#my taste in men is two sides of the same coin.

[koithebastard]

when I see art of pretty men I simply fold like a lawnchair and screech.

[chocsra]

"Take the Gun and my Heart, okay?"

15! Chuuya x implied fem! reader

A/N: im back again 😜😜 please send more requests and ideas! i wanna try writing angst for my next fics

content: you're the port mafia's best markswoman/sniper & chuuya goes to you to learn ur ways, oneshot, fluff, pre-relationship, mafia work 😱, guns, coworkers? to lovers, rich chuuya era, could be gn! reader bc there are no descriptions but used she/her prns ���

thank you sm @soleelia for the idea!

Sometimes, regular days of being in the mafia felt boring.

Most of your life was inhabited by the four same walls of the mafia's firing range, your body was free of bruises besides the callouses on your fingers from the amount of steel pressing against your palms; it almost felt like your hands grew with a silver pistol rested upon them as if royalty was granted with a crown.

When you were younger, a tall pale man with the name of Paul Verlaine taught you all the ways of a markswoman he could.

Your work consisted of staying in the firing range, assisting criminals in their weaponry choices, dealing guns; and the off chance you could go on missions.

But when you did, shit was amazing.

"Nice one, [Y/N]." A boyish voice rang through the single earpiece of your left ear, repositioning yourself planted on the ground of one of the Port Mafia's rooftops; your index finger positioned off the trigger, taking your face off of the scope. "The pleasure's all mine." You thank teasingly; even if your 'partner' was kilometers away from you, you could almost taste the cruel smirk on his face from the other side; plotting a decimation not even a mafioso with 30 years of experience could pull off.

Dazai Osamu, the youngest mafia executive in history.

He was the craziest fuck you've ever met, but you did partake in his affairs with murder and crime; just from afar. Word says he got himself a new partner on the battlefield; a boy a year older than you, he was the supposed King of The Sheep, but his mentality and brutal force screamed nothing more than that of a wolf.

"Careful, pipsqueak - backup has already been granted." the lanky boy with bandages covered all around the midst of his tainted body said with boredom sinking in his voice; blood dribbled down his forehead, emerging in the facial bandages covering his right eye. Men with firearms and knives surrounded the two teenage boys; more than ready to shoot the children under the guise of their boss.

The ginger next to him barely turned his head in Dazai's direction, his tongue swiped behind his bottom teeth in irritation; though owning a petite stature, the King of The Sheep was more than confident that all these men, despite their bodies, would fall to their knees under the crushing pressure of gravity. "I don't give a damn about your shitty backup, I didn't join the Port Mafia to be protected." the redhead smiled cheekily, a red aura glowing from his body as his right leg lifted in the air - about to throw a powerful repeating hook kick.

Bang.

Several collisions shot through the air, Chuuya was sure it was the force of his ass-kicking skills; Dazai would have flipped a coin to see if it was you or the midget who landed a shot.

The redhead launched in the air, he twisted his leg just so that his shin hit the man's forehead. However, upon doing so - blood spluttered out of the man's head, falling harshly to the ground. The small boy landed successfully on the ground, shoving his hands in his pockets with a proud smirk. Until Dazai gently pressed on his earpiece to enable the microphone. "Again, thank you, [Y/N]," he says with a sigh, watching as Chuuya's face contorts in confusion. Spinning around on his heels, the man died not by his kick; but by a metal bullet pierced through the middle of his skull; along with all the other men perfectly striked in the forehead with the small bullets.

"What?" the ginger mafioso asked with surprise, "Who the hell did that?" he sharply turned to the bandaged brunette with annoyance laced in his voice. "[Y/N], you haven't heard of her?" Dazai asks boredly, striding over to the fallen man who was their leader. "No? Dude, where'd that even come from?" Chuuya spins his head in several directions, trying to find the source of the bullets. "Up your ass." the lanky boy teased, bending down to ransack the man's clothing.

"Shut up! Guns are a good for nothin' weapon anyway! Like hell we need them!!"

"Huh? I thought you didn't like guns."

You stood across from Chuuya in the stained room of the firing range, it's length was more than long, with rather narrow walls. Bales of hay were stacked at the end of the room, protecting the wall from bullets and missed shots. From the small distance of the door creaking open, laid the only walking point of the room; as the rest were hidden by pillars that seperated individual's gunfire; and nobody wished to get shot.

The teenager ruffles his hair, almost loathing in the awkward silence of the room; even with noice cancelling headphones on. He was wearing casual clothing, usual black sweatpants and some sort of red biker jacket; accompanied by a swift movement of his orange hair, tangling between his fingers.

"About that- 'kinda feel left out, ya mind teaching me?"

"You don't know how to use a gun?"

A more awkward silence entered the room as you stare at him in disbelief, the ginger's face remained somewhat sheepish; but by his piercing azure eyes, he was irritated by something, pretty obvious. "Nah," Chuuya replies, gently pushing his hands in his pockets, walking up to you. "was never a fan of guns - ain't bullets shoot better with your hands?" the boy smirked cheekily, causing you to scoff and take off your headphones. "You're talkin' like I can manipulate gravity." you reply dryly with a creeping smile, finishing to sweep the lose bullets on the floor.

"Exactly, that's why I'm apart of the mafia." the redhead boasted defensively, rolling his tongue across his inner cheek. "I think you're the only mafioso who doesn't know how to shoot." you reply with almost a whisper, his sharp glare at you made you question your lifespan. "I've dealt with swords thanks to Kouyou, I've gone to daggers and knives for the look and practicality - so lemme ask ya this, [Y/N], why would I ever turn to guns?" you heaved a sigh at his smartass answers, sometimes you hated his stupid delusions that he always had to be right.

"Well you're here now, so technically you are turning to guns." you swipe a sleek pistol off a metal table, discharging the magazine to see if any bullets were left. "Tsk," Chuuya crossed his arms in annoyance, "You're putting words and my mouth." he scoffed, causing little bits of laughter to escape your lips. "Just shut up and listen."

"Chuuya- you can't shoot a gun with one hand." you scold in annoyance, gently taking the same pistol out of the boy's gloved hands. "Why the hell not? I see it all the time." he brushes off some dirt off his jacket, blue eyes gazing at the addition of bullets in the chamber. "You watch too many movies," you mutter in concentration, redjusting the safety junctures. "a pistol's recoil wouldn't allow you to shoot it properly, and you'd miss like, 90% of the time as a beginner." you grin mockingly, causing Chuuya to smirk in irritation.

"But Dazai does it all the time."

"I don't know- Dazai's fuckin' crazy."

"You have a point."

You laugh as you placed the gun in his hands, "Always treat a gun like it's loaded, even if we're mafia." you said softly, the ginger nodded, readjusting his position into some kind of sharp-shooter. "Got it," he rasps, pointing the silver tip of the pistol towards the cardboard target. Your eyes scan his whole body and stance with predictability, he was standing like he was holding in a shit. "C'mere," you proceed with a click of the tongue, cupping Chuuya's hands over the pistol.

The fabric of his gloves saved you from some embarrassment, but you couldn't help but feel the way his soft hair poked your face leaning over his right shoulder. "Your hand that's going to pull the trigger should only use 30% of force, all the other should be with the other hand, using 70% to support it." you inform in almost a whisper, applying pressure atop his right hand for a more firm grip, Chuuya's eyes glanced to yours with a slight pink tint on his cheeks before nodding. "Alright,"

"So, why'd you come to learn from me anyway?"

"'Cause I wanna learn from the best, yea?"

...

"What?"

"What? You don't like being complimented?"

Trying to readjust his grip on the firearm whilst his breath was fanning your face and neck was so damn distracting, you don't even think he knows how close or what he's doing; especially with his trademark smirk and alluring aura. Chuuya's always been a bastard, but he wasn't all bad when you had a civil conversation; actually, maybe you two had one too many civil conversations. "Okay, think I got it, ima shoot." he nods with confidence, you take a step back as the redhead takes a few moments to reposition his stance and well, learn how to shoot.

"There's two parts of a gun that allows you to shoot: 1. the front, 2. the rear, match those two up and it's like a puzzle." you inform, pointing to the junctures of the firearm before yet again taking a step back. "And don't forget double action, it holds more trigger pull than all other shots."

From all the talking you just did, there was only one thing on your mind; Chuuya. A conversation so little that felt so heavy, were you that touch starved? Nobody visited you in the range, only older men who were practicing their skills. Infact, Chuuya hates guns; he believes that it held no value over him in the mafia and a machine used by non-ability users and non-ability users only. And yet, he still learnt from you, he could've went to anyone else; he could've went to another person to watch him fail.

Too much of your previous conversations filled your head; wine, motorcycles, cigarettes, music.. maybe you did share one too many conversations, you hate the way someone so violent could you make you feel huma-

Bang.

For the first time in your life, with or without headphones; the sound of a bullet puncturing cardboard startled you, even just a little. Damn it, that ginger did a number on you. You tilt your head up to see if the bullet hit, indeed it did not. "Fuck," the redhead groans, causing you to snicker a little bit, attempting to stiffle it with your hand. "Man, shut up.." he scowls in irritation, a small smile creeping on his face. "C'mon, the chambers not finished, you can do it." you cheer the boy on, patting his back lightly, Chuuya only chuckles with a shake of the head before turning back to the target.

"You wanna know why I think you're the best?" the mafioso continues to shoot, gritting his teeth everytime the metal bullet pierced anything but cardboard. "Why?" you ask curiously, watching as he finishes the chamber, setting the firearm down at the decently shot target.

"Have dinner with me and find out."

He smirks confidently, watching as you stare at the ginger blankly. "You wanna shoot up a restaurant?" you cock a brow in confusion, taking off your headphones. "No- what?"

"What I mean is, let's go out and enjoy some good food tonight, 'kay?"

[strongestbanner]

What If:

Logan and Victor decide to forgive each other, escape together and live in a small cabin located in Argentine Patagonia (probably in the Río Negro province, towards the mountains of the west) 🏡❤️‍🩹🇦🇷

They both accepted that they are two sides of a same coin, and they'll always be there for each other, no matter the circumstances <3

(If you wanna cry at the end, keep reading)

Logan gets addicted to drink mate and can't live without his thermo (he choose Lumilagro when he just arrived bc he didn't have enough money for a Stanley thermo, but he doesn't give a f*ck). His favorite yerba mate is Rosamonte: the most bitter yerba mate for his taste 👌🏻

Vic shows off Logan the words he already knew in Spanish after so many missions. Now he learned to say to Logan: "enano boludo" (fool runt) just for piss him off.

Victor has become very punctual at merienda time, he always waits for Logan with sweet facturas (like biscuits, croissants) (sometimes Logan is sick of eating sweet, so he asks Vic to bring salty facturas too). Also, Victor LOVES membrillo's facturas (quince jam) (his beard always ends up dirty as if he had blood on it, never forgetting his animal instincts).

Of course, Logan got a job at a sawmill, he has too much experience with wood hehehe. And Victor worked for a time in a food distributor for a bakery, but he got fired bc he was caught stealing some cookies with membrillo. So, now he stays at home doing housework (surprisingly, he's very clean and hates finding cobwebs on the ceiling).

Logan secretly listen to Tango music, somehow he feels internally moved and sometimes cries too!! He also bought some Carlos Gardel vinyls to send for Laura's birthday <3

They both bought earplugs to use once a month bc they discovered that they have a lobizón neighbor 2 km away (the argentine werewolf 🐺).

At first they slept in different rooms, until Victor decided to have a sleepover after watching a chick flick movies marathon with Logan over a weekend (yes, they have Netflix). How did he convince him? He used his secret weapon: kitten eyes ✨ This is how slowly Victor's old room was transformed into a leisure room. Now they have a shelf full of classic literature books (and Spanish literature too bc Vic is so interested in it and he wants to still learning). Some CDs and vinyls of Logan bc he also likes argentinian national rock (He seems to like "Los Piojos", "Intoxicados", and "Patricio Rey y sus Redonditos de Ricota" 😂).

This is for the argentine fans: LOGAN SUPPORTS BOCA JUNIORS CLUB 💙💛💙 He's not a very huge fan for football games, but he stays focused watching them. While Vic usually falls asleep at half time on the sofa with him.

Victor convinced Logan that he would control his bloodlust, so their household is never short of a good supply of meat. Unfortunately, this is a vile lie. When Logan is away, Victor takes advantage of those free hours to hunt and devour little animals like hares or deer. He knows his schedules and how much time he has to clean up his tracks. Who knows how long he can sustain the lie 🫣

In my mind their first kiss was PURRFECT. The coldest month is July (it's winter there), so, after a week of overcast skies, one night Logan went outside the cabin to smoke a joint. He observed the number of visible stars until he realized that Victor was stalking him with a cup of tea in his hand. They both sat on the front steps and IT JUST HAPPENED. Logan tried to deny what happened, FOR SEVERAL DAYS. But Vic managed to take away his embarrassment and make him enjoy it many times more bc he ✨obviously✨ kissed him first.

It hadn't been a year yet and Logan had invited the X-Men to his whereabouts to celebrate his birthday in October. Logically, Victor didn't like this idea at all, so he decided to flee to the forest. Logan had so many feelings fluttering in his chest, but he knew better than to waste such a beautiful and special day. He looked for Victor and found him cooling off in a river. He was so upset and a little jealous, but Logan convinced him because they would make barbecue. It was a VERY uncomfortable moment for Victor, he was not sorry for what he did, but Logan took care of making him feel part of his family <3

Ofc, I wrote all this with my tears.

I don't consider myself a good writer and my English is very poor, but if anyone wants to make a fanfic or fanart of this TAG ME PLS 😭💖

[theblackhate]

Home Is Where The Heart Is | Negan Smith

check the other parts here!

