#my sister will tell me the things shes said to her and it's WILD. truly does impact all of us

[cece693]

you wrote about the mad hatter so well... i don't want to overwhelm you, obviously, but i would love a 2nd part!! and maybe in the future you can write some smut scenario with him? 😶‍🌫️

You're Not Crazy Pt. 2 (The Mad Hatter x M! Reader)

Here's the second part :) I'm iffy on writing smut for the Hatter since he's so childlike and I think he wouldn't go that far with someone, he probably finds kissing pleasurable enough, but who knows. I'll probably end up doing it 🤷‍♀️

tags: angst, happy ending, the reader tries to say goodbye, mentions of Alice, the reader is an idiot, but redeems himself

The Hatter's words stung, but you couldn't stay with him. You didn’t belong to Wonderland, as much as you envisioned yourself adapting to the world. You didn’t share its whimsical madness, its strange logic that defied all reason. You loved its colors, its characters—especially him—but deep down, you felt like an outsider playing pretend in a place that wasn’t truly yours.

So, you left.

Back in the real world, everything felt strangely muted. The once-familiar streets seemed dull and lifeless, lacking the vibrancy of Wonderland. Your sister Alice noticed your somber mood almost immediately. She’d seen you come back looking tired or perplexed before, but never like this. It was as if the life was sucked out of you; You weren’t yourself. She knew something big must've happened to put you in such a state.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow across the room, Alice found you sitting by the window, staring off into the distance. She approached quietly, her voice soft. “You’ve been awfully quiet since you got back. What happened in Wonderland?"

You hesitated, the words sat heavily on your tongue, reluctant to be spoken. How could you even begin to describe what had transpired in Wonderland? The way the air had seemed to still when the Hatter looked at you with those wild eyes, the hurt lurking behind his laughter? But after a moment, you sighed and decided to open up, knowing Alice would pester you otherwise.

“The Hatter…he told me to leave. He said I should return home. So, I did.”

Alice watched you carefully, her brow furrowed with concern. “But why would he say that?” she asked softly. She knew the Hatter was eccentric and unpredictable, but she had seen how he looked at you, how his eyes lit up whenever you were near.

You shook your head, frustration mixing with the ache in your chest. “I don’t know.” you admitted, though it wasn’t entirely true. “I think…I think he was afraid. Afraid I’d leave on my own someday, find something more important than him.” Your voice wavered, and you clenched your fists to steady yourself. “He wanted to push me away before I could do it to him.”

Alice remained silent for a moment, her expression softening as she pieced together what you weren’t saying. “So, you just left because he told you to?” she asked, not accusingly but with a kind of gentle reproach. “Without telling him how you felt?”

You looked down, guilt settling like a stone in your stomach. “I thought it was what he wanted.” you murmured. “I didn’t want to hurt him more by staying. But leaving…it felt wrong, too. It still does.”

Alice reached out, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “You men and your pride,” she said with a soft chuckle. “You’re both acting like fools. You know that, right?”

“What do you mean?”

She smiled, patient and knowing. “I mean that sometimes, people say things they don’t mean because they’re scared of being hurt. The Hatter’s a complicated man, but he’s not so different from anyone else in that way. You need to go back and talk to him. Really talk to him. Otherwise, you’ll never know what could’ve been.”

Her words struck a chord deep within you, resonating with the doubts and hopes that had been churning inside you since you left. She was right—you couldn’t leave things like this, with both of you hiding behind unspoken fears. You had to face it, face him, and figure out what you truly wanted.

Returning to Wonderland was like stepping back into a dream, one that you’d missed desperately in your time away. The colors were brighter, the sounds sharper, yet everything felt strangely muted by the tension in your chest. As you made your way back to the tea party clearing, you could feel your heart pounding harder with every step, a mix of anxiety and anticipation.

When you arrived, you found the Hatter sitting at his usual spot at the head of the long, cluttered table. He was hunched over, a hat perched lopsided on his head, his fingers busy stitching a ribbon that looked like it was fraying at the ends. His back was to you, but the moment he heard your footsteps crunching on the gravel, he stiffened ever so slightly.

“I didn’t expect you back so soon,” he said, his tone light and airy, but you could hear the strain in it—like a string pulled too tight. “Come to say a proper goodbye?”

You took a deep breath, stepping closer, feeling the weight of the conversation pressing down on your shoulders. “Yes, but I want to do it right. I don't want to leave with things unresolved between us."

The Hatter turned to face you slowly, his usual mad grin stretching across his face, but it was different this time. His eyes, usually bright and wild, were shadowed, clouded with something you couldn’t quite place. “Well then,” he said, forcing a laugh that sounded more like a broken sigh, “goodbye it is! Off you go, then! Don’t let the rabbit hole hit you on the way out!”

Without thinking, you reached out and pulled him into a hug. His body went rigid at first, as if he didn’t know how to react. You could feel his rapid breaths against your chest, hear the hitch in his throat as he struggled to keep up the façade. Then, slowly, he softened, his arms coming up to clutch at your back, holding you as if you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground.

“Why are you doing this?” he whispered, his voice cracking, caught somewhere between a sob and a laugh. “Why are you making this so hard?”

“Because I don’t want to leave you,” you confessed, your voice thick with emotion. “But I don’t know how to stay when I feel like I don’t belong here.”

The Hatter pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. “You do belong. To me, you do.”

His words pierced through you, breaking down the last of your defenses. You thought you had made up your mind to leave, to return to the real world where everything made sense, where things followed rules. But in that moment, nothing made sense without him.

You stepped back, letting go of him even though it hurt. “Goodbye, Hatter.” you said softly, turning away. “I’ll miss you.”

As you started up the path that would take you back home, every step felt like dragging a weight behind you. You reached the midway point, the fork in the path where one route would lead you back to reality. You paused, your heart aching with each second that passed. You glanced back, your breath catching in your throat when you saw him still standing there, watching you leave with a look of pure devastation.

You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t leave him like this.

Turning on your heel, you sprinted back down the path, the wind whipping against your face as you ran. You didn’t stop until you were right in front of him again. His eyes widened in shock, his lips parting to ask something, but you didn’t give him the chance. You cupped his face in your hands and kissed him, pouring all the emotion you’d been holding back into that kiss—your fear, your love, your need to stay.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, he stared at you, his eyes wide and searching. “You…you came back?”

“I did,” you said, smiling through the tears in your eyes. “If you’ll have me. I’m not going anywhere.”

For a moment, he looked as if he didn’t believe you, his gaze darting over your face as if trying to find some hint of doubt or hesitation. But then his lips slowly curved into a smile—a real, genuine smile that lit up his entire face. “Oh, yes. Yes, indeed! And we shall have tea every day, and perhaps cake, and perhaps something more delightful!”

You laughed, a lightness settling over you that you hadn’t felt in days. “Sounds like a plan.”

[starsreminisce]

When examining the context of Lucien's statement "I am a mated male" now, it's essential to consider everything that preceded it. Lucien's desire to reach Elain predates his deterring Ianthe. Upon his return from the Spring Court, he already had a plan to reach Elain, recognizing that Feyre was the most direct route to her.

Lucien's assertion that he is a mated male stems from the reality that he is indeed mated, and his mate has endured something traumatic. She is now with someone who held his mind and threatened to harm his mother.

Someone who Feyre kept insisting manipulated her.

ACOMAF:

Lucien was shaking his head, panting, and whirled to us. “Get her back,” he snarled at Tamlin over the ranting of the king. A mate—a mate already going wild to defend what was his.

Lucien spun toward me, and that metal eye whirred and narrowed. Centuries of cultivated reason clicked into place. I was not panicking at my sisters being taken. I said quietly, “We will get her back.” But Lucien was watching me warily. Too warily.

“How did you break free of his control,” Lucien said flatly from behind us. Tamlin gave him a warning growl. I’d forgotten he was there. My sister’s mate. The Mother, I decided, did have a sense of humor. “I wanted it—I don’t know how. I just wanted to break free of him, so I did.” We stared each other down, but Tamlin brushed a thumb over my shoulder. “Are—are you hurt?” I tried not to bristle. I knew what he meant. That he thought Rhysand would do anything like that to anyone— “I—I don’t know,” I stammered. “I don’t … I don’t remember those things.” Lucien’s metal eye narrowed, as if he could sense the lie.

“Forever,” I parroted, glancing behind—to where Lucien stood in the gravel drive. His gaze on me. Face hard. As if he’d seen through every lie. As if he knew of the second tattoo beneath my glove, and the glamour I now kept on it. As if he knew that they had let a fox into a chicken coop—and he could do nothing. Not unless he never wanted to see his mate—Elain—again. I gave Lucien a sweet, sleepy smile. So our game began.

ACOWAR:

I wondered what Lucien truly made of it. And the fact that the collateral in her friendship with Hybern had wound up being his mate. Elain. We had not spoken of Elain save for once, the day after I’d returned. Despite what Jurian implied regarding how my sisters will be treated by Rhysand, I had told him, despite what the Night Court is like, they won’t hurt Elain or Nesta like that—not yet. Rhysand has more creative ways to harm them. Lucien still seemed to doubt it.

I studied the broad, tan hand wrapped around my elbow. Then I met one eye of russet and one of whirring gold. Lucien breathed, “Where is he keeping her?” I knew who he meant. I shook my head. “I don’t know. Rhysand has a hundred places where they could be, but I doubt he’d use any of them to hide Elain, knowing that I’m aware of them.” “Tell me anyway. List all of them.” “You’ll die the moment you set foot in his territory.” “I survived well enough when I found you.” “You couldn’t see that he had me in thrall. You let him take me back.” Lie, lie, lie. But the hurt and guilt I expected weren’t there. Lucien slowly released his grip. “I need to find her.” “You don’t even know Elain. The mating bond is just a physical reaction overriding your good sense.” “Is that what it did to you and Rhys?”

Ianthe lifted her head, scanning my unsure, if not a bit aloof, face. “So you could be with them forever. And if Lucien had discovered that Elain was his mate beforehand, it would have been … devastating to realize he’d only have a few decades.” The sound of Elain’s name on her lips sent a snarl rumbling up my throat. But I leashed it, falling into that mask of pained quiet, the newest in my arsenal. Lucien answered, “If you expect our gratitude, you’ll be waiting a while, Ianthe.” Tamlin shot him a warning look—both at the words and the tone. Perhaps Lucien would kill Ianthe before I had the chance, just for the horror she’d put his mate through that day.

I asked Lucien to escort me, and he’d been more than happy to do so, given that his own status as a mated male made him uninterested in any sort of female company these days. And given that Ianthe had been trying to corner him all day to ask about what had happened at the ceremony.

[disinherited-dornishman]

In honour of @helaenasbestfriend 's insane tags on my post, which inspired this two part trash from my end.

Part 1

Tags: angst, hurt/comfort, fantasies of regicide. TW: offscreen marital SA in part 2, because that's what doing one's duty as Alicent Hightower pertains.

Part 2/2

His prayers go unanswered.

Criston is stone, cold and hard, a gargoyle once more. He does not take his eyes off the wall opposite his post.

Soft creaking. Not his sword's leather hilt.

He thought back to Ser Arlan's oath, the weight of his blade on Criston's shoulders. "In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the young and the innocent. In the name of the Maiden, I charge you to defend all women." He felt the warmth of pride as though he was back in the Marshes at this very moment. The clasp Ser Arlan's hand around his forearm, a clap on his shoulder, and respect from a knight he looked up to all his boyh-

A whimper pierces the creaking of the bed and the King's panting.

It is for his sins that she is being punished, he knows it. The Gods see his desires when he prays to them. The violence. The vengeance. The rage. The love. They see the hearts of all their faithful.

He closes his eyes at the soft, strangled cry.

He would pray for mercy for his Queen, but he's learned his lesson and instead gives prayer for forgiveness, before he goes away inside again.

"Ser Criston!"

The Prince Aemond ran to him with an eagerness not his wont, and he couldn't help but freeze in surprise. "What is it, my prince?"

"Aegon needs your help."

His smile kept Criston from mistaking this for an emergency, but he followed his energetic prince with due speed toward a path he swiftly recognized as leading to Queen Alicent's solar. When he entered, shrieks greeted him, and he sighed at the sight of Princess Helaena, rather calmly, chasing Prince Aegon with an insect of some sort.

"He only wants to meet you, Aegon," she said, wholly sincere.

"Get it the fuck away!"

"Children!" They stopped and a brief wave of embarrassment washes over him that he had spoken to his royal charges in such a manner. But he was also relieved the cacophany stopped. "Princess."

