#jade legacy blogging

[ask-mobile-iterator-project]

heck yea, first ask!!

so, a for all, what do you think of the slugcats?

[BROADCAST HANDLED BY ADMIN AND OVERSEER]

[winteriron-trash]

rdj the (whitewashed) electric boogaloo

This is a reminder to everyone who's excited about RDJ's casting as Doctor Doom that this casting is whitewashing. Victor Von Doom is a Romani character and has been a Romani character since his introduction in the 1960s. (Fantastic Four Annual #2 [1964]) Not only that, but his Roma identity and the persecution he and his family faced due to it is integral to his character, it is what forms his identity. (Books of Doom by Ed Brubaker) Even if on the off chance this casting is meant to not be Victor but instead be some variant of Tony or whomever else becoming Doctor Doom, it is damaging to the character to rob him of that important cultural background. Doctor Doom does not exist without that history. Fans have been pushing hard to cast Doom as a Romani actor for years, especially since the MCU has whitewashed other Romani characters. (Wanda, Pietro, etc) This casting is not a celebration moment, it's fucking heartbreaking that the MCU repeatedly ignores the important and nuanced cultural backstories of characters.

I know I can't change anybody's mind on whether or not you want to be excited about RDJ's return to the MCU. But I do think at the very least you should be mad that the MCU is baiting us all and destroying nuanced and interesting characters for the sake of self-referential easter eggs and nostalgia bait. Because that's what it is. Feel how you'd like to feel about RDJ's return, but personally, this is soul-sucking. I had such a deep love for the MCU as a teenager, it was obviously something incredibly formative to me, especially Tony Stark. This isn't recreating what I fell in love with the MCU for. This is turning a well-planned and artistic storyline of adaptations into cheap cash grabs and fan service. Because, I think we're past the point of being able to call the MCU an adaptation of anything. They can use existing characters' names and powers, but to say they're being properly adapted is laughable.

This is not an adaptation of Doctor Doom. This is RDJ the Electric Boogaloo because Marvel's fear of losing the interest of dedicated MCU fans overrides their willingness to tell stories that are genuine to the characters. I don't know what there is to be excited about that. The MCU has lost its authenticity and aside from a few projects, feels heartless. Every movie is a copy of a copy. This announcement isn't something celebratory, it feels like a death knell of a cinematic universe that's so desperate to cling to relevancy it's resorting to nostalgia for a character/actor who hasn't even been dead for a decade. We're not getting anything new, we're just rinsing and repeating the same song and dance.

I get it. I love Tony Stark, his death destroyed me and I to this day, rue the ending he got in Endgame. It misunderstood his arc and it robbed him of a satisfying conclusion. But the solution to that isn't dragging the corpse out of the grave five years later to whitewash an existing character with rich and interesting nuance, just to forcibly tie his existence in the MCU to Tony. Whether he is a variant or not. Why would you want someone else's fave's legacy to be destroyed simply so your fave's legacy can go on? Hell, if we were really all so hellbent on the return of RDJ and/or Tony to the MCU, we have the multiverse for a reason. There were other ways to do it that didn't whitewash and ruin someone else. This just. Isn't something to be happy about.

[andreai04]

“Everything’s more beautiful when you don’t think you’ll see it again.”

[stinkrascal]

What if you like make a duplicate save with the Strauds in it and play that? That way you still get to play but you’re not cheating and do t have to worry about photos? Just an idea!! Idk if that would work!

oh i already have something like that! im basically replaying the history of the straud legacy in my own personal gameplay so i dont have to worry about screenshots, i can just have fun :) actually klaus and anastasia were just born in my gameplay save a few days ago!! but id like to have a new gameplay for simblr, one where i can take chill gameplay pics and post them without having to worry about writing scenes or making poses or creating dialogue or heavily editing. but every time i try to make a save like this, i get bored of the sims bc theyre not the strauds so i only take a few pics before giving up :\

[flaviathebibliophile]

Jade City, Lade War, & Jade Legacy by Fonda Lee (Review)

Title: Jade City Author: Fonda Lee Type: Fiction Genre: Adult, Urban Fantasy Publisher: Orbit Date published: November 7, 2017 This book was a personal purchase. Magical jade — mined, traded, stolen, and killed for — is the lifeblood of the island of Kekon. For centuries, honorable Green Bone warriors like the Kaul family have used it to enhance their abilities and defend the island from foreign…

[novaursa]

The Last Dragonslayer (The Lost Chapters)

- Summary: One last tale of the Dragon Queen and her Dragonslayer.

- Pairing: female!reader/Rhaenyra Targaryen

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top. The conclusion of this story has been expanded by popular demand.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 6 000+

- Previous part: 2/2

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

Above the God's Eye

The wind howls above the God's Eye, where the skies churn with dark clouds. You can feel the heavy weight of your sword at your side, its hilt familiar in your grip, the legacy of your ancient order pulsing through the blade. Below you, the twisted expanse of Harrenhal rises, a testament to the folly of dragons and men. But your focus is not on the crumbled towers or the history beneath your feet. Your gaze locks onto the monstrous shadow circling in the distance—Vhagar. The largest, oldest dragon in all the Seven Kingdoms, her scales rippling like molten jade under the waning light.

Aemond Targaryen rides upon her back, his long silver hair streaming like a banner of defiance against the darkening sky. The patch over his eye gleams, a stark reminder of the hatred he harbors for you. You feel it as sharply as your own, a hatred forged in fire and blood. But there is something else beneath his fury—a fear he won’t admit, one that only you, of all people, can summon in him.

You stand tall on the back of your mount, the Banshee—a creature from the depths of the world, more beast than dragon, her long leathery wings blotting out the sun as she shrieks across the sky. It is a scream like no other, a sound that turns dragonfire cold, that sends a shiver of dread through creatures bred for conquest. Your Banshee is a nightmare made flesh, darker than the sky itself, larger than any dragon. Her glowing green eyes narrow with hunger, fangs bared in anticipation of the kill.

Aemond circles above you, tugging at Vhagar’s reins. His voice reaches you across the distance, carried on the wind like a taunt.

"Run while you still can, Y/N!" he bellows, his arrogance sharp. "You cannot hope to defeat the might of Vhagar. You will die like the rest of your kind—forgotten, a relic of Essos, your bones dust beneath dragon fire."

You say nothing in response, only urging the Banshee forward with the barest of commands. She roars, a chilling sound that cuts through the sky like a blade, and you feel the thrill of her power beneath you. A primal connection between rider and beast, honed through generations of bloodlines. Your people were not conquered by the Valyrians—they resisted, even as the Freehold rose in dominance. Dragons fell to your blades, your creatures hunted them to extinction in your homeland. The legacy lives through you, and today, it will be written in blood.

Vhagar turns, her massive wings unfurling as she prepares to attack. The ancient dragon’s roar echoes like a crack of thunder, but the Banshee is unphased. You’ve seen this dance before—dragons are always arrogant until they’re faced with something that terrifies them. Vhagar hesitates, her massive body trembling, but Aemond snarls and spurs her forward.

“Do it!” Aemond shouts. “Burn her alive!”

Vhagar releases a torrent of fire, but the Banshee dives beneath it with lethal speed, cutting through the air like a shadow. You’re already on the move, sword drawn, the ancient steel gleaming with deadly intent. The Banshee spins through the sky, her wings slashing at the air as she rises above Vhagar, letting loose another scream, one that rattles even your bones.

Vhagar falters. The sound is too much, too unnatural. She tries to retreat, her instincts urging her to flee, but Aemond yanks on her reins, refusing to give in to fear.

"Fight, you stupid beast!" Aemond’s voice is filled with desperation now, but you can see the fear in his remaining eye. He knows, even if he won’t admit it.

You push the Banshee into a dive, the wind screaming past you as you close the distance. Vhagar rears back, trying to snap at you with her massive jaws, but the Banshee is faster, more agile. She lashes out with her talons, sinking them deep into Vhagar's neck. Blood erupts from the wound, spraying the sky in a crimson mist. Vhagar roars in agony, thrashing wildly as she tries to shake the Banshee off.

Aemond’s curses are drowned out by the sound of his dragon’s suffering. He clings desperately to Vhagar’s saddle, struggling to maintain control as the Banshee rips into her flesh with relentless ferocity. Your sword flashes, and you bring it down in a deadly arc, slicing through the thick, leathery membrane of Vhagar’s wing. She howls, the injury throwing her off balance as she plummets toward the lake below.

But the Banshee is not done. She dives again, her jaws locking around Vhagar’s throat, and with a sickening crunch, she rips it open. Blood pours from the wound, a river of hot, steaming liquid that paints the sky red. Vhagar's struggles grow weaker, her mighty wings faltering as she begins to fall. But even as her life fades, the Banshee does not stop.

Her jaws clamp down on Vhagar’s still-beating heart, ripping it from the dragon’s chest. The wet, sickening sounds of flesh tearing and bones snapping fill the air as the Banshee devours it whole. You watch as she tears into the liver next, blood drenching the sky as she feasts on the dying dragon.

Aemond, thrown from the saddle by Vhagar’s final thrash, scrambles to his feet on a small outcrop of rock. His once-proud visage is now twisted in disbelief, covered in the blood of his dragon. He stares at you, fury and fear mixing in his violet eye.

"You—" he starts, but he doesn’t get to finish.

With one swift motion, the Banshee turns her gaze toward him. Her glowing eyes lock onto him, and she lets out a low, rumbling growl. You don’t need to give the command. She strikes like a predator who knows her prey, her jaws snapping around Aemond’s body. His scream is brief, cut off as the Banshee crushes him with a sickening crunch. Blood spills from her mouth as she devours him, piece by piece.

It’s over in moments.

The skies are quiet now, save for the distant echo of your Banshee’s final shriek as she consumes the last of Aemond’s body. You sit atop her back, your heart steady, your breathing calm. The blood of Targaryens, of dragons, stains the air, marking the end of one more chapter in this endless cycle of fire and blood.

You lean forward, resting a hand on the Banshee’s neck as she licks her blood-soaked jaws. "Let them remember this day," you whisper. "Let them remember what happens when dragons challenge those born to slay them."

The wind carries your words across the battlefield, to the ashes of a dragon that once ruled the skies, and to the man who thought himself invincible.

The Dragon Prince and the Dragonslayer

The courtyard of Dragonstone is alive with the distant sound of waves crashing against the rocky shore, the wind carrying the salty tang of the Narrow Sea. You stand in the center of the courtyard, sword in hand, its weight an old, familiar comfort. The sword is unlike any in Westeros—its hilt and blade adorned with intricate designs that speak of its Essosi origin. Passed down through generations of your family, it is a weapon forged not just for battle, but for the ancient art of swordplay, a style lost to time.

Luke stands before you, eyes wide and eager, his own sword gripped tightly in his hands. The boy has always had a fire in him, a determination that you recognize, but today there’s something more—a request that he’s hesitant to voice.

“Are you sure, Lucerys?” you ask, your voice calm but firm. “This isn’t something you learn overnight. It’s not like the training you’ve had.”

Luke’s jaw tightens, but there’s a spark of excitement in his violet eyes as he nods. “I’m sure, Y/N. I want to learn. I’ve seen you fight. It’s different. It’s... graceful but deadly. I want to be able to protect my family, to fight for my mother. Please, teach me.”

You tilt your head slightly, studying him. He’s young, still growing into himself, but there’s no mistaking the resolve in his voice. This is more than just curiosity—this is about loyalty, about becoming someone his family can depend on in times of war.

“Very well,” you say, stepping back and motioning for him to take his stance. “We’ll start with the basics. Forget what you’ve learned with the knights and their heavy blades. This style isn’t about brute force. It’s about precision, timing, and reading your opponent.”

Luke’s brow furrows as he shifts into the stance he’s been taught, but it’s rigid, his grip too tight on the hilt. You circle him, the soft clink of your sword against your thigh the only sound between you.

“Relax,” you say, tapping his shoulder lightly. “Your sword isn’t a hammer. Loosen your grip. Feel the flow of the blade, not the weight.”

Luke adjusts, trying to mimic your posture, but it’s awkward, his movements still tied to the way he’s been taught to fight. You stop in front of him, reaching out to gently correct his grip, your fingers wrapping around his wrist as you guide him into position.

“Think of it like a dance,” you instruct. “You move with your sword, not against it. Watch.”

You take a step back, lifting your own sword. With a fluid movement, you swing the blade in a graceful arc, slicing through the air with precision and speed. It’s a dance, each movement flowing into the next, your feet shifting lightly on the stone floor. Luke watches, mesmerized by the ease with which you wield your sword.

“See?” you say, coming to a stop, the sword resting lightly at your side. “You let the blade guide you. Don’t fight it. Let’s try again.”