Summary:

There is no longer a home, no place of comfort in that world. One survives to live, risking life to move forward and protect one's people.

But there are always two sides of the same coin. So, is the villain truly the villain? Or is He just the villain in your story?

Pairing: Negan Smith x reader

Word Count: 8.2k

The Fame

The afternoon sun had settled into that warm, golden hue that made the Kingdom’s banners flutter like embers against the pale sky. Negan and a contingent of Saviors—Laura, Delilah, Simon, and several others—stood just beyond the open fields that surrounded Ezekiel’s domain. The tension was thick enough to taste, and even the birds seemed to have gone silent, sensing the danger in the air.

Delilah stood near the back of the group, Orion pacing at her side. Simon wore his customary smirk, but he kept a cautious hand near his rifle. Laura eyed the distant walls, her lips pressed into a tight line. All of them waited for their leader’s cue.

Negan stepped forward, Lucille slung lazily over his shoulder, and raised his voice in that familiar, mocking tone that could charm or terrify, depending on the moment. “Oh, King Ezekiel!” he called, his grin wicked and gleaming in the sun. “Is this how you greet guests these days? By murdering one of my men in cold blood?”

Behind Negan, a ripple of agreement and frustration spread through the Saviors. They didn’t chant this time, but their presence alone was enough to make it clear they were one unit, one entity, standing behind the man with the bat. Delilah watched silently, her stomach twisting at the memory of Charlie and his family. The image of them waiting in the Sanctuary, unaware of the tragedy, made her fists tighten involuntarily.

From behind the tall gates, Ezekiel’s voice rang out, steady but strained. “We did not murder your man, Negan,” he insisted. “Your ‘Charlie’ took dangerous liberties near our territory. He was warned. He put us all at risk.”

Negan laughed, a short, humorless bark. “Oh, so now it’s Charlie’s fault he got a bullet in his skull? That’s a load of horseshit, and you know it.” He swung Lucille in a casual arc, as if pointing to invisible evidence. “You sure you want to stick to that story, Your Majesty?”

The gates of the Kingdom creaked open, inch by inch. Beyond them, Ezekiel stepped forward, flanked by several of his armored soldiers and a few familiar faces who had once offered Delilah kindness. Shiva was not present this time—perhaps wisely, Ezekiel had chosen caution over show.

As the gates parted fully, the Kingdom’s leader moved into the open space between the fence and the Saviors. He held his head high, but there was tension around his eyes, a stiffness in his shoulders that hadn’t been there before. He was caught now, forced to defend his people’s actions before a man who demanded obedience.

Ezekiel raised a hand to still his own guards and took a step closer. “Charlie trespassed on our land,” he said firmly, his voice carrying over the hush. “He threatened one of my men. We issued warnings, he refused to heed them—”

Negan cut him off, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, right, because I’m sure you ‘warned’ him real nice before you pulled the trigger.” He tilted his head, feigning sympathy. “Guess he just didn’t understand your royal decrees?”

The Saviors behind Negan chuckled darkly. Delilah felt her heart rate spike, her gaze moving between Ezekiel and Negan, trying to read the tension. She noticed movement along the Kingdom’s walls—archers, maybe, or extra guards staying out of sight but ready to strike. The Kingdom wasn’t stupid; they wouldn’t meet the Saviors unprepared. If things went south, this could get bloody fast.

And then Ezekiel’s gaze drifted, scanning the crowd of Saviors. When his eyes found Delilah, they widened slightly, and for a moment, he looked genuinely hurt, puzzled. “Delilah?” he called, surprise cracking through his regal demeanor. “What are you doing with them?”

Delilah felt a chill crawl up her spine. She remembered the softness of the Kingdom—the laughter of children, the gentle smiles, the kindness. Ezekiel had been generous, allowing her to stay, to see something hopeful. Now he stood confronted by Negan’s wrath, and he recognized her as someone who had known better times.

She opened her mouth but no sound came out. The weight of the Saviors’ gaze pressed heavily on her. She could feel Negan’s presence like a magnetic field, and Laura watching her from the corner of her eye. She knew what was expected of her: loyalty, silence, solidarity. She thought of Charlie’s widow and child waiting in the Sanctuary. She thought of all the complexities that had led her back here, to Negan’s side.

The hesitation lasted only a heartbeat, but it felt longer. Finally, unable to meet Ezekiel’s questioning eyes, she gripped her knife tighter and moved forward—around one or two Saviors—to stand directly behind Negan’s shoulder. It was a quiet, purposeful move, a declaration without words. She stood with Negan. She stood with the Saviors.

Ezekiel’s face fell, the brief spark of recognition replaced by sorrow and disappointment. “Delilah,” he said again, more softly this time, as if he could coax her back to who she’d been. But she gave him no answer.

Negan, who had watched this exchange with clear amusement, arched a brow and smirked. He didn���t say anything to Delilah, didn’t need to. Her choice to step closer to him spoke volumes. He turned back to Ezekiel, his tone becoming dangerously smooth. “Looks like Ghost here knows where she belongs. And guess what, Ezekiel? So do you.”

Delilah’s heart hammered in her chest, but she kept her expression neutral. She dared not look back at Ezekiel’s face, dared not let herself linger on the regret that twisted in her gut. She had chosen this side because, right now, it was all she could do. She still remembered the Kingdom’s kindness, but in this moment, the loyalty of the Saviors and the memory of Charlie’s death overshadowed those warm memories.

“I’ll ask one more time,” Negan said, his voice slicing through the tension. “You gonna make this right, or are we doing it the hard way?”

Ezekiel’s jaw clenched. “We have made no attack without reason.”

Negan shook his head, laughing as if at a child’s excuse. “Wrong answer, Your Majesty. Wrong answer.”

Behind him, Delilah shifted her weight, readying herself if things turned violent. She was still Delilah, still Ghost, caught between worlds, regrets and loyalties warring within her. But for now, her place was here, behind Negan, prepared to defend him if the Kingdom tried anything stupid.

The silence pressed in as the two leaders locked eyes. The Saviors tensed, and the Kingdom’s guards gripped their weapons tighter. The world seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the next move.

Ezekiel remained near the open gates, his regal posture cracking under the weight of the situation. Sweat beaded along his hairline, and his once calm, commanding gaze now flickered with fear and despair. Delilah could see it all from where she stood behind Negan—she could feel it in the way the Kingdom’s people hunched their shoulders, in the strangled silence that gripped everyone’s throats.

Negan let out a low, mocking laugh, the sound cutting through the quiet like broken glass. “Should’ve thought about this before, Ezekiel,” he drawled, his tone dripping with false sympathy. “Before you decided to kill one of my men. Before you forced my hand.” He swung Lucille into an easy arc, pointing her toward the kneeling group. “Now, you pay the price.”

Ezekiel’s jaw tightened. “Take what you want,” he said stiffly, voice strained. “Just... please, no more blood.”

Negan’s grin widened, and he angled Lucille until the bat’s barbed tip hovered close to a younger man near Ezekiel’s right side. The chosen victim’s eyes went wide, and he jerked away instinctively, but there was nowhere to go. Kingdom soldiers raised their weapons, but the Saviors pressed closer, more numerous and better positioned. In seconds, the Kingdom’s defenders were disarmed or forced to kneel. Any resistance crumbled under the sheer advantage the Saviors held.

Delilah’s stomach twisted. She’d seen Ezekiel’s people before—tending gardens, teaching children, repairing fences. They were hopeful, humane. Now they were on their knees, faces filled with dread, at Negan’s mercy. She clenched her teeth and tried to keep her expression neutral, but inside, her nerves sang with tension.

Negan gestured lazily with Lucille, as if pondering his next move. “Let’s make this simple,” he said, meeting Ezekiel’s eyes with cold amusement. “You owe me a life for the one you took. Fair is fair. So you choose who dies. Make it quick, or I’ll choose for you.”

Ezekiel’s composure shattered. He stumbled forward a step, shaking his head desperately. “No, please! Don’t do this. We never meant... we never wanted this.”

Negan raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the other man’s agony. “Oh, now you beg? Where was that humility before you put a bullet in Charlie’s skull?”

The Kingdom’s leader dropped to his knees, head bowed, voice thick with despair. “I beg you,” he said, breathing hard, “I beg all of you. There must be another way.”

Silence. Then, softly, “Delilah.”

The sound of her name struck her like a blow. Delilah’s heart constricted. Ezekiel looked up at her, his eyes full of pain. “Delilah,” he repeated, voice cracking, “you stayed with us. We welcomed you as a guest. I know we only knew each other a short time, but I saw something in you. Compassion. Strength. You’re better than this.”

Delilah’s fingers tightened around the handle of her knife, her knuckles white. She could feel Negan’s gaze slide toward her, could sense the sudden shift in the atmosphere as everyone waited to see what she would do.

Negan, always quick to see an opportunity, took a step closer to her. He tilted his head, voice as smooth as silk. “He’s got a point, Ghost,” he said, using her nickname with chilling familiarity. “I’ve always known you’re not like the others. That’s why you fascinate me.” He turned and nodded toward the kneeling man—Ezekiel’s man, trembling and pale. “Kill him.”

Delilah’s pulse thundered in her ears. She tore her gaze from Ezekiel’s pleading eyes and stared at the man before her, the one Negan had singled out. He was young, maybe barely out of his twenties. He wore a makeshift set of armor fashioned from sports gear. His face was pale as milk, tears shining at the corners of his eyes. He didn’t beg, but the terror radiated off him in waves.

“Go on,” Negan encouraged, tapping Lucille against his boot. “You’ve got a knife. Let’s see what you’ve got, Ghost. Show Ezekiel here what kind of world we live in. Show him that there’s a price to pay.”

Delilah’s heart lurched. She had killed before, it had been fast, desperate, a matter of survival. This was different. This was an execution, a performance demanded by Negan to prove loyalty and enforce fear. She could feel Ezekiel’s gaze on her back, sense his silent, desperate hope that she’d find it in herself to refuse, to stand up for what was right.

Laura, standing off to the side, looked at Delilah with narrowed eyes. Not a warning, not encouragement—just a stoic acceptance of whatever might come. Simon smirked, enjoying the tension. The rest of the Saviors hovered, weapons ready, expecting compliance. They knew how this usually went.

Delilah swallowed hard, her throat dry. She could feel Negan’s gaze hot on her face, could imagine the slight grin tugging at his lips. He was testing her. Making her choose sides in the most brutal way possible. Either she killed this man, proving she stood with Negan’s Saviors, or she refused—and what then? Negan was not a forgiving man.

Her mind raced. She remembered Charlie’s family, waiting for a father and husband who would never return. She remembered the Kingdom’s kindness, the small taste of peace she’d found there. She remembered how it felt to stand behind Negan, to choose to be one of them, even when it made her stomach turn.

The man before her let out a choked sound, barely a whimper. He didn’t beg. Maybe he couldn’t find the words. He looked at her with wide, watery eyes, as if trying to understand what he’d done to deserve this fate.

Ezekiel’s voice, rough with desperation, broke the silence. “Delilah, please... don’t do this.”

Negan snorted, amused. He spoke softly, so only she could hear: “This is how the world works now. He killed one of mine, so one of his has to die. You understand that, right? I know you do. You’ve survived this long. You know what it takes.”

Delilah’s hand trembled on the knife’s handle. The blade glinted in the sunlight, reminding her that this was real, not some nightmare she could wake from. She took a small step forward, forcing her face into a mask of indifference, even as her stomach knotted painfully.

The hush was absolute. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.

Her next move would define her place here. Negan waited, patient as a predator, while Ezekiel silently pleaded for her to show mercy. The kneeling man quivered, tears escaping down his cheeks.

Delilah’s mouth was dry as sand. She raised the knife, her heart hammering so hard she thought it might burst. Orion whined softly at her feet, but she couldn’t look down. Couldn’t afford any distraction.

Negan cocked his head, eyes gleaming. “Do it,” he murmured, barely audible but clear enough for her to know he meant every word.

Delilah inhaled, the smell of sweat and fear and earth filling her lungs. She thought of all she’d lost, all she’d gained, and all she stood to lose if she faltered now. The Kingdom’s people watched, horrified, as she stood over their comrade. Ezekiel looked ready to weep.

Time seemed to slow, each second weighed down by the gravity of the choice before her. The world had never felt so cruel.

Her grip tightened.

Delilah stood, her knife poised at the trembling man’s throat. The Kingdom’s people knelt in terrified silence, their eyes full of desperate hope. The Saviors hovered behind Negan, weapons at the ready, waiting to see if she would follow through. Laura watched with narrowed eyes, while Simon’s smirk lingered like a bad taste.

Ezekiel’s voice broke the silence, raw with pleading. “Delilah, please... you don’t have to do this. I know you. I saw your heart. Whatever Negan has told you, whatever he’s forced you to believe—this isn’t who you are.”

Delilah’s heart hammered in her chest, each beat more painful than the last. She could feel Negan’s presence at her back, as unrelenting as a blade against her spine. She was caught between two worlds—one that offered a future built on fear and control, and another that promised compassion and humanity, however fragile.

She looked at Ezekiel, his face stricken with grief. He dared to hope, even now, even as death stood poised a hair’s breadth away from one of his own. The kneeling man wept silently, too shocked or resigned to beg, his life hanging on a single choice.

Delilah turned slightly, her eyes flicking toward Negan. He stood with Lucille resting on his shoulder, his grin sharper and colder than any steel. He was enjoying this, delighting in the spectacle of her indecision, waiting to see if she would yield to his will. His presence was suffocating, a constant reminder that defiance carried a terrible price.

Her heart felt like it was splintering. She’d walked away from the Kingdom once, convinced that the Sanctuary and Negan’s ruthless logic were her reality now. She’d tried to convince herself that there was no going back, that she belonged here. Yet Ezekiel’s words opened old wounds—he spoke of acceptance, of a place where she could be better, where she could try to be more than just a weapon in someone else’s hands.

Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them back. This was no time for weakness. Slowly, she turned her gaze back to Ezekiel. He looked at her with such heartbreak, such faith, it nearly destroyed her. He offered her a way out—a second chance, an open door back into the light.

Delilah parted her lips, just enough to whisper, the sound barely more than a breath: “I’m Negan.”

Three words, spoken softly, but they fell like a hammer. Negan’s grin widened, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. The Kingdom’s people recoiled, their hope crushed. Ezekiel flinched as if struck, and the kneeling man’s eyes squeezed shut, terror blazing bright.

In one swift, decisive motion, Delilah drew the blade across the man’s throat. The sound was hideously soft: a wet gurgle as blood ran hot and red over her hand and down his armor, soaking into the earth. He toppled forward with a gasp, limbs twitching as life fled him.

A collective gasp rose from the Kingdom’s people. Ezekiel went pale, a shattered sob escaping his chest. The Saviors stirred, some smirking, others impassive, but all accepting this brutal demonstration of loyalty.

Delilah stood there, breathing hard, her hand slick with blood and shaking despite her tight grip on the knife. Her heart thundered in her ears. She dared not look at Ezekiel again—could not face the horror and disappointment in his eyes. She had chosen, and now she would live with the consequences.

Behind her, Negan let out a low, approving chuckle. He stepped closer, placing a hand on her shoulder with surprising gentleness. “Good girl,” he purred, just loud enough for her to hear. “I knew you had it in you.”

Delilah swallowed, her throat tight. She wanted to scream, to run, to wash away the stain of what she’d done. But she did none of those things. She remained still, chin lifted, refusing to show weakness. She had chosen her path, and now she would walk it.

The Kingdom’s people wept quietly. Ezekiel’s shoulders shook, his regal façade crumbling as he realized the depth of their defeat. Negan turned to him, voice dripping with contempt. “There’s your price, Ezekiel. A life for a life. Maybe next time you’ll think twice before messing with what’s mine.”

The sun dipped lower in the sky, staining the horizon in fiery hues. Delilah wiped the blade on the grass, her heart hollow. In that moment, the world felt colder, the Kingdom’s green fields duller, its banners bleaker. She had made her choice—publicly, irrevocably—and the weight of it settled heavy on her soul.

Negan turned and gestured to the Saviors, who began to move, some gathering supplies, others laughing nervously, relieved that no further violence would be needed. “We’re done here,” Negan said, his voice carrying easily. “But remember this day, Ezekiel. Remember it real good.”

Delilah took a shaky breath and followed Negan, falling into step behind him. The eyes of the Kingdom bored into her back, but she didn’t dare look back. It was done. The line had been crossed. She was Negan—and there would be no turning back.

The Sanctuary slept behind its tall walls and guarded gates, but Delilah could not. She sat on a small outcropping of concrete near the courtyard, the moon hanging low and luminous in the sky. Its silver light fell across her shoulders and illuminated the blade of her knife, which she turned slowly between her fingers. Each rotation sent a brief flash of pale light dancing across her features, highlighting the hollowness in her eyes.

It had been hours since they returned from the Kingdom. The other Saviors had drifted off—some to sleep, some to quiet conversation—but Delilah stayed outside, drawn to the silence of the night. Even Orion, sensing her need for solitude, had curled up a few feet away, watching her with concerned eyes but not approaching.

Her mind replayed the scene at the Kingdom’s gates with merciless clarity: the kneeling man, his eyes wide and afraid; Ezekiel’s desperate pleas; Negan’s triumphant grin. And her own voice, so quiet, so final: “I’m Negan.” Then the wet sound of the blade doing its grim work, the man’s life spilling into the dirt, the cries of his people echoing in her ears.

A shudder ran through her, but not from horror at the act itself—at least, not in the way she would have expected. That was what scared her most. She didn’t feel disgust at the act of murder. She didn’t feel regret for robbing that man of his future. Instead, what she felt was a cold, hollow acceptance, and a strange sense of ease, as if she had finally settled into the role that fate had carved out for her.

Why didn’t it tear her apart inside? Why didn’t she feel sick at what she’d done? Instead of revulsion, she felt a calm acceptance that petrified her. It was as though some part of her had always known she could be this person—someone who kills to secure her place, to prove her worth, to follow an order. Someone who could silence her conscience when it mattered most.

The moonlight made the blade look clean, spotless, though she knew better. The memory of blood on her hand was still vivid, and she could almost feel the sticky warmth if she closed her eyes. Yet, in the cool stillness of the night, everything felt distant, muted, as if her heart had built a quiet sanctuary of its own—a place where she could rationalize that killing was necessary, that this was the world now, that Charlie’s death demanded retribution and she had simply played her part.

Delilah clenched her jaw, her breathing shallow. She had chosen Negan’s side. Not just in word, but in deed. She had plunged a knife into a living, breathing person to prove her loyalty, and the worst part was that it felt... right. Efficient. It made sense in Negan’s world, and as much as she might try to deny it, she was learning to navigate by his rules.

She wondered what Ezekiel would think if he saw her now, quiet and calm beneath the moon. He had believed in her kindness, her potential for good. She had proven him wrong. Or had she simply shown him a truth he hadn’t wanted to face—that no one is pure in a world like this, that everyone is just one choice away from cruelty?

The thought brought a faint, bitter curve to her lips. Ezekiel’s hope, the Kingdom’s kindness—they felt like relics of a world that no longer existed. Maybe they never truly had. Maybe she had only glimpsed them as a comforting mirage.

Still, some small part of her mourned what she had lost. The part that remembered the children’s laughter at the Kingdom, the gentle hands that tended the gardens, the warm smiles that asked nothing in return. She had turned her back on that because it could not protect her in the face of Negan’s might. Because living under Negan’s dominion meant learning to be hard, to be ruthless, to kill without flinching.

With a quiet sigh, Delilah stilled the knife’s spinning. She ran a thumb along the flat of the blade, not pressing hard enough to draw blood, but enough to feel the potential there, the power in that edge. It had always been about survival, and now survival demanded surrendering parts of herself that used to matter. She wondered how much more of her soul she would have to sacrifice before Negan was satisfied, before she could feel safe, or at least numb.

A soft breeze stirred the air, carrying with it the distant hum of generators and the soft rustle of tarps. Orion lifted his head, ears twitching, then laid it down again, content to wait. Delilah looked up at the moon—full, bright, unforgiving—and accepted the truth it revealed: she had killed a man today and did not regret it. She was horrified by her own apathy, yet comforted by the sense of purpose it gave her.

This was who she was now, it seemed: a Ghost who had chosen her side, who had proven her loyalty with blood. She closed her eyes, letting the silver light wash over her, steeling herself for the days and acts to come. If she could feel at ease after this, she could endure anything. And if that meant living as Negan’s instrument, so be it.

In the months that followed the killing at the Kingdom’s gates, Delilah’s transformation became legend within the Sanctuary and, later, far beyond its walls. She ceased to be merely Delilah—only Negan and Laura still dared use her given name. To everyone else, she was Ghost. A silent figure at Negan’s shoulder, always a step behind him, always watching with eyes that missed nothing and a knife that never hesitated when required. Her voice, once sharp and sarcastic, now was almost never heard at all.

Wherever Negan went, Ghost trailed at the edge of his shadow, a dark sentinel whose mere presence could subdue a crowd. When the Saviors ventured out to “negotiate” with other communities—Hilltop, Oceanside, Alexandria, the scattered settlements that struggled to hold on—Negan swaggered in front, all grins and mocking commentary, while Ghost stood behind him, her spear or knife at the ready. She never chattered, never joked, never even betrayed a hint of emotion. The tension in the air thickened whenever her eyes fell upon a potential threat. Word spread quickly through the region: Negan was dangerous, but the woman they called Ghost was something else entirely.

She killed not for pleasure nor cruelty, but with a chilling efficiency that unsettled even the most hardened survivors. Whereas other enforcers might snarl or gloat, Ghost’s blade slipped in and out of a beating heart as easily as drawing breath. It was done swiftly, dispassionately—no bravado, no speech. She proved her loyalty by action alone. People whispered that Ghost had no soul, that she’d given it away the day she declared herself Negan. The truth was more complicated, buried deep behind her wordless gaze, but the rumors served their purpose: Ghost’s reputation became a sharpened blade all its own.

Negan savored this newfound terror. He appreciated how Ghost’s very presence bent knees and quieted resistance. Her silence, more than any of his jokes or jabs, reminded people that the Saviors weren’t simply bullies. They were a force. He liked how she had said “I’m Negan” that fateful day, and now he had made it the motto of the Sanctuary itself. When he addressed the masses—newcomers who had been whipped into line, old faces who knew better than to question him—he would force them to kneel and, at the end of his proclamations, chant in unison: “We are Negan.”

Over time, this ritual took on a grim gravity. Facing Negan’s grin and Ghost’s silence, there was no place for dissent. The first time a community leader tried to argue terms, Ghost stepped forward without a word and cut him down before he could finish his protest. It was not rage that guided her knife—there was no emotion at all—just the memory of Negan’s demands, of the fate that awaited those who disobeyed. After that, they said Ghost’s name with trembling voices. Some claimed she was a spirit conjured by Negan’s will, not really human at all.

In reality, Ghost was very human—and that was what made her so feared. She did not kill for bloodthirst. She took no pleasure in the screams or the silence that followed. She killed to enforce Negan’s order, to ensure he remained at the center of this fragile, brutal empire. She had learned how to set aside her conscience, how to crush the voice that dared to question, and move her blade where Negan pointed. The world had demanded that she choose, and she had chosen ruthlessly and irrevocably.

Within the Sanctuary, her status was unique. Only Negan and Laura dared call her Delilah. To the rest, she was Ghost, and that was how she preferred it. She had no need for conversation. If someone tried to approach her with small talk or reassurance, a single glance from her was enough to send them scurrying away. Occasionally, Laura would offer a quiet remark or a sympathetic look. Negan, in his strange way, acknowledged Ghost’s devotion with a nod or a half-smile when they locked eyes. But beyond that, no words were necessary.

As the weeks turned to months, more and more communities bent the knee. They surrendered their goods and their pride, intimidated by Negan’s grin and Ghost’s deadly silence. Each time Negan delivered a speech, each time he extracted promises of tribute, the people sank to their knees and spoke the words he demanded: “We are Negan.” In those moments, Ghost stood just behind him, her stance steady, her weapon at rest but always within reach.

In that vigilant stillness, she defined herself anew: a protector of Negan’s order, a blade without mercy, a presence that ensured the Saviors’ dominance. And in the troubled hush after the kneeling crowds spoke their forced loyalty, Ghost’s silence seemed louder than any gunshot, more resonant than Negan’s laughter. It was in that silence that communities understood what kept them in line, what truly held them in fear.

They feared Negan, yes, but they respected and dreaded Ghost. For in a world where one man’s word was law, the one who enforced it without question, without hesitation, and without ever speaking her mind, was the one who truly reminded them that resistance was futile, that life could be snuffed out as easily as breathing—and that to cross Negan was to face the blade of Ghost.

June arrived quietly, bringing with it a heavy warmth that settled over the Sanctuary. The gardens within the compound flourished under the longer days and brilliant sunshine. People moved about with a sense of uneasy contentment—uneasy, because while the Sanctuary was thriving, it thrived under Negan’s rule, and the fear he and Ghost inspired hung in the air like the dense summer heat.

Delilah—or Ghost, as nearly everyone called her—remained on the fringes of the community. She was never truly part of the chatter or camaraderie that sometimes sparked among the Saviors when Negan wasn’t looking. She still hovered behind Negan when required, her silent presence as much a symbol of his power as Lucille. But when duties ended, she drifted off, keeping her distance from anyone who might try to draw her into conversation or camaraderie. Only Laura managed to slip through the cracks of Delilah’s defenses now and then.

It was on one of these hot, still nights, the sky a velvet sheet dotted with stars, that Delilah and Laura found themselves on patrol together along the inner perimeter. The summer air clung to their skin, but a faint nighttime breeze offered some relief. The hum of distant generators provided a soft backdrop of sound.

Orion trotted ahead of them, tail wagging contentedly as he sniffed at weeds and inspected shadows. After a while, Laura stooped down and clapped softly, coaxing Orion into a little game of chase. Delilah watched, arms folded, a faint ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. Laura noticed and patted Orion’s side, encouraging the pup to scamper over to Delilah’s feet.

“Gonna stand there all night, Ghost?” Laura teased, her voice carrying a familiar sarcasm that lacked malice. “I didn’t realize how much I missed your voice until I hardly hear it anymore.”

Delilah exhaled quietly, then knelt to scratch Orion behind the ears. The dog closed his eyes, tongue lolling happily. She glanced sideways at Laura. “Don’t push it,” she said, her voice soft but clear, the sound surprising even herself. She had grown so accustomed to silence that using her voice felt almost odd.

Laura’s lips curved into a grin. “Ah, there it is,” she said, mock-magnificent. “The legendary voice of Delilah, gracing us with its presence again. It’s been a while.”

Delilah shrugged, still petting Orion. “Not much to say,” she replied, her tone quiet but not unfriendly.

They drifted into a comfortable silence, the kind shared by people who have nothing urgent to discuss but still appreciate each other’s company. Orion flopped onto his back, and Delilah obliged him by scratching his belly. Laura folded her arms, leaning against the wooden post of a small watch platform, looking out over the dimly lit compound.

After a few minutes, Laura cleared her throat. “We might be going to Oceanside,” she said casually, testing the waters.

Delilah’s hand paused mid-scratch. She lifted her head, meeting Laura’s gaze. “Oceanside?” She thought back to that community—some name whispered among rumors and plans. She hadn’t been involved in anything concerning them, as far as she knew.