"Hello, Ser Criston."

"Get the she-beast away from me," Aegon commanded, wild-eyed and watching his sister warily.

"An unworthy thing to call your sister," he chided. "Princess, please stop whatever you're doing if it's making Aegon scream? I beseech you. Otherwise some guard must leave their post as I have to stop it."

"Apologies, Ser."

"You're sorry for that but not for me?" Aegon was in disbelief.

From beside him, Aemond laughed, and the sound had Criston suppressing a smile of his own.

The smile broke along with the memory, when the door behind him opens.

He dares not look anywhere but ahead as King Viserys steps out, feet and cane tapping a cadence he has come to despise. His Grace stops before him, glancing, ashamedly perhaps, but he cannot tell for he will not look, cannot, or he might well start to truly consider the voice that is whispering from the dark corners of his mind.

The gods listen, he reminds himself. Remember your oath. Remember your honour. Protect her in this way from him, we cannot in any other.

Mercifully, as though the gods approve of his line of thought, Viserys Targaryen finally averts his eyes and lowered head, and leaves with Ser Harrold in tow.

He had forgotten the Lord Commander was beside him.

"I charge you to protect all women, Ser Arlan's voice said.

The silence was bliss this once, if only for the lack of his Queen's cries. Why the King had been rougher than usual this time, he could not say. Perhaps he missed his Aemma particularly today.

But the silence did not bring him peace much longer, for soon it began to unnerve him, and both his oath and his heart told him to enter her chambers and make certain of her safety, but the truth is that there is no safety he can bring her that is mentionable, and he could not chance that she might be indecent. He could not add to her pain, her humiliation.

He could not.

The agony of these minutes is much the same as it had been in the Boneway, when he awaited Ser Arlan's command to attack the watchtowers, not knowing if he would survive the skirmish.

But his queen breaks it as she breaks all his agonies, when she calls his name.

"Ser Criston."

He finally looks away from the wall, and finds his Queen pristine, in one of her mother's old green dresses. They always comfort her, and she keeps them in exceptional condition.

"My queen." His voice is strangled, but he finally breathes again.

Her sorrow is statuesque. She spares him a smile - and it is only now that he notices her upper lip is split.

His cold fury must be evident. "My own doing, not my husband's."

For the better, or I would have made you a widow. His eyes widen and he quickly averts his gaze. Damned fool! Banish these thoughts before she is punished any further for your-

"Please," she says, and he starts as her finger brushes his fist. "I would not have you worry for me, Ser."

"It is my duty," he says, "as your protector."

"And this is mine," she says. Her smile pierces his heart like a knife. "Put it from your mind. Please."

Despite her calm, he recognizes her need, the desperation in her eyes, and finds he is capable of anything to fulfil it. Even forgetting the King's sins. "As you command."

"Will you pray with me? At the sept? I'm afraid I am in no state to be seen by the children yet."

"You honour me, your grace."

Her smile becomes a little less tired, and his own agony abates some as they make their way to the sept that had become his haven these past years. He ignores the failure in her step, for fear of the thoughts that would arise if he didn't.

The prayer is small solace tonight. But her presence, the realness and safety of her being beside him after having to listen to... her duties, more than makes up for it. He finds himself thinking more of her bitten, bloody lip than the words of prayer his mother had taught him. Today they knelt before the Maiden, and he catches part of her words under her breath.

She prays for a child to come to life, and its health to be good.

It is a prayer in which he joins. For even this child would be dear to him as Aegon, Helaena, and Aemond already are. A light in the darkness. The only good to come from Viserys Targaryen, yet but a drop in the ocean that is his Good Queen Alicent.

"Will you tell me what plagues you, Ser?" she says, waiting for him by the door of the sept when they've finished their prayer. He's looping his scabbard about his waist.

"Forgive me." He promised to put the incident out of his mind, yet words are wind. He cannot help but be haunted.

"There is nothing to forgive." She looks down, suddenly uncertain - for the first time this whole night, he is surprised to realize. "If you wish to speak, Ser Criston... I am here."

Disbelief. That's what he's feeling. He knows this - this, this is an offering of trust. An open hand extended. And his Queen is asking for his.

Gods, if he had known earlier-

"Of course, my queen. It is merely... I..."

"Yes?" Her uncertainty is replaced with relief, and curiosity.

"I fear I am at fault."

"At fault? Whatever for?"

He looks down, swallows the lump in his throat. "The gods see and hear all. We cannot hide our hearts from them, even if we can hide it from ourselves. I... the gods punish you for my thoughts. The... The unwell thoughts... that I spoke of."

When he finds the courage to look up, she watches him with soft, large eyes, and greets his confession with the kindest of smiles. "Sweet Ser... you are a fool."

His mind blanks. Fool? Sweet Ser?

His faculties are not helped when she steps closer. The moonlight through the stained glass is paler than the daylight's, and it enhances her beauty immeasurably, her skin and the auburn of her hair.

"This is not punishment," she says. "It is the duty of all wives, from Dorne to the Wall. I assure you that I have had similar nights long before I took you in my service. You are not at fault for my... pains."

He nods, feeling like a fool, and not at all sweet. Worse, selfish. He should be comforting her, not the other way about. "Of course..."

She is still smiling. His heart races. "Your concern is most welcome, however. You are a dear friend, Ser Criston."

"You honour me," he rasps.

"And you me."

"No," he shakes his head. "My thoughts-"

"Are only because you care for me, as a friend would."

The way she says the word friend... there is no doubt left in him. She knows, yet she accepts it. Gods be good. Madness grips him.

"Ask me to end your suffering."

She does not flinch, wonder, or turn. His Queen knows precisely what he is saying, and all she does is smile. It is so sorrowful the lump in his throat returns. "I cannot."

He shuts his eyes. He nods. "Of course. Forgive me, he is your king husband, I should never have- I am a beast, Your Grace, wild with fear and-"

She breathes a quiet laugh. "You do not understand, Ser. It is not for my husband I am concerned."

Queen Alicent does not elaborate in the silence, and it is all the explanation he needs. The air betwixt them is intoxicating. "They would not know it was by another's hand."

"I cannot chance that."

"Even if I was discovered, I would never give your name, not even to the Lord Confessor himself."

"Discovery does not frighten me. It is the loss of you I could not bear, dear friend. Who, Ser, would pray with me in this sept after the king's visits? Who could I trust to safeguard my children's lives?"

"... I understand." He did, truly. How long had she felt...

Her fingers weave through his, her eyes close as though in rest or repose. He is suddenly starved for nearness, and leans forward while she does the same.

His forehead rests against hers. Her warmth, the gentleness of her hands, so abiding and comforting. Her tired breath, the sweetest sound he knows.

They remain so, drawing strength from each other, until minutes pass. Or hours.

When finally they part, she looks at him with such fondness and trust his heart feels like to burst from it.

"We should go to the solar, Ser Criston, before the children go mad from eagerness."

The mention of them breaks him out of it enough that he finds his voice. "Eagerness?"

She laughs beautifully. "Oh, yes, I forgot. Helaena intends to surprise you with an insect from the Dornish Marshes. Be certain to act surprised."

He grins. How delightful. "As Her Grace commands."

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

The next day, he recalls a tale he had heard of the gargoyles of Dragonstone, that they were more than they seemed. It is said that one day, the stone dragons would awaken. Some terrible battle against a foe, he couldn't recall.

Criston Cole was no dragon. Just one of the many grotesques. But he knew how to fight.

And when he saw in the training yard how the King favored the Darklyn knight, he knew precisely how to avenge his queen's pains.

Ser Rolland never breathed painlessly again.

[nerdforestgirl]

Note: A story? Not on May 24th or my birthday? Wild. Enjoy. Set During The Long Distance Dissonance.

Sheldon hung up the phone, and had a smile on his face. He had just called Larry Fowler to get his permission to ask Amy to marry him. He thought the tradition was silly, but he also knew that it would make Amy happy to know that he asked. Amy liked weird old timey stuff like that. It was worth the few minutes to call. Particularly because Mr. Fowler had been all too pleased to give the asked for permission.

Now Sheldon was just at the airport waiting for his flight to take off. He wished he could call his own dad. He always wanted to include his father in big moments. Then Sheldon thought of someone else he wanted to talk to. He pulled out his phone.

Knock Knock he wrote into the text chat. It was a version of the old code they had in their bedrooms as kids. He wanted to make sure she was available to talk instead of just calling. She must be, because a photo of her and her son appeared on his screen as an incoming Facetime call almost immediately.

“Hello, Missy,” Sheldon said into his phone after he answered it.

“What do you want, nerd?” Missy replied.

A little bit of a smile fell across Sheldon's lips at her insult of affection. She was the only person other than perhaps Leonard who could make him smile with teasing.

“I am at the airport. I am going to New Jersey to ask Amy to marry me,” Sheldon told his sister.

“Whoa. Big. Did you tell Mom? She's going to be thrilled.”

Sheldon wondered why he didn't call his mother or Meemaw first. Then he realized that his mother and grandmother would be supportive, but they wouldn't necessarily be honest. He wanted to know if this was a mistake. Not Amy. Amy could never be a mistake. But maybe he was moving too fast. He had only been with her for seven years after all.

“No. I will wait to talk to Mom after Amy agrees,” Sheldon admitted. “Do you think I'm doing the right thing?” he added more quietly.

“Other than the fact that you should've done this years ago, of course,” Missy said. Everyone else always assumed that Sheldon would end up alone, but even when the twins were teenagers, Missy had a feeling that Sheldon would find someone for him. He might be annoying and weird, but there was a charm to Sheldon that Missy could see. The right people always loved him.

“You never regret getting married?” Sheldon asked. He could only have asked this question to his sister. Of course she could tease him for asking, but she never truly judged him. He didn't believe that they had any extra connection from sharing a womb, but she did get him in a way that no one else did. Maybe it was all of those late night talks when they shared a bedroom as kids.

“Oh. I absolutely do, but my husband is an idiot. But you will be the idiot if you don't marry her. It's obvious that you love her,” Missy said.

“How do you know? You have never even met her,” Sheldon reminded her.

“Whose fault is that? You never bring her to come see me. Not even when you've come back to see Mom. And I have eyes and ears. I've seen the way you talk about her. Everyone knows you love her. You even stood up to Meemaw for her. Mom wanted to print the invitations to your wedding then.”

Sheldon appreciated the reminder that he love for Amy was so clear. Not just to himself, but to everyone around him too. Sheldon knew that his sister would never steer him wrong. Not with something this important.

Then Sheldon heard the announcement that his flight was boarding. He knew he should hang up and get on the flight. He didn't want to miss this flight for anything.

“I have to get on my plane, but thanks for taking to me,” he told his sister.

“No problem. Let me know when she says yes,” Missy said.

Sheldon nodded and pressed the button to hang up the call. More than even Stephen Hawking, talking to his sister made him feel like this was definitely the right decision.

[miradelletarot]

Trauma Dump Hours

Apologizing in advance. This is gonna be HEAVY FEELS. I just...need somewhere to put all of my thoughts down so feel free to scroll past this.

**This is HEAVY mental and emotional trauma with mentions of abortion within so please be mindful of the content below the cut**

I have made mentions of my parents before, but never really went into too much detail about my relationship with them because of everything else going on. But, in light of some things that have happened recently, I need to just get these thoughts out in some sort of order...which might not happen but here we are. So my relationship with my parents has been interesting to say the very least. i was raised in a very conservative catholic home. Silent gen dad, and a boomer mom. both very intolerant of anything they don't agree with. My dad is the epitome of hating everything that doesn't align with his beliefs...If you aren't white or straight especially, and do not live the traditional lifestyle that he feels one should abide by. (hopefully that paints a picture for you).

Anyway, I am the baby of my family. My brother is 50 and my sister is 49 (they are a year and 4 days apart). I arrived 12 years later. I was very well and truly an OOPS. My brother is the golden child, my sister, the problem child (former, anyway, but she was definitely more wild than they liked,) and I...well, I had to be the perfect one to do as my parents wanted 100% of the time.

my mom had no self-esteem and raised me to be the same way. never be too confident and sure of myself b/c it was unbecoming to do so. I had to always get good grades, and always follow the rules. If I ever did something wrong, i got the wrath of my father (that stern, military rage). So, as i got older, my mom would hide things from him on my behalf, but only if I did something for her. Things like keeping secrets from dad, hiding mail so she didn't get in trouble with the finances again. If i ever dared to stop doing that shit for her she would blackmail me...would threaten to tell my dad all the shit i did wrong if I stopped helping her. Basically, I was scared and brainwashed into having ZERO autonomy or individuality. If I showed any emotion other than happiness I always had "an attitude." But, I saw my mom's behavior as if she was the only one in my corner...my buddy who kept my secrets for me because no one else would.