Luke nods, determination etched on his face. He takes a deep breath, mimicking your movements as best as he can, but there’s still hesitation in his swings. You step in close again, showing him how to shift his weight, how to flow through the movements instead of forcing them.

“You’ll get there,” you assure him, seeing the frustration flicker in his eyes. “This isn’t about being perfect right away. It’s about learning how to adapt, how to use your opponent’s strength against them.”

For the next hour, you guide him through the basics, correcting his stance, showing him how to strike with precision rather than power. There’s sweat on his brow, but he doesn’t complain. He listens, he watches, and slowly, you begin to see the change. His movements become less stiff, more fluid. There’s a natural grace in him that surprises even you.

"Like that?" he asks, a hopeful glint in his eyes after a particularly well-executed swing.

You nod, a small smile pulling at your lips. “Better. You’re learning quickly. But remember, this isn’t just about the sword. It’s about the mind. You have to stay calm, even when the battle rages around you.”

Luke nods, his expression serious. “I’ll keep practicing. Thank you, Y/N.”

You sheath your sword and place a hand on his shoulder, giving him an approving look. “You have the heart for it, Luke. That’s what matters most. But don’t forget to take your time. Don’t rush what you’re not ready for.”

As you speak, the familiar sound of footsteps catches your attention, and you turn to see Rhaenyra approaching from the far end of the courtyard. She’s draped in black and red, her long silver hair billowing slightly in the wind. Her eyes fall on you first, and then on Luke, her expression softening as she watches the two of you together.

"Mother," Luke greets, sheathing his sword and offering her a small smile.

Rhaenyra’s gaze lingers on him for a moment before she turns to you, a faint smile playing on her lips. “I see you’ve been giving Lucerys lessons. Did he beg, or did you volunteer?”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. “He asked, and I couldn’t say no. He’s determined. He wants to protect you.”

Rhaenyra moves closer, her gaze flicking between you and Luke. There’s pride in her eyes, but also a deep, unspoken worry. The war is heavy on her shoulders, and she knows what it means for her children. She steps closer to Luke, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead.

“You’ve made me proud, my son,” she says softly, her voice filled with warmth.

Luke looks up at her, the boyish smile returning to his face. “I’ll keep practicing, I promise.”

Rhaenyra kisses his forehead, then turns to you as Luke takes his leave, retreating to practice on his own. The courtyard feels quieter now, the air between you charged with a different kind of energy. Rhaenyra’s eyes meet yours, and there’s a softness there, a connection that has grown stronger with each passing day.

“You’re good with him,” she says, her voice quieter now, intimate. “He looks up to you.”

You step closer, close enough to feel the warmth of her body in the cool evening air. “He’s strong, Rhaenyra. He has your spirit.”

Her eyes search yours for a moment, and then, without hesitation, she closes the distance between you, her hand coming to rest on your arm, fingers trailing lightly over your skin. There’s a softness to her touch, but also a weight—a trust that goes beyond words.

“I don’t know what I would do without you,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. “In this war, in this chaos… you’re my constant.”

You reach up, gently brushing a lock of her hair behind her ear, your fingers lingering there, caressing the soft curve of her jaw. “I’m not going anywhere,” you promise, your voice firm but tender. “I’ll fight for you. Always.”

Her lips curl into a soft smile, and then, slowly, she leans in, pressing her forehead to yours. There’s a peace in this moment, a stillness in the midst of the storm that rages beyond these walls. You close your eyes, breathing in the scent of her, feeling the warmth of her so close.

“You are my heart,” she whispers, her breath warm against your skin. “And I am yours.”

You don’t need to say anything in response. The bond between you is deeper than words, forged in fire and blood, stronger than any sword. You stay like this for a moment longer, lost in each other, before she pulls back slightly, her hand still resting against your cheek.

“I’ll see you tonight?” she asks softly, a playful glint in her eye.

You smile, your fingers brushing over her hand as you nod. “I’ll be waiting.”

And with that, she turns, the lightness in her step a stark contrast to the heavy world that surrounds her. You watch her go, the warmth of her touch still lingering on your skin, knowing that no matter what battles lie ahead, no matter what enemies rise to face you—you will always stand by her side.

The Past Lives

The winds howl across the dark, jagged cliffs of Dragonstone, but you barely feel the cold. Standing at the edge of the precipice, the sky overhead is filled with swirling clouds, dark and tumultuous. Your eyes, however, are not on the present, not on the sea crashing below or the distant lights flickering from the castle behind you. No, your thoughts are far from this place, far from this time.

You have lived many lives. Far too many.

The weight of it presses down on you now, like an invisible chain that has grown heavier with every passing century. There was a time when you had felt invincible, when the bond between you and your Banshee was something you had reveled in. Immortality was not something you had feared—then, it had felt like freedom. The blood ritual that had sealed your fate had been your choice. You had chosen to bind yourself to your Banshee, chosen the power and the bond that came with it.

But time changes everything. You had no idea, back then, what it truly meant. You couldn’t have.

Your mind drifts to the ancient ruins of Valyria, now long turned to ash, but once an empire of impossible might. You were there when the Freehold ruled the skies, when dragons cast shadows over cities, and sorcerers shaped the world with fire and blood. Your people, the Dragonslayers, had been the last stand, the ones who resisted the dominion of dragons. You remember the battles fought in the sky, the screams of dragons as they fell to your blades and the primal terror they felt at the sound of a Banshee's scream. 

But your people are long gone now, consumed by the same fires that once forged them. You watched as the Doom swallowed Valyria, watched as your homeland crumbled under molten rock and fire. You fought, you survived, but the world you knew died that day. And with it, everyone you had once called kin.

Empires rose after that. You saw them all—the Free Cities, the Rhoynar, even the rise of Oldtown and the Reach. You fought in wars, watched as kings claimed thrones and lost them, as cities were built and then turned to rubble. And you never changed. The world around you shifted like the seasons, but you remained. Unaging, unyielding, bound to your Banshee, your soul entwined with hers.

At first, there had been others like you, remnants of your order who had survived the fall of Valyria. You remember them vividly, their faces, their voices, their laughter. You remember the brothers and sisters you had once fought beside, who had shared your bond. But even they could not withstand the toll of immortality. One by one, they had fallen—some to madness, some to the blade, and others to the slow decay of time. And you had been forced to watch it all.

You close your eyes, the weight of centuries pressing in on you. The names of those you loved haunt your thoughts. Faces flicker in your memory, faces of people long dead, faces you cannot forget. It is a terrible thing to love when you cannot die. To watch those you care for grow old, wither, and pass on while you remain. It is a curse as much as it is a blessing, this immortality.

A sigh escapes your lips, and you feel the presence of your Banshee nearby. Her glowing green eyes watch you from the shadows, her dark, leathery wings folded against her massive body. She is a part of you, and you of her. The bond between you runs deeper than blood, deeper than any love you have known. Yet even she cannot ease the pain of loss.

You think of the lovers you have had, the fleeting moments of happiness in an otherwise endless existence. There had been many over the centuries—strong, beautiful souls who had entered your life like flashes of light. But they were always temporary. Mortal. You had loved them fiercely, but they all left you in the end. Not by choice, but by the slow march of time. You remember holding their hands as their eyes dimmed, feeling the coldness creep into their skin as life slipped away. And you, left alone again, unchanged.

Until her.

Your thoughts drift to Rhaenyra. She is different, and yet she is the same. The moment you met her, you felt the familiar pull of love, the warmth that you had thought long gone. You had tried to resist it at first, tried to keep her at arm’s length, knowing the pain that would come. But Rhaenyra—stubborn, fierce, and full of fire—broke down your walls, just as others had before her. Now, you are bound to her, not by blood or ritual, but by something deeper.

But Rhaenyra is mortal. Like all the others. And you know, in your heart, what that means. You know how this will end.

A part of you wants to run, to leave her before the inevitable comes. You know that one day, you will have to watch her wither, to see the light leave her eyes as it has with so many others. You will have to endure the agony of her loss, just as you have with everyone else you’ve loved. The thought of it terrifies you, more than any battle, more than any dragon. 

You hear the soft rustle of footsteps behind you, and you turn slowly, already knowing who it is. Rhaenyra stands at the edge of the courtyard, her silver hair catching the faint light of the moon. She looks at you, her eyes searching yours, as if she can sense the storm of thoughts swirling in your mind.

"Y/N," she says softly, her voice gentle, yet filled with concern. "What troubles you?"

You don’t answer immediately, instead letting your eyes trace her face, memorizing every detail—the curve of her lips, the strength in her gaze. You wonder how long you will have with her before time claims her as it has claimed so many others. How long before you are left standing alone once again, the cold shadow of immortality your only companion.

Rhaenyra steps closer, her hand reaching out to rest on your arm, her touch warm and grounding. "You’ve been distant," she whispers, her brow furrowing slightly. "Please, talk to me."

For a moment, you are tempted to pull away, to retreat back into the safety of solitude. But her eyes hold you, her presence a balm against the ache in your heart. You sigh, your voice low and rough when you finally speak.

"Do you ever fear time, Rhaenyra?" you ask, your gaze distant. "Do you ever fear the years slipping away, taking everything and everyone you love with them?"

Rhaenyra frowns, tilting her head slightly. "Of course I do. Time spares no one. But that is why we must live now, in the present. Why we must cherish what we have, for however long we are given."

You look at her, your heart heavy. "But what if time spares one of us, and not the other? What if I must watch you wither and fade, as I have watched others before you?"

Rhaenyra's hand tightens around your arm, her expression softening with understanding. "You have seen more than any of us can imagine," she says quietly. "But that is not our fate. Our fate is what we make of it, here and now. You have me, Y/N. And I have you. We cannot fear the future, not when we still have each other."

Her words are a comfort, but the ache remains. You close your eyes, leaning into her touch, allowing yourself to feel the warmth of her hand against your skin, the steady beat of her heart. For now, she is here. For now, she is yours.

But in the back of your mind, the shadow of time looms, reminding you of what is to come. Always watching. Always waiting. 

And you, immortal and unchanging, will face it again.

The Rogue Prince

The sun hangs low over Dragonstone and the courtyard where you stand, gently tending to the Banshee. Her massive form is hunched, wings folded tight against her body as you move your hands over her dark leathery skin, inspecting every inch. The creature is quiet, save for the soft rumble of her breath, her green eyes glowing faintly as she watches you with an ancient understanding. There's a bond between you, one forged in blood and ritual, something deeper than words or time. A connection that goes beyond mere companionship.

But that connection, that understanding, is not one shared by anyone else. Especially not by those who feel the primal fear that the Banshee's presence invokes. She is a thing of nightmares, a creature bred to strike terror in the hearts of dragons and men alike.

You hear the soft crunch of boots on the stone behind you and know, without turning, who it is. Daemon Targaryen, always light on his feet, his presence unmistakable even when silent. He has an aura about him, a sense of command that fills any space he occupies. Still, you sense a hint of hesitation in his steps as he approaches the Banshee, something unusual for the Rogue Prince.

“You must have lost your nerve, Daemon,” you call over your shoulder, the faintest hint of amusement in your voice. “I never took you for a man who hesitated.”

Daemon’s voice, rich and low, carries a mocking edge as he replies, “I don’t hesitate, Y/N. I’m simply weighing whether or not I want to be torn apart by your little friend here.”

You laugh quietly, running a hand along the Banshee’s side, feeling the strength of her muscles under her skin. “She wouldn’t tear you apart—at least not if I told her not to.”

Daemon steps closer, his eyes fixed on the creature before him. Even for a man who rides Caraxes, the Blood Wyrm, there’s a certain respect—or perhaps a deep-seated fear—in the way he regards the Banshee. Caraxes is terrifying, yes, but the Banshee is something different. Something older. Something darker.

“She looks like she crawled out of the Seven Hells,” he mutters, folding his arms as he studies the beast. “Is there any part of her that doesn’t scream death?”

You glance at him over your shoulder, a smirk playing on your lips. “She’s not so bad once you get used to her. A bit like you, I imagine.”

Daemon chuckles, moving even closer. He stops just a few paces away, the distance between him and the Banshee still deliberate. Her green eyes flicker toward him, a low rumble vibrating through her chest, but she doesn’t move. You can sense her wariness, her innate mistrust of anyone but you, but there’s no aggression in her stance. Not yet, at least.

Daemon’s eyes shift from the Banshee to you, his expression turning playful. “Does that thing even have a name? Or do you just call her ‘Beast’?”

You roll your eyes, returning to your task of checking the Banshee’s wings. “She has a name. But you wouldn’t be able to pronounce it.”

Daemon raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Wouldn’t I?”