“Yeah,” Laura nodded, her face partially lit by the distant floodlights. “They’ve been acting up. Small stuff, but rebellion’s rebellion, right? Negan’s not thrilled.”

Delilah frowned, carefully not allowing herself to show too much interest, even though a spark of curiosity flared in her chest. “I didn’t know about that,” she said evenly.

Laura shrugged. “Not confirmed yet. Just something he mentioned to me in passing—’in confidence,’ as he put it.” Her eyes narrowed slightly, studying Delilah’s reaction. “He might not have told you because he’s waiting for concrete evidence. Or maybe he wanted to keep it quiet until he’s sure.”

Delilah said nothing for a moment, focusing on Orion’s soft fur. She felt a hint of something like irritation or disappointment. Negan confided in Laura? Not surprising; Laura was reliable, sharp. But Delilah’s role as Ghost kept her close to him—yet not in a way that invited sharing. She was more symbol than confidante, more weapon than strategist.

She shrugged after a pause, standing up and dusting off her hands. “We’ll see what he decides,” she said, voice neutral. “If Oceanside is rebelling, I suppose we’ll deal with it.”

Laura tilted her head, her smirk fading into a more thoughtful expression. “Yeah,” she said softly. “We’ll deal with it.”

They stood there a bit longer, the silence returning but this time more comfortable, more companionable. Orion sniffed at the ground, then trotted off a few steps, distracted by something in the grass. The summer air was thick with the scent of growing plants, and the murmur of distant voices drifted from the Sanctuary’s main building.

Laura took a slow breath. “Don’t vanish on me again, okay?” she said, her tone light but sincere. “I mean, keep being Ghost or whatever, but... don’t stop talking altogether. I like knowing there’s still a person under all that silence.”

Delilah glanced at Laura, the corner of her mouth twitched—almost a smile. “I’ll think about it,” she replied softly.

Laura rolled her eyes, but grinned. “Fair enough.”

They continued along the perimeter, boots crunching softly on dried grass and dirt. The moon had shifted in the sky, and the distant hum of the Sanctuary had settled into a low, steady buzz. Orion padded ahead, occasionally glancing back as if to ensure they followed. The night air was warmer now, embracing them in a thick summer hush.

Delilah walked with her spear resting lightly against her shoulder, her eyes on the ground. She seemed more inward than before. Laura noticed the subtle droop of her posture, the tension lingering in the line of her jaw.

For a while, neither said anything. The silence between them was not uncomfortable, but it was heavy, weighed down by thoughts unspoken. Laura took her cues from Delilah, waiting patiently. She understood that these moments—when Delilah allowed herself to speak—were rare gifts. She wouldn’t push too hard.

Finally, Delilah exhaled softly. “I’ve been thinking,” she said, her voice quieter than the rustle of distant leaves. “About who I am now. About who I used to be.”

Laura glanced at her, keeping her tone gentle. “You want to talk about it?”

Delilah hesitated, her eyes following Orion as he nosed at a tuft of weeds. The dog’s innocent curiosity felt like a stark contrast to her inner turmoil. She tightened her grip on the spear, not out of fear, but to anchor herself. “I don’t know if talking fixes anything,” she began. “But… I feel like I’m losing myself. Bit by bit.”

Laura’s footsteps slowed slightly, allowing Delilah to set the pace. “Losing yourself how?” she asked softly, careful not to sound too eager. She knew that prying too hard might cause Delilah to retreat into silence again.

Delilah looked up at the sky, where the moon hung pale and steady, and her voice was as subdued as the dim starlight. “I hardly speak to anyone,” she said, “except you. I barely remember my own name sometimes, because everyone calls me Ghost. I do what’s asked of me without question. I kill because it’s expected. I stand behind Negan, and I—” She broke off, her throat tightening. “I do all these things because I’ve convinced myself it’s who I need to be to survive.”

Laura’s expression softened. She reached out, not touching Delilah but letting her hand hover near her arm—a quiet gesture of solidarity. “Maybe that’s how you survive,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “But is it how you want to live?”

Delilah’s breath caught. The question hung in the air. She hadn’t allowed herself to think that far. It had been about survival, about loyalty, about playing the role that kept her safe and kept Negan’s approval. But what did she want? Who was she beneath the silence and bloodshed?

“I don’t know,” Delilah admitted, shaking her head. Her voice quivered slightly, a rare vulnerability slipping through. “I remember a time when I cared about people just because they were people. When I tried to do the right thing, even if it was hard.” She hesitated, eyes drifting to Orion, who had trotted back to them and was now looking up, ears perked. “Now, I’ve become… something else. A weapon, a threat. A Ghost. And the worst part is that I don’t mind it as much as I should. That scares me.”

Laura listened, her heart twisting. She had known Delilah long enough to guess at the storm beneath that quiet exterior. She stepped closer until her shoulder was almost brushing Delilah’s. “You’re not just a weapon,” she said gently. “I see you. I see how you still hesitate sometimes, how the weight of what you do lingers in your eyes. You’re still there, Delilah. Even if you feel buried under that mask.”

Delilah closed her eyes for a moment, letting the words sink in. Laura calling her Delilah—it reminded her that someone still remembered she was more than just Ghost. More than Negan’s silent enforcer. “I’m afraid,” she whispered, voice so soft Laura had to lean in to catch it. “Afraid that if I keep going down this path, I’ll forget what it’s like to be anything else.”

Orion nudged Delilah’s leg, and she reached down to run her fingers through his fur. The simple comfort of a companion animal’s presence eased the tightness in her chest. Laura gave her a small smile. “Look, I can’t tell you what’s right or wrong. I’m no saint myself. But I know this: who you are is your call. Negan can make you do things, he can shape the environment around you—but he can’t force you to stop caring, or to lose your soul. That’s yours.”

Delilah lifted her gaze to Laura, surprised by the earnestness in her tone. “I don’t even know if I have a soul left,” she said, a brittle attempt at humor that fell flat.

Laura shrugged, lips curling in a half-smile. “You do. You’re here talking to me, aren’t you? You’re worried about losing yourself, which means you still value what you had. That means it’s not gone.”

They resumed walking, the patrol continuing under the watchful moon. The Sanctuary’s walls loomed in the distance, quiet and formidable. Delilah said nothing more for a while, just letting the silence settle around them like a gentle cloak. But this silence felt different—it was a silence of contemplation, not resignation.

Eventually, Delilah spoke again, her voice steadier than before. “Thank you,” she said simply. “For listening.”

Laura nodded, relief and warmth in her eyes. “Anytime, Delilah.”

They walked slowly back toward the Sanctuary, the dirt path bathed in soft moonlight. Laura’s presence offered some comfort, and Orion padded between them, occasionally looking up as if sensing the heaviness in the air. Delilah had said her piece, expressed the fear of losing herself, of not knowing who she was anymore—and Laura had listened. It should have been enough to ease the worst of her burden.

Yet, as they drew closer to the looming walls and the distant murmur of voices, Delilah felt a deeper, more secret ache in her chest. It throbbed with each step she took, heavier and more complex than the guilt she’d admitted to Laura. This was something she could not say aloud, not even to the one person she dared call a friend. It was a truth that filled her with shame and anger and made her grit her teeth to keep silent.

Negan saw her only as a weapon. He had once promised to talk to her, to explain things, to give her a chance to understand the shape of the future they were forging. She remembered the night he’d said it, months ago. He’d looked her in the eye, said something about how he appreciated her loyalty, how he wanted to ensure she understood her role and how important she was. He had used words like “trust” and “respect,” words that had sparked a quiet hope deep inside her.

But those words proved hollow. Each time they met, he only nodded at her—if she was lucky. More often, it was a pat on the shoulder, a quick glance, a gesture to intimidate someone, to show them what happened if they crossed him. Then he’d turn away, disappearing into his world of cunning deals, brutal lessons, and easy charm. She’d see him stride off with that confident grin, head tilted in that mocking way, Lucille balanced on his shoulder. Off to speak with others, to jest, to threaten, to pretend he was doing them all a favor by not killing them on the spot.

Worse still, he’d go to them—his wives. The women who lingered in their fine dresses, who had no chores beyond pleasing him, who laughed at his jokes and enjoyed his company. He talked to them. He shared words and time and perhaps even pieces of himself that she never got to see. He didn’t mind letting them into his quarters, didn’t mind letting them close enough to hear his voice, to touch him. While Delilah, Ghost, stood at a distance, more shadow than person, maintaining the fear he demanded.

She hated those women. The thought made her stomach twist with shame. They had done nothing to her directly, yet she despised them. She hated the softness in their eyes, the way they leaned in when Negan spoke. She hated the ease with which they gained his attention. When she saw him strolling back to them at the end of the day, or overheard their laughter floating down a hallway, it fanned the flames of her resentment.

Why did she care so much? Why did it matter who Negan talked to, or what promises he broke? He was her leader, nothing more—or so she tried to tell herself. But deep down, she knew she wanted something else. She wanted acknowledgment, real conversation, maybe a fragment of the understanding he had once promised. She wanted him to see her as more than a weapon he wielded.

She was jealous, and the jealousy horrified her. She didn’t want to feel this. It went against everything she’d tried to become. She’d hollowed herself out, turned herself into Ghost, a creature of silence and obedience. She shouldn’t care if Negan never kept his word, if he never spoke to her beyond an order or a passing grunt of approval. She shouldn’t care if he spent hours chatting with his wives, sharing jokes and stories or whatever they discussed behind closed doors.

And yet, she did.

As they neared the Sanctuary’s gates, her shoulders tensed. She could not tell Laura this. She could not explain how each time Negan ignored her, each time he casually patted her shoulder and moved on without meeting her gaze, it wounded her. She could not explain how anger surged in her chest when she thought of him making empty promises. Nor could she admit how much she hated his wives, not because of anything they had done, but simply because they had something she did not: his words, his attention, maybe even a scrap of his genuine care.

“Everything okay?” Laura asked quietly, noticing the tightness in Delilah’s posture.

Delilah forced a nod, schooling her features into cool detachment. She would not betray herself further. “Just tired,” she said softly. Her voice sounded hollow to her own ears.

Laura seemed to accept this answer. She did not press, did not ask more. Delilah was grateful. She did not want Laura’s pity or advice, not on this. This was a pain that lived in a secret corner of her heart, a shameful wound that festered in the dark. Better to keep it hidden. She was Ghost, after all—she could bear a silent torment.

They passed through the gates, the guards nodding silently. Inside the compound, the summer night seemed even warmer, the lights casting long shadows on the ground. People moved about quietly, some on late errands, others on guard duty. If anyone looked at Delilah, they saw only the feared Ghost, the silent enforcer of Negan’s will. None of them knew the turmoil behind her calm exterior.

As they headed toward the sleeping quarters, Orion nosed at her hand, and she absently petted him, grateful for the dog’s uncomplicated loyalty. At least Orion wanted nothing but a pat and a kind word now and then. No complicated expectations, no false promises.

Laura paused at a fork in the path, turning to meet Delilah’s gaze. “Get some rest,” she said gently. “Things will look different in the morning.”

Delilah nodded again, this time with a small attempt at a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Goodnight,” she murmured, and with that, she slipped away into the darkness of her room, spear in hand, her silhouette melding with the shadows.

In her room, Delilah sat tense and uncertain, hating the jealousy that coiled in her gut. She did not know that just across the hall, behind a closed door, Negan was lying awake on his bed, unsettled by thoughts of her.

Negan leaned against a faded headboard, shirt discarded and tossed to the side. The lantern on his nightstand cast a low, flickering glow that painted his muscular frame in shifting shadows. His wives were elsewhere, asleep in their own quarters, leaving him alone with the silence and the weight of his own doubts.

He ran a hand through his dark hair, frowning at the ceiling. She’d been distant again, colder than usual. He remembered the early days, months ago, when he swore he’d explain things to her, help her understand why he needed her at his back. He’d meant to sit her down, to let her know she was more than just a blade for him to wield. But time had slipped by and he’d never followed through. The truth was, he kept putting it off—tomorrow, maybe—and the tension between them had only thickened.

Now, lying here, he felt a hollow ache he couldn’t quite name. He was supposed to be the one in control, the leader who feared nothing, but the idea of her vanishing, like that time she’d run off and found the Kingdom, gnawed at him. She had come back eventually, but what if she left again? What if, one day, she decided his world wasn’t worth the price she’d been paying?

Negan closed his eyes, willing himself to sleep. He was about to give up on rest and maybe go to her room—just to talk, to see if he could get her to say a single honest sentence about what bothered her—when he heard the soft click of her door. She’d returned from patrol. He imagined her in that silent space, removing her spear and boots, settling in for the night. Perhaps she was pacing, or maybe she was just sitting on the bed, lost in thought as she so often seemed to be.

The urge to get up and cross the hallway, to knock softly and say something that would ease the unspoken strain between them, swelled in his chest. He even swung his legs over the edge of the bed, half-risen. But he stopped himself. Maybe tomorrow, when things felt clearer. Maybe tomorrow, he’d make time to say the words he’d meant to say for months, to reassure her that she mattered. That he noticed how she stood at his shoulder through every hard moment. That he valued her beyond just intimidation and death.

With a sigh, Negan lay back down, pressing his hand over his eyes. The Sanctuary slept, and so should he. Tomorrow, he promised himself again, though he could taste the uncertainty in that vow. Tomorrow, he would talk to her. Tomorrow, he’d tell her she was more than a weapon. He had to, because the thought of losing her a second time—of her slipping away into the dark—made something twist painfully inside him.

In the hush of the summer night, they lay in separate rooms, each trapped by their own fears and unspoken truths.