I struggled in school, but almost always got As and Bs. I had to work my ass off for it too. Math was always a sore subject that made me and dad lock horns. He's a math wiz, and I'm not. I'm not well read because I HATE reading books. (thanks school for ruining that for me). history? forget it. i have a horrible memory. But, if i ever got a C? holy shit i was a failure in their eyes. I feel like I am so far behind everyone intellectually that it's hard for me to have conversations with people sometimes because I feel like I can't keep up. By the time I got to high school was when I finally started to see what they were doing to me, but I was too afraid to break free. Honestly? i didn't know I had a choice in the matter. When I was in college, I had to be in remedial math. When my dad found out (b/c he was paying for college,) he literally screamed at me in the financial aid office b/c he couldn't believe I was in such a low math class. His apology? "I just worry about you, and i want you to do well." What a fucking joke. Again, in college, I was big into choir. we had a huge spring performance that we NAILED and we wanted to celebrate. So, we carpooled and went to a nearby club. I was barely 20 so i had the wristbands of course. I CALLED my mom to ask if i could go. Told her who i would be with, where i was gonna be, and that it would be WAYYYY late before I get home. Said I would keep my phone in the car b/c I knew i wouldn't hear it or feel it vibrate, but i could call her when I leave even if it was like 3 am. She said no need, and let me go.

So, in I walk at 330 am to both my parents in the living room, and my dad SCREAMING at me that I am just like my sister. out partying at all hours doing "god knows what." I was dumbfounded. My mom didn't even look at me...just sat there as I got ripped into. Wanna know why that happened?? Because SHE PRETENDED SHE NEVER GAVE HER PERMISSION. She told me later that her and dad had to have a "united front" and I had "no right to be mad" at her. When I tell you I leveled my room into an absolute mess that night and cried myself to sleep. the betrayal I felt...as a 20 yr old, a legal fucking adult, and I had no voice. no independence. My relationship with them has gone south ever since.

Of course, several things have happened between now and then. Their relationship is very transactional, and always comes out with me needing to serve THEM for them to be happy. for them to see me as worthy. But, my mom likes to throw it in my face whenever she can about how great my brother is. How stable he is. that bitch is single and has no kids. fuck him. he's an incel anyway.

Mother's day this year was the last straw for me. I called my mom out of obligation. in that 15 minutes she gushed about my brother's financial stability knowing how hard i have been struggling since I left my husband. I told her how proud I was of myself, that I was doing all these things with very little help, and making so much progress in such a short time. her response? As deadpan as possible "Congratulations. You're finally adulting." Finally? FINALLY? Not like I had been trying FOR YEARS when my irresponsible idiot of a husband was the one who had the control. I left my childhood home and walked into another relationship with a person who was just like my parents. A transactional, mentally and emotionally abusive relationship. I was his shadow because i felt like i HAD to be. When he wanted to leave me in 2021 for that very reason i thought i would literally die. That's when I found my spiritual practice. when i started to really change and try to find myself. and yet, he STILL didn't like who I was. Hence, why i finally found the strength in me to leave him back in December. I got no support from my parents. They wanted me to move in with them....ACROSS THE STREET FROM MY EX...just so i could be close to my children. I'm only 15 mins away from them. I see them when I can with the 2 jobs I work for shit pay. I'm busting my ass to pay off my car. Have they ever called in the 6 months I have been gone to ask me how I am??? If I need help?? NO. And why would they?? Between my mom and dad both, I was told on three separate occasions that they wanted to abort me. But I SHOULD BE GRATEFUL THAT THEY DIDN'T. Why would I? I have lived my life feeling like I was never good enough, that i was a worthless burden to the world. All because i was conditioned to believe as such. Thankfully for my sister, she saw through their shit a long time ago, and left home when she turned 18. i wish I understood why back then...but I was a kid. All i knew was how hurt my parents were, or how they seemed to be, and I believed that if I did anything to hurt them i was a bad person. I couldn't be like my sister. because that was a bad thing. But...nothing makes you feel more unloved and unwanted than your parents telling you they didn't want you. Then act surprised when you block them and don't want to speak to them. I can't go thru 38 years worth of shit they did, but this was some of the bigger/more recent stuff. It's amazing i never blocked them sooner (though, being across the street from them at the time was certainly a factor...)

It's why my identity means so fucking much to me. i felt like my name is not my own, my existence isn't my own. Why I want all the labels that I feel make up who I am so i can have some fucking semblance of understanding about what makes me "me."

Aside from spanking as a kid (which was normal back then sadly,) i was never physically abused. i had a roof over my head, I had food when i needed it, I was clean, had nice (not name brand) clothes...all the necessities, but I never *ever* had a healthy grasp on my mental health. never had healthy coping mechanisms for my emotions, and I never felt truly loved by my parents. better seen than heard, and if i was seen it was always to do something that made my parents proud so they could brag about me. I was a trophy. A puppet.

And today, as i sit here, wondering how tf to deal with my parents...I am anxious and scared. i feel like a child all over again, trembling like I am about to be scolded. All because i was conditioned to believe that my feelings were worthless and wrong. I have gotten 2 voicemails today from my dad, telling me I "need" to call them. To explain what's going on. Suddenly, they are worried. Suddenly, they care. But I know it's only for their satisfaction. part of me wants to pour my soul out and light it on fire so they can see how much they hurt me over the years. Part of me wants to pretend they are dead and forget they exist. I am not sure what to do.

So, if anyone ever wonders why Gale means so much to me...why i have such a mental and emotional attachment to his character. this is why. because aside from my 2 bffs, he was the only other entity that made me feel loved and worthy, and it breaks my heart that he isn't real. For now, though, he's a beautiful escape.

idk if I need anything rn...I'm not sure where to go from here. I have no idea what will make me feel better. getting some of it out helps. Being in therapy definitely helps. If you read this then you're a damn trooper...or a glutton for punishment, idk. Either way, thank you for listening to me.

I really don't expect anyone to say anything or even read this. It really isn't necessary. But please know that for the many of you whom I have befriend on here since I joined tumblr...I am grateful for you all. Just being in this space has been so healing for me. thank you.

[thedepthsoffandomminds]

The guest PT 10

Masterlist

Jack Dawkins x fem reader.

The Navigator had been wrapped and placed in a bed on Jack's ward, Belle had fallen asleep, sat in the viewing gallery. You looked up at her, then to Jack who was sliding down to sit against the wall. His deep brown eyes met yours.

"I can tell things are different, the way you looked at her then. That's not how it happened is it?" He says.

"No, not exactly." You walk over to him and sit beside him on the floor.

"At Government House, I heard your sister say that this was your eighth attack. What did she mean by that?" He asked, eyeing you curiously.

"Oh nothing, you know I'm new to all of this, the clothes the air..." you try to laugh it off.

"No, please don't lie to me. I heard Sneed talking to the Professor, he said he had to check you again recently."

You bite down on your bottom lip as he talks.

"Jack I... I'm not well but please you just need to do as I say. I need you to try and love Belle.."

His hand comes up to your face.

"I don't want to. I want to be with you, to look after you."

"Jack."

"Stop lying to me. You're just saying this because you're with Sneed."

"I'm not. Jack he asked me to marry him and I said no. As nice as he can be he isn't a person I would marry." You try to convince him. "He has since set his cap at either of the Fox girls."

"Then why? Why won't you let me kiss you?" He asks and a tear falls from your eye. You take his hand from.your face and turn yourself so your head is resting on his shoulder.

"What the Navigator said, about the sea, did that sound true for you?" You ask. Jack testis his hand so your fingers interlock.

"It was the greatest day of my life when I got promoted to sublieutenant. They gave me my own bed. I'd never had my own bed before. And my own room."

"Must be wonderful to be at sea. Travel the world."

"It was. It was the best and the worst of times. I saw all kinds of things I didn't even think were possible. Wild animals and festivals. In Hong Kong, I saw this giant paper dragon with fifty people under it and as they moved, this dragon appeared to dance and breathe fire. It was quite amazing."

*_*_*_*

"Where the devil is Dawkins?" Sneed bellowed when he saw the navigator lying in the bed. He stomps through the halls to the operating room, where he sees you still sat on the floor, curled around Jack.

"I can scarce believe my eyes." He gawps.

"Sneed?" Belle asks from her place in the gallery. All three of you waking at his voice. You remove yourself from Jack.

"I insist you both return to Government House immediately and we will discuss this later."Sneed growls at you both.

" Or possibly not." Belle quips as you leave. You hear the two men beginning to argue as Belle pulls you away.

"I have always known you to be a reprehensible, arrogant upstart, with no respect for your betters." Sneed growls

"I have enormous respect for my betters. It is just there are none around here." Jack bit back

"You have directly performed an operation I had forbidden you to do. That I specifically said was not a safe operation in the patient's interest."

"And I agree with your diagnosis. A surgeon of your skill level, Sneed, it would have been impossible." Jack quipped angrily .

"I am to be Head Surgeon here in two months."

"Only if you can force one of the Fox's daughters into marriage right? Or y/n?" Jack squares up to the other man.

"I see that is truly what this is about. You will never be good enough for any of them."

"And you think you are? Money you never worked for is not a personality trait, you pompous, overgrown toff. Y/n will never love you."

"When I am head surgeon you will no longer have a role here and I will ensure you have it nowhere else in the country. You can crawl back to your own kind, Dawkins and I will have my pick of the three women."

Jack's fist collided with Sneed's nose before Jack fully knew what he was doing. A trail of blood dripped down Sneed's top lip. He pulled a glove from his pocket and slapped Jack across the face with it.

"Is that how you fight in Mayfair?"

*_*_*_*

Sitting in the carriage around half way back to Belle's house your memory of the show flooded back to you.

"Oh god no. Belle stop the carriage, I have to go back!"

"Y/n what, what is it? What's happened?" Belles asks fearfully.

"Just please stop," you banged on the top of the carriage and hear the driver pulling at the horse's. "Belle go home. You need to.implore your father not to allow any duels." You say to her jumping out of the carriage and running back to the hospital.

You as fast as you can until your chest starts to tighten. Your foot catches on rock and you fall to the ground. Your head smacking down, everything going dark.

@fandomfan-102 @deanstolemydragon @mydeputyghostwagon

[hughiecampbelle]

Dating Connor Roy Would Include:

Requested: Lovedddd the preferences with the succession characters, got me really inspired to possibly request a general dating headcanons for Connor Roy possibly? - anon

A/N: Y'all, idc what anyone says, Connor deserves love just as much as the rest of them. I hope this headcanon does his character justice, my love!!! Ty for requesting!!! Feedback is appreciated!!! 💜💜💜

Connor truly just wants to be loved. He wants to be loved in a way that makes up for all the time he wasn't, for all the time he felt unlovable, all the time he was forgotten over and over again

You and Connor meet at one of Waystar Royco's annual galas. You're a friend of a friend going because you were forced to. When you started talking, you hadn't even known Connor was a Roy. He said nothing, just laughed and agreed, when you started to shit talk Logan and everything his company stood for

It wasn't until after you'd exchanged numbers did you realize, immediately apologizing for what you said. He merely shrugged, assuring you his Pops had a reputation, that he was a lot better once you met him. You doubted it, but agreed anyways

Since then, you'd been together

Connor called you the day after the gala, wondering if you were free that Friday, if you'd like to go out with him. You weren't expecting him to reach out after what you'd said, but was pleasantly surprised by the offer. Of course you would

Your first date was at this extra fancy place where you felt totally underdressed. Connor didn't notice at all, making jokes through the whole night. He listened intently and actively. At the end of the night, he was so nervous he could barely ask you if he could kiss you. You kissed him instead

Connor could be a bit oblivious to things, but he was kind, loving, he considered himself lucky you'd even looked in his direction. He was sweet and affectionate and always talked things through with you, as a couple, as one. He wanted to be sure you were on board with everything, even if it seemed a little out there or wild

Calling you honey, sweetie, sweetheart, babe, honey-bunny, etc.

You can't have Connor without his family. Being a big brother is a vital part of his life. He would be nothing without his little brothers and sister. They can be mean to him though, and that you will not stand for. You're quick to defend him and remind him that just because he loves them, it does not mean they can get away with it

"Cute date, what website did you buy them from?"