“Not with that Valyrian tongue of yours,” you tease, glancing up at him. “It’s an old name, from my people’s language. Far older than any of your words.”

Daemon watches you for a moment, clearly intrigued. “Humor me. Let me hear it.”

You pause, running your hand along the edge of the Banshee’s massive wing. It’s a name that few have heard, fewer still have spoken aloud. A name passed down from generations of Dragonslayers, from a time when the world was different, when your people stood against the might of Valyria itself. You hesitate, knowing how the sound of it might unsettle even the most fearless of men. But then, Daemon is not most men.

You murmur the name softly, almost under your breath. It rolls off your tongue like a whisper of the wind, ancient and guttural, a sound not meant for human ears.

Daemon’s expression shifts as he hears it, his usual bravado tempered by something quieter, more thoughtful. “I see what you mean,” he says, his voice softer than usual. “I doubt I could manage that without a few drinks.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “I told you. But she knows it, and that’s what matters.”

Daemon’s gaze drifts back to the Banshee, the massive creature still watching him with glowing eyes. He inches closer, almost imperceptibly, as if testing his own courage. He reaches a hand out, hovering just shy of the creature’s leathery skin, as if waiting for some signal from you—or perhaps from her—that it’s safe.

“She’s not like a dragon, is she?” he asks quietly, his voice no longer teasing.

You shake your head. “No. She’s older than dragons. The Banshee is a predator, made to hunt them. Her instincts are sharper, more calculating. But she’s loyal, in her way.”

Daemon lowers his hand slightly, his fingers brushing against the edge of the Banshee’s wing. Her eyes narrow, but she doesn’t move, accepting his touch with a kind of reluctant tolerance. You watch him carefully, knowing that this moment is not just about him facing the creature—it’s about him conquering the fear she inspires. And for a man like Daemon, fear is not something he allows himself often.

“You know,” Daemon says, his tone lighter again, “I’ve always thought dragons were the pinnacle of terror. Now, I’m starting to think there’s something worse.”

You smirk, folding your arms as you lean against the Banshee’s side. “Oh, trust me, Daemon, there are worse things in this world than dragons. Much worse.”

He glances at you, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Like you?”

You tilt your head, your eyes meeting his. “Perhaps.”

There’s a moment of silence between you, the air thick with unspoken understanding. Daemon is many things—arrogant, reckless, fierce—but he is also perceptive. He knows of your relationship with Rhaenyra, has seen the bond you share, and yet he does not object. Perhaps he respects the connection, perhaps he knows that you and Rhaenyra are tied by something deeper than even he could touch. Or perhaps it is simply that he, like you, understands the burden of being more than what the world expects.

“You’re a hard one to figure out,” Daemon says, stepping back from the Banshee and folding his arms again. “But I suppose that’s why Rhaenyra loves you.”

You raise an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “And you’re not?”

Daemon laughs, the sound rich and genuine, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Oh, I’m an open book, Y/N. But you—you’re something else entirely.”

You shrug, turning back to the Banshee. “Maybe. Or maybe you just haven’t figured out how to read me yet.”

Daemon grins, the playful glint returning to his eyes. “Give me time.”

As he walks away, leaving you alone with your Banshee once more, you can’t help but smile to yourself. Daemon Targaryen may be many things, but fearful is not one of them. And perhaps, in some strange way, he understands you more than anyone else—because like you, he walks the line between power and fear, life and death.

And though the Banshee watches him with her glowing eyes, she too understands.

The Dragon Queen and her Dragonslayer

The Great Hall of the Red Keep was silent, save for the soft crackle of the torches lining the walls. The Iron Throne loomed before the gathered court, its jagged edges a testament to the power it represented. And seated upon it, Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen—first of her name, ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. She had worn the crown for years now, her reign hard-fought and blood-soaked. The weight of it showed in the lines that etched her once-youthful face, in the silver hair that had begun to streak with gray. But there was a strength in her still, the fierce fire of a Targaryen queen who had battled for her birthright.

Today, however, her thoughts were elsewhere. Far beyond the hall, beyond King’s Landing, beyond even the lands she ruled. They were with a memory—one that had haunted her for years. A memory of you.

The court was in session, lords and ladies arrayed before her, but she barely heard their voices. Her mind was with the last time she saw you, so many years ago now. You had saved her children, stopped the ships of the Free Cities at the Gullet, and then... vanished. You had promised to return, yet the days turned to weeks, the weeks to months, and still, you had not come back. Rhaenyra had waited, even when reason told her that you were lost. And still, somewhere deep inside, she had never stopped waiting. But now, so many years later, even the hope had begun to fade.

Until today.

“Your Grace,” a guard interrupted her thoughts, stepping forward with a slight bow. “There is a visitor at the gates. They claim to be a close friend of the Queen, though they come from distant lands.”

Rhaenyra’s brow furrowed, her gaze sharpening as she regarded the guard. “A close friend? Who?”

“They would not give a name, Your Grace,” the guard replied. “But they were insistent. Said you would know them.”

Rhaenyra’s heart skipped a beat. For a moment, she felt the familiar pull of hope, a sensation she had long buried beneath the weight of her duties and losses. She composed herself quickly, her voice steady, though her pulse quickened.

“Bring them in,” she commanded, her tone betraying none of the sudden storm inside her.

The court murmured softly, curious at this unexpected arrival, but Rhaenyra paid them no mind. She sat taller on the Iron Throne, her hands gripping the arms of the seat, her breath catching in her chest. Could it be? After all these years?

The great doors swung open, and the guards entered, flanking a figure draped in the travel-worn garb of distant lands. Your steps were measured, slow, as you crossed the hall. The torches flickered as you passed, casting shadows on your face, but Rhaenyra’s eyes never wavered. She knew you. She had never forgotten.

It was you.

You looked exactly as you had the day you left her—unchanged, untouched by time, your features sharp and ageless. Your eyes, those eyes she had known so well, gleamed with the same strength and wisdom that had captivated her so long ago. Your movements were graceful, as they had always been, as if the weight of the world did not cling to you as it did to everyone else.

Rhaenyra’s breath caught in her throat as her world tilted, the very axis of her reality shifting with your presence. Her mind struggled to grasp what her heart already knew—that you had come back. You hadn’t aged a day, while she had grown older, while years of ruling, of loss, had worn her down. And yet, here you were, as if time itself had no claim over you.

You stopped before the Iron Throne, your gaze meeting hers, and for a moment, the years fell away. You bowed your head slightly in respect, but there was a knowing smile on your lips, a look that spoke of secrets shared, of a bond that had never truly been severed.

“Your Grace,” you said, your voice like a familiar song, one Rhaenyra hadn’t realized she had been longing to hear. “It has been a long time.”

Rhaenyra’s fingers tightened around the arms of the throne, her heart racing as she fought to find words. “You...” Her voice was barely more than a whisper, disbelief and something more—something raw and painful—tangling in her throat. “You’ve come back.”

“I promised, didn’t I?” you said softly, your eyes never leaving hers. “I always keep my promises, Rhaenyra.”

At the sound of her name on your lips, something inside her broke. She rose from the Iron Throne, descending the steps slowly, her eyes locked on yours as if afraid that if she looked away, you might vanish again. The courtiers, the guards—none of them mattered. In this moment, it was just you and her, and the years that had stretched between you dissolved like mist.

When she reached you, she hesitated for a brief second before raising a hand to your cheek, her touch tentative, as though testing if you were real. The warmth of your skin, unchanged, made her heart ache with a mixture of relief and pain. She had waited so long.

“You haven’t aged,” she murmured, her voice low and filled with awe. “Not a day. How...?”

“I told you, Rhaenyra,” you replied, gently taking her hand in yours. “The bond with the Banshee—it comes with a price. Time doesn’t touch me the way it does others.”

Her eyes searched yours, filled with emotions too tangled to name. “And yet... you left. You didn’t return.”

“I had to protect your children,” you said softly, regret flickering in your voice. “And then, I couldn’t come back. There were things I needed to see, places I needed to go. I didn’t want to drag you into the curse of my immortality.”

Rhaenyra’s breath hitched as she heard the pain in your words. She had lost so much—friends, lovers, even family. But you... You had been her constant, her anchor in the storm. And now, here you were, offering her a path she had never imagined.

Your fingers gently entwined with hers, your grip steady and warm. “Come with me,” you whispered, your voice filled with the weight of centuries, with the promise of something beyond the world she knew. “I’ve seen worlds beyond this one, Rhaenyra. Places that would take your breath away. Let me show you.”

Rhaenyra’s gaze dropped to where your hands met, and for a long moment, she was silent. She thought of the realm she ruled, the Iron Throne that had been her father’s, her birthright. The crown that weighed so heavily upon her head. But then she thought of the years that stretched ahead—of the loneliness, the losses yet to come. Of the children who had grown, who no longer needed her in the same way.

Slowly, deliberately, Rhaenyra reached up and removed the crown from her head. It felt heavier than it ever had before. Without a word, she dropped it at the base of the Iron Throne, the clatter of metal against stone echoing in the silent hall.

She turned back to you, her lips curving into a smile that was filled with a rare lightness, a freedom she hadn’t felt in years. “I’m ready.”

Without hesitation, you took her hand, your grip firm as you led her away from the throne, away from the court, away from the world that had bound her for so long.

And that was the last time anyone ever saw the Dragonslayer or the Dragon Queen. The court whispered of their disappearance, of how the crown was left behind, a symbol of the queen who chose love and freedom over the weight of a kingdom. Some said they went east, to lands beyond Essos, to realms where dragons and gods walked side by side. Others said they were never seen again because they left this world entirely, into places where neither time nor death held sway.

But in every corner of Westeros, in every whispered legend, one thing remained clear—Rhaenyra Targaryen, the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, had found her heart once more. And she had followed it beyond the edge of the world.

[deaths-chosen-one]

{open starter} Max's powers

(idk how active I'll be but eh I like this idea)

*Ailbe assumed that Max didn't have any powers I mean he was only a legacy but today he was complaining about voices while Ailbe was taking a nap. But once she woke up and heard what Max has told them about hearing voices and they sounded mean. She knew that it was the voices of the dead, she was holding him while she was telling him to calm down*

What do you do?

(tags @acezinspace @emdabitchass @urbestestwindgod @cloak-of-ares @least-favorite-hades-kid @penelope-is-waiting @odysseus-of-ithaca-is-lost @aura-of-the-winds @lucifermorningstar-official @the-speedster-god @lethia-not-athena @the-god-ofwar @seleneandheliosog @mother-of-trust @princess-of-jade @notesbyaphrodite @justice-bringer @god-of-smithing-and-cozy-vibes @amber-the-unknown @apollo-ask-blog @least-favorite-ares-kid @that-roman-arsonist @/anyone )

(my master list)

(tell me if you want to be added or remove)

[embercozycorner]

Bratz Legacy Challenge

Bratz legacy challenge

This challenge was created by me and based on the Bratz series and the dolls themselves i always wanted to make this challenge but never had the chance to until now but if anyone does this challenge tag me on bluesky @embercozycorner.bsky.social or x(Twitter) @EmberWilloebun also this challenge is story-driven 

Rules 

No cheats allowed only use cheat to get the lot you want when you move out as a young adult start with $10,000

2. Start as a teen for this challenge.

3. Mods are allowed for this challenge if you want to. 

4. Play on normal lifespan 

Generation 1- Cloe(Angel)

You come from a rich family and are the oldest of 3 siblings and have parents that support you in everything you enjoy activity-wise except when it comes to your past boyfriends and now you have found a newly found passion yoga and fashion where could this take you or relationships will you develop. 

Have the flirty, clumsy, and active traits 

Have the self-care specialist aspiration  

Create a yoga-style fashion brand and sell it in your yoga studio

Self-employed yoga instructor and side hustle 

Master the self-care specialist aspiration 

Have at least one high school true love you don’t date until after college or a few years later. 