[succulentsiren]

〔 FAQ 〕

. what is feminine energy?

feminine energy is a force within and around all around us that is receptive, formless, magnetic and wild. feminine energy is not a fixed form or singular thing. it is our feelings of pleasure, pain, passion, rage, joy, emptiness and fulfillment. it is our sensual nature, emotions and physicality. it is associated with the basic senses (touch, taste, sound, smell, sight), creativity, destruction, imagination, sexuality and sustainability. the simplicity of being able to experience emotion and physical pleasure is feminine energy. feminine energy is free flowing, changeable and wild. feminine energy is so attractive because of the emotion and desire it what ignites in us. everyone wants to FEEL good.

. what feminine energy is not.

feminine energy is not a set of rules or fixed form based on how you dress, behave, speak, look, etc. those are mannerisms that are taught and learned. feminine energy is innate, meaning it is an energy that you are born with and doesn't have to be taught. remember feminine energy is what makes you feel good and it looks different for each individual. for some wearing dresses makes them feel best about themselves, while for others it's wearing blue jeans outs them at ease, etc.

. is feminine energy just for girls/females?

no. both females and males have feminine/masculine energy within'. women are more connected to the feminine energy and men are more connected with masculine energy because of our bodily hormones. the estrogen hormone is dominant in women and it deals with emotions. therefore women are prone to being more emotional and internal. the testosterone hormone is dominant in men and it deals with being productive, muscle mass and strength. therefore men are prone to being more active and energetic.

the goal is to balance both masculine and feminine energies in order to have the richest experience.

. the difference between dark and light qualities.

dark and light are labels influenced by society standards of what we are taught are bad and good. this includes our personal traits, desires, thoughts, beliefs and nature.

our dark qualities are what we have been taught are bad/harmful. because of this belief, we are uncomfortable with expressing these traits outwardly and suppress them. we are more like to be criticized and shunned.

our light qualities are what we deem as good/helpful. due to this belief we are comfortable and accepting of expressing these traits outwardly. we are more likely to be praised and accepted.

in the end, both your light and dark side are two sides of the same coin, yet all part of a whole. you cannot separate one from the other. instead of demonizing one and glorifying the other, you must learn to balance and accept both as you, unapologetically.

. my definition of dark feminine energy.

dark feminine energy is an elevated mindset where you release shame and own every aspect of who you are (shadow and light, needs and wants) in order to express yourself however you desire. it is about embracing the forbidden and not giving a fuck about being ‘good’ in the eyes of others.

dark feminine is not centered around men or anyone else. it is centered around self elevation and freedom, so that you can live a unapologetic lifestyle.

{ more here + here }

. my definition of light feminine energy.

light feminine energy is an elevated mindset where you own your gentle, nourishing and, open nature. it’s your nurturing, caring, empathetic, playful and affectionate side.

{ more here + here }

. what is a siren?

to be a siren is to be shameless in your self expression. it guides you to embrace your sensual nature, pleasures and fulfillments (which is considered dark/wrong in society), and stand powerfully in it, instead of shrinking in accordance to others. being a siren means to become the priority and put yourself first.

being a siren is about owning your dark side, light side, shadows and all. therefore, truly mastering yourself. becoming all powerful. you are no longer concerned about giving attention to those who try to bring you down, because you are thriving in a world of your own. it's about getting everything you want and acquiring your pleasures at all costs.

. what does it mean to be succulent?

suc·cu·lent. (adj.) - tender, juicy, and tasty, moist, delicious.

to be succulent is to be fulfilled in life. mind, body and spirit. it is to experience a fruitful, enriching reality. to have prosperity in all of your endeavors. to not only know, but stand in your power and attractiveness. to know your worth and act accordingly.

[enby-axels]

my hottest hotd take is that rhaenyra isnt bi, she has relationships with men bc she wants to be them (powerful, sexually liberated, etc.) or to feel desired. either way, her aspirations are taken advantage of by much older men. alicent, though, is definitely bi, her taste in men (criston cole) is just shit. but more importantly, she's never really acted on it bc her own desires and sexuality have always been inconsequential. theyre really two sides of the same coin, two different ways of exploring the contradictory exploitation of women in royalty and aristocracy

[robo-writing]

Came across your writings for the FFXVI boys and can I just gush how much I love your hcs of them for your NSFW Alphabet work specifically. So may I request for an expanded HC of the boys (either Cid or Joshua) being munches? Do they go pussy crazy with just the sight of their lover after being out for a long mission? Do they desire to drink up their juices after their lover has been yearning for them? Do they casually eat pussy as if it were another meal added to their day?

Anyways all that to say that I fell in love with your writing and can't wait to see more whether it's for FFXVI or any other fandom but your NSFW Alphabet specifically activated my neurons

Oh lovely anon, they’re two sides of the same coin! These two men are munches of the highest caliber, but where they differ is how they see the act itself.

Both men easily get drunk off your taste, and both men would gladly suffocate themselves against your mound if it meant they could wring another orgasm from you.

Joshua The man is devoted to you without a doubt, and him burying his face between your thighs is an expression of that devotion. He doesn’t feel good unless you feel good.

He’s a firm believer in overstimulation, he gets so lost in the feeling of you it's almost hard for him to stop once he gets going. Your thighs shake, it feels hard to breathe and Joshua's mouth still moves voraciously against your cunt. He's already came just from your taste alone, already working himself up again while you try to tell him you can't come again, but he's just not listening anymore. As far as he's concerned, you're finished when he says you're finished. Cid

Cid meanwhile, is all about pleasure. He shows his love by showing you just how talented his mouth is, and how good he can make you feel. He's much more of a tease, he wants to hear you cry for him, beg him for more, it feeds his ego like nothing else to know that he’s the only man in Valisthea that can have you like this, shaking and whimpering. And once he’s certain you’re at your peak he’ll suck your clit into his mouth, force your hips down and watch between lidded eyes as you scream his name into the very heavens. And honestly? He might just keep going.

[ourtearsofrain]

Chapter 6- Seen Over Sundown

Pairings: Jake Kiszka x Reader

Genre: fluff (bf material Jake), angst

Word Count: little over 1.2 k

Warnings: once again held at sword point

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

When you no longer hear the thundering of the falls on the deck above you, you reemerge from below deck. Unfortunately, Samuel is the first to spot you. Seeing you dry, he rolls his eyes as he wrings out the sleeves of his shirt.

“Afraid of a little water, are you?”

Once again, you ignore his comment as you make your way back to Jacob to give the map back. The second you spot him, you take a sharp breath in. The falls had soaked him from head to toe, his hair sticking to his forehead and cheeks as he checks his compass. His shirt clings to his body, allowing you to see every dip and curve of his soft stomach and sides. Your mind wanders unintentionally, briefly imagining kissing every part of his stomach, sinking your teeth into his skin. A violent blush settles on your cheeks as you tear your gaze back to his face, growing closer to the man and not wanting to get caught looking.

“Here you are, captain.” You say as you hold the map out to him.

He takes it, smiling. “It’s just Jacob to you, Polaris. Jake, if you want.”

You try the name out. “Jake.”

“Jake.” He repeats. “But don’t let Joshua hear you call me that, he already told me off earlier for not making you address me as “Captain Kiszka”.”

You move closer to him as he unfolds his map once more. “So, how long do we have until we make port?”

He tears his gaze away from you down to the map in his hands, realizing he had been pouring over your features as you stood closer to him than ever before.

“Two hours, I’d say.”

Across the ship, Joshua leans against the wooden railing next to Samuel.

“I cannot fucking believe Jacob is taking to Polaris just like that. He should know better than to immediately trust a random street rat that knows too much about fighting than they should.”

Joshua sighs, looking at his younger brother as he shares the same feelings.

“As long as we are on his ship, he won’t hear a word against them. Daniel’s already too trusting of them as well. Keep an eye on them, especially if they think they’re alone with Jacob or Daniel. I have a feeling they haven’t told us everything, and it will resurface soon enough.”

Samuel only nods as the two men continue to watch their brother at the helm, smiling at Polaris as he explains each part of his ship.

~

Just as Jacob, Jake, had said, the ship makes port two hours later at a crowded dock, many pirate and sailor ships alike docked to restock and trade. After surveying the ships for any unwanted familiar flags, Danny, Jake, Joshua, Samuel, and you head into the town, leaving the rest of the crew aboard the ship.

Your group begins to make its way through the town, seeing many vendors littered across the streets and selling their products. Just as you had promised, enemy pirate captains and British soldiers are nowhere to be found. You spot a produce stand, gleefully running over as you recognize their apples. Jake trails behind you, both needing to keep an eye on you and not wanting you to get separated from the group. You pick an apple up, turning it in your hands as you bring it up to inhale its intoxicating scent.

“Where are these from?”

“Imported straight from Giapan, I only have the best here.” The vendor responds with a smile.

Jake appears at your side, a small smile gracing his features as he watches you. “You like them?”

“Mhm. Danny gave me one last night on the ship. I don’t know if it was just because of my hunger but, they’re the best I’ve ever tasted.”

Jake begins rifling through his pockets before pulling out two doubloons and handing them to the vendor.

“How much will this get me?”

The man eyes the coins in his hand. “A dozen, take your pick.”

Jake pulls out a medium sized canvas bag from his jacket, handing it to you with a smile.

“Thank you, Jake.”

You accept it and begin to sort through the basket of apples, searching for the best of the best. After you’ve taken your pick, you and Jake rejoin the group as they stand off to the side of the street waiting for you.

“Can we go get the things we actually need now, Jacob?” Joshua says, annoyance thick in his tone.

Jake ignores him, already taking the lead of the group with you at his side as he makes his way through the throngs of people towards their next stop. You spend the rest of the day in town with them, going from vendor to vendor to get each item needed. Before heading back to the ship, you find yourself in a small tavern as you all sit down to eat and drink. Throughout the evening, you notice Joshua and Samuel beginning to warm up to you, seeing less glares and rolled eyes from them as you converse.

Eventually, Joshua slams his glass down onto your table dramatically.

“Alright, we really should get going now. Need to give our crew something to do and get this food to Rosanna.”

He throws a few coins onto the table before standing, the rest of your group following suit soon after. You make your way out onto the street with them, the setting sun casting golden light across the town. Jake’s shoulder bumps yours as you walk, and you look over to him to see him smile at you. You return it, continuing your path close to his side. Eventually reaching the dock, you pause to watch the sun disappear into the sea’s horizon for a moment before following the others onto the ship.

You’re met with a blade at your throat as soon as your feet hit the deck, the bag of apples immediately dropping from your shoulder as you bring your hands up. You look past the muscular pirate at the other end of the blade, seeing Jake, Danny, Joshua, and Samuel in similar positions.

“So good of you all to finally join us.” Your blood runs ice cold at the voice.

No no no no no no. This isn’t happening.

You can only see her mess of frizzy curls over the shoulder of the man in front of you, but you would recognize that voice anywhere. The pirate moves around you, keeping the blade at your throat as he stands behind you, pushing you towards the others slowly. Lady Helena stands at the center of the group, too focused on her delight of catching the others off guard to notice you.

“I told you boys that you would regret not joining me some day.”

They say nothing, all four men’s faces contorted with rage as they stared her down. She finally turns her focus to you, walking towards you with a maniacal grin on her face.

“And what do we have here?” She stops only a foot away from you, looking you over as if you were some prize. As she stares at you, her face drops into a look of confusion, stepping towards you to get a better look.

“No, it can’t be.” She grabs your chin, tilting your face to see the small scar next to your eyebrow. The scar she gave you. She lets out a gasp of awe and realization, a grin once again overtaking her features.

“It is.”

You stare daggers at her, your jaw tense as you look into her eyes.

“Hello, Helen.”

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

A/N: the title, of course, is taken from the lyrics to The Indigo Streak

[shroudkeeper]

The red-lantern district had suited Shigure's needs, especially with the left-over coin from his exploits. He was shamed by his former clan, and humiliated by the oyabun, but here it didn't matter. Whilst under the sway of scarlet lights, the feel of silks, and the lascivious entertainment that was provided, he could plot his own vengeance. Whether it was his brother or the man who was more of a father figure than his own flesh and blood, they failed to see the bigger picture.

And for that, they would not be a part of his grand design.

“..is that right, my little bird, you will do anything for me? ” how beautiful she appeared before him, with soft lips that ached for a kiss, he wanted to rip his very teeth into them, taste the ichor that flowed in her veins. He sampled her skin each night, some evenings she would fight against him but she always succumbs to him. His spirited little beast, how the chase only made the victory all the sweeter.

She made no noise, but her body ultimately always responded to his touch. The quivering of her slender limbs, the shudder that ran its course down her spine, all keynotes of her pleasure. Something Hayate was incapable of giving her.

“ I know what lies under all of this supple, and malleable, flesh. The true beauty that no one but me sees. My brother is blind, your father is an old fool latched to the past, sentimental about a dead daughter who has no worth compared to you.” Forcefully, he dug into her skin possessively, forcing her to settle upon his lap so he could look at her directly and see the reflection of the monster beyond her gilded eyes.

“ Yet you still decide to invest time in someone who lacks worth, an ijin who barely can handle a blade to defend you. You belong to me, all of you, every monstrous ilm making up your existence. What must I do to make you understand, make you see, how much you mean to me..” His jaw tightened and he ran his fingers along the curvature of her naked frame, feeling every ridge of her spine, the slender pathway of her arms that lead up to her shoulders, until he found his prize.

Her slender neck.

Rivulets of water ran down the canvas of her body, glistening under the gentle touch of moonlight illuminating them both. She struggled, kicking her legs, but he lifted her high above the surface of their shared bath. Waves of hot breath fell against her face as her features contorted into pain. Finally, she breaks into a stifled sound of supplication, but his hands are unwilling to release her.