"Very funny, Rome."

You like Shiv the most. Kendall can come across as self-absorbed and Roman has a complete lack of filter, but Shiv has a good head on her shoulders. She, too, takes Connor for granted, but less so

It's not long after dating that he wants to introduce you to his father. You have a few choice words about him, but you keep them to yourself. Logan barely registers that his son is there, let alone you. After that brief introduction, you stick by Connors side desperately, wanting to get the hell out of Logan's company

When he talks about his childhood, he gets the same sad look in his eyes. You remind him that he's okay now, that you love him and you'll always be here for him. He always makes a point to take back the bad things he has to say about his father, not wanting to speak ill of a man he so admired, he so wanted to be loved by

"It wasn't all bad, I make it seem worse than it is."

"Con, I think it really was that bad. . . "

He's so affectionate. He has to be touching you always. His hand in yours, around your shoulder, waist, even just standing beside one another. He never wants to be apart from you. It's the same way when you sleep. You don't mind though, you know it helps him relax and it makes you feel wanted. Always

He tells you he loves you a thousand times a day, in a million different ways. Be safe. Call me when you get there. Wear a seat belt. Be careful. I'll miss you. Call me when you're free. I'm always a text away. He cannot stress how much you mean to him

Though he loves to show you off as fancy restaurants, Connor desperately wants to do normal things. Going to a fast food place and getting burgers and milkshakes. Going to the arcade or carnival and winning you the biggest stuffed animal there is. Going to the movies and sharing popcorn. And yes, singing karaoke. He enjoys it all so much more than any fancy place

Connor would much rather cuddle on the couch with a movie playing than take you to some club or bar his brothers would enjoy

You help him pick out his clothes for events. He's so nervous about making the right impression, so indecisive, it's hopeless without you. He even models a few options before packing it away

"This tie or the blue?"

"Blue, it brings out your eyes."

When his family comes over, you definitely have to calm him down. The house isn't clean enough or cool enough and everything is a disaster. You have to remind him that they love him, in their own special ways, and that everything will be fine. He will be fine. Most of the time it isn't, someone or something goes wrong, but you have to keep telling yourself that to keep going

A few times you've talked to his siblings about taking him for granted. They don't change their ways, but at least you're able to get it out in the open. You understand why he loves them so much. Without them, for a long time, it was just him and Logan. What a nightmare. But they could be a little nicer to him

"They're not like that."

"That doesn't matter, you do so much for them, Con."

He's a big fan of forehead kisses. He's quite tall so it just works out

Connor can be very spontaneous. You're constantly being surprised by him. Some ways good, like spur of the moment vacations, and in some ways not so good, like his idea of running for President. Regardless, you stick by his side

Everyone thinks you're with him for the money, but that couldn't be more untrue. Sure, there are perks that come with the money, but you'd be just as happy with him in a teeny tiny apartment trying to make ends meet. Even happier if that meant his father wasn't in the picture any longer

He's constantly singing those cheesy love songs to you, using a hairbrush or a fork, whatever he's got in hand at the moment, serenading you until you kiss him to stop

"L is for the way you look at me, O. . . "

Singing in the car together at the top of your lungs. You're both quite bad and off-key, but nothing makes you smile more than seeing him let himself be goofy and childish and silly

You call Kendall, Rome, and Shiv his "kids". You're always ready to jump into action if the kids need you, if there's something wrong with the kids, etc. You don't resent them for this, or him. It's just a part of the relationship you have to accept

"How are the kids today?"

"Good, good. You know them, always making jokes."

You get bits and pieces about his mother, mostly from the kids. The more you find out, the more horrified you become and the more angry you are on Connors behalf

Connor very excitedly proposes that you get a furry friend. Cat, dog, gerbil, bunny, doesn't matter. You pick something small and easy to train, knowing this is his first pet. They sleep in the bed with you. Connor Jr. you decide on, and that makes him beam

Like a proud dad, he has to show everyone every picture of them on his camera roll. It melts your heart every time he does it

He remembers the little stuff. How you take your coffee. What book you're reading and how it's going. Whose birthday it was and where you need to send flowers. How that meeting last Thursday went. He remembers everything because it's all important, it all means something

Your family, as complicated as they can be, are a lot warmer than the Roy's and welcome him with open arms. Your friends all adore him, too. What's not to love? He's a giant stuffed teddy bear

It's not always easy with Connor. He tries so hard to make his father see him, listen to him, recognize his existence, and each time, it kills him that he doesn't. You're there to soothe him to pick up the pieces. One day, you'll give Logan a piece of your mind, but you know the relationship, even one as frail as the one they have, means a lot to Connor. It means the world. You can't ruin that because your feelings are hurt for him

[acourtofthought]

Hey! I’m new here so I don’t know what is or isn’t true when it comes to what SJM said. But I saw someone say that she confirmed that the next acotar book is gonna focus on Az. Do you know if that’s true or not?

Because I wouldn’t mind if she did Az next, but I really hope she would do all the sisters first. I want to see what’s going on with Elain from her POV.

Hello new friend! We're very happy to have you here though I apologize ahead of time because some days are a bit like the Wild Wild West!!

Sarah did not confirm that the next book will be Az's book or POV though she also did not confirm that it will be Elain or Mor, etc. We're still in the dark on who is actually get a POV which is different than a character's journey as many of her characters journey's begin well before they actually get a book.

This is all the information we've had over the years (I have screenshots of the exact quotes but to make it easier I'm going to paraphrase to the best of my ability rather than sorting through my phone for them all):

While talking about how the sisters reappearance in ACOMAF changed the course of the series - "I'd like to write a spin-off novels for the sisters someday."

Sarah later went on to have dinner with her then editor and told her about the side project she was working on for herself (the Nessian story) and about what plans she had for Elain, and Mor, and Az. Two weeks later she got a call saying they wanted to buy her spin-off books, contracting her for 3 full length novels and two novellas. Sarah also stated that she knew who the first two books would be about.

In another interview Sarah repeated this, saying how she knew who the first two spin-off books were going to be about but was leaving the door open for the third. (I have to imagine the first two were Nesta and Elain at that point, she wouldn't be debating on the third if Elain hadn't gotten one of the first two).

In a special edition of A Court of Frost and Starlight there's an interview in the back of the novella where Sarah talks about being pregnant with her first son and how she was in nesting mode and in her yard pulling weeds and gardening. She said everything she did during that time was research for Elain's book because Elain is a gardener, that Elain is now going to have nightmares about ivy crawling through the windows and strangling her because "let me tell you, that ivy does not want to let go."

In Live Talks LA with Eva Chen, Sarah said that because she knew early on where she wanted the sisters journey's to go she was able to plant seeds for their stories early on (as early as ACOMAF / ACOWAR and even SF which included crumbs for Elain).

In a Live on IG with Steph, Sarah was asked whether Az would get a book. Sarah said by the time you get to the end of SF, she thinks it will be obvious who the next book is about and Az's journey is one she's very excited to write about. This seems to be one of the big things people hold onto in regards to Az being next because of his bonus but his bonus did not come at the end of the book and "journey" does not necessarily mean he's ready for a book as evidenced above. She spoke about the seeds for Elain and Nesta's journey's in Feyre's trilogy, well before they had gotten a book. The sisters "journey's" truly began in ACOMAF and included everything leading up to SF. Journey for Az could simply be us seeing the fallout from his behavior in his bonus, where he claimed Elain had no interest in Lucien, that he'd defeat Lucien with little effort or his statement that Elain can't handle the darkness of the trove. Az's journey might simply include Lucien receiving a POV in the next book wth Elain and Lucien proving Az wrong. The end of SF, in my opinion, doesn't set up an Az book, it sets up an Elucien book because we're specifically told by Eris that the characters don't need to worry about ancient history, they need to worry about Beron, the peace treaty and Koschei (things that seem to be hinting at an Elucien plot).

Sarah also spoke of the crumbs scattered throughout the Az bonus. Which seems to have crumbs for both the Elucien and Gwynriel ships.

In another interview, Sarah said her initial plans for the spin-offs didn't change, only that the world expanded.

In a crossover interview Sarah said CC3 would set up for future ACOTAR books (not necessarily the next ACOTAR book) and she then contracts with Bloomsbury for an additional 4 books which includes a new series. People often claim that because Az was included in a bonus with Nesta and Bryce it proves he's getting the next book but I'm not sure why an entirely different series would have any major impact on the next ACOTAR book right away considering not everyone will have read the CC series. Readers who stopped with SF are going to be focused on the open plots in SF, not what happened in a series they never heard of.

Sarah began drafting ACOTAR 5 in September 2023 (or at least confirmed then that she was drafting it) and in February 2024 said that Azriel's character is someone she'll be exploring more in the future. To me, if she had already begun working on ACOTAR 5 and had been for months the phrasing of "exploring Az more in the future" doesn't add up if he was a POV in the book she was currently working on.

Over the years, Sarah has said just as much about Elain getting the next book as any hints that Az might have the next book. Az did have a bonus chapter in SF but at the same time Lucien was given a POV in the actual series (ACOWAR). And I doubt she'd give Elain a POV because the second we're in her mind we're going to know how she really feels about Lucien, her life in the NC, etc. I think Elain's thoughts are going to give away too much of her future plot therefore it makes sense why she's been kept a secret and why Sarah addresses this by adding into SF how Elain is better at secret keeping than even Az. While Elain wasn't given a POV, the Feyre bonus addressed Elain showing teeth, how she might be ready for more, that she may have only been worried about disappointing her sisters all this time, and how they were going to help one sister before helping the other. SF also ended with Nesta placing Elain's rose carving out into the world, almost like a passing of the torch.

By the end of HOFAS, there were no actual threats presented to the ACOTAR characters to deal with. Are there seeds for potential future plots? 100%! But there were also future plots presented to us for Elain and Lucien in ACOWAR, that didn't guarantee them the next book. The end of HOFAS gave us things that Sarah will probably delve into in future books but it did not leave us with anything that needs resolved right this instance, it didn't leave us with anything currently threatening the safety of their world.

In comparison, the Elucien bond has been an outstanding plot since ACOMAF. The Vassa / Koschei storyline has been an outstanding plot since ACOWAR and in SF we're told by Koschei "Tell my Vassa I'm waiting". Tamlin's depression and the downfall of the Spring Court (something we were reminded of in great detail in SF) has been a problem thats needed resolving since ACOWAR and is now even more important because they need an ally in Springs army which they're not currently getting and why they permanently stationed Lucien there. Beron having killed Lucien's lover was introduced in book 1, something we were reminded of twice in SF and now Beron is an even bigger threat as of SF.

Could Az still get the next book? Absolutely! Sarah is going to Sarah and none of us know her long term vision for this series and whether it connects to the new series she has planned.

But to say it's a sure thing that Az is getting the next book? I think there's enough evidence to the contrary to poke holes in that theory. And while I realize Sarah plans to continue writing about these characters until she's 90, that there are so many other characters she'd like to explore (something she said in another interview) which means Feyre is not always going to be at the center of everything, I do think it makes the most sense to have Feyre's arc come full circle by first resolving her sisters storylines. Feyre will always be a bit unsettled for as long as she's left worrying about them. Now that she's seen Nesta find her HEA with Cassian it makes sense that she's not going to know peace until she sees the same for Elain. As much as she likes Az, I don't think she's going to be quite as invested in Gwynriels story the same way she would be in Elain and Lucien. Since we know there's still things for her to address with Lucien (i.e., the knowledge she's had in regards to his real father), I'd think we'd see that all play out in the next book so Feyre can officially retire as the main figurehead of the ACOTAR series, paving the road for the other side characters to take center stage. Especially if Sarah plans on adding in future crossover elements (something that Nesta would most likely be the main contact person on).

[calciferous-kelpie]

Hey btw if your ever in need of ranting about a blorbo/oc, this is an ask that tells your to do so. What is the most interesting thing about them? Do they have any symbolism to them and if so what is it about? Favorite ideal situation to put them in? Any romance ideas?

Anon, I want to start off by apologizing for taking EXACTLY A YEAR to reply to this! Happy One Year Anniversary! 💀😭 Obviously, I’ve been thinking about this a lot, trying to decide who I wanted to talk about and trying to put my thoughts into words. And, of course, it took even longer because I wanted to include drawings of the characters… 🤦‍♂️Anyway…

I’ve decided to talk about multiple characters of mine, since they are important for my upcoming comics: Boxman’s mother, father, and sister! I have some New™, Fresh™ information to share about all of them today! Hope you enjoy my ramblings!