Have 2 kids and one pet 

Master the wellness skill 

Master the charisma skill 

Get married 

Generation 2- Jade(Koolkat)

Coming from a family that always had the inner zen or inner peace but that wasn’t for you and with that you always had the talent for fashion but not any type of fashion punk rock and alternative but one thing for sure you always had the confidence to be who you are no matter where you went on another hand traveling has always been your second dream but both of these dreams made you whole 

Have the confident, outgoing, and adventurous trait 

Have the inner zen aspiration and complete it 

Travel around the world every holiday 

Create a punk rock/ alternative clothing line and sell online and or retail store

Join the style influence career and complete it 

Have 3 kids and a pet cat 

Meet soulmate while traveling and get married 

Max fashion sense skill 

Max Photography skill 

Generation 3- Yasmin(Pretty Princess) 

Growing up you always had a passion for writing and animals and ever since you were a little girl you always wanted to have a vet clinic of you’re very own and help animals around the world but when it came to writing you had a fashion blog where posted tips and clothing ideas 

Have the loner and animal traits and the 3rd and be random 

Go to college to be a veterinarian 

Max the writing skill 

Max the vet skill 

Own a vet clinic and fashion blog 

Adopt at least one or two pets 

Have the friends of the animal's aspiration and max out the aspiration 

Meet soulmate through a festival 

Have twins or 2 kids 

Get married 

Generation 4- Sasha(Bunny Boo)

Since growing up you fell in love with the passion of music/dancing and always wanted to be a singer/dancer when you turned into a young adult so with support from your mother you packed up your things and moved to Del So Valley with a dream 

Have a family-oriented trait and a Hot-Headed trait 

Have musical genius aspirations and complete it 

Max out the singing skill 

Max out the dancing skill 

Join the entertainment career in the musician branch or a mod related to it 

Reach level 10 of the career 

Find a soulmate on a dating app or through the city 

Have 3 kids 

Get married 

Generation 5- Felicia(Glam Gecko)

While living in the city wasn’t meant for you and spending most of your time in the outdoors is what made you feel happier and relaxed so with a lot of thinking and a few goodbyes you packed up your things and moved to sulani to enjoy the sun and the beach 

Have the outdoor, romantic trait and you can randomize the last trait 

Have the beach life aspiration and complete it 

Join the conservationist career and choose the environmental management branch 

Reach level 10 of the career 

Max out the logic skill 

Max out the fitness skill 

Go out at least once a week 

Take annual camping trips 

Have one kid 

Generation 6- Kumi (Lucky Bug)

Since you were a little girl you always had a camera in your hand taking pictures of the beautiful beaches but ever since your father told you where he came from mt Komorebi you have wanted to go there and fulfill your passion as a photographer 

Have the foodie, outgoing, and last trait can be random 

Have the mt komorebi sightseer aspiration 

Complete the aspiration 

Self-employed photographer 

Own a retail store to sell photos 

Max the photography skill 

Max the Charisma skill 

Have 1 kid 

Generation 7- Nevra (Queen Bee)

You always dreamed of wanting to be a journalist and writing articles about the latest trends and news that’s been going on around the world but lately, you have been through some tough times with your sexuality and always did what everyone wanted 

Have the confident, and self-assured traits, and the last trait can be randomized 

Join the writer career and the journalist branch and complete it 

Max the fitness skill 

Max the writing skill 

Have 3 kids

Have the best-selling author aspiration 

Complete the aspiration  

Generation 8- Phoebe(Sugar) 

Growing up you always had a passion for baking and ever since you were a little girl you had a dream of owning a cafe selling baked goods and foods in your very own cafe that you convinced your mother to help you buy to fulfill your dream 

Have the romantic, foodie, and gloomy traits 

Have the master chef aspiration 

Join the culinary career or use the baking career mod 

Reach level 10 of your career 

Max out the cooking skill 

Max out the gourmet skill 

Max out the baking skill 

Own a cafe of your own 

Have twins or 2 kids 

Get married if you want too 

Generation 9- Kiana (Outlaw Diva) 

All of your life you always wanted to move out to the countryside but your biggest dream is to go out to Chestnut Ridges and own a ranch/farm of your very own and have a horse, goats everything you can think of to have something to own while enjoying the dessert view and the quietness or so you thought when you have a neighbor you don’t get along with or so you thought 

Have the Confident, romantic, and adventurous traits or the rancher trait 

Have the country caretaker aspiration and/or the aspiration that comes with the pack 

Complete the aspiration 

self-employed rancher and/or farmer

Max out the gardening skill 

Max out the Nectar making skill  

Max out the canning skill 

Have 1 or 2 kids 

Generations 10- Sharidan Jones(Sparkiln Sheep)

You spent most of you’re life living on the ranch/farm but you always had the dream of becoming an interior designer and wanting to own your land and building your dream house to spend the rest of your life there 

Have the socially awkward, confident and the last trait can be random

Have the Master Maker aspiration 

Complete the aspiration 

Become a well-known interior designer celebrity 

Self-employed interior designer 

Max out the design skill 

Max out the charisma skill 

Max out the fabrication skill 

Marry the love of you’re life and have a dream wedding 

Have at least 3 kids 

[lotusarchon]

hot to go (nezha x reader)

content warnings: trans-masc reader (he/them pronouns used), rabbit spirit reader, second pov (you/your), racer/racing au, modern-ish au, fssy characters mentioned, weird plot, kidnapping attempt gone wrong, self indulgent, smut/nsfw warning - minors/ageless blogs dni, outdoor sex, cowgirl, oral (m receiving)

author's notes: save me racer nezha, save me

Just focus on the race. The track is all yours.

“Yo, Nezhie! Good luck buddy! You're gonna need it! Not for the other racers though. From me, haha. Okay, I'm gone now, byeeeee~!”

….

Li Nezha was a popular racer. Going from barely remembered in his rookie days to the current moment that everyone in the racing world was aware of his name, and the title he had been graced with ― the Lotus Prince. He who was above all ‘worldly desires’, expressing a profound commitment to his racing career. If it wasn't obvious enough from the sleek design and commitment to his car, the extra care given to his racing suit, then perhaps the countless offers from different sponsors, each one more determined and desperate than the last, to have him as the show of their fortune, should've been visible proof of his ever growing talent and power.

His arrogance and cockiness was irritating to his fellow racers, crew and even family members, that was a given. None enjoyed having to deal with an arrogant prick ― a person who spoke insulting words with false kindness, someone who always wore a fake smile and who cared little who's feelings he crushed, friend or foe.

Lotus Prince was the title he was given on the racetrack, but behind closed doors, arrogant prick was a generous if not kind title.

He was a ‘one-man’ show as the rumours went, and if it was possible, he most likely would've long since abandoned his crew. The one, sole reason anyone was willing to put up with him, either on the pit or as his driver, was because of his sweet, gentle golden retriever of a brother, Jinzha, who had inherited the family's business and his father's legacy. Said father had also been incredibly unhappy with Nezha's choice in careers, but since no amount of beatings and nights without dinners worked, he wiped his hands of this unfilial child and gave up on him.

He wanted to race so badly!? So be it! It wasn't his (Li Jing’s) life that was being thrown away anyway! Ha!

With a slight twitch of his eye, Nezha's hands clenched around his steering wheel.

Against other racers, Nezha was always certain to come out on top, even in his rookie years, stealing the title of racing champion to whoever it first belonged to.

At least, until recently, when he was promoted to go up against the Monkey King ― that Sun Wukong who was all but a cocky rookie, yet still managed to win more races than Nezha ever could.

What a damn monkey indeed. Second place had been given to Nezha, again, and again, and―

“The Monkey King takes the lead once again!”

“Son of a bi―”

***

“Whoa, buddy. Ya look pink.”

Mentally, Nezha countered to ten. His brother had always insisted that if he couldn't control his temper, at least give himself some sort of countdown to relax and think rationally.

It was bullshit. Counting didn't help him relax, it only made him itch to hit the person who thought this method was remotely helpful to begin with.

With an agitated huff, Nezha raised his head to the man―er, monkey?―who came to irritate him with that stupid remark.

Of course he looked pink. Nezha was probably the only racer who was man enough to not give a fuck that his signature colors were…pink. His car, his racing suit, hell, even the ribbons that he wore were colored pink.

To be honest about 70% of Nezha's fans were women, and one only needed a mere glance at him to know why.

He was the epitome of a pretty boy: jade white skin, thick lashes and full lips tinted pink from his constant gnawing, and many often wondered what he would look like of he just smiled. A sharp jawline and dark eyes that reflected none of his true emotions, and his hair tied into twin buns, styled with girlish looking ribbons. When he wore his helmet, strands would occasionally slip from the style, but it only served to make him look more appealing to his fans.

Naturally, it should be common knowledge―forget about the color, no man alive would dare to step outside their house looking like that, nevermind allow pictures to surface and plaster across billboards and the like. The fact was, an even rarer 10% of those remaining thirty percent of his fans were actually straight men, and even they at times couldn't bring themselves to admit they were diehard fans of this pretty-boy racer, who may as well have been better off playing the role of some prince or something in a xianxia setting.

Sighing, Nezha rubbed the crease in his forehead that always seemed to appear whenever Wukong was within sight. His temple throbbed as he answered, “Can you take your silly jokes and gloat somewhere else? Weren't you supposed to be partying with Yang Jian?”

That Yang Jian, in question, was either Wukong's boyfriend or close friend. Whatever the relationship was mattered little to Nezha ― the farther away Wukong was from him, the easier life would be.

Unfortunately, this monkey was as smart as a koala bear. The lousy grin he wore widened, and he promptly sat himself down on the back of Nezha's car, designed with white lotus flowers and his title.

Nezha felt his eyelid twitched.

“You know, I'm really just concerned about ya,” he said cheerily, swinging his legs back and forth. “I mean, you should've seen your face when you hit second place today. You looked like someone had just fucked your mom!”

Nezha listened to his inner voice and grabbed a wrench from one of his mechanics.

“I mean, damn. I know you hate losing to me but could you really not have expected it? I'm me, and you're, well, you. So I don't really see why―” He suddenly paused, his eyes on the wrench Nezha clenched. “Why do you have that.”

“....”

After much shrieking and a comical chase, Nezha retired inside his trailer for the day. His next race was supposed to be held in Donghai, which was at least a few days worth of driving. The sooner he got there, the less chances of him running into that annoying monkey.

The fantasy of not hearing Wukong yap in his head was enough to withdraw a rare, barely there smile. One that would've made his driver―his annoying brother Muzha―stare at him in terror, or his fangirls squeal with glee, to be given the knowledge that their cold, unreachable lotus could smile.

He settled back against the seats, staring boredly through the windows with an unreadable expression.

A knock from the driver's seat roused him from his daydreams. He spared it a brief glance, meeting a face that could've been carved of the same mold as Li Jing's had it not been for the slight delicate softness inherited from their mother's.

Nezha squinted.

“Ge wants to know if you wanna give any of your friends a few tickets,” Muzha deadpanned from where he sat, his gaze focused on the road before him. “Speak quick, I don't have time, and neither does he.”

Of course he didn't. Jinzha was always so busy, yet still attempting to make time for his brothers.

Nezha thought and sighed.

Tickets for what friends? Most of the people Nezha worked with tolerated him for the promise of money, or for Jinzha. Arrogance was what he was known for, and to be honest, he never allowed anyone the chance to get too close.

He wasn't so caught up in his own ego, like a certain Monkey King. He was more than aware of his own unlikable personality, and thus knew better than to try or pretend, instead dedicating his life to his racing.

Checking his neatly trimmed nails, picking at the faint nail polish left behind, Nezha merely hummed.

“Tell him not to bother. I don't need support anyway.”

From the driver's seat, all he heard was a snort from Muzha, before he finally fell silent.

***

Nezha had only rested his eyes for a few minutes, yet when he reopened then again, almost three hours had passed.

He yawned, grumbling as he sat up to rub the sleep from his eyes. Outside, the moon was high in the sky, and so the passing scenery was mixed in a passing blur and darkness, lit only by the occasional streetlight.

For a split second, he was mildly concerned. As much as he disliked his older brother, that wooden prick, there was no way he could keep driving without rest. Even if he desperately itched to arrive at Donghai in time, if Muzha fell asleep at the wheel and an accident happened, it wouldn't end well for either parties.

Resolutely, Nezha leaned over, knocking on the front compartment that opened to the driver's seat.

“Muzha?” He called out, a slight frown to his expression. “Hey? You know you can stop, right? If you crash, the one who's being blamed is me.”

A pause. There was no answer, only the gentle driving that continued.

Nezha hesitated.

“Fine. I won't stop you. But don't blame me either if something happens.” Another pause. “Get some rest too. Good night.”

Fuck.

Nezha knew something had been off when he woke up properly the next morning, squinting at the bright sunlight that threatened his vision. He must've been lying on the bare ground, to be in this position, and thanked his stars the jacket he wore was padded to avoid the feeling of gravel pressing into his back.

He squirmed, discovering that his hands had been tied in front of him, and sighed.

Honestly. He'd have to be an idiot to not recognize the situation he had been placed in.

With a huff, he tried to make an attempt to roll onto his side. There was much difficulty, but in the end, he found himself leverage, and was finally able to sit up and examine his surroundings (after his eyes had adjusted to the sudden brightness).

What he first noticed was that his trailer, thank the heavens, was parked nearby, and didn't seem to have been dealt any damage. There was no sign of his brother however, and that made his relief become gnawing guilt as he examined the rest of his surroundings.

