads across the sky like wispy cirrus clouds made of animos (that rancid slurry of tainted spirit). The strands descend and wrap around the three of them, propping up the second mage like a puppet.

They surround me. Strands of sticky, bile-black poison rear up to strike.

I reach for The Embrace to help me. Of course, it is not there.

—

When I accepted The Embrace, I knew it was a once-only deal. It’s too much power to let any one person wield longer than one catastrophe. You get one quest. One war. One singularity. One chapter of the story where you’re the most important person in the world.

And if you survive, you leave the Micelial. That’s the deal. If the collective relies too long on an individual, it makes them a king. If an individual stands above the collective too long, it makes them a god.

So you save the world. You get gratitude. You get support. You get therapy. And you get shown the door.

I still think that is the right call.

But it’s not exactly helpful when you end up back in the life-or-death tangle again.

—

The curse wraps around me like a lover dripping venom.

My tattered anima burns to vapour as I try to stop it seeping into my skin.

I keep reaching. The Embrace is not there. It never will be again. But I reach still, grasping for the place where power once was.

And *something* answers. It offers me infinity. It gives me a price.

There are many sources of strength in the world beyond those made by the Mycelial Coven. The Embrace is only special because it is *benevolent*.

But I do not want to die. So I say to The Something: “Yes.”

[ashblooddragons]

Forever & Always (Chapter 1/?)

This request was made by my bestie @themoonlitquill

Series Masterlist

116 ac

Rhaenyra’s pov

I remember the night it happened. I was so excited to see the city, so excited to experience a world I knew would forever be hidden from me. 

The way people danced. The way people laughed like they truly meant it. The way the food tasted better even though it was only a copper or two. It was all intoxicating. 

It was a dream for me, a night where I wasn't my Father's perfect daughter but just a nobody next to other nobodies. It was freedom like I've never felt before. Not even riding Syrax felt like this. 

But I never, not once, expected for him to bring me to that place. To tear my clothes from my body and take my virtue with such fervor I could hardly breathe. I still remember the way the wall cut into my back as he thrust into me. The way he wouldn't look at me even as I begged. And once he spilled his seed in me he set me on the ground again, and I thought I would finally get to kiss his lips again. But of course not, he left me there, completely unclothed, bare to the world with my hair on display. 

He didn't care about me, he didn't love me, he wanted to ruin me. 

And that was clear as day when he didn't even come to my wedding, when he stayed at Driftmark and fell in love with Laena Velaryon. When he left for Pentos with her. 

I don't blame Laena for his actions. She is just a woman as I, hoping to have a handsome husband to dote upon her. And from what I hear from Laenor, he does, and he isn't ashamed to show it either. 

I won't lie and say it wasn't a kick to the gut each time I hear how magical their marriage is. But I'm happy for Laena, she was always kind and welcoming each time we saw each other. 

But I hate him, I hate him with everything in me. He made me feel loved, made me feel seen, made me feel special. But it was all a lie, and he only proved I was a stupid, stupid, little girl.

Because here I am now, screaming as his babe rips me apart to come into this world. 

“Push, Princess!” A Midwife yells from beside me. 

I can't find a reason to care for her words. Is she the one being ripped apart right now? I thought not. 

I feel wave after wave of excruciating pain, my vision is blurry and I feel my heart beating out of my chest. 

I'm not ready for this, I'm not ready to end up like my Mother. Cut open like a pig only so the realm can rejoice over a son. 

“I can't!” I sob out when all of them scream at me to push. I know I need to but fear is holding me back. 

And just as they try and convince me to try, does the door bursts open and my past friend runs in. 

“Move, all of you!” She demands in that tone that she slowly learned. Her Queen voice as I like to call it. 

“Ali.” I whimper using the old nickname I gave her from our childhood when I see her. 