MEREDITH (Boxman's Mother)

Most interesting thing: Hmm, well… the things I find most interesting about Meredith are kind of spoilers for my comics, but an interesting thing about her is her special ability! (“Every proper siren has one, darling.” 💅) It’s called Eye of the Storm, and it allows her to summon and control a raging thunderstorm at will. Obviously, this sort of thing takes a lot of energy to maintain, so this ability actually comes with a secondary feature: Meredith can occasionally choose a victim to steal the energy from, and all she has to do to steal said energy is to make direct eye contact with them. The lady’s got a mean glare as it is, but with this power on top of that? Wowza. Watch out.

Symbolism: Given my answer to the previous question, you won’t be surprised to know that I associate Meredith with storms! She is a passionate character with a wild side, and when she truly gets going, she will step aside for no one.

Favorite situation to put them in: Meredith is a complex character with a lot going on, and I don’t want to reduce her to just an antagonist… but MAN, does she make a good antagonist! 😆 I love to put her into situations in which she terrifies/intimidates other characters, and trust me, she will have a lot of chances to do that in the comics!

Romance ideas: Meredith isn’t much for romance. At least not anymore. Heron was her first love, and after her relationship with him went south, her trust in men was destroyed. (To be fair, it was shaky to begin with.) She has, however, made an attempt at another relationship or two for monetary reasons. If that even counts lol

HERON (Boxman's Father)

Most interesting thing: Heron has had a wide variety of experiences across his lifetime, and during that time, he has developed many, many skills. These skills include (but are not limited to): farming, fishing, sailing, cooking, baking, sewing, crochet, whittling, building, juggling, and playing the banjo! Just… don’t ask him to sing, okay?

Symbolism: Heron’s symbolism is… probably pretty obvious, huh? I mean… he’s got an anchor… tattooed… on his back… *ahem* Anyway. The anchor is connected to a lot of Heron’s positive attributes—loyalty and sturdiness being the main ones. But it is also connected to some of his character flaws and the way he views himself. In a way, Heron himself is an anchor, for all the good and bad that entails. ⚓

Favorite situation to put them in: Despite the immense amount of comic outlining and scriptwriting I’ve been doing for Siren Theory, I can say pretty confidently that any scene in which Heron interacts with Professor Venomous is one of my favorites. It’s partly due to the “meet the parents” trope, but the other part of it is that Heron is just an unusual guy who does unusual things, and having a stranger witness that firsthand is hilarious.

Romance ideas: While Heron has had his share of crushes in his youth, he has never been in a serious relationship with anyone but Meredith… and he would like to keep it that way. He still feels like he’s putting the pieces of himself back together after their messy separation.

REBECCA/SIRENA (Boxman's Sister)

Most interesting thing: I think the thing that I enjoy most about Rebecca is the duality in her personality. She is very charismatic and graceful onstage as Sirena, but offstage, when she’s just Rebecca, she can be pretty socially awkward and kind of a klutz.

Symbolism: Some of you may have made the connection already, but Sirena’s real name, Rebecca, is a nod to Rebecca Sugar, the creator of Steven Universe and the spouse of Ian Jones-Quartey (creator of OK KO). This name was actually a suggestion by my sister (Thanks, girlie!) because she knew Sugar sang the end credit song of OK KO, and that little song was one of my inspirations for creating Sirena in the first place. Since then, the name has really proven itself to be a perfect fit for my little superstar siren! The meaning of the name Rebecca is “to tie/bind,” and Rebecca really is the character that ties her family—and the narrative of a lot of the comics—together!

Favorite situation to put them in: My favorite moments for Rebecca are the ones in which she is emotionally vulnerable. It isn’t always easy for her, but there are some things that will happen in the comics that will force her to wear her heart on her sleeve. I’m excited for that!

Romance ideas: Honestly, I’ve come up with so many ideas for OK KO that I won’t have space for all of them in the narrative, even though I’m planning to create, like, 19 comics! 😂 One of those things that won’t get a lot of time in the spotlight is Rebecca’s developing romance with a certain someone. That being said, it wouldn’t be a big spoiler for me to say… Plazecca! 🎵

Thank you so much for asking, Anon! Truly, you have enriched my enclosure. 💖

[lcandothisallday]

A Shot Worth Taking - Jeremy (WMCJ) x f!reader

Part 4 - Sister’s Know Best

warnings: except for an awful ending🤡 but mentions of drug/drinking abuse!

series masterlist!

You stood in your tiny kitchen, cutting up cucumbers for the salad you were making, while your friends Vanessa and Destiny hung around the island helping you with the rest of the dinner.

It had been about a month since your first date with Jeremy. You've been seeing him rather consistently in this month, and to say you were slowly yet surely falling hard for him was a severe understatement. All of him was addicting--his smile, his humour, the way he made you feel all giddy--all the way down to the way he dressed even. It's been a while since you felt like this and it was truly refreshing to meet a good guy.

"You know, Jeremy put me on some of these organic drinks...and they're actually so good," you pointed out to your friends. "You should definitely try it. They’re in the fridge--"

"Girl I'm not trying no damn nasty ginger drink that looks like murky water," Destiny scoffed, shaking her head. You tossed your head back in laughter. "I promise it's good!" you defended. "He also took me to this vegan restaurant the other day and like it genuinely changed my perspective on the whole diet.”

Destiny groaned and smacked her hand against Vanessa’s arm. "C'mon Nessa! Tell her his dick game can't be that good for white boy to have her out here eating rabbit food!"

"Actually, we haven't slept together yet," you hummed with a smirk. "So that argument is now invalid...but he seems like the type to have a good dick game," you shrugged, continuing to slice up some more vegetables.

"Speaking of Jeremy though..." Vanessa began. "I don't know if its such a good thing that you're seeing him," she admitted to you reluctantly.

You couldn't help your scoff before you set down the knife you were using and looked up at your best friend. "And why is that?"

"Danny goes to the same gym as him. And he told me some wild shit. Y/N--he pops pills, gets drunk in the gym and starts fights--apparently he used to date a dancer that taught classes there--"

"Yeah I know about his ex," you stated firmly. "They dated for like six years--and Danny's probably getting him confused with someone else! Jeremy isn't like that at all. He rarely gets mad or frustrated. He's always meditating--"

Vanessa shook her head. "You've only been seeing him a month!" she exclaimed. "How well do you actually know him babes? The pill popping--the drinking--probably the reason why him and his ex broke up if they were together six years! Don't be delusional, Y/N. Not to mention he's broke broke. Like I know we all struggle financially in this economy but he goes around selling those detox drinks around the gym--that can't be the best sign," she sighed. "Y/N...I just don't want you to get hurt. You clearly don't know the full picture."

You scoffed again and crossed your arms over your chest. "Oh so Danny does apparently?--God Vanessa I actually really like him! You guys are the ones who told me to shoot my shot!"

"I'm just telling you what Danny told me," she said calmly. "It's simply a warning before you get too deep with him.”

You let out a sigh of defeat and nod your head. “I’ll be careful.”

__

It was now the next day and Jeremy had invited you out to the pier for a late evening date. Your fingers were intertwined with his as the two of you walked along the water.

“How have your knees been?” you ask him.

Jeremy grinned and gave your hand a squeeze. “Really good! I think getting more movement in while playing more basketball lately has really helped.”

“Is that how it really works?” you questioned with an awkward chuckle, causing Jeremy to catch on. He stopped walking and took both your hands into his, before he looked down at you with a raised brow. “What did you hear about me?”

Your cheeks heated up immensely and you looked away. “C’mon Y/N—someone must’ve told you something for you to question my knees,” he sighed. The only reason he even caught on was because Tati had asked him the same question before, vying for a reason to suspect he was on his pain meds again.

You let out a sigh. “Vanessa’s boyfriend--"

"Damn--I needa properly meet this Vanessa chick cos she clearly has it against me--"

You interrupt quickly. "I'm being serious, Jer. Her boyfriend Danny goes to the same gym as you…told her that you pop pills and that you pick fights while drunk,” you explained.

Jeremy chuckled as one of his hands moved up to run his fingers through his curls. “I only ever picked a fight once—and it was right after my ex left me…and as for the pain meds…they just help with my knees,” he shrugged. “Believe me if my knees weren’t still an issue after the multiple surgeries I’ve had I wouldn’t still be taking them.”

“So it’s not like…an addiction thing?”

Jeremy shrugged, “would you even wanna know if it was?”

“Touché…” you mumbled lowly, biting your lip in thought. “What about you and Tati?” you asked. “Why did you two break up?”

“Y/N I already told you,” he groaned.

You shook your head. “No that was before I knew what I knew,” you say stubbornly.

Jeremy scoffed, his hands leaving yours as he began to feel cornered. “So what? You want me to fucking admit it was because of the pills? And because all I cared about was basketball? Because yeah I guess it was and--"

You cut him off by leaning up and pressing your lips to his in a gentle yet determined kiss. Jeremy's words trailed off, his surprise evident in the way he momentarily froze before he responded to your kiss with equal intensity. The worries and doubts that lingered in your mind were momentarily pushed aside as you allowed yourself to get lost in the warmth of the moment.

After what felt like an eternity, you both pulled away, breathless and eyes wide. Jeremy's expression softened, and he reached up to cup your cheek. "I didn't want to bring this up so soon, but you deserve to know the truth," he admitted, his voice filled with sincerity. "So uh yeah. That's why we broke up."

"I really like you Jer...if you're working on yourself with these things then--"

"I am I am!" he rushed to confirm. "I'm in therapy and I'm getting better being off the pills and I'm not a violent guy--that fight was just at a bad time and--"

"Jeremy!" you interrupted him with a laugh. “I appreciate your honesty. That’s all I wanted,” you explained with a smile.

He let out a breath of relief as he nodded. “Can I kiss you again then?” he asked, his fingers anxiously playing with your own as he felt his cheeks heat up. You giggled as you nodded.

With a grin, he dipped his head back down again, connecting his lips to yours in another searing kiss. Your arms moved up to wrap around his neck while his hands rested on your hips. The kiss deepened, the world around you fading away as you lost yourself in the taste and feel of Jeremy's lips.

Perhaps you were being stupid and let the whole thing slide too easily, but you truly didn’t care in that moment. The way his lips felt soft against your own and how his beard lightly scratched your skin was all that mattered as you kissed under the moonlight and the waves crashed against the shore.

[someone-elsa]

(part 1 of 2)

🔙 Chapter beginning ⬅ Previous chapter • Next part ➡ 📝 About the story and characters

The whole chapter (with bigger pictures!) can be found on Blogger already ;) Check the Blogger post for a short recap too.

"Parenting is finally getting easier. The first six months were challenging, every day felt a thousand hours long. Now she's not crying that much and we can actually go to places and…"

River knew close to nothing about parenting but patiently listened to Sara's venting. She believed she owed her that after rejecting her as a romantic partner — even though River had said they would have not future together.

They had gone for a walk a few times and it had started to become a weekly routine.   "And before you say I should ask for help," Sara said, "I have asked and Kody has helped a lot but ultimately, I'm alone. With Bayu of course, but you know what I mean."

"I… guess," River said. Sara seemed ready to change subjects so River asked: "What are your plans about school?"   "I'll go back. I'm still not 100% certain if dentistry is my thing but I have no other ideas, so… Not until next year, though. I want Maya to be a little older before daycare."

"Understandable," River said even though she knew nothing about babies in daycare.   Sara smirked. "Nice of you to listen to me babbling about parenting. I know it can't be your favourite subject but it sure is nice to vent. Maya isn't much of a conversational partner yet. Thank you."

"Hey I'm always interested in listening to my friends! Whatever the subject!"   "In that case… I do have another thing on my mind."

Sara dug her phone out and opened the browser.   "Check this out," she said after navigating to a certain news site. "Some theatre critic has visited The Bats's rehearsal."

River quickly scanned the article to find the worrying part. For two long paragraphs, the critic had wondered if hiring Harrison Stacks to direct the musical was a risk worth taking. Some of his work had been astounding flops. This was neither new nor worrisome for River; her father's reputation as a wild card was well-known. It was the next paragraph about the actors that had made Sara uneasy.

The leading actors (Bayu Wardhana and Jaylah Ortega) have impeccable chemistry, the article read. Watching them embrace each other and sing about love, I felt I was interrupting an actual couple getting ready for bed — if you know what I mean. It was so intense it was almost umcomfortable... I felt warm and fuzzy inside — and I don't mean in my heart! If the whole musical is like this, I'm going to see it multiple times!