A long gravelled road, with some sort of rickety fence that stopped for a few short miles, at least from what he could see. Either side overlooked what might've been dunes, miniature at best compared to the ones he had seen on another trip, but sandy dunes all the same, and flat exposed rock that seemed to glimmer from the sun beating down upon them.

For all his pretty boy appearances, Nezha wasn't exactly a stranger to the rough outdoors. His childhood was spent froclicking wherever he could, and tearing a dragon's sinew from it's body. If he reached into his pockets, he could still feel the remains there, rubbery and often used as a past time for him to turn into different patterns between his fingertips. Soft and princely he might've been, and with smooth, gentle hands that could've been a woman's, Nezha was as much at home in this blistering weather as he was in the racetrack.

That didn't make him any less happier, however. Briefly, he contemplated summoning his sash tied around his belt, when he spotted two figures emerging from the back of his trailer. They took no notice of him, so Nezha took it upon himself to stare as much as he could.

One was a man much taller, with a bushy bear and long flowing hair tied into a low ponytail. With only a mere side view, there wasn't much for Nezha to go off on, aside that he wore loose, black robes in this hot as hell weather. He faced a smaller figure who bounced in place, but at least looked like someone from the modern century.

Nezha stared, taken aback by the fluffy black ears that twitched on their head. Most animal demons or spirits in this day and age hid any sign of their true forms behind a glamor, not a part of them revealed to be an animal. Even Sun Wukong in this day and age had opted for an appearance that though still stood out, was enough to hide his true form from unwanted remarks.

Even their fluffy bobtail, which Nezha barely spotted from the pastel pink jacket they wore around their waist, was in sight.

A rabbit spirit? He blinked. They've got guts showing up like that, I'd give them that.

They also had the guts to try and capture him of all people, but for now, Nezha wouldn't dwell on it. At the very least, this spirit was at least dressed comparably decent, in loose, white clothing in this warm weather.

And appearances aside, Nezha couldn't tell if the latter was male, or female. Their voice, which was a mix of a high-pitched whine and feverish garbling, was androgynous at best.

“Honestly….” The older man interrupted the rabbit spirit's indecipherable speech. “How does one find themselves in such a mess…..your Qiu-mei will not be pleased.”

Huh. They must've recognized him then, and clearly had much regrets. Good that they did, and Nezha with a pleased conscience, decided not to attack them yet.

“I’m sorry.” The rabbit spirit wrung their hands nervously. Their ears twitched rapidly, and Nezha was mildly amused by the sight. “I didn't mean too…i-it just kinda happened.”

“....(Name), how does one happen to kidnap a racer and mistake him as their target!?”

So their name was that, huh. Mumbling the name to himself, Nezha continued to eavesdrop to pass the time.

(Name) burst into tears, still wringing their hands. “It really was an accident!!” They whined out, fidgeting in place. “It was so dark outside! I just jumped at the first trailer I saw outside….”

Nezha finally understood.

This, for some ironic reason, had genuinely been some sort of accident. Muzha must've stopped somewhere after Nezha had fallen asleep, for a small break to rest his eyes. The designated area he'd chosen was a seedy gas stop, but while he was busy at the counter, this (Name) person mistook their vehicle as some other target of theirs, and had stepped inside.

And now that they'd realized their error, they clearly were about to faint on the spot.

Luckily, the older black-robed man caught them, stuck between laughing and sighing.

“Okay, okay, relax―” The older man chided, patting the smaller figure's back. “Just breathe, alright? I'm sure we can work this out…probably….”

Nezha didn't know if he should laugh, or cry. The knowledge his brother was at the very least safe soothed his temper, but at the same time, knowing these people were criminals was enough to make him grimace. Accidents were…excusable, but on purpose…that went against everything he stood for, arrogance be damned.

Unable to keep up with their mindless banter, Nezha cleared his throat―loud enough to catch their attentions. The rabbit jolted with surprise, but the darkly-dressed man simply spared him a glance. Nezha caught the sight of a scraggly beard and dark eyes, but what stood out to him was the familiarity.

“Shen Gongbao.” The name fell off his lips with a bitter taste to his tongue.

The centuries old Taoist spared him a lecherous grin. “His Highness, the Third Lotus Prince. Nice to see you again. You lost the baby fat from your face―couldn’t recognize ya’ for a sec.”

Nezha rolled his eyes at the remark. Next to the Taoist, the rabbit was flailing their hands, attempting to stop their accomplice from talking. Shen Gongbao merely waved them off, still smiling at the racer bound and tied on the road.

“Huh. Always wondered where you and the others disappeared off too.” Shen Gongbao toyed with his beard and took slow, calculated steps towards him. Up close, Nezha could spy grey strands mixing with his dark hair.

So he got older too.

“Don't see why that matters to you,” he retorted back, and flicked his gaze to the bouncing rabbit spirit. For whatever reason there was, they seemed at least able to recognize him if the dark flush to their freckled cheeks was anything to go off by. They bit their thumbs and stood in the same spot, bouncing on their heels with a look of anxiety in their eyes. “Besides. Aren't you too old now, pulling this type of nonsense?”

Shen Gongbao simply pouted. “And aren't you too old to be having such a sour attitude? Honestly, how did you manage to become a racer? And such a popular one too?” He reached out, pinching Nezha's dusty cheek. There was now little distance between them, and the faint smell of sweet liquor filled Nezha's senses and made his eyelid twitch.

“Don't tell me.” Nezha winced when the Taoist finally released his possibly red, swollen cheek. “You weren't happy with what Jiang Ziya gave you, so you decided to terrorize everyone else. How very….” He struggled to find the correct word.

“Demure?” The rabbit spirit piped up from where they sat.

“(Name), do be quiet.”

“Sorry….”

“.....” Nezha exhaled. “Just what the hell are you planning on doing with me? I don't have all the time in the world to be wasted on the likes of you and your little pet.”

Shen Gongbao snorted. “I find that highly unlikely, little prince.”

“And I'm not his pet!” The rabbit quipped again, earning another sigh from their master. “Master Shen, I'm not! Tell him I'm not!”

“Of course you aren't (Name).” The Taoist stood. “But why waste our words on a dead man? Don't get so upset, he's not worth our time.”

Nezha's brows furrowed slightly. Did this guy seriously think they could just kill him just like that? Sure, his skills were a little rusty, but―

“Um….we can't kill him.” The rabbit, no, (Name), looked mildly upset as Shen Gongbao took a swig from his flask he must've kept hiding in his sleeves. “I mean. Well….. isn't there something else we can do? Like sending him back?”

Maybe this rabbit had the right head on their shoulders.

“Um. No.”

And maybe he should've used that brick of his on Shen Gongbao when he had the chance instead of listening to Jiang Ziya’s nonsensical babbling.

“Why not!?”

“(Name). Your Qiu-mei would hit you if she heard you speak.” The Taoist rubbed his forehead. “You don't…kidnap people and then just return them. He knows too much and isn't our target, so we have to get rid of him without our secrets being leaked.”

The rabbit blinked. “He's rich and people would pay a lot to have him back and alive.”

Nezha nodded. For as dumb as they appeared to be, it seemed that they were quite smart for whatever age they were. It benefited him, because then he wouldn't have to lift a finger in restraining these villains until the last second.

Shen Gongbao’s thick brows looked like they wanted to frown harder. He spared Nezha a glance and stood, dusting the gravel and stone that clung to his thick robes.

“My little A-Lan,” the Taoist said, his tone gentle and laced with kindness, like when a parent was trying to deliver bad news to a toddler. “Your….admiration for the prince is showing. Look at him―do you think any honest woman would want to be near him? Nevermind anyone in general. He's a prick.”

The rabbit’s lips pursed slightly.

Nezha looked offended where he sat.

“Um. I most certainly would be missed,” he deadpanned from where he sat.

Shen Gongbao spared him a look. “Would you really?”

“Yes. I'm quite famous you know.”

The rabbit nodded. “He is, Master.”

“(Name), shush. My point still remains. You're arrogant and haughty. It's not an issue about holding you for ransom. It's simply that you aren't worth anything, and no one would be willing to pay the price to get you back.”

“Um.” The rabbit tried again. “But we can't kill him. That's…I mean, it's not really nice….”

The older man looked like he wanted to roll his own eyes, but fought back the temptation to flash the rabbit a small, fond smile. It seemed, by their dynamic, that this was not something new, and Nezha felt a little disappointed that he was not the exception to this sympathy.

“You and Qiuyue are far too different.” Shen Gongbao heaved a sigh and tugged on the rabbit's fluffy ear. “Perhaps it is for the best.” He spared Nezha another glance, and continued, “Fine, then. If you don't want for me to kill him, then we'll go with your plan.”

***

When Shen Gongbao had asked for your plan in sending Nezha back without either of you getting caught, you blurted out the first thing that came to mind. Yet, who would've guessed―not only did he have you take control, he left the racer in your hands.

It's totally fine, he had said. He sealed Nezha's meridians away, so he couldn't get away from the cables tied around him. No big deal!

It was in fact a big deal. Nezha's face might've been soft and pretty, but his body did not match that delicateness. He could crush you to death with one hand alone! The fuck!? Did your master not see the size of those things!? And he expected you to watch him!?

Hahaha, what the fuck!?

“You're telling me you don't know how to drive?” He deadpanned from the driver's seat, his free hands clenching the steering wheel. His expression was blank, if not unamused, and he seemed itch to roll his eyes. “How on earth did you even steal it to begin with?”

You flushed with shame, staring at the dashboard in front of you.

The truth was, you barely managed to steal his trailer that night. It was genuinely pure luck you had managed to keep it from driving on the road without attracting attention.

Nezha continued on, “What kind of kidnapper has their own hostage doing the driving? That's pretty lame, isn't it?”

You covered your face in shame, your ears drooping.

“Please, no more. I can't take it anymore,” you managed out, fighting back tears of shame.

Whether or not he felt any sympathy, he wouldn't say, but at least his insults stopped for the time. His gaze remained focus on the road before him, his lips pursed.

Arguably, you might've been decades younger than your cousin and master, but at least that meant you had more common sense than they did. Sure, you were probably useless for a lot of things with your anxiety always ready to skyrocket, but at least your first thought hadn't been to murder a guy because he was the wrong target.

And to be honest, you did like Nezha a lot. You might even dare to call yourself one of his fans, but that would be a bit much. His pretty boy looks were the only things you really liked, because racing was a boring sport to you, and you didn't understand anything related to it. Ignoring that Nezha's personality was also ass.

With a sigh, you propped your hand under your cheek to stare out the window. If Nezha did, and he most likely would, try to turn you in to the authorities, you could always just make a run for it. Just as long as he returned home safe….

A few hours passed before Nezha finally spoke again.

“Where are we going?”

You blinked.

“You…you're the one who's doing the driving!?”

“Yeah, and you brought me here.” Nezha glanced at you. “Shouldn't you at least be able to tell what direction we're in?”

“....”

Shen Gongbao was the one who asked you to meet him here, but that didn't mean you knew where here was. It was the middle of nowhere as far as you could tell, and when you'd dragged Nezha inside the trailer sometime later, your master hadn't told you that you might've been heading in the wrong direction.

Not to mention, you didn't think you would've gotten lost. Nezha was a driver, so surely he should've been able to tell where you were heading??

Fuck.

“Oh my god we're lost.”

“You're fucking with me.”

Nezha groaned, banging his head against the steering wheel. You panicked when the trailer swerved, but it didn't crash into anything unassuming, and Nezha muttered another curse under his breath before regaining his bearings. He glowered at the open road, his brows twitching.

You gulped nervously.

“I'm supposed to be in Donghai in three days!” He muttered out, digging his nails into the steering wheel. “And I can't believe I got kidnapped by Bugs Bunny and his fucking evil wizard accomplice.”

You processed his words, and gaped. “Who are you calling Bugs Bunny, you…you fucking….”

Nezha raised a brow. “Go on.”

“....” You looked away and pouted. Finding an insult that would hurt was too hard. You should've listened to Qiuyue when you had the chance. “I'm not a Bug's Bunny.”

“Could've fooled me then, Lola Bunny.”

“Okay, stop.”

The trailer came to a stop on the side of the road. Nezha couldn't keep driving forever, and because you were useless in driving and couldn't take turns at the wheel, he had no choice but to stop for a break, even when he would much rather keep driving until daybreak the next day.

He sat at the edge of his cot, watching you try to figure out how to pry the sink open without breaking anything.

“You're a bad kidnapper,” he commented, picking at the last bits of nail polish on his fingers. He frowned, looking around for the bottle he'd had tucked away somewhere. “Like. Seriously. What kind of kidnapper just grabs someone without knowing how to drive? Much less do anything in general?”