“I'm here, Nyra, I'm here.” She says using hers for me. I see the worry in her eyes as she looks between my legs. The smell of copper fills the room and it is sickening. And I could see my worst fear coming true. I'm going to die like my Mother, like a butchered pig. Image after image of what they will inevitably do to me flashes before my eyes. 

“Nyra, listen to me!” I finally hear turning to see a wild eyed Alicent staring at me. “You need to push.” She says, voice trembling. 

“I can't.” I sob out barely breathing through the pain shooting through me. 

“Yes you can, Nyra. Please, push.” She begs but I only shake my head violently.

“I don't want to end up like my Mother!” I scream and I feel a hush fall through the room. 

I can't help the large wet tears that roll down my face. I know I must look a mess but I don't care, if I'm going to die I need to say this. 

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry for how I treated you, I wasn't angry at you but I couldn't show my anger towards my Father. I'm sorry I acted like I hated you, I never did, I love you, you're the sister I always dreamed of.” I sob out and she tries to calm me down but I only shake my head more. “No, I need to say this!” I cry out as another wave of pain shoots through me. 

“If I don't make it, look after my babe. Be a Mother to them. Cherish them. Promise me!” 

“I promise.” She says kissing my cheek and wiping my tears. “And you have nothing to be sorry for.” She says taking my hand in hers but I still can't fight my fears, can't shake the image of my Mother cut open. 

I know I wasn't supposed to see it, that I wasn't supposed to know. But I wanted to see her one last time before the silent sisters came. I was alone in a room scented like sage but the pungent smell of copper and death still showed through. I remember gagging at the smell almost turning back, but I wouldn't. That's my Mother and I was going to get my final goodbye alone. 

So I walked in looking anywhere but the bed. Whether it be the floor where I would play with my dolls as she hummed a soft tune. Or the hearth where my egg laid turned to stone and she held me as all my dreams of riding a dragon disappeared. That is until I forced myself to look up at my Mother’s bed and I finally saw what my Father did to her. 

He always said he loved her, that she was the love of his life. But in the moment I realized he loved the idea of her. Because how could you love someone only to do this to them? To have her pinned down and then slice her open like some ham roast. 

No he never loved my Mother, he only ever loved himself. Which is why I turn to look at Alicent once more and smile. 

“But I do, I have so much to be sorry for and I will never be able to make amends.” 

Once the words leave my lips she reaches up to grip my face between her hands. 

“What did you tell me after my Mother died? When I was scared of every cold, every time bile left my throat, every sniffle?” She demands and I'm so confused I stare at her bewildered. 

“Wh-what?” I ask and she huffs.

“What did you say to me?” She demanded again and the memory came rushing back. 

“That you are not Alyrie Florent, that you are Alicent Hightower.” 

She nods, staring me in the eyes before her next words hit me in the chest. 

“And you are not Aemma Arryn. You are Rhaenyra Targaryen, rider of Syrax. Now push!” She says with such conviction I can't help but nod in agreement. 

“I am not Aemma Arryn.” I say through gritted teeth as I push with what little strength I have left. 

“I see the head!” A Midwife says, holding her arms out ready to catch the babe. 

“Keep going, Rhaenyra. You can do this.” Alicent says beside me and I know I must be crushing her hand in my iron tight grip but I can't find any reason to care right now. 

I give one last strong push, I feel all the blood rush to my ears making every voice in the room sound like they are underwater. But I feel Alicent grip my hand back cheering me on. So I keep going. 

I am not Aemma Arryn. I am not Aemma Arryn. I am not Aemma Arryn! I think when all the pain washes away and the room falls silent. 

Where are the cries? I think as I look up to see a Midwife rubbing the babes face, tickling its toes. I feel my heart sink into my stomach, all the blood rushing from my face as dread fills me. But just as those feelings come, the Midwife huff and flips the babe on its stomach and smacks its bum. And with that a cry fills the room. I never thought a babes cries would sound so beautiful. That they would bring me to tears of joy. 