"Hmmmm… Have you asked him about this?"   "He says it's just a job. That Jaylah is just a colleague and that I should be proud of him being so good at his job. I mean, of course I am. And I know he is truly charming and charismatic, I wouldn't be here pushing a pram if he wasn't…" Sara sighed. "But… I don't know…"

River hadn't realised Sara cared about Bayu so much. She had thought they had only an arrangement to give Maya a stable family, not a true romantic relationship. Maybe that had been the case at the beginning but Sara was quick to fall in love. River wondered if Bayu was on the same page.

River wasn't sure of what to say. Her sister Brook was working in the production as the head makeup designer. When asked about the musical, Brook had fussed about how sweet Bayu was, always giving compliments, and how he was liked by everyone. And he was cute for someone so short (Brook's words!). River wasn't going to repeat her report.   "Brook works on the production, remember? She would tell me if there's anything to know. She couldn't resist spilling the beans."

Sara sighed again. "I must have been overreacting. I'll try to focus on other things."   River knew how hard it was to not think about something bothersome. In that morning, her hands had felt… different. Like she couldn't fully control them. She shuddered.

Sara's phone vibrated demandingly. "Ugh, it's mom. She has tried to call me many times already, I'll need to take this."

And immediately, Little Maya was awake. She wasn't happy about it. "Wah! Wah! WAAAAAAH!"   Sara let out a hopeless sigh. "Could you hold her? This shouldn't take long."

River gulped. Her hands did still feel shaky but it wasn't something she felt like sharing. "I… I think I might have a cold coming. I shouldn't touch her…"   Sara looked her suspiciously and River coughed. "Fine. Can you at least rock the pram and talk to her?"   "…Sure."

"Yes, mom? You indeed hear Maya crying. No, a friend is looking after her. Well, she's trying her best."   Sara walked further and River couldn't hear her over Maya's cries.

"There there, little one, look how beautiful and blue the sky is."   But Maya wasn't interested in watching the sky.

"Hey now, I'll buy you ice cream," River tried and Maya's crying toned down a bit. "When you'll get older, of course. Your mum wouldn't probably appreciate me getting you ice cream now... Anyway, in the future, you'll get the biggest sundae, any flavour you want, with whipped cream, sprinkles, chocolate sauce... A shiny tiny umbrella on it..."

She came up with a dozen more toppings and Maya fell asleep again.   "Good one, River, no child can resist ice cream," River whispered to herself. "How does Sara do this all day every day? Mothers are really something."

Notes: I think I have wondered which language Kody and Sara talk with their mom in some previous chapter's notes but I can't remember to what conclusion I came (I should write stuff like this down...). Maybe Sim!Japanese because even though she was born in Sulani, she sort of detests the place. Thinks it's not classy enough for her 🙄

[mariunnnn]

Time to tell my story. Again. Hopefully someone will hear it or read, relate, understand, or just get angry and win.

I was 17 when my mom died, 9 when my dad did. Randomly and shockingly - to this day I can't figure out what was worse.

Little me got guardianship over them over other family. A good judge agreed with me and was on my side. It was wild, but I was correct!

My lawyer was a person I knew because via neighborhood directory and how he helped our mom and knowing how she helped his family. She found a place where their kid, who had very specific special needs and requirements and she made it happen.

He helped her when my dad died. He helped me. Make no mistake, I wrote him a healthy check.

I made a choice when she died that I would never have kids, can cancer, cause genes.

That said, the loves of my life are my sisters. The end. That's my story and will be. Buuut....

The thing always I am fortunate, as I am planning a meal with my sister and niece and more. And family that has since apologized and it's lovely and not in a bad way, but in a I'm glad we're good.

I'm responsible for that.

I'm proud of that.

I like them now. Truly. It took work to get to know them again, but I'm into it.

[chromiumagellanic06]

The Silver Knight: Warrior, Princess, Wife

Daemon Targaryen/Original Fem [Targaryen] Character

Chapter 25: Love

MASTERLIST

Summary: Daemon and Naera talk;

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: NSFW content, creepy Rhaenyra, smut, no truly graphic descriptions, but ya.

Naera was alone when he found her.

It was, to him, a tragic sight. His love, his wife, the object of his every desire, wound in a loose chemise, leaning against the fireplace, head to the mantle, eyes set on the flames. Her long silver hair hung in the flames but did not burn. Fire cannot burn dragons, he thought, before he saw that she had a hand in the flame, placed with purpose over the embers within the glowing sphere of the fire, moving in soft, careful strokes, as though she was trying to lull a dragon to sleep.

The smell of ash and woodfire greeted him with every breath, the darkness that engulfed the room putting him on edge. It was silent—completely, deathly silent, like a day of mourning, a day of contemplation, or rather, the calm after the storm.

He called her name. She did not respond.

He asked for forgiveness. She did not hear.

Daemon Targaryen feared few things, but he’d never thought that his woman would be one of them. While one day, the thought had delighted him, today, it only chilled his gut. She couldn’t hear him.

He stepped closer, his heavy black cloak a comforting presence, as was the heft of Dark Sister in the scabbard—not that he’d ever use it. How could he? If she died, if she died by his hand, who would he become? The revolting equivalence of the Vale’s heir to his niece is not something he’d want history to remember him for. Daemon Targaryen—heir, exile, uxoricide.

He dropped to his knees slowly, unsure, unable to relinquish his grasp on Dark Sister’s hilt.

“Naera, ȳzaldrīzes naejot.” Speak to me. He folded his sleeve upwards, breath bated, and thrust his hand into the flame. It was hot, but not enough to burn. Cautious, he crept his fingers forth and held her hand within the flame. Only then, did she turn.

Like a poet broken from her musings, she awoke.

Naera gasped, alert, and withdrew her hand from the blazing fire, bringing her ember-laden hand out of the flame, instinctively wiping the ash on her dress. The fabric burned in her wake, cotton threads spindling and burning, ripping oblong holes that merged and contorted grey, as the fiery embers struck their surface.

Naera shook her head, eyes watering from the light, as she blinked frantically, as though she couldn’t figure what had transpired. Staring into the flames, hour after hour, burning her eyes, but seeing the truth. The blasted faith of the Seven had something of the sort, Daemon recalled, but he couldn’t place if it was with the Weirwood gods of the North instead—a prophet, blinded, maddened, wild and devoid of any sanity.

No.

“Are you well?” He asked, taking his face in her hands, forcing her to meet his eyes. She didn’t comply, backing away from his hold, crushing his hopes, sending cracks in his heart. Don’t run from me, he wanted to beg, but he couldn’t.

Pride shall be your failing, Viserys had once told him.

Inaction shall be yours, he had retorted. Now, he wasn’t as sure.

He repeated his words, desperate, but Naera refused to meet his eyes, looking back at the flames instead. The locks of her hair smoked still from their journey into the flame, and the fabric of her dress near her lap was charred and tattered.

She hummed an affirm, scarcely nodding, but her lips parted, as though she wished to speak, then clamped close in doubt, in hesitancy.

“Tell me,” He whispered, unable to bring himself to anger over her lack of response. It is my wrong, he wished to claim, but again, pride came in his way. He dared not take her hand, her guttural, insistent, hateful words coming back to echo in his mind like bells of winter. Don’t touch me, she had said.

Again, she drew on the verge of speech, but no words came. Naera shook her head, sighing out, she threw her head back, and Daemon cursed that part of him that came to life at the sight of her gracious neck, the scene of her dress poorly laced, the prospect of something he had forsaken by his own err.

Tightening his jaw, he pushed those thoughts away and tried again. “Issi ao sȳrī?” Are you well, he asked.

“Issa,” she replied, hoarse, on instinct more than anything else. She could hardly resist when he spoke in Valyrian.

He dared to smile, solemn, “Nyke māzigon hae aderī hae nyke ryptan.” I came as soon as I heard, he added, “Skorion massitas? Gerardys jāhor ȳzaldrīzes nykeā udir daor.” What happened? Gerardys won’t speak a word.

Naera shook her head, the last of her resistance waning, growing thinner, and thinner, as her eyes bleared and her voice cracked to a shrill tune, “Daorun.” Nothing. And the shields revived.

Daemon steadied his thoughts, reined them from racing, and said, “Naera, nyke vala, darilaros, azantys, yn gō ry hen bona, nyke nykeā mittys.” I am a man, a prince, a knight, but before all of that, I am a fool. “I got everything I wanted dropped in my hand, and I let it slip through.” She did not move, did not speak. She listened, breathless. “I was never a mender, Naera, se sir nyke emagon ivestragī ao pryjagon.” And I have let you shatter, “Sīr lo ao ōregon mirros syt issa yn vēdros, ivestragī issa jorrāelagon ao.” If you hold anything for me but hatred, let me love you.

Shhh, she lurched forward, stopping his words, her crackly, tearful, high-strung voice resounding foreign to both their ears, “Daor, nyke gaomagon daor vēdros ao. Skorkydoso kostagon nyke?” No, I do not hate you. How can I? “Ao lit issa perzys. Ao vēttan issa zālagon. Ao vēttan issa giez—perzys se ānogar. Ao vēttan issa nykeā targārien arlī.” You lit my fire. You made me burn. You made me whole—fire and blood. You made me a Targaryen again. Fire made flesh; gods made human. Fire and blood, the blood of the dragon ran in their veins—hot, hotter than the burning sun, for the Martell flags could never contain their glory, only compete with them. He had lit her fire, reminded her of loyalty, burned her from within till she glowed.

“Avy—” she breathed in, “Nyke jeldan ao naejot pāsagon issa.” I wanted you to believe me. To believe the blood, the magic, that dreams dictated the fate of dragons, and not the other way around. Daemon knew now, simple proof to crack his ignorance. Targaryens were dreamers before Dragonriders.

“Kesrio syt avy jorrāelan, kepus.”

Because I love you.

She dropped her head on his chest with a deft thud, breathing hastily, spent, exhausted, as he said, “se avy jorrāelan, ābrazȳrys.” and I love you, wife. Like the dragon does the skies, like an honest man’s blade does its scabbard, like fire does blood, as a Targaryen does one of his kin.

Then, wrought by these confessions, head raised to meet his eyes in finality, she spoke her last secret, “Nyke rūsīr riñnykeā.”

I am with child.

A child. His child.

Daemon and Naera—fused as one, a proof of their love, a token of their union. An heir, no less, but Daemon smiled to think of a girl with her smile and his temperament, or a boy with her bookish demeanour. This was his every dream—a Valyrian bride, Valyrian children, pure, strong warriors, dragon riders, swordsmen and archers, but steeped in royalty. He breathed a laugh, picturing an heir to pass Dark Sister to, dragons to keep their kin company.

“Drējī?”

Truly?

She nodded aghast, hands trailing to his chest, her head falling against him. He wound his arms around her, and she melted away, latched unto him as though she were a sinner, and he, absolution. Thoughts returned, of the last time he had truly held her, of his crime, of his brutality, his ignorance, his pride that he had just learned to relinquish.

“Forgive me,” he whispered against her ear when he felt her heave, gasp, tremble, and he repeated himself, like a chant, morphing into his mother tongue to utter in continuity his regret, his apology, until Naera gasped a strangled sob.

His regret merged with his joy.

“Nyke istan pirta,” he told her, I was wrong, and she wept even further.

By when her sobs ceased, she lay in his grasp nearly insensate, a gracious promise of trust renewed, of forgiveness granted, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough, until the skies fell, until the rivers rose and the mountains trembled.

“Mazverda ūndegon.”

Show me.

Show me the truth.

If he couldn’t battle down his fears, if he couldn’t rationalize them, conquer them, he’d bow to it—he’d do it, for her. If it would make her forgive him. If it would make her love him.

Naera took his hand, rising, languid but unbroken, unbowed, unbent, unbroken, he recalled and dragged him to the fireplace. He stared at her eyes—swollen red, but not by pain, he shuddered, by fire.

“Jurnegon,” Look, she held his hand tight, “Jurnegon ezīmagon se perzyssy,” look into the flames, and he did.

He watched the flames, and he saw.

He saw eyes—his own, and Naera’s, the same lilac, but smaller, with the gentle squint that she forever carried with her slight near-sightedness. He saw the pairs of eyes merge, lilac meeting lilac, the lines of their irises floating outwards, glowing nearly silver, until they were all that remained, growing, festering, spinning and clashing slivers of steel and iron.