“It was an accident.” You gave up on the sink, choosing to look through the cupboards instead for anything of nutritional value. All your hands could find were bowls of lotus seeds, covered to prevent spilling over. You stared at the several bowls lined up neatly in the cupboard, and deadpanned.

Well….lotus seeds it would have to be, then. Though you really wished you could find meat….at least you wouldn't have to cook it.

You grabbed a bowl and faced Nezha, taken aback by the sight of him sitting cross legged and painting his nails a fresh layer of pastel pink that matched his car's designs.

He glanced your way, cocking a brow. “What?”

“Nothing…” You shook your head, taking the empty spot next to him. “Um. I found this….if you're hungry….”

Wait….wasn't he reborn from a lotus root? You glanced at him nervously. Would it count as cannibalism if he ate them―

“Feed me.”

“Pardon?”

Nezha sighed. All of his attention remained on painting his nails with precision, and he barely even spared you the energy of an eye roll. He stuck his tongue out, examining his index finger in the trailer light, and made a gesture with his free, unpainted hand.

“You're pardoned. And I said, feed me. I'm busy.”

“...” You picked at one of the seeds, your ear twitching. Perhaps Shen Gongbao had been right. With an attitude like that, did he even have friends? Or, if he somehow magically had any, how did they tolerate him this much?

Begrudgingly accepting your role, you placed a lotus seed to his lips. Though distracted, his teeth latched onto it with ease, and you watched with awe as it disappeared into his mouth.

Well, you were already bored anyway. Might as well make a game of how fast he could eat and swallow lotus seeds.

“Stop staring.”

“Oh.”

***

Two days had passed, and unfortunately, you were both still very lost. There was an occasional gastop and settlements on the road the longer Nezha kept driving, but neither had been helpful with directions. Either because they sensed you were a spirit and they were awfully superstitious, or because Nezha's not too-pleasant attitude and expression scared almost everyone into fainting on the spot.

You didn't have the heart to ask the lotus prince to try to be nicer. If you did, he would probably go back to calling you those mean names again. He had stopped after reducing you to tears once, but you weren't very eager to remind him. Creative as they were, you did not enjoy being at the receiving end of those insults.

Maybe he was just a sadist.

Unsurprisingly, Nezha did not take pleasure in driving for this long. After your most recent gas stop, he ended up stopping the trailer in an empty grazing field. You sat with newly acquired snacks to watch him drive his race car around, kicking up dust and scaring the local wildlife in the process.

You couldn't make heads or tails of whatever he was doing, but when he drove past, you did manage to catch sight of his expression. For once, he seemed genuinely happy to be there, behind the steering wheel of his stupid car, driving repeated circles in the same tire tracks until he was tired.

It might've been a trick of the light, but you could've sworn you saw a faint smile on his lips.

“Honestly,” you spoke to one of the rabbits that hopped closer to the blanket you sat on. “He seems like a nice guy in the field. Is it that hard for him to place that same energy into talking to people?”

The rabbit twitched its nose at you.

“I mean. Qiuyue is always complaining about people being unchangeable.” You threw a lotus seed at the rabbit. “But it's…not fair, is it? People can change! And, I dunno. He's lived decades longer than I have, but doesn't seem to have anyone to really be there for him, does he? Outside of his brothers, I mean.”

“...”

“Ugh.” You groaned and allowed yourself to fall back onto the grass beneath you. “I'm going mad.”

“Yeah, you are.”

You glowered at the familiar face hovering above you, a smirk curling on those lips that you had gotten used to staring at in the two days you spent with him.

He was right, at least. You were a horrible kidnapper. I mean, who let's their hostage drive around knowing damn well they could escape if they wanted too!? Qiuyue would have your head if she saw you as you were now.

Nezha extended a gloved hand towards you, and you accepted it, allowing him to pull you up with ease. His car was parked near the trailer, and as he sat himself next to you, you couldn't help but spare him one more glance. The sweat beading down his temples, the slight motion of his chest as he caught his breath, his ruffled hair and the strands that escaped his bun….

You sighed as he stole another bowl of lotus seeds, propping your hands behind you.

Don't misunderstand ― you most certainly was not falling for a guy you met only for two days. This wasn't a cheesy romcom to begin with.

But, you'd be lying if you said you weren't mildly…atttacted to him.

“Why were you talking to yourself?” Nezha asked between a mouthful of seeds.

“I was talking to my rabbit friend.”

He blinked, giving you a weird look between stuffing seeds into his mouth. “So you can….communicate with them?”

“No….”

“...”

“Oh. You're really weird then.”

“It's not weird! I was just talking out loud! How is that weird!? Stop looking at me like that! Hey!” You gasped as he snickered, grabbing him by the arm. “Stop laughing! I'm not weird! It's not! Don't you talk to yourself all the time!? Stop laughing!!!”

There was nothing you could do about it. With a snort, Nezha's free hand grabbed your wrist, pulling you forward, if only to grin at your embarrassed expression.

“But it's funny,” he insisted, watching you squirm. “You're the only person I've ever met insane enough to talk to a rabbit. I have to laugh.”

“You! You're so horrible.” You gave up, slouching on his lap. Maybe if you stayed incredibly still, you could pretend to be dead. “I was just pointing something out…”

Too bad Nezha didn't want to follow with your pretense. He set his now empty bowl aside, both hands free to do as they pleased. With your front on his lap, he placed his hands on your back, and casually grabbed at the fluffball that was your tail.

“I heard.” He squeezed the soft fur experimentally, ignoring how you twitched and tried to pull back. “While I appreciate your concern, it is as you've said. I've lived for centuries, I don't think I need anyone else to be there for me. It's pointless.”

You gave up on escaping and prayed for your tail. The legends of how Nezha tore out the dragon king's son's spine and was probably still playing with the sinew made you mentally sob.

“But it's not nice being alone, is it?” You tried to look at him. “I mean…even gods get lonely every once in a while. Isn't that why they like to visit humans?”

Nezha caught your gaze, and a small, barely visible smile adorned his expression. The hand not occupied with your tail pinched your chubby cheek.

“But being lonely is far better than pointless attachments,” he pointed out, leaving your cheek to tug your ear. “A god lives forever. Eventually, you'll learn that it's better to simply be as you are, and to depend on no one but yourself.”

“Is it because you've been hurt before, or that you'd rather not take the risk of being hurt ever?”

He paused, and released your tail. “The latter.”

“Oh.”

Without his hand on your tail, you managed to roll yourself onto your back, staring up at him. He stared back a blank expression, and you frowned, wanting to say something.

“.....do you wanna fuck?”

Nezha choked and shoved you off his lap. Which, come to think of it, really was well deserved. Who asks that question with a straight face, after having a conversation like that!? The fact he didn't try to kill you was mercy in itself, but you didn't exactly think of that while staring at the way his face seemed to flush and grow pink in color to the tips of his ears.

You picked yourself up, dusting the grass that had stuck to your pants. Nezha blinked.

“Um…what the fuck?”

“Qiuyue told me that in awkward situations like that, relief helps with the tension.” You held up a finger. “And I mean. We're stuck here for a bit. Might as well make the most of it.”

Nezha didn't know if he should laugh or cry. In all his years of living, he had never heard anything more ridiculous, and very tempting.

“....very well….I guess. We can um. Try.”

You gave him a thumbs up. “Yay!”

“Don't do that.”

“Oh.”

With how shy and bouncy you were, Nezha thought you would've wanted to do this….thing, you suggested, behind the walls of the trailer for privacy.

Yet instead, you insisted that you stay outdoors. For what reason, he couldn't tell, and he lost all thoughts of questioning you when your warm hands wrapped around the base of his cock and slowly pumped your hand.

Nezha's breath hitched, his hands clenching the blanket he sat upon to leverage himself. His bottom lip worried between his teeth, and his face burned ever so warmly when your warmth breath brushed against his sensitive tip, flushed an angry red, the slit slowly leaking precum from your ministrations. Your tongue dragged against his weeping tip, leaving him fisting the blanket and his hips instinctively bucking against you.

You raised your head slightly, blinking up at his blushing experience, and as if an afterthought struck you, you gently patted his thigh.

“Don't worry, I'll be nice,” you assured him with a smile.

Shouldn't I be saying that to you?

If he wanted to respond, he had no chance to do so. His teeth sunk into the tender skin of his lip, and a strangled moan managed to escape through gritted teeth when your mouth enveloped his cock, your lips sucking at his tip and the warmth of your tongue dragging against his slit.

His tip kissed the back of your throat, and your hands clenched at his bare thighs, forming crescent shaped cuts from your nails. You glanced up at him through your lashes, and Nezha couldn't bare to keep eye contact for long. He squeezed his eyes shut, hissing as you began to bob your head against his length.

You could feel him throbbing, yet for some reason or the other, the Lotus Prince remained stubborn in his actions. He refused to even look at you, despite the red blush spreading to his neck, or the fact he was trying so hard not to buck his hips with every swirl of your tongue.

Honestly….

Your nose pressed against his pelvis, and Nezha choked, his hand flying to your head. His fingers laced through your hair that had fallen from its ponytail, gently tugging and fisting the strands when you hollowed your cheeks and dragged your tongue against the underside of his shaft. He twitched and groaned, his chest heaving with his shallow pants.

His cock throbbed in the cavern of your mouth, and you allowed yourself to pull back, his cock slipping from your mouth with a slick noise. Saliva clung to his tip, and your hand, breaking the strand that connected his tip to your lips, stroked him to completion. You could feel his hand tugging at your hair, his head falling back with a quiet moan as he came in your hand, his cum coating your wrist in sticky, wet spurts.

You sat up, allowing him to catch his breath. His hair must've come undone at some point, and the strands of silky black hair draped his face like a curtain. The redhue spread across his nose, and he gazed at you through hooded, glossy eyes.

“Well?” You looked around for something to wipe your hand on. “That felt nice, didn't it? Now, you can feel better about yourself.”

Nezha frowned, using his elbows to push himself up. “That's it?”

“Hm?”

“That's….” He trailed off, clenching and unclenching his hand. “You…um. I mean, is there not another….”

He was looking at you again, but not quite at your face. Intrigued, you followed his gaze, lower―

“Pervert!”

“What!?” He choked. “How am I the pervert!? You just sucked my dick!”

“And!?”

“W-well, I thought that….you uh…”

“....”

“....”

“Fine.”

“Yay!”

“WHY IS IT FINE WHEN YOU DO IT!?”

You refused to lie on your back, and Nezha was adamantly stubborn, so in the end, you both compromised, and thus was your position. On one hand, you figured you didn't want to complain, but on the other….you really did not do well with prolonged eye contact. You almost wished you'd accepted his offer to do it on the grass instead….

Nezha's hands squeezed the soft flesh of your ass, guiding your hips to meet with his upward thrusts. His brows were furrowed in deep concentration, though you had to wonder why he chose to stare at your exposed breasts instead of anywhere else.

“You're…you're a…” He briefly looked up to catch your flushed gaze.

“Um. I'm a guy.” You deadpanned at his surprise. Was it not obvious from the beginning? “Did you not know this?”

Nezha blinked as if realization dawned on him. His lips parted to make a remark, but then he immediately snapped them shut, burying his face between your plush tits abruptly. You gasped when you felt his lips latch onto your nipple, his teeth teasing the sensitive skin.

The action caused your cunt to abruptly clench around him, a whimper escaping you, mixed with another moan when his cock brushed against a sensitive spot inside you that made your toes curl and your entire body tremble.

One of his hands slowly crept upward, against the curve of your ass, until it found your fluffy tail. His nails scratched against the base connected to your back, and then he tugged in time with another bite to your sensitive nipple.

You wanted to smack him for that. Of all the places he had to touch, why the hell was it your tail!?

As revenge, you tugged off his ribbons, allowing the rest of his hair to fall against his shoulders. He parted from your bite- covered breast to glance up at you, and his hair seemed to frame his face like a dark halo.

Oh.

He tugged on your tail again, and this time, you could see the grin he wore everytime your body reacted.

“What?” Nezha asked innocently.

You exhaled. “I'm gonna hit you.”

“Doesn't that go against your little code?” He angled his hips again, finding that sensitive spot inside you. The warmth coiling in your stomach spread, and your hands clung to his shoulders, digging into the fabric of his jacket. “And you like it, so why are you complaining? You'll probably cum from this too.”

You scowled. “No, I won't.”

“Yes, you will.” Nezha gave your tail another firm tug. His nails scratched at it's base again, soothing the sensitive skin before he tugged again, all done with repeated motions, until your cunt spasmed and coated his cock with your arousal and slick as you came.

He cooed when you buried your face in the crook of his neck, his fingers still teasing your twitching tail while his cock throbbed inside you.

“See?” He insisted when you grumbled against his neck. “Told you you'd cum from it.”