She was fighting back again, as she did each night when he asked her this. Why could she not answer her truthfully, that she too wanted him, that she needed him badly in her life. They were cut from the same cloth: two horrors that were intimate with death. He wanted her to confess it, to say it. Suddenly the strangled cries emerged, but it was not the sound he wanted to hear. He pressed on but to no avail.

He would force it out of her, no matter what, he would have the words greet his horns. To satisfy him.

Crack!

The sickening sound silenced her cries, and within a heartbeat, her arms fell off to her sides and she failed, as others before her, to provide him with the answer he deserved.

The sound did not shake him, but it shattered his illusion, and thios warped fantasy dissolved when his vision became clear. Shigure saw the woman he paid for listlessly hanging from his grip, no longer smiling at him, cooing from his touch. There was no empathy, no remorse, only disappointment as he sobered and saw the farce before him.

Men. Women. They all became disenchanting when the sake ran its course.

[dracomort]

Really find your opinion of dracomort true in the sense that it's mainly a noncon ship true. Personally never saw tom as a sexual being, he is kind of in an asexual spectrum for me. What's your opinion on drarry, tomarry and harrymort?(on basis of canon)

Yes, I generally write Tom as some sort of acespec.

By 'basis of canon' I assume you mean their plausibility in canon?

If so, Drarry certainly has the greatest probability given that no moral event horizon crossing crimes have occurred between them. There is a great deal of freedom when it comes to writing post-war drarry. There's also a lot to build on - Harry using Draco's wand to kill Voldemort, Draco avoiding identifying Harry at Malfoy Manor, Fiendfyre, Sectumsempra, their shared cousin/godson, Harry being Sirius's heir vs Draco being the last of the Blacks, etc. In some ways theyre two sides of the same coin - children used as pawns by powerful men. In other ways, they couldn't be more different.

I've also answered asks about Tomarry vs Taco and my ideal Drarry dynamic previously, which I think are relevant here :)

Tomarry is probably a ship that varies wildly depending on how the writer has chosen to make them meet. Same Age AU or No Magic AU are VERY different propositions to a Canon-Divergent Time-Travel or Horcrux fic to me. The core reason is that well, um, Voldemort killed Harry's parents and the prophecy makes any sort of reconciliation very difficult. No matter how much he likes a person, I believe Tom's self-preservation instinct would override that.

I do think Tom and Harry could come to respect each other. Harry has a lot of traits that Tom values and vice versa. In HBP we see Harry develop a reluctant admiration for Tom's bravery and audacity when confronting his uncle. But I really have a hard time ever seeing Harry's morals bend to accommodate Tom's bigotry, nor Tom limit himself to placate Harry. Think leaning into the shades of reckless violence and anger in Harry's personality and aligning them against a common enemy is where I'd take it. Still, Harry wouldn't put up with Tom's genocidal tastes. I find it implausible enough in older Drarry fics when Harry turns a blind eye to Draco calling Hermione a Mudblood (or worse, treats it like a charming personality quirk), let alone tolerating TOM'S attitudes sdfghjk

While Diary!Tom is curious about Harry as a genuine potential threat (though ultimately decides that he's overhyped), Voldemort only views him as an obstacle—Dumbledore's puppet—as he puts it. I don't think Voldemort has any interest in Harry as a person. He just wants to dispose of him in the most theatrical fashion possible to reassert his own power and dominance after being bested by a baby. Similar to what I said on the Dracomort ask about him needing to see Draco as a separate identity from Lucius, the same is necessary for Harry from Dumbledore. My opinion on Harrymort isn't particularly different from my opinion on Dracomort. The fifty year age gap puts a strain on plausibility for me for there ever being any real love or respect, but anything else goes. Now, Voldemort and an older Harry—maybe in his 30s or 40s—could be a different conversation.

[popculturebuffet]

Morphin Time: A Boom Studios Mighty Morphin Power Rangers Retrospective: Issues 0 and 1 (Patreon Review for Brotoman.exe)

It's Morphin Time all you happy people! Yes folks it's time once again to launch another respective! And this time we're looking at a series i've only glanced at. Yes it's time to let the power protect us as we look at the BOOM Studios! Power Rangers Comics.

If your reading this post you probably DON'T need an introduction to the mighty morphin power rangers, but the short version for those of you who stumbled into this because you like kermit the frog, because you have good taste and deserve good things: Mighty Morphin Power Rangers is the first in the long running massively popular Power Rangers Franchise, a cheesy series that followed five 90's as hell saved by the bell looking teenagers with attitude who were picked by a blue tube man and his nerdy robot son to fight the evil sorceress rita replusa, who tube man zordon had left on the moon in a dumpster which astronauts found. Our heroes would spend the days with various teen shenanigans, fight a monster, then Rita would MAKE HER MONSTER GROW, they'd get in a super fighting robot using stock footage and the day would be saved. The teens also reguarly delt with bumbling dumbasses and everyone's faviorite characters bulk and skull. Rita eventually remembered she had a shiny power coin of her own, so she turned new kid and franchise icon Tommy Oliver into her own green ranger. After a dope as hell 5 parter, the rangers defeated their new counterpart, freed him and turned him to his side. There's a bunch more including peace confrences, australian cat women, failed kamen rider spinoffs, aliens, flying cars, robot ninjas, ooze men who aren't canon sadly, skydiving that also isn't canon, marriage being the greatest evil scheme of all, baby carraiges, many a cast change, and explosions. And that's just the first series, but for today's comic we really only need to get up to when Tommy joined as that's when this story began.

The comic came about during Boom's big mid 10's liscensing boom period, with tons of licenses from Adventure Time, Regular Show and Steven Universe, to Rocko and Rugrats, to John Fucking Carpenter himself co writing a Big Trouble in Little China comic. It was really the companies golden age as big hits like Giant Days were also out and about, though the companies mildly pivoted more towards the indies these days. Not a bad move given their backlog includes Giant Days, Once and Future and Lumberjanes. The former two are some of my faviorite comics period with Giant Days possibly being my faviorite comics run period, while the latter is something I badly want adapted but keeps getting jerked around in that regard.

BOOM is kinda the middle child of the big indies. Image is the big shadow looming over all, regularly churning out era defining comics like Invincible, Radiant Black (A comic I badly want to read from the same creator as this book and it's sister book go go power rangers), Saga (Which I haven't read but have heard good things) or the Wicket + The Divine, as well as smaller stone cold classics still close to my heart like Chew and Farmhand, with it now getting into lisensed work with the Energon Universe. IDW was at least for a long time ahead lisensing wise and tends to recover quickly there and still has both Sonic, which has had an impressive and healthy run and TMNT, which ran for 150 issues and has had nearly that many alongside it in mini series, crossovers, mini series for other continuities, and one shots and is about to relaunch next month, and Dark Horse which while fumbling for a bit has steadily rebounded becoming both a lisensing juggernaught once again. In contrast boom used to lean heavily on it's lisenses while allowing it to take risks on indie titles, oftne paying off with stuff like again Giant Days.

Still Power Rangers , likely like TMNT at IDW, provides a nice stable backbone overall, with this very book having ran for 8 years ending this year, and it being clear Hasbro isn't leaving BOOM. In addition to a long as hell main book, the series has had two diffrent companion series: GoGo Power Rangers, my personal faviorite, which covers the teams adventures just after getting their powers up to right before green with evil, and Mighty Morphin, which followed a second team I can't get into much but you've probably heard about. And that's not getting into the mini series, graphic novels, and other various power rangers spinoffs, alternate universe things, etc. Boom has been good to the franchise, this franchise has been good to him and despite wondering if the end of the mighty morphin series means the end of power rangers, it's clear the company has no signs of loosing their cash cow even after Saban sold it to Hasbro.

So that brings us to this series. The Boom Continuity is a soft reboot of the Mighty Morphin era: It's now set in modern day with modern fashion and Bulk and Skull naturally running a youtube channel, more on that later, but a lot of the event sof the show still happened. No word on if they fought the rapping pumpkin still but i'm inclined to go with "Yes". So the series picks up right after green with evil but dosen't take place in the same universe as the live action shows, something they seemed to bounce back and forth about for a bit before deciding "Nah".

They also decided to start right after green with evil instead of adapt it though I expect it's part an audience thing, most people picking it up or reading this various article know the broad strokes, and part simply wanting to tell their own stories, as that's more attractive to fans than an adaptation anyways.

So our series picks up with the team having a new member and decides to play with that a bit, with our first arc having Tommy adapting to being a ranger, having a tight knit friend group, and the voice of the woman who brainwashed him in his head voicing all his insecurities. So you know, high school. It leads into a larger arc with a big beastie, world destruction and an evil tommy I haven't read, having only read this first 6 issues and thought they were fine. I later read gogo in full and read through the necessary evil era by writer Ryan Parrot, so I haven't dove into this era of rangers that deeply. But now thanks to brotoman i'm going in deep, from the start to at least the massive shattered grid crossover. Wether we go on AFTER that... is up to him, but i'm fine wither way and curious to see if this series improves a bit in my eyes on a second look. So get out your morpher, shout tyransaurus or doot on a flute, however you prefer and let's look at MMPR #0 and #1

We start at 0. This was, as far as I can tell so they could release an issue before the proper run to hype the series up at conventions and such, something I can't blame them for: Power Rangers had had a history in comics, a marvel series at their height, a few others after, and most recently before this a few graphic novels by papercutz for samurai, mega force and mighty morphin itself. Nothing bad, but not really the big nostalgic rollout other franchises had had in comics and nothing aimed at older fans of the franchise like this, so they had every reason to hype it.

Picking mighty morphin was also a good call. It's what the public knows as power rangers, it has a simple enough setup to explore with some depth while stilll getting that nostalgia pop that makes money. I do hope they move on from it as while I like MMPR, I grew up with it and all the franchise has had a MASSIVE life after it I've discovered thanks to history of power rangers. MMPR isn't bad and some projects kinda HAVE to be this: launching in it was the right call as is the upcoming brawler rita's rewind, which I intend to buy as soon as it comes out, being set there as MMPR had a smorgasbord of games in the 16 bit era, I just think expanding a bit beyond one arc covering a team made up of legacy rangers and a few graphic novels isn't a bad idea and i'm glad ranger academy exists for that. At the very least i'm mistified they've only done the dream team concept once so far.

We begin the issue with the green ranger having.. killed everyone with Rita praising him and him willing to serve and please make it stop. '

Thankfully it does as this was all just a dream by one Tommy Oliver, the ranger among rangers. Jason asks what ya dreamin about bud but can't really get through to him, with Tommy deflecting it's just nervous it's his first day. And I do like the response a lot. It's one of the better scenes in these first two issues

It's simple but it really works for me and shows the sheer pressure they have. YOu may of also noticed rita. This isn't the real her but a voice in the back of tommy's head voicing all his doubts. I hear you tommy, my anxiety also resembles a witch. WOn't stop rhyming or talking about that bear and bird. It's exhausting.

I like this concept: That Tommy dosen't get over his guilt at what he did while mind controlled or his doubts easily and has trouble fitting into the gang: while Jason and Kimberly warmly welcome him, it's clear they already have a vibe going, with the gang being blindsided by a test they thought was next week. It's hard to crack in and Rita may be all of tommy's insecurities manifested as his greatest enemy.. but she has a point: do they even want him too. And as we'll find out next issue while most are open to it, one of them very much dosen't.

That said while I like this concept.. it has flaws. For one focusing so heavily on Tommy.. means the others don't really get to do much this issue, bantering a bit about Billy's push notification obession and setting up who they are for new readers, as well as hinting at Zack not liking tommy much, but otherwise it's mostly on tommy and most we get from him at least early on is he's a sad boy. I'm not saying he has no reason to be.. but it may of not been the best choice to do this story arc one. It would've been better to have some time to get to know our six, let tommy's unease and zack's tension build.. but instead at arc one tommy is at a pretty low point, and the story goes up to 10 right after this with a huge crisis. There isn't time for our characters to settle before the world gets flipped upside down.

Part of this is being spoiled by later series GoGo Power Rangers, with Ryan Parrot having a more relaxed take: There's an ongoing story to it, but it's more focused on fleshing out the five teenagers with attitude (minus Tommy as it takes place before Green with Evil). It's why his later run with necessary evil, while also starting with the rangers in a tight spot as it takes place just after the transfer of power and has team adjusting to three new recurits and tommy adjusting to leadership... flows better to me. It let the characters build so when it puts them in a tight spot, you feel more. Here it feels like Kyle Higgins has a LOT of plot he wants to get to so he lets the characters hurt a bit. We do get more character intreractoin next issue that helps a bit but i'm hoping this arc has more than I remember.

At class we get a talk about counter intellegence before i'ts morphin time: Rita has evil plans, as we see iwth a cutaway to her moon fortress which looks as cool as ever, and she sends Bullzer down.

And look I don't want to make this review "Oops all gripes".. but we have another problem right away: the monster design.