He saw blades, one, two, three, dozens, dozens of dozens, and even more, some sparkling and polished, others rusted and bloody. He saw iron being melted in a great crucible, red hot and molten metal poured into moulds, and he saw sparks, bangs, the sharpening of a thousand blades.

He watched those blades heave to, merge with the flicker of the flames into arrows, strung on bows, the stretching of string, the tightening of one’s aim, and hark, a thousand arrows sailed the wind, but the wind merged to water, the water that held the carcasses of a million ships. He watched ships, sails flickering with the sky, sails of black and red—Targaryen banners, luminescent dragons on the sails that spun in slow circles, sped, three red heads chasing one red tail, spinning, hungry, fast, ferocious, ruthless, and when he blinked, it was all gone.

The red of the flames clotted together, inching lower, fluid, blood, gallons and gallons of it, pouring, red, hot, thick, warm—the blood of the dragon, pouring down acres and acres of skin, ivory backs, breasts, pooling on perfect hands, pouring down perfect lips, and the lips were stained—red, red, red, and the teeth shimmered like rubies—red, red, red, red eyes, red lips, a woman in red, flames in her hands.

He heard, whispered in the silence, a breath against his ear that he knew wasn’t Naera. It was a voice most old, nearly arcane, but soaked in the effeminate youth of a woman unaged.

“Syt bantis zōbrie issa se oss ȳngnoti l ēdys.”

For the night is dark and full of terrors.

A tremor ran down his spine.

The flames contorted, flickering, crumbling under his gaze, but he saw iron, he saw the blades again, old, rusted and arcane, soaked in blood and polished, he saw the blades drown in fire and blood, saw the thousand blades melting together, fusing by the hilts and edges into a throne, a throne of Iron, a symbol of power, and the flame grew hotter, the flame that melted this monstrosity, sealed it in history. The flames blinked shutter, dragon scales the colour of night coming into view—scales, talons, claws, teeth—too many, too bloody—and wings the colour of dread. Balerion, he knew, the dragon that soared to the sky, the vision of the throne long forgotten.

He saw the dragon, its scales, leathered scars, ridges and contours, and he saw it dissolve—fragment in a second, into thread, spools of green and black, woollen and silky, wrapping around, weaving the carcass of the dragon. He saw the silks break into waves, waves that poured over stone, sand, salt, over great cliffs in the Stepstones, over merchant ships in the Blackwater—gems—emerald and amber, engulfed in flames, drowned in darkness. He saw great wooden hulls clash against each other, masts horizontal as fleets capsized, saw the rapture of a dragon as he burned it all to seafoam.

The seafoam boiled to clouds, the skies—red and orange, fire and blood. He saw faces forgotten in the whip of the wind, saw cities upended in the matter of a whim, bricks crumbling, wings rising, a throne laid in dust, but a sky open, free, blue and oh, so brilliant.

Glaesagon, Daemon, his brother had told him.

Live, Daemon. Live how I never can.

"It is true," he spoke, turning to face Naera, his own vision growing blurry and delicate. He sighed in relief and joy, elation at his forgiveness, delight at his impending paternity when she pulled him into her arms again. 

Rhaenyra stood at the door to Naera’s chambers, watching the scene by the fireplace, silent. Her fingers trailed the blood-red rubies of the Valyrian Steel necklace Daemon had gifted her all those summers ago, feeling every ridge of metal, every mark of their heritage.

I brought you something, he had told her when he first presented it to her, when she was just a girl, and hopeful. Before Harwin, before Laenor, before Cole, it had been him. It had always been him.

She watched her sister drag their uncle down to her arms, heard him sigh in solace, heard him sob in realisation. He loved her too, with a fire unmatched, she knew. She watched on, sick of the play, wary of the sentiment, the hope that he’d ever give her what she needed. He won’t.

But he had given it to Naera. A child. A symbol of love, something to prove their union, something she’d never get from Laenor, and could only abhor from Harwin.

She blinked that last tear away, steeling her face in a porcelain mask, the loving sister, and not the forgotten lover. She knew what she had to be, but that only made it harder, only shackled her further to her fantasy.  She couldn’t turn her eyes away, even when they embraced—a hungry, desperate, tearful affair as long, lithe limbs drowned his silver head into a lean frame. Hair entangling, kisses exchanged, the flick of metal on his cape as his cloak gathered on the ground, his sword forgotten, his defences dismissed. No, Rhaenyra didn’t look away, she couldn’t, because despite herself, despite her claims, despite her desires, she yearned to be the one in his arms.

She dropped her hand to her chest and grasped the metal embroidery of her neckline—a hasty attempt at calming the ache in her heart, which only reminded her of his every touch, all those summers past, when she had been the object of his every desire.

It made her remember that night in the streets of King’s Landing, when he’d stripped her bare of any defences and abandoned her, left her hanging on to the fantasy that had festered for years to bring her hence, to watch the scene that unfolded.

Her sister fell back, a spool of silver against the ebony wood, and he leered over her, mouths entangled, and the first semblance of a moan broke through, strangled, ugly and pitched. Still, Rhaenyra couldn’t look away, no, she watched, watched and watched, as Daemon took her there, raw, hungry, desperate and messy. She watched them meld, watched him rip her dress apart, watched him worship her form, watched them writhe in harmony, biting, tearful, grasping, senseless, as the pair hummed a sensual symphony of pleasure and pain morphed into more, and more pleasure.

She unclasped the steel necklace, feeling the warmed metal grow cold in her hand. She traced her skin over its engraved metal once more, counting the rubies—fourteen, as with the gods of High Valyria of Old, as with the Flames that erupted, horrendous volcanoes that brought about doom, examined the steel disks that housed each gem, then turned her eyes back to the pair that lay entangled beside the fireplace, settled on the remains of their garbs.

Rhaenyra watched her sister’s pale, ivory back, and its near lack of scars glow brightly against the darkness, a beacon in the dark, rising and falling like the ocean waves on a sunlit eve, sounds she’d considered from him impossible wringing true and loud to echo in the silence, praises, worship, pleads, prayers, and she heard her sister, her flesh and blood, the one she had condemned to this blissful fate, moan in harmony. Amongst it all, was a declaration, one that shattered the load in Rhaenyra forever, shocked her core and slashed her shackles, resounded the doubt and made her whole.

“Avy jorrāelan, Naera.”

I love you, Naera.

The mother of his child, the object of his every desire, her sister, their blood, ha. The Blood of the Dragon, ignited, boiling and broiling, bringing another child to this bloodthirsty war of Greens and Blacks, treachery and trickery. 

No. As much as she tried, she couldn't villanize them, couldn't pretend that she didn't want it, no. 

It was her, her sister, her Visenya, her commander.

Her, and none other.

Rhaenyra dropped the necklace on the floor, walking back to the chamber of the Painted Table. Her War Room. Her duty. Her birthright.

MASTERLIST

[mynameisjessejk]

Ayas' Quest - A Damsel In Distress

It was not quite noon when a small crowd of small humans came swarming out of a nearby hamlet, all crying "Sir Knight, Sir Knight!" in their high voices.

Ayas dismounted, because it was what Celyn would do, as Ember danced a few steps backwards, snorting. The gelding liked children, but not when they swarmed around his hooves; he was always worried about stepping on one then.

Then Ayas knelt, because he towered intimidatingly over the children. "Here now," Ayas said. "What's amiss?"

"Acha's gone missing!" Now that they had his attention, the children rapidly nominated an older boy, still round in the face and pudgy, less than a decade old, Ayas thought, to do their talking for them.

A missing child was a terrifying prospect. "What can you tell me?"

"The grownups say we made her up," the boy said. "But we didn't. She and her family lived down there," he added, pointing. "And she was going to marry my brother," the boy added stoutly, jutting out his chin. His lower lip quivered. "But Lowrans didn't come home from the war, and then they was just gone."

Ayas looked again in the direction the child pointed, and could just make out, low in the valley, a ruined foundation, a house perhaps decades old, maybe more than a hundred years, and unoccupied that long.

"Da says," the boy hiccuped. "Da says we're mislaying our grief. But we remember Acha."

"I believe you," Ayas said gently, just as Celyn would. "Acha and her family. A young woman, her parents?"

The boy nodded. "Her ma, her da, and she had a sister, between me an' her in age. But the sister got the pox last winter and didn't make it so it was just Acha and her parents when they disappeared."

"You believe us?" a younger girl asked.

Ayas didn't know, but he knew Celyn would have said yes, and knew Celyn would have investigated. "I do," he promised. "And I will see what can be seen."

"Oh, Maldouen are you pestering that knight? I'm sorry sir," a woman said, a laundry basket on her hip. She was clearly on her way to the river.

Ayas smiled at her. "I'm not bothered," he assured her. "I'm taking a break for the nooning, and we were playing a game."

"Oh, you're kind, Sir," she said, and made her way down towards the river.

Maldouen bit his lip. "Playing," he whispered.

"You said they didn't believe you," Ayas reminded him. "Nor will they me, till I have some proof. Now," he said. "You must go about your days, see to your chores, and I will look around."

"Thank you Sir," they whispered. Maldouen clutched his hand breifly before they dispersed.

Ayas looked at Ember. Ember was grazing contentedly in the grass on the verge. "Don't go anywhere," Ayas said wryly, and walked down towards the ruined house.

The air felt heavy around the stone ruins, and tasted slightly of iron. Not Fae, then, which would've been the most able to do as the children suggested, though perhaps the least likely. Still, Ayas was glad it was not the Fae, for nothing more substantial than that he didn't like them.

He followed the scent of iron towards the river, upstream from the women at their washing, and into the fens.

Ayas' mouth slid into a line of distaste when he missed his mark and slid ankle-deep into the muck. But he pushed on.

Deep in the fens, the iron scent turned to something more like wild garlic. Ayas sniffed curiously, frowning.

"Who you then?" a childish voice asked.

Ayas went still. Being addressed by someone you couldn't see was never a good thing, in his experience. "I'm called Ayas."

"Not true name, that smart," the voice replied.

Ayas inclined his head. "Unfortunately, I know enough Fae to know better."

The voice laughed, high and shrill. "Me too! So unfortunate," it cackled. "Why you in my fens, Ayas-Not-Truly?"

"There's a girl missing," Ayas said. "I've been asked to look for her."

"Lost child always sad," the voice said, and the sedges parted an a creature emerged, coming only to Ayas' waist. It would have looked like a human boychild, except that it was quite wrinkled all over.

Ayas felt his shoulders ease some. A hob. "May I call you something, Hob?" he greeted politely, bowing his head slightly. "And will you aid my search?"

The Hob's eyes sharpened. "What you give me for it, Huntsman?"

Ayas said, "There's food in my pack, the choice of which could be yours, or aught you see me wear that pleases you."

"Sweets?" the Hob asked, leaning in.

Ayas considered. "I don't have any, but I can try to see if the locals will trade."

"No trade, I take a lock of your hair?" the Hob asked, folding his hands pleadingly. He knew he asked much.

Ayas met his lamplike eyes. "Will you keep it safe?" he asked; magics could be done with hair, and while he wasn't worried what the hob would do with his hair, if mislaid it could be dangerous.

"I wear it, here," he said, holding out his hand, wringed in several hair-braids.

Ayas nodded. "A deal," he said.

"Ash," the hob said. "Call me Ash. What girl you seek?"

Ayas said, "There was a girl in a house which has crumbled before it's time, her mother and father. The girl's name is Acha."

Ash's face twisted. He spat. "No," he said. "No, keep your sweets!"

"Please," Ayas said quietly.

The hob's shoulders hunched. "Killed my friend," the hob snarled.

Ayas' head tilted. "Help me understand," he asked.

"Friend," the hob repeated. "She played with me! She was nice! They trapped her inside and they killed her!"

The sister, Ayas realized. "Oh Ash," he said softly. "I am so sorry about your friend."

Ash sniffled, tears welling in lamp-eyes. ""Trap! I hate them!"

"Humans live indoors," Ayas said gently, kneeling in the muck before the hob. "They kept her inside because she was sick."

"Sick?" the hob repeated.

Ayas nodded. "Sometimes humans get sick," he said. "Mine's sick right now, and I'm on a quest to help him, but I promised to help the children find their friend on the way."

"Sick," Ash pushed.

Ayas nodded. "They get too hot, and they cough, and they get weak." He mimicked a cough for the hob, who might not have heard such a thing.

"Friend coughed," Ash said quietly. "Then went inside and never came back."