He waited for you to catch your breath, and when you did, you raised your head to glare at him.

“Rot in hell.”

“And leave me with blue balls?”

“....”

***

“Nezhie! You're alive!!”

Nezha sighed, rubbing his temples from the incoming migraine threatening his skull. He had to fight the urge to grab the wrench nearby, looking so, so tempting as Wukong's big mouth came closer.

“Wukong, please.” He set his helmet down, glancing at the champion once again. “I'm not in the mood to listen to you yap. Yes, congrats, you won.”

The monkey looked offended by his comment. Nezha frowned, until he felt Wukong slugging him in the arm.

The wrench looked really tempting right about now.

“Dude! You're funny.” Wukong chuckled and patted his head. “Nah, nah. I'm not here to gloat. We're friends! I thought you upped and died!” He pinched him on the cheek, tugging the flesh until Nezha hissed a curse. “Don't be like that man. What else was I supposed to think, huh? Then you show back up again and you bring back a boyfriend too!”

“....boyfriend….?”

He glanced in the direction he'd last seen you. You had followed him back to Donghai, and the minute Jinzha had seen you with him, he hadn't waited before he jumped on you, bawling his eyes out about taking care of his little baby brother.

You were still there, trapped in his brother's hands.

“Wait…he's…. he's not my boyfriend.”

“Ah, right. Husband.”

“NO!”

@lotusarchon , 12.02.2025, all rights reserved. do not copy, repost or translate my works without permission. comments, reblogs and likes are appreciated!

[arteriop]

Xehnos

/zeʔnɒs/

My Overwatch OC (who my main blog is dedicated to @nullsector-xehnos ) has gotten a redesign

Support Character a member of the Gwishin faction who was once a salvage bot but has upgraded themself to repair living omnics.

“Scrapping was all I had known, ripping apart my fallen friends. Those human meka squashed my family like bugs. Did they even try peace? Or did they strike our envoys first? Not like it matters now. When Null Sector began broadcasting, encouraging omnics to join the cause for liberation, I was changed. Enlightened with purpose. I have wasted too long salvaging corpses. I will repair my kin while they stand, and we will be free.“

Kit

150 hp 100 regenerating shields

Restorative Wave (Primary)

Fire out a horizontally oriented projectile that passes through and heals allies. No maximum range. is stopped by shields, walls, abilities that eat projectiles, walls/surfaces.

100 ammo, Fires once every 0.6 seconds, does 75 healing per hit, consumes 10 ammo per shot. 1.7 second reload. Shared ammo with secondary

Laser cutter (Secondary)

A 10 meter beam that deals 60 damage per second, after dealing 80 damage to an enemy, they are ignited for 1 second, taking 20 damage over time for that second.

100 ammo, consumes 10 ammo per second. 1.7 second reload. Shared ammo with primary

Passive: wallclimb

Xehnos can climb walls

Passive: Leap (2 second cooldown)

Jump while in the air to leap in the direction of movement

Ability 1: Reinforce (19 second cooldown)

Target an ally and give them immortality (with a minimum hp of 40% max hp) for 2 seconds

Ability 2: Latch (9 second cooldown)

While in contact with a surface, forcibly become stationary and invulnerable to cc of any kind for up to 8 seconds (press again to cancel) 

Ultimate: Revolt

All allies (and yourself) within 15 meters when the ultimate is used become fortified (immune to crowd control) and take 60% less damage for 10 seconds.

Gold Weapon Variant

Jade Weapon Variant

Interactions/Voicelines

Character Select (match start):

“Let us hope our losses are minimal”

Character Select (mid match):

“Someone needs to repair us”

Ultimate (self/enemy):

“Your struggle is futile!”

Ultimate (friendly):

“New Directive: Revolt!”

Damage Boosted:

 “Abandoning Protective Protocol”

Outnumbered:

“Our numbers dwindle!”

Respawn

“Again, into the slaughter” “My work isn’t done” “There are still repairs to be made”

Reinforce Voicelines

“Keep moving” “You aren’t dead yet” “I’m not abandoning you”

Generic Elimination Voicelines

“Threat neutralized” “You were a fool to fight me” “Stay out of my way” “Struggling is useless”

Revenge Elimination

“Always Improving” “Did you think I wouldn’t learn?”

Special Elimination Voicelines

Witness Friendly Ramattra, Zenyatta, Echo, Orisa, or Bastion be killed: 

“Your loss will not be in vain!”

Killing D.va:

“How did we lose to you?”

Killing Reinhardt:

“Precision Omnic Engineering”

Killing Brigitte:

“The crusaders legacy, pitiful”

Killing Ramattra:

“You have lost your way”

Killing Lucio while he's ulting:

“Silence”

Killing enemy Zenyatta, Echo, Bastion, or Orisa

“I’m sorry it had to be this way”

Witness Friendly Orisa, Echo, Bastion, Zenyatta, or Ramattra Kill a non-robot hero:

“One step closer”

Witness Friendly Reinhardt Kill a robot hero:

“Humans will never change”

Spawnroom interactions

D.va: “You keep looking at me. Are you a fan? I don’t do autographs while on missions” Xehnos: “I’m not a fan, you are just...familiar” D.va: “I don’t think we’ve met before, have we?” Xehnos: “If we had, one of us wouldn’t be here” D.va: “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Lucio: “I’ve been trying to ask everyone this, what’s your favorite animal?” Xehnos: “The Hornet” Lucio: “uh, yeah I can see it”

Xehnos: “Do you need any repairs?” Orisa: “Efi keeps me well maintained, thank you for offering”

Winston: “Does anyone want to hear my favorite joke about the periodic table?” Xehnos: “Focus, please”

Ramattra: “An engineer does not belong on the battlefield” Xehnos: “I must fight for our kin” Ramattra: “A better life” Xehnos: “For all omnics”

Zenyatta: “Are you satisfied working towards destruction?” Xehnos: “I repair our kin. you just provide false hope.” Zenyatta: “I don’t believe it false” Xehnos: “Lying to yourself is not something to be proud of”

JunkerQueen: “I’ve never seen one of you before” Xehnos: “Very few of my model were produced, most are probably dead by now.” Junker Queen: “Sounds Lonely. Do you have a weak spot or somethin?”

Xehnos: “You pick your kin up when they fall?.” Brigitte: “Whats wrong with helping?” Xehnos: “Nothing. I just prefer to keep my kin standing”

Lifeweaver: “Are you busy this weekend?” Xehnos: “Many omnics still need repairs” Lifeweaver: “Maybe I can help you with that” Xehnos, amused: “Maybe”

Xehnos: “A fellow engineer, it’s a shame you won’t aid us” Torbjorn, begrudgingly: “I’m learning to be kinder, but I won’t assist in genocide” Xehnos: “Is that what you told Overwatch during the omnic crisis?”

Venture: “The East China Sea Omnium is underwater right? Does that mean all the Gwishin are water-resistant?” Xehnos: “Why would I answer you?” Venture: “Omnic Culture is one of my favorite subjects, so I was just wondering”

If the team is all robots

“Time to find our place in the world”

When on Busan

“We aren’t far from where I was created”

Silhouette Icon

[ask-mobile-iterator-project]

Intro Post

still on indefinite hiatus whoops.

This blog focuses on my Rain World OCs involved in the "Mobile Iterator Project" AU. ^_^

The “Mobile Iterator Project” (MIP) is a project created and directed by an Ancient named "No Cost Too Great" (NCTG) with the stated goal of supporting standard iterators in their productivity, maintenance, and longevity, so that they can operate at maximum efficiency, even after the inevitable mass ascension. ‘MIP Units’—iterators under the project—are created puppet-first in the "MIP Development Center" and later assigned to Local Groups, where their structures are built to support the Iterators around them. Uniquely, their personalities are heavily based around singular, specific Architects (Ancients) who donate their memories and qualia. The exception to this is TWR. In total, there are 99 MIP Units, with IDs ranging from 01 to 99.

(This AU strays pretty far from the themes and canon of both Vanilla Rain World and Downpour, so please keep that in mind!)

⚠️Importantly, here are some warnings for sensitive content that may appear in the posts:

depictions of trauma and mental illness

heavy themes of manipulation (including memory manipulation)

depictions of emotional abuse

dehumanization

depictions of dissociation

identity struggles

medical malpractice/abuse, experimentation

child endangerment

generally dark themes

violence, physical abuse

infrequent body horror

When sensitive content comes up, I will leave a warning before the cut and tag as "sensitive content"!

Characters:

Starlight Symphony (SLS) she/her, [bio]

Frosted Briar (FB) she/they, [bio]

Glimmering Seafoam In Sunlight (GSIS) she/her, [bio]

Thorns Without Roses (TWR) she/they, [bio]

Perpetual Umbra (PU) they/them, [bio]

Legacy Of Famine (LOF) she/any, [bio]

*These are not all of the characters, just the main 6 that are open to receiving asks.

How it works:

Please specify who you are asking the question to, for example: (to SLS), (to SLS and FB), (to any), (to all), (to admin)

If you don’t specify, I’ll just pick myself. Though, sometimes, I might have another character answer too, if I think it might be interesting.

For admin asks, my friend’s overseer might want to add stuff too, so don’t be surprised if she shows up. For simplicity's sake, assume all admin asks are addressed to potentially both of us.

Additionally, I might add commentary sometimes, which I’ll tag with #admin commentary. My friend might do that too sometimes, so #overseer commentary for her.

I’ll do my best to answer your asks, with varying art quality, though I won’t answer all of them. Jade might answer some of them too, primarily the ones regarding, FB, as she knows them way better than I do.

We will sign off at the end of each post, denoting who handled the “broadcast” (ask.)

[Broadcast handled by admin], [Broadcast handled by overseer], [Broadcast handled by admin and overseer]

There is a light roleplaying/interactive element: The in-universe framing device for the questions is broadcasts being sent to the iterators, hence the ask button’s title. There may also be some occasional meta shenanigans.

I will be answering some questions from curiouscat rather than tumblr, and I will crosspost to twitter, too. This is probably too much work, but whatever. The askblog will be the main source of my attention, though, so posts will come here first.

Boundaries/Rules:

Please don’t ask questions related to your own OCs, because I don’t know them.

Please try to break up multiple questions into separate asks.

Nothing NSFW or suggestive.

No “magic” asks (like turning the characters into different things)

You can send items if you want, though

Please keep in mind that Frosted Briar is, for all intents and purposes, basically a child.

Rules may change as things go along and we figure stuff out!

Non-Ask Posts:

Occasionally, I may post content related to backstories and worldbuilding and stuff unrelated to asks. This will be tagged with #mip logs.

Tags:

#silly: for silly stuff

#angst: for angsty stuff

#dubiously canon: usually used in tandem with silly, but for anything that has questionable characterization

#sensitive content: content that may be triggering or upsetting

#mip worldbuilding: asks/posts related to worldbuilding

#mip lore: asks/posts related to lore!

#mip ask: in-universe asks for the ocs.

#admin ask: asks directed towards the admin/overseers

#guest appearance: asks where characters outside of the main 6 appear.

#mip logs: non-ask posts that build upon the lore/worldbuilding

#ooc: update posts, rule posts, etc.

#meta: hehe

#admin commentary: commentary from the admin (luna)

#overseer commentary: commentary from the overseer (jade or clover)

#overseer assistance: for when the overseers help with the process

#fanart: reblogs of fanart!! :D

#admin art: reblogs of luna’s, jade's or clover's art of the characters

#luna art, #jade art, #clover art: self-explanatory

#old: from the sls ask blog, consider it non-canon

#mobile iterator project, #rw mip au: self-explanatory

post is tagged with most of these

Main Admin: Luna, @mewguca

Overseer: Jade, @fauxbia

Overseer: Clover, @cloverlady

Thank you for reading!

For additional information on my OC usage permissions, please read my carrd

[teamthunderdome]

TEAM THUNDERDOME.

TWO TEAMS ENTER. TUMBLR VOTES. ONE TEAM LEAVES. TRIAL BY COMBAT. TO THE DEATH. VICTORY OR SOVNGARDE.

The Rules:

Fights will occur over the course of ONE WEEK, quarter 1 begins JUNE 1ST, 2024 at 12:00 AM MIDNIGHT EDT (UTC-04:00).

Multiple fights happen across one week.

ONLY 3 to 4 team members per team. 2 is too few, 5 is almost cheating. If a team has more than 4 members, some will have to wait in the stands (looking at you, Scooby-Doo and Tally Hall).

Tumblr poll will determine the winner of an individual fight via emotional support and gracious cookie donations.

Majority Wins. Whether or not a team would canonically win or lose the fight does not matter, only the number of votes.

Single Elimination.