As you can see... Bullzer.. is really generic and trying to be scary. And i'm not against making a monster intimidating, tha'ts fine. But it dosen't look.. power rangers. I'm not asking the artists to imitate cheap rubber or have it be a skeleton with a fancy hat. I would prefer bones but I love skellingtons. I just do. But the monsters were creative. You had guys like my guy eye guy whose just made of eyes or pudgy pig whose a pig head in a roman soldier helmet. I mean sure looking thorugh a gallery of season 1 monsters there were duds

But even mr ticklesneezer, and yes that is his legal god given name, is at least creative being trini's childhood doll made into this abomination. They even had, to my shock a better looking gamera knockoff

Is he a tad goofier? Yes. Does he still have dope claws and the name shell shock. Yes. Im not saying you have to be as campy.. but it's weird to have no camp when the costumes and zords aren't changed. You didn't update the zords to look more realistic, thank god, why are the monsters suddenly trying to be more down to earth? I'm not asking for rapping pumpkins or pudgy pigs or that fucking elf, please for mr ticklesneezer's sake

But it put me off the book instantly that the first monster they fight and most they do , if my memory serves..a re just bland generic monsters. I like a good turtle boy, but this is just... trying too hard to be "ADULT" and "EDGIER". I"m not saying power rangers can't tackle complex topics but I am saying you can't forget that it's still power rangers

To contrast this I went to look up gogo's first monster and I do wish he was a tad campier too

But while Flog here is also generic.. he at least dosen't stick out as much like a sore thumb. He's still perhaps a bit too hyper realistic for this universe, but details like the simple mildly goofy name, the earring, the bhoots.. it feels like they put a bit more effort in. I get Bullzer is just a one off.. but so was most every other power rangers monster. The people at super sentai put hard work into these things.. most of the time and the people on saban's end had to come up with new names and gimmicks. Sometimes they were horrible ideas but it feels like more effort was put in. Hopefully this gets better.

The fight itself thoguh is neat as the team has to use strategy as gamera's angsty teenage son has thick armor, while Tomm'ys ptsd anxiety ghost rita causes him to freeze up at points. he's able to beat the monster, giving it a drill that will pierce the heavens.. but freezes when trying to save a bridge. Tommy blames it on technicals and Jason.. is a bit of a dick and blames it on tommy not following orders, as he rushedin at the start of a fight. Zordon tells them both to cut that shit out: Jason needs to help loop tommy in better and Tommy needs to ask for help. And they both need to prepare: while getting Tommy back from rita was a big victory, Rita is petty.. and her revenge is coming. Rather than possess a teenager struggling with his sexualityt hough her plan is instead to have Scorpia fish a crystal out of a river. A new era begins.

We then get a backup story that was in the back of my trade so I only read it as I wrote this, but boy it is fun: The Ongoing Adventures of Bulk and Skull. Since BOOM! knew who the real heroes were, we got this backup feature with our heroes in all their glory, written by gay icon Steve Orlando. Orlando's been easily one of my favoirite comics writers, currently writing the phenominal scarlet witch ongoing at marvel and formerly having reinvented midnighter at dc before taking on the justice league with his own nicely mismatched team.

It's a short two issue gag story as Bulk and Skull deal with Principal Caplan: Caplan is an excessively minor power rangers character who as far as I can tell mainly showed up to be a foil to our faviorite goofuses. It's still a nice deep cut and I love the joke about him having taken up glassblowing for the stress, made a scream jar and somehow filled it. "Screams have no mass! Your not supposed to fill it!". They use a large deli lunch order to escape and then try to hit on some girls unsuccessfully who are more intrested in the rangers. It's there Bulk gets a terrible idea: if girls like the power rangers, then they'll BECOME power rangers. A truly perfect bulk and skull shenanigan.

There's another backup that's beautfiully drawn, but i'll mostly skip as it's just a one off fight with goldar. Not bad at all, lot of fun, but not why we're here. Granted Bulk and Skull isn't either, but it's both a dedicated backup and a nice bit of levity after all the emo.

Speaking of which our proper first issue opens with the dynamic duo giving a recap of events up to the start of this series on their youtube channel RANGER STATION. Ranger Station is a fantastic concept: our doofy heroes always had some shenanigan or hustle going and later zeroed in on finding out who the rangers were... this just combines their two schticks perfectly. I love Skull interjecting, Bulk saying every episode is someone's first and their gateway to susbscribe which is how I approach my blog so, respect, and we have Skull plugging their premium content which would be on a patreon these days, just like the early days of this blog. My patreon is still active by the way and 5 dollar contributors get a 5 dollar review a month. If they can shill for themselves so can I.

They recap the events so far: how the power rangers came about when rita did, green with evil and now the shocking development from the 0 issue: The Green Ranger has joined the team. Bulk is naturally super pumped but asks the average citzen what they think. Some think due to the bridge mishap, Tommy's still evil, the first woman theya sk has the very valid point of wanting the rangers to you know, explain why the guy who tried to kill everyone is now on their side. And given the Rangers DO have the valid explination of "the person behind the monster sbrainwashed them"... yeah probably shoudl've done a press release. And one guy thinks it's too many colors. He later died of cardiac arrest when we got up to 8 ranger teams.

Bulk and Skull end up talking to tommy, who is awkard and Kim luckily is able to ward them off. Tommy plans to get some training in after school so Kim joins him to spend time with her crush then hopefully get a coffee date. Kim has game.

Issue 1 is step up in tone. I complained a lot and likely will again about the sries sometimes bleak tone... but this issue ballances the every day stuff better with the teenagers with attitude. Since Tommy isn't seeing PTSD Rita EVERY second, we get a chance to breathe, still feel him doubting himself and wallowing in self loathing, but not be strangled by it.

We then get Jason and Zack in class where an assholish teacher wakes Zack up from his nap and puts him in detention for it. Now you might say "Jake that's not exactly a dick move, he shouldn't sleep in class" and to that I say... captain beard has no idea WHY Zack did. He could have a job, of had an emergency. All Zack says is "I didn't get enough sleep", but given how stressful teenagers lives are, there's a LOT of reasons for that beyond "Ranger Stuff". I"m not saying it's good to sleep in class but i'm saying maybe talk to your student. And when Jason tries to stand up for him... he also gets detttention.

The rangers have lunch and break down their plans; Kim's hanging with tommy, Jason and Zack are in a dettention Zack boldy assumes he could get out of.. though then again I do have this pet theory that like zack morris he can freeze time because all zacks have that power, so maybe Jason jumped in too soon. Tommy tries to join in but they all gotta go, diffrent lunch periods. We then get Bulk interviewing Jason who stands up for Tommy.. but it's clear Zack's a bit more hesitant.

Meanwhile we go to Rita's Moon Castle, where she's working on her vauge evil plan: the mystery crystal what Scorpina dredged out of the river is charged a bit thanks to the bullzer but it needs more energy... apparnetly too much green energy can be dangerous too.

In class Jason clearly knows SOMETHING'S up with Zack and why he can't sleep no good, and tells zack he's ready to listen when he's ready to tell him. IT's a nice friendship moment. After Zack asks if Jason's SURRREEE all this okay. Jason admits that Zordon adding tommy to the team without asking them sucks.. but Zordon picked them. If he has faith in tommy, they have to trust that. I do like this tension, that adding someone who just attacked them, brainwashed or not isn't easy. I also like that, as we'll get later, ther'es more to Zack's issues than just being the token douche. His backstory behind this is still a TAD douchey but it's intresting.

Tommy and Kim are up next running a training sim. Unfortunately for them... it's a kobiashi maru bitch. The survivors their leading from some putties.. get lead straight into some and if they hadn't, they would've gotten squished. Tommy.. can't accept that and Kim sadly accepts she's not getting a date... but dosen't you know.. TELL him she's upset. "Sigh" Teen Angst, I do not like reliving it.

We end the issue with Tommy mopnig at home.. only for Scorpina to hav ea knife to this throat.

TO BE CONTINUED

We continue bulk and skulls antics before we go: the two race to the scene of a battle and accidently knock out a putty thinking he's a guy asking for directions. Good stuff. Bulk decides he can use this. He'll fight the thing for a raging crowd! or something.

So that ends our first look at boom and while I had a LOT to gripe about the first issue the second.. is much better. It feels like the characters have more room to breathe and thus get fleshed out. Granted issue 0 was just supposed to be a slow start.. but given there was a backup story thrown in there to fill the issue, it would've made more sense ot just.. do a full issue teaser since issue 0 still kicks off events. Still so far the series isn't bad and might be better than I remember. Either way this is going to be a long trip and I thank you all for coming with me. May the power protect you.

[stormxpadme]

AO3 has been kicking me out for around 10mins bcs of pages loading too slow on wifi and data both so it wont let me post a comment on ch 7 (i think) SO HERE IT IS i will not go to sleep till i send it to you PUBLICALLY ! (gonna also paste it into ao3 tmrw but i need to send it now and then pass out for at least 3 more hrs xD):

REMYYYYYY AAAA i literally firgot everything i was gonna say when i figured out its gambjt j'fucking adoreeeee 🥰🥰🥰

one bad mutant for eric one food mutant fir charles. theyre just playing chess at this point. assholes. also with the like killing and mystiques comment abt another talk between erik and charles i had a thiught there... hmmmm.... i wish i rmbrd what kt was. OH YEAH. it hink i said this a while ago somewhere that its like. Its a draw, and impasse, and until either one of them crossed any of the arbitrary lines they drew in the sand nothing will change

Also scott is a dumbass and katja is so extremely like. Idealistic. I love that for her bcs she still has enthusiasm amd has that righteous anger that comes off as either annoying or hopeful to someone whos been fighting a war for so long such as scott. And i love that part of the convo where scott is like we cant save the whole world. It made me think of schindlers list and that quite - the man who saves a life has saved a world entire. Which is ironic given that its eriks goons doing this, which AGAIN brings me to erkis hypocrisy this time and like. Him and charles are just two sides of a same coin arent they?

The encounter with that girl yesterday had left him more confused than he had experienced in years. - side eyeing you for this 👀🤨😤😹❤️

With this weapon, we can turn all of New York into mutants in a few days and all of humanity in six months - oh i rmbrd now! (I cooy some quites to clipboard not to forget to comment on them xd) - what i wanted to say here is that i have all the love and none of the respect for cartoonish villain plans ised to attract the attention of your ex boyfriend xD "imma turn the whole new york into SHARKS and i'll be the SHARK MASTER" like dude chill ffs just text him its okay its cool xD.

❤️

It sent, actually! But yeah, everything's lagging there right now including my answers to you and I'm getting unnerved bc AO3 GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER. So I will answer here :D And then I will send you to bed BECAUSE REASONS.

And hey, there's a definite advantage to posting here: You can include visuals :D.

I needed my red eyed Cajun baby in there :D. I mean obviously, since the team is what it's like in the 90s cartoon plus one additional weather-witch, but also because Remy is too fucking cute (and Taylor Kitsch was too fucking hot playing him).

Yeep, exactly. Charles and Erik love each other far too much still for their own good. This whole thing would long have been over with everyone dead if they didn't hold their respective people back. With how it's going, there's just more and more collateral damage on the way, and those two still will just fuck it out and cry on each other's shoulder in the end, and they deserve all the shade thrown at them for it.

Uuugh now I get emotional about Schindler's list again, never managed to rewatch that, it broke me so much the first time already. I think it's really the hardest part about this job? Getting to terms that you can't be everywhere at once and that making as much of a difference as you can is what counts and not saving everyone because that simply won't work. And my girl is still at the beginning of learning that sigh. It's really chilling seeing Erik walk around killing off random people in this franchise just because they're normal people bc like. This is what happens when someone's been on the receiving end of this and then gets the power to turn the tables on the fascist assholes. The moral dilemma of the whole thing ugh.

Oh god, I'm so sorry for this storyline already LOL. Poor Ororo really needs better taste in men …

thanks, now I can never take that plan seriously again LOOOL. I mean, when Erik finally gets up to get this plan up and started, Charles will indeed be there in person, so I guess in the end the plan worked? :D

[castlebyersafterdark]

ok seeing as we are chatting underwear, this has opened up so many lines of enquiry for me that ive never found a forum for. i would love to hear your thoughts on this in whatever detail you like!

a family member recently exposed her crush on a girl from a band, and her shock and confusion cos she doesnt have any other queer leanings and never has. her husband was like 'i understand because women stereotypically are soft and smell good which is part of the appeal for [straight] men, whereas men stink and are dirty and hairy' lmaooooo

and i was like thats part of the appeal in a way i can't even explain. and since learning more about gay culture through byler tumblr, i have been pleasantly surprised to see all these things like... gay men can have armpit fetishes? they lick each other's armpits? and im like go for it! i have never ever had the urge to do that and dont know any female straight friends who have either, even though we too are attracted to men and masculinity. so the difference between these two types of masculine attraction fascinate me. i also tried licking my own armpit once - im a woman and it was relatively clean and hairless, and it still left a bitter, awful taste on my tongue that i literally couldnt get rid of lmaooooooooooo

so back to sears catalogue - i'm curious about this underwear as a sexual awakening for gay or queer men, because though i find men attractive, men's underwear has always been quite amusing to me? like it has to be practical in a way that women's just doesn't. so its almost like the male equivalent of a bra i guess, rather than ladies pants. but bras can be pretty and you dont often see pretty underwear for men that isn't based on feminine designs? your standard everyday men's underwear is intrinsically awkward NO SHADE - too tight and it's funny, too loose and it's considered boyish, too patterned and it's childish, too plain and it's still like a skin tight pair of shorts? i dont know, maybe all those elle girl magazine articles i read as a teen have been too influential on me.

i just think, in a way, that gay male desire is so much purer and more understanding than straight female desire. maybe because the latter comes with this sense of exotic unknowable-ness - at the end of the day, we will never truly understand men, and men won't understand us? and i suppose the other side of this coin is women being flummoxed with men finding us angelic or sweet smelling bla bla - because to women, we are just as gross as men lol. see above my armpit story !!!

so i guess i'd love to hear more details about how gay desire and attraction develops with regard to underwear/presentation/a body thats similar to your own in many ways yet also different and attractive. thanks!

This is sooooo interesting to me and I don't even know where to begin! I shall try.