Ayas nodded. "She got sick, and her family tried hard to help her, but sometimes there's no helping it."

"Stupid," Ash grumbled.

"Sometimes humans die," Ayas said, and felt his own throat catch on the word. "But we love them anyway."

"Your human sick," Ash said.

Ayas nodded.

"Your human die?" Ash demanded, grabbing Ayas' hand.

Ayas patted his shoulder with his free hand. "I hope not," he said. "If I can finish my quest, then he won't. But I have to help the children find their friend before I can go on."

Ash nodded. "Friend with me!" he said brightly. "Come come come," he caroled, and then darted into the sedges.

Ayas bit back a curse and gave chase.

In a high and dry spot near what Ayas was sure was the center of the fens, there was a little wooden ramshackle house, and a teenaged girl tending to it, singing under her breath.

"Acha," Ayas said.

The girl whirled, her eyes wide.

Ash said, "Ayas-not-truly! Friend!"

"Ayas," Ayas said. "Well met."

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Looking for you," Ayas explained. "The children missed you. Maldouen missed you," he added gently.

Her face fell. "I thought they didn't remember me," she said, something nearly accusing in her voice, to Ash.

"Children," Ash said dismissively. "Can't do." He shrugged. "House back already. You go back?"

Acha opened and closed her mouth. "My parents?" she asked weakly.

"Mah," Ash said. "Yes, I fix," he conceded.

A lizard on the wall of the hut erupted into a man. Ayas didn't see what the woman had been, but she appeared in the flowers. They were glassy-eyed and vacant.

"I'll take them all home," Ayas promised Ash.

"And I'll come visit," Acha promised. "I know you miss Eby. I do too."

"Maybe Maldouen would also like a friend," Ayas suggested gently.

"Oh," Acha said. "That's- yes, that's a good idea."

So Ayas took the unresisting parents and the slightly shocky girl back to their suddenly-rebuilt house. He put the parents to bed, and assured Acha they would be well in the morning. Then he left the girl to get reacquainted with her unpended life and went back to Ember, grazing on the road.

"You did it!" Maldouen hissed, appearing through a hedge. "How?"

"A hob," Ayas explained. "Actually, I promised him a sweet. Do you think you could help me with that?"

"Ma just made sweetrolls for tomorrow," Maldouen said. "I c'n nick one off the sill." And then he was gone, vanishing back into the hedge.

Ayas smiled. This one felt good. He checked Ember's gear, tightened the girth, and stroked the gelding's ears.

Maldouen reappeared with the roll in his hand. His face was slightly sticky, like he'd stolen one for himself, too. "Here you go, Sir Knight!"

"Actually," Ayas said, smiling despite himself, "Can you do me a favor?"

"Of course!"

"Head out that way into the fens, just a bit, don't get lost, and just call out that Ayas sent you with the sweet."

"I get to meet the Hob?" Maldouen asked, sounding thrilled.

"Call him Ash," Ayas suggested. "He lost a friend recently and he's sad."

Maldouen nodded, and went running off. Ayas couldn't remember ever running everywhere he went, but his own childhood was a long-ago blur.

Ayas mounted Ember and left the little village behind them. He couldn't quite regret the lost time, but his stomach churned with worry for Celyn.

[simpforchuchu]

Hi! I was wondering maybe some HC’s on dating Tsuji or Shibaman would be?

Tsuji | General dating hcs

a/n: Hi, im always happy to write for my fav boy 🥺💕 Hope you like it 🌸

Sorry for the grammer or spelling mistakes.English is not my main language so...

Thank you and love you 🥰

Warnings: not much just usual hnl things

 

* Although most people think of Tsuji and Shibaman as like twins, their characters are pretty different.

* Tsuji is quieter, calmer and smarter than Shiba.

* Also stronger.

* But still, I'd say he's also a bit crazy, although he usually chooses to listen everything first

* He is a very cool character with his hair style that he changes frequently and his unique style

* He has a cool vibe, he seems like a bit of a shy person for being cool

* Crazier than Shiba in fights. Doesn't get angry quickly but can be pretty tough

* He's also quite loyal. We all know that Shibaman and him were with Todoroki from the very beginning and they never left him alone.

* No matter how tough and wild he may seem, I think he is very kind hearted, soft and funny to those he loves.

* For him, I think someone between would be great, rather than someone too serious or too loud.

* Someone who is calm but knows how to have fun, is not afraid to say what she thinks, helpful and cheerful.

* I think Tsuji is quite introverted and not showing his feelings. So he'll be grateful for someone who understands him without he tells

* He's pretty big and tall, so it doesn't matter to him whether you're tall or short, fat or slim.

* I don't think he is afraid to take the first step. But I think when he likes someone, he'll hide it for a while and want to be sure.

* Like I said, he's a weird man so it's not easy to figure out who he likes or him

* Not being silly or excited around the person he likes, he is pretty cool about it

* If you confess first, that's okay too. I'm sure he'll be a little nervous if he doesn’t expect this, but he won't be rude to you.

* I think he would be quite happy with someone he believes truly loves him.

* He is a simple guy

* He will walk with his girlfriend home every night and listen to how her day was along the way.

* Gives me a very good listener vibe, even if he doesn't comment much, he's a good listener

* He's okay with physical contact, always holding his girlfriend's hand or his arm on her shoulder

* I think he's a little shy. So not a PDA fan. But he loves the sweet kisses you give when you tiptoe

* He likes to embarrass you but he doesn't go too far

* Your comfort is always his priority.

* His girlfriend is his second best friend.He wants Shibaman and her to get along well. Because Shiba is like his brother.

* I definitely think he'll introduce his girlfriend to Todoroki and Shibaman's older sister. He cares a lot about their opinion.

* I think he can cook well. Sometimes he makes you a meal and comes to your school and gives it to you.

* He really likes to make you feel like a princess because he thinks you deserve the best

* I think he feels strangely insecure ,so I feel like he'll be happy when you compliment him

* He changes his hairstyle often and can do a couple style with you if you want.

* He likes to working with music. I think he is interested in digital music. And he’ll be pretty happy teaching you how to make a new beat.

* He loves your arms wrapping around his neck when he carries you on his back.

* I don't think he'll mind if you want to put makeup on him. Someone who can do masks and makeup with you when you braid his hair

* Good with remembering the special days

* He's not very good with words but he does everything to make you feel his love.

* He usually has clothes that are oversized and pretty big for you but he finds you pretty cute when he sees you get lost in them

* He wears your hair tie on his wrist, I can imagine him playing with it or the necklace you gave him when he misses you

* Like I said, he's not the type to talk about his feelings much, but he talks with Shiba about you often.

* You changed him a little. He now thinks twice before getting into a figh

* He definitely doesn't want you to see him when he's hurt. He won't even tell you about it.

* Not someone to judge you when you cry. When he sees your eyes watering, he will hug you in his arms and quietly stroke your hair until you relax.

* Definitely big spoon, he's huge so he likes to hug you tight in his arms

* I don't think he is very knowledgeable about your period, so he often asks you what you need and wants to help.

* I don't think he will be afraid of anyone or anything easily. But he is quite afraid of harming you. That's why he always wants to protect you

* The thing he fears most is that one day he will hurt you unintentionally or you will be afraid of him. That's why he doesn't want you to see him fighting

* If you belong in their world, he never wants you to see him lose control even you are fighting beside him

* He may be cold to many people but always in his most natural way around you.

HnL taglist : @straysugzhpe @tiddly-winx  @satraninalane @thatpoindexterpixy

[theredofoctober]

Ouroboros— Dead Ringers Fic, PART ONE

Cross posted from AO3

Pairing: Beverly/Elliot, FF, twincest

Synopsis: Genevieve goes away to pursue a failing picture; in her absence, Elliot appears on Beverly's doorstep, and they become more intimate than they have ever been

TW/CW: incest, toxic relationships, cheating

Rear after the cut ✂️

Chapter One: Beverly

"Baby sister. Baby sister."

Elliot was at the front door, scratching like an awful, beautiful, persistent little dog, begging to come in. She knew Genevieve was away for work, though I didn't tell her; she might have read about the new film, somewhere, or merely sensed it, the way Elliot sometimes knows things I know without me ever needing to speak a word aloud, just as I know things she never says aloud, although she almost always does, with a vicious, savage, flesh-eating, all-consuming love.

We destroy each other, in proximity; we are like cursed Gods when we are apart, wretched, and hollow, and searing all we love down to ash and blackened bone for want of one another, for need of nothing else.

I am soft and yielding and brow-beaten in all things but my sister. I am soft, and I always yield to her. We eat each other like the snake that devours its own tail.

Like all perfect things, there is no end to us but to die.

"I can't let you in, Elliot," I said, although I had my face pressed to the wood of the door in craving for her touch on my cheek, and her smell in my lungs, and the silk of her dark, beautiful hair against me. "You have to understand. It's what's best for us."

"It's what's best for the actress!" snarled Elliot, from the other side of the door, and although the fury in her voice shook me I knew to my soul that she was right. "We need each other, Beverly. You might be put together, and subdued, and have all the proper fucking words, and know all the proper fucking faces to make, but as far as the world's concerned you're not good enough, and you're crumbling to pieces on the inside. I know you are. You're miserable, and I'm the only one that will ever make it better."

She was spiteful, and childish, and every word she spoke was undeniable.

"You're ill, Elliot," I mumbled, weakly. "We make each other worse. So very much worse."

From scratching my sister went immediately to knocking, so loud I began at once to fret what the neighbours would think.

"That's a lie!" Elliot called to me. "We're our best selves when we're together! Wild, and mad, and bright, and perfect. Everything we touch, and weep, and fucking shit turns to gold, and you know it. So let me in. I love you. Love you. Love you."

By then I was crying; I couldn't help it. I wanted to climb in bed with her between warm sheets and hold her so close that our bodies melted into one. But still I didn't let her in, knowing that if I did I'd fold beneath her like a sinner kneeling before God, and she's the one that sits in church as though she believes in it.

Does she believe it in? Wholeheartedly, sometimes, I think; at others, it's all a charade, a game, a balm for her guilt. Besides, it's difficult to truly believe in a deity when the only ones you trust are real are your sister, and yourself.

Yet I am no saint, lying to a room full of the bereaved when I am so sure that it is only myself that's really dying.

"You can't come in," I whispered, but my fingers were working at the catch on the door, poised for an excuse to be weak, to break, to drink full and descend, as I've always done, as I promised I never would again.

"You can't come in," I whispered.

Elliot shoved at the door, sensing, sharply, that I'd dispensed with the locks, that I no longer wanted to hold her at bay, that I could not bear another moment with this partition between us.

"I'm coming in," she said, "because you want me to come in."

She stood in the doorframe, a nightmare battled down into beauty.

Is it vain to think that my twin is beautiful, given that she has my face?

I remember the ignition of pleasure between my legs as Elliot clung to me, desperate, and pathetic, and beloved, her mouth hot and sudden on my neck as Genevieve sat awkward and hateful as a stone in the car, waiting for me.

The craving I had for Elliot then—her sweet, sweating, moaning, writhing body on mine, violent, and tender, and ferocious—was so strong that I could have inhaled my sister as she would some vile powder.

I could have eaten her as a starved man might a preacher's daughter, hungry to corrupt, as I was corrupted by the very thought of Elliot, the dream of her as Aphrodite before me.

We'd joked about fucking. Mocked strangers with it as though, within our sibling love, there had never been an opiate curiosity to taste skin and tongue and cunt of the other with the knowing, from fingertips in panting dark, that it was how we, ourselves, tasted.

Our love is a tangled, strangling, black-thorned forest of a thing in which we are all to each other.

We are one, one, one being, and any separate from us is an interloper, trespassing upon that which is only ours.

I had denied it so many times that I force myself to believe that I can ever love anyone as dearly as my sister, but I know—

I knew as I looked at her, this crazed genius, as jagged-edged and deliciously insane as Lucifer in the cunning skin of a woman, I knew that I could never love anyone as I did Elliot.

To love her was to love myself, and apart we simply did not truly exist.

"Baby sister," said Elliot, and stepped into the house—

Oh, Genevieve...

—and the door closed, a jarring bang caused by the poltergeist that was my sister, wonderful, and wicked, and mine.

"Elliot," I breathed, and my arms were around her, and hers were upon my face, soft, so soft, her lips on my brow, the corner of my eye, my mouth, and like so many petals I disintegrated into the hell and the heavenly ecstasy that was my twin.