Outside of the rules listed above, anything goes. Reblog a fight to get your friends on your side.

Propaganda is fair game. If you know perhaps a little too much about one of the teams and want to explain why your team should win, please submit an in-depth propaganda post to the blog homepage.

Spread the word! Your favorite might win! (Or not! I just run this thing!)

Lasko Wind Machine

All 64 Teams Competing (In random order - will NOT reflect the final bracket):

Team WINCHESTER (Sam, Dean, Castiel, Crowley)

Team FORTRESS (Heavy, Medic, Engineer, Soldier)

Team AIONIOS (Noah, Lanz, Eunie, Riku)

Team GONDOR (Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Gandalf)

Team TWILIGHT (Jacob, Edward, Bella)

Team STAR WARS (Han, Luke, Leia, Chewbacca)

Team NARUTO (Naruto, Sasuke, Sakura)

Team SHREK (Shrek, Fiona, Donkey, Puss In Boots) (As portrayed at the end of Shrek 2)

Team OF LIGHT (Jonathan Harker, Jack Seward, Quincey Morris, Abraham Van Helsing)

Team PERSONA (Makoto Yuki, Kotone Shiomi, Yu Narukami, Ren Mamamiya)

Team HOMESTUCK (John, Jade, Rose, Dave)

Team MUSKETEERS (Athos, Porthos, Aramis, D'Artagnan)

Team HERCULES (Hercules, Iolaus, Salmoneus, Autolycus) (The Legendary Journeys, Hercules as portrayed by Kevin Sorbo)

Team PUYO PUYO (Ringo, Arle, Amitie, Lemres)

Team BAKUGO (Bakugo, Mina, Denki, Eijirou)

Team WIGGLES (Jeff, Anthony, Murray, Greg) (as originally formed)

Team GRYFFINDOR (Harry, Ron, Hermione)

Team COOL RUNNINGS (Derice Bannock, Junior Bevil, Sanka Coffie, Yul Brenner)

Team AEGIS (Rex, Pyra, Mythra) (all other party members excluded due to Blades and their pesky "friendships" binding them to their users)

Team RHYTHM THIEF (Raphael, Fondue, Marie, Charlie) (what a cute doggy :3)

Team MYSTERY INC (Fred, Shaggy, Velma, Daphne) (sorry no pets allowed)

Team DEKU (Izuku, Tsuyu, Ochako, Shouto)

Team KRISPIES (Snap, Crackle, Pop)

Team ELITE BEAT (Agent Spin, Agent J, Agent Chieftain, Agent Starr)

Team JIGSAW (Kramer, Young, Hoffman, Gordon)

Team UMIZOOMI (Milli, Geo, Bot)

Team TRIFORCE (Link, Zelda, Groose) (Skyward Sword variants)

Team LAYTON (Layton, Luke, Emmy) (Pre-Azran Legacy)

Team SONIC (Sonic, Knuckles, Tails)

Team ASKR (Alfonse, Anna, Sharena)

Team TARDIS (The Doctor, Amy, Rory, River)

Team WOOHP (Sam, Alex, Clover)

Team KEYBLADE (Sora, Donald, Goofy)

Team 1908 THOMAS FLYER (Montague Roberts, George Schuster, Hans Hendrik Hansen, George MacAdam)

Team BIONIS (Shulk, Reyn, Dunban, Sharla)

Team DARK (Shadow, Rouge, Omega) (Ultimate Life Form status tenuous)

Team OOO (Finn, Jake, Princess Bubblegum, BMO)

Team TALLY HALL (Rob, Zubin, Andrew, Joe) (Ross excluded - he's just a drummer)

Team DOODLEBOPS (Deedee, Rooney, Moe)

Team SCIENCE (Gordon, Tommy, Bubby, Dr. Coomer)

Team POWERPUFF (Blossom, Buttercup, Bubbles)

Team INCONCEIVABLE (Inigo, Fezzik, Vizzini)

Team METROCITY (Megamind, Metro Man, Roxanne, Minion)

Team WONDER PETS (Linny, Tuck, Ming Ming)

Team REGULAR (Mordecai, Rigby, Muscle Man, Skips)

Team PILLAR MEN (Santana, Wham, ACDC, Kars) (Ultimate Life Form status tenuous)

Team BEATLES (John, Paul, George, Ringo)

Team SMILING FRIENDS (Pim, Charlie, Glep, Alan)

Team ROTTEN (Robbie, Tobby, Bobby, Flobby) (Ultimate Life Form status confirmed)

Team KRUSTY KRAB (SpongeBob, Patrick, Squidward, Mr. Krabs)

Team VOCALOID (Hatsune Miku, Kagamine Len, Kagamine Rin)

Team GARFIELD (Garfield, Jon, Odie, Liz)

Team POOH (Pooh, Piglet, Eeyore, Christopher Robin)

Team AVALANCHE (Cloud, Tifa, Aerith, Barret)

Team LOONEY (Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck, Porky Pig, Michael Jordan)

Team GHOSTS (Blinky, Pinky, Inky, Clyde) (freshly dead)

Team ROCKMAN (Rock, Roll, Blues, Bass)

Team MARIO (Mario, Luigi, Wario, Waluigi)

Team WRIGHT (Phoenix, Apollo, Athena, Trucy) (as seen in Dual Destinies)

Team SHERLOCK (Sherlock, John, Mycroft) (Brigandorf Crimplesnart's depiction of Sherlock)

Team MASH (Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce, BJ Hunnicutt, Charles Emerson Winchester III)

Team RWBY (Ruby, Weiss, Yang, Blake)

Team CHANNEL 5 (Ulala, Space Michael, Jaguar, Pudding)

Team FANBOY (Fanboy, Chum Chum, Kyle)

GOOD LUCK!!!

(you're gonna need it)

[jadekat5ever]

admin intros!!

intros giving details on whos doing what here! respective blogs are linked in the names/titles.

cannoli she/him 🎀

HIII im cannoli (o^^o) i looovelovelovelove jadekat and ill prolly mostly/only draw them in the red quadrant cuz im really cheesy and basic about them.... but ill be doing character asks aswell! i also post classpect/pairing/homestuck analyses on main aswell as more of my own art so you can check that out too!

mod cherry she/her 💌

hiya! you can call me cherry or leonie ^_^. i mostly draw jadekat in silly situations, and im a big carapacian fan! i like responding to character asks and doodling short comics. my main is meteor-mp3 and my hs analysis blog is sburban-living. my favorite characters are jade, PM and caliborn! :D

mod mel she/they 💤 HELLO im mel or rainbows idc ^_^ BELIEVER OF THE JADEKATS BLESSED tehee but anyways i'll mostly draw them in random and funny situations sometimes romantic it can be interpreted in any quadrant gonna also answer some asks there and thats all hope you enjoy the ride >:D

LEGACY MODS 🪲 ♠️ 👽

[stinkrascal]

#1 gen defender back again for my semi-yearly gen posting. hi gen i know you're single due to your horrible personality but i can fix you

HAHAHAHHAHAHA i love you anon please fix them theyre so terrible. oh man do i miss the straud teens...

[caledfwlchthat]

💖 🤲

WHY HELLO MUTUAL IN MY INBOX, it is actually nice to receive things, but only now do I seem to find enough executive function to pull together a response. (tomorrow I start writing my first holiday letter to friends in like a decade, I'm not even kidding)

💖 What made you start writing?

hmm. Do I rules-lawyer this? How far back do I go. Because I've been writing expressively in one way or another very nearly since I could hold a pen. Motivations probably ranged from exploring early interests (wildlife, aerial battles) to sci-fi/fantasy OCs to collaborative post-by-post silliness of the kind we see here on Tumblr all the time. Plays, poetry, fiction. Attempts at more serious blogs. I am all about the mad wordz. You could stop doors with printouts of my emails to friends.

What made me start writing fanfic was that when Homestuck -- maybe not the first media of which I could say I was a fan, but the first for which I considered myself belonging to a fandom -- ended in 2016, I saw immediately that the main source of material for my voice acting blog (entitled, as you can see, "One Man Homestuck") had reached its limits. I had at best lukewarm ambitions for a truly solo dub of the entirety of Homestuck, and I found it hard to gel with several VA collaborations to that point. These days, of course, I could always just offer to podfic my lovely mutuals' fics...

Anyway, so Homestuck had [S] ACT 7 go up in April 2016. While I was wondering what to do with myself after that, I saw a post go up about the Ladystuck Remix Challenge 2016 -- my first encounter with a fic exchange. I liked the premise of using someone else's fic as a prompt, as an amusing exercise in constrained form. So I got myself an AO3 account, threw up two short VA intro scripts I had written for Jade and Terezi as qualifying works, and then wrote How Your Other Quarter Double-Dies -- which I can't say was what I had been expecting to write, but which ended up being stacks of fun. For extra credit I did The Cafe Mocha Caper which was a stretch for my powers at the time but I can at least say it was ambitious!

And then the rest has been history. My still-in-progress longfic Rose: Remember has been going from around the same time, and while I enjoyed Ladystuck it's this fic that seems to be my big Homestuck legacy. <kermit-flail waves to @laurasauras, @katreal-fic, @hussianphilosopher>

🤲 Would you please share a snippet of a wip?

Sure, uh! Lessee. <rummages around in the back stockroom>

Oh man! I had forgotten about this one completely -- so maybe to say it's "in progress" is a bit much, but I like the concept. Premise is a peek into the kinder, gentler dreams of some of the Friendsim trolls which, unfortunately for them, are no more than that. A sampler:

"Now, you may remember that last week," Ardata intones for the grubcam's benefit, "Mashya and I brought this poor abandoned lopwing in from the sun's searing heat. We found him half-culled in the dumpster behind our hive, his ribs kicked in and a wing slashed. And it annoys me greatly to think someone, anyone, would have done this anywhere even near here." She crouches down to join her charge in the cam's frame. "How could they! This precious boy! Who knows whose lusus he could have been!" Throughout her patter, Ardata feels the palmhusk in her trouser pocket shudder with the stochastic rhythm of Chittr notifications. She'll have to take a few of those later, since they're streaming live and the chance for her viewers to interact with the rescue beasts is part of the maverick appeal of her channel. There are still a few haters who still preferred the old times when the den was a dungeon, when the floor was slick with blood, when you could smell the suffering hanging in the dank air even through the remote link. Most of them are ignored, while a few persistent hecklers are derided or quickly shouted down. She's not quite as popular as she once was, but her new brand has a persistent counterculture staying power she would never have guessed at before Mashya arrived. Ardata purses her lips to mimic the lopwing's squeaking call, and the wounded animal hops over to close the few feet of remaining distance. Her rustblood assistant silently zooms the grubcam's view in as she gently pulls one iridescent wing open. The lopwing flinches and its eyes widen, but it allows examination of its wing's torn surface -- a helpful touch from another waiting aide. She knows she couldn't do this without him, even if she can't formally acknowledge his contribution. The wing is still a mess, the ragged edges of the membrane still crudely stitched together with silk thread. But by turning it into the light, she can see that the nearby elements have begun to revascularize, which may in time knit up the great scarred slash. She points this progress out to her fans. In another three weeks, the lopwing might be able to take short flights again; a week after that, perhaps it will finally be able to outrun the predating barkbeasts and cholerbears, and can be safely released. Ardata's palmhusk buzzes again and she fishes it out, throwing her hair over her far shoulder with an artfully careless toss of her head. "Anything you'd like to tell our little guest? Let's see." She frowns, seeing no text immediately apparent in the comment box. A quick double-tap highlights what was written: What exquisite cruelty. How, exactly, will this once-wild animal last more than fifteen seconds out in nature again? Your ministrations, and those of your misguided partner in crime, have rendered it unable to survive outside; you have merely drawn out its demise. And finishing: You sick, sick monster. I approve.

[secondgenerationnerd]

Kinda new to this blog so who are the parents of the kids and what is their main thing and plot or smth

Hi! So that’s a very complicated answer actually lol

Plot? I don’t know that bitch. I write slice of life stuff about DC comics characters and OCs off some of those characters. Mostly I focus on second generation heroes, looking at what it’s like to balance being a legacy hero with the usually bullshit of being a teenager.

My main team is Omega Squad:

Irey and Jai West, the twin children of Wally West and Linda Park.

Lian Harper, Daughter of Roy Harper and Jade Nguyen

Milagro Reyes, daughter of Bianca and Alberto Reyes, sister to Jaime Reyes

Colin Wilkes, parents unknown

Jon Ken, son of Clark Kent and Lois Lane

Mar’i Grayson, Daughter of Koriand’r and Dick Grayson

Damian Wayne, son of Bruce Wayne and Talia Al Ghul, adopted by Selina Kyle

They each end up with their own kids and I have like over 100 characters at this point?