I let out a laugh reaching for my babe as the old Midwife walked over to me handing me my first child. 

“A beautiful Princess, Your Grace.” She says putting the babe to my sweat slicked chest. 

“Healthy?” Alicent asks as she coos at my little girl. 

“Kicking like a goat, my Queen.” She says making me and Alicent laugh. 

We both smile down at my little girl as the midwives stitch me up quickly and wrap padding and cloth around my hips and core. 

“The Maester will be in soon to check the babes health. Make sure there are no complications me and my team missed. He will also bring you tea for the pain.” The old woman says before ushering her fellow midwives out of the chambers leaving me and Alicent alone. 

We are silent for a while, just looking down at my little girl. Her eyes are open and I can't help but smile at their distinct color of deep violet. Almost that of wine pooling in her eyes. It's a welcome sight for I had feared seeing the lilacs of her…no I dare not even think of him. 

Her hair is silver blonde hair, it is straight, almost eerily so. It reminds me of my Mother's straight silver blonde hair. 

But what sets in for me is one fact alone. She is pure, she is so very pure and I do not want her to feel the stress of being heir. I do not want to see that innocent and curious shine to dim because of court. I do not want that gummy grin filled with joy to slowly change into a look of despair because of the crushing weight of what is expected of her. 

The thought of waiting for my next child and hoping it is a son comes but I quickly shake the thought away. 

I would be a hypocrite. Naming a son over my firstborn. I think as she starts nudging her head into my breasts in search of milk.

I quickly let my nightgown loose and help her latch onto my breast. I can help but smile as her eyes flutter closed with each drag of milk into her small yet demanding mouth. 

“What will you name her?” Alicent asks as she fluffs my pillows to help support my now heavy body. 

“This may come as a shock, but I was thinking…” I stop for a dramatic pause pretending to think. “Visenya.” I finally say like it is the most wild name to come from my lips and no one would expect it. And thankfully Alicent starts laughing, falling into the jest as quickly as she used to. 

“I would have never guessed!” She teases with an exaggerated gasp. 

I can't help but laugh with her, it feels like old times but different. It feels like we're us again, and for the first time in a long time I feel like I breathe.

But when I look back down at my little Visenya I feel a decision set. And before I can truly grasp it I hear myself speak. 

“I do not want to be heir.” 

I feel both of us freeze, I feel Alicent eyeing me either in confusion or wariness. And I don't blame her either way. 

“Why?” Is all she asks and I hear the quiet shock yet relief in her voice. 

“I don't want her to feel what I feel. I don't want her to feel the whispers and glances of judgment. Nothing this pure needs to feel that.” 

I wait for her response, wait for a sigh of relief even, but none comes. So I force myself to look away from my little girl and look at my friend. 

Thick large tears silently roll down her face. Not ones of fear or sadness, but relief. Like all the weight has left her shoulders and she can now breathe again. 

“I don't have to worry anymore.” I hear her whisper to herself. 

“Worry about what?” I ask, confusion washing over my face. 

She flinches before looking up at me again. I see the debate in her eyes, of whether or not to tell me. But when I reach for her hand giving it a gentle yet reassuring squeeze she breaks down into sobs. 

“Everyone told me when you ascended the throne you would kill my children. I know it's no excuse, but it's why I didn't want to connect with them. I couldn't bring myself to put all of my heart and soul into living them because I knew one day I would have to watch them die.” She sobs, no wails. 

 can't help but feel my blood run cold when I hear this. Not in rage, nor in fear. But because somewhere, deep, deep, inside me I know what she says is true. A war would more than likely break out, if not with me and Aegon than with Visenya and her younger brother. And if I ascended the throne, I fear I would have been pressured to kill my siblings. 

So instead of saying I wouldn't have, of saying it's all lies, I turn to her and bring her close so she can sob into my chest as Visenya drinks away oblivious to the life changing conversation she has just witnessed. 

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