In my honest opinion, sometimes... a man in just underwear (or a jock or some I guess you'd call it lingerie or whatever) is so much hotter than just full nude. And you know, I think other sexualities of many gender combos might agree, too, for what they like? It's like. Bodies are great, but so is the variation. It's how the body is framed, knowing what's underneath, it's still not the everyday thing you walk around in. It's funny you describe men's underwear as amusing and just practical because I may say the same thing about the standard bra? To me they're kind of a goofy item. But they serve a purpose. And maybe someone into women will see just the everyday bra and think it's the hottest thing ever because it's on a woman. I can understand the appeal of fancy undergarments on anyone, that makes total sense. Like I can look at a photo or whatever of a lady in a nice lingerie set and think, oh get it girl. She looks nice! But even the most basic of garments... men just look good in them? (Except boxers. I hate them hahaha. they're giving nothing.)

It's like... that first glimpse kind of sticks with people sometimes. Maybe it's not universal and everyday I am getting less and less concerned about getting personal on here lol but. It's def a thing for me? There's something so simply hot about a man in a nice pair of briefs. It's just hot? So maybe that's why I do talk about it a lot hahaha. We all have our things! It's chill! Nudity is not the be all end all.

No idea about this younger generation and how sexual desire develops, (which is an odd topic I know, but that's human nature, it doesn't have to be weird!!) because so young they all have access to the internet from the get go (I know my relative's 6 year old kid has a smartphone??? WHY) and all that is available. Before that, what did you get your hands on? What's arriving in the mail for so many? What do you see at the store? It was the 00s/10s but I wasn't looking at straight up porn online until middle school lol. I'm just speaking from personal experience, since I spoke about the department store catalogs. Can I unlock the mysteries of attraction and how people develop what? Absolutely not, gimme a call when there's a way to figure it out haha.

It's interesting the mention of the way men and woman view each other, and maybe how men view other men, women to other women. And I don't always subscribe to the idea that everything is so different, so defined. I'm sure there are women who also find the very things I'm attracted to in a man also very hot. Why do gay men have a thing for armpits? I don't know, because it's part of a man haha. Why do straight men like women's feet? Because the foot can be hot to them and it's on a woman! Why do women look at other women's hands and think that's hot? Bodies are what we've got, we're gonna be into them, if you experience attraction. None of those examples I just listed are even inherently sexual body parts. Sexuality is vaaaaaast and fascinating.

To relate this to the show in a way since this is what spawned the topic: to me the scene is comedic than anything like I didn't look at this scene and feel attraction, I'm beyond that - but the opening with Mike in s4 when he's barely dressed frantic for school? It's interesting to think, maybe that was an awakening for some young gay boy who didn't quite know themselves yet, like they like the show and they like that character a lot and didn't get why. But they see him in his underwear and it's just... one more thing that sparks something for them. Super interesting when you think about formative moments. Love the entire topic of some otherwise innocent movies or shows and there's just some scene that sticks out to you as you're young and starting to get hit with hormones and desire.

[nomdepen]

"I hope so, too." The strength it takes to smile triples, but she'd determined to prevail. At least for now. She'd never been so aware of Varley's presence as she had been in that moment. She'd known old Mrs. Varley since she was a babe, cherub-cheeked and full of possibilities. She'd changed Pen's nappies and would no doubt do the same for the future Lord Featherington until her stubborn old bones gave out beneath her.

As of now, though, the older woman's presence in that room was the only thing keeping Pen from unravelling entirely. If fate allowed it to be only she and him again, like in the closet, she'd... Well, she wasn't entirely sure what she'd do, but she knew it would be far from ladylike.

"I have no predetermined obligations for another week or so," She began, letting out a staggered breath. "So, I will try to dedicate as much time as I can to uncovering her identity. I will write to you, should I find anything helpful." Her voice must have sounded urgent, for Varley was quick to step forward from the shadows and gesture to the doorway.

Pen hated leaving like this. If things were normal, she'd walk him to the front door herself, perhaps she'd even hug him goodbye when the footman turned his attention away. But Pen knew if she touched him again today, she might just melt into the floorboards and seep into the very earth from whence she came. If she remained near his lips for any longers, she might combust into pieces of Pen confetti.

So, she resigns herself to a curt nod before sweeping out of the room, hoping she appeared merely eager to start her investigation rather than eager to be out of his sight.

[ . . . ]

Three days passed and all Penelope could do was hide away in her room. Sleep didn't find her, and neither did stillness. For nearly seventy two hours, she paced and padded barefoot across her room, desperate to find a way to fix this. She tried to figure out how long she could reasonably prolong it before Cressida took the reins. It would be easier to just tell him. Plain and simply. But how could matters like this be plain or simple?

Ben had spoken of marrying this woman. Of marrying her. And while she'd thought about that exact thing more than once while by herself, she thought it to be as hopeless as all of her other dreams. But then she'd kissed him. And he'd kissed her back. And something had happened. She hadn't even realized she was falling until she was close to the ground.

On the fourth evening after their discussion, Pen decided on a plan. She would write to him. She didn't know what exactly she'd say, but she'd tell him how she felt. With the security of her quill and ink, Pen knew she'd be far more brave to express herself that she'd ever be face to face with Ben. So, pulling out a fresh piece of parchment, she pushed her draft of Whistledown to the side and began to write.

Dear Mister Tallmadge, I apologize for the delay in sending such correspondences, and, too, for my brisk exit at the Bridgerton soiree. If I were smart enough, I would come up with some sort of lie to say I had fallen ill or was needed back home, but the truth is far graver, I'm afraid. That night our lips met and the taste has plagued me every day and night since. I am haunted by the ghost of your lips, by the ardor of your kiss. I am writing this letter you against my better judgment. If anyone were to catch word of this, I would be ruined. But not communicating with you would be far more dire. To be frank, I can't stop thinking about that night. I know it is common for young men like yourself to find comfort in the arms of women, whether by means of coin or pure seduction, and that you find our meeting nothing more than a simple parlor game, but I admit I have never felt this way about any man before. So, I am sending this to you in the hopes that such a confession will lighten the guilt that lay upon my heart. If I am misguided in my assumptions, please disregard this letter and feed it to the nearest hearth at your earliest convenience. However, should you share the same feelings, I do hope you will write to me. I will send a footman to you at the same time next week, if you wish to continue such communications.

She didn't sign it off, not trusting herself to come up with an epithet clever enough and tri-folded the page. When she was done, Pen took a rather long moment to scribe his name across the back of the letter. After sealing the note with her wax seal, engraved with a feather, she moved quickly, despite being insistent to remain careful. Pen handed the parcel to Rae and with a deadly serious expression, gave directions.

"This must go directly to Bridgerton house. Nowhere else, straight to Bridgerton House, okay?" Rae nodded and began to depart when Pen added briskly: "Should they inquire about who sent it, make something up, but, whatever you do, no one can know it came from this household. Do you understand?"

Benjamin shook his head. "Oh, it could never be embarrassing," he reassured. "Not unless it was humiliating for her, of course..." Which it would be, he reasoned. Wincing, he was quick to backtrack, "I would never wish for her to be openly shamed. If there was a way to both publicly declare my affections and keep her from falling prey to malicious gossip, I would assuredly take part."

He exhaled, his nerves jangling around and around between his ribs. What a foolish endeavor it was, to be in love! At long last, he could understand all the poetic whims burned so passionately upon each page he read; every stroke and sigh from a quill etching across parchment. To love was to burn, and to burn was to devour, and Benjamin prayed he could find this woman before he was engulfed from the inside-out.

Inexplicably, Penelope seemed quite stricken by his words. Her cheeks were warm and her eyes shone brightly, and, stranger still, her remark nearly seemed to strangle in her throat. Regardless of her feelings on the matter, Benjamin was moved by her clear emotion. To have such a friend who felt this strongly -- who felt for him and his heart -- endeared her to him unlike any other.

"Oh, Pen," he murmured, fondly taking her hands in his. Despite his fervor, he made certain to keep his back facing their chaperone, his broad stance blocking off all sight of their entwined fingers. Helpless but to grin, he drew her hands up to rest over his rapidly beating heart and squeezed them. "I hope that one day, you can experience exactly what I am -- that you will know what it is to love, and hopefully be loved in return."

Spurred on by Penelope's kind offer -- “We shall find her then, yes? We can’t very well keep your soulmate waiting” -- Benjamin drew her hands to his lips, and, amidst a fervent spell of gratitude, pressed kisses to her palms, her knuckles, her fingers. Thank you, thank you, he wished to cry out, but instead, merely lifted his head with shining eyes.

"I eagerly await your instruction," Benjamin agreed. Pressing another kiss to her palm, he straightened again and breathed an uneasy laugh, his cheeks growing rosy once he confessed, "I feel much like a schoolboy again. The moment I find her, I hope to take her in my arms as before, except this time, I don't intend to ever let her go."

[frosty-oak]

Sevenish English students and fiveish jugs of Pim’s

First act

I was in a Bristol Wetherspoon’s the other night (the one by Will’s if you’re a student), out for a drink to celebrate finishing my first essay. Three of five people had cancelled on me but I was determined to make friends and be sociable. While waiting at the bar I was telling the one person who had arrived that she had a very nice jacket, and the red converses (matching mine) were a nice touch. I worried that it seemed like I was flirting, so I made an offhand, not-very-subtle comment about my girlfriend, mostly because women do love my awkward charm and confused dress sense, but especially because of my strong feminist values (and social anxiety.) Once I finally had my pint of (really very cheap and slightly crap) Thatchers, we managed to find the only other person who had actually shown up; luckily with a host of friends. I awkwardly sat at the edge, introduced myself to five or so people, forgot all of their names and tried not to stare at the huge amount of empty glasses and pitchers on the table.

Main course

I began to stereotype slash categorise everyone at the table, deciding that Mary (not her real name) definitely listened to Lana Del Ray, and Harvey (not a real name either!) was a film buff who stumbled into the interesting side of socially clumsy. He also had a tendency to ask me about a selection of interesting films and books in rapid succession which went a little like this:

“Theo (that one is a real name), have you ever seen The Piano Teacher?”

“No sorry, why is it good?”

“Its alright. Whiplash?”

“Oh yeah that one was really good.”

“Hmm. Okay.”

And then the conversation would move elsewhere, I still haven’t figured out if there was a connection or he was just understanding/categorising me in his own way. Mary was then told off for vaping inside, it turns out that Spoons is surprisingly strict on the rules, as any seventeen year old trying to stay past nine PM will discover.

Chapter three

Things then took an interesting turn somewhere between ordering my second pint and it still not bloody arriving nine minutes later. Timothy (that ones definitely not her name, I’m bad at aliases) was telling us about her ‘type’ for some reason or other, and this was when my long standing theory  that an amazing amount of people have terrible taste in men was proved right. Timothy (I will get a better name eventually) described her type as “tall” going fine so far “brown hair” still fine “and emotionally unavailable” and oh dear we’ve fucked it. Someone else then said that they had a thing for men who were “mostly not into me” which is funny but also just bad, but then I was asked and got lots of brownie points by saying “my girlfriend” and showing a picture of her looking as gorgeous as ever (I normally get her to edit these so hi darling!) Despite what you might guess though, Timothy’s love-life is going absolutely fine! I’m kidding she committed flatcest immediately and then he shagged his ex the same day, and also he’s just a dick in general.

The fourth bit.

It was about when my pint finally did arrive and Mary had been warned for the last time, again, not to vape indoors that two new people arrived who looked a tiny bit like GTA characters. There was a bloke called Jacob or something (that actually might be his name I’m quite bad with names) and he had thick rimmed glasses and was unbelievably Bristol with his third Gallagher brother look and most importantly he started telling me about how he was doing a DJ set at a local club that was only for members. Which actually sounded like a lovely time but also unbelievably Bristol. He arrived with his friend who was the other side of the Bristol coin, with a collection of necklaces and bracelets along with bleached eyebrows. I didn’t actually manage to chat to her much but I did hear the stream of indie-post-pre-punk-queer-grunge-pop-indie bands that were being discussed and sounded quite good.

Around this time someone called smoke break and everyone disappeared and I quickly realised I was being left with a selection of coats and bags as I sat awkwardly (and slightly pissed as I had been to the bar to get a pint repeatedly) and waited for everyone to arrive so I could make my exit. Everyone has had that moment, generally in a bathroom but when you are quite drunk and are suddenly left with your thoughts and time sloooows doooowwwwwnn. Suddenly you are desperately trying to find entertainment in anything nearby, waiting for Instagram to load because somehow this corner of Spoons is a faraday cage. Just after the nearest ice age had came and went Mary reappeared and I made to leave but she convinced me to stay just a little longer until everyone else arrived.

The Final Act

In the final act of the night, we sat and discussed the tense, difficult and upsetting situation with her ex, which despite the many pints between us was actually a very interesting conversation. Unfortunately we were cut short by the bouncer arriving directly as Mary had raised her vape to her lips and he slowly marched over. Fair cop, and he was very lovely about it but we did have to go. I hovered outside and made a bit of chat as people smoked and finally said my goodbyes and headed for home. Uphill of course, its Bristol.

[minsyal]

Long May He Reign, Pt. II

Tywin Lannister x Targaryen!Reader

Summary: The Hand of the King spends years vying for the princess's affections. Only fate would have it that the two cannot be. As Aerys Targaryen II slowly descends into madness, can their love survive his instability and the war to come?

Warnings: General Game of Thrones violence later on, death and stuff, shitty characterizations, eh age differences, Ser Barristan being a lovely darling ✨

Masterlist

“And what does our Master of Laws have to contribute to this discussion?” Tywin leaned back in his chair, seated at the head of the small council’s table.

Symond Staunton had been valiantly listening to the conversation, almost to the point of his interest being overwhelming. He squinted, drawing his bushy brows together as his slitted eyes scanned over the scroll of notes he had brought with him. A single finger raked over the paper; the tip of his uncut nail made a scratchy sound that had the princess cringing from her usual perch in the corner of the room.

Just because her father had become a recluse did not mean that she would stop fulfilling her assigned duties. She still attended lessons with her septa though they often proved to be useless nowadays, she attended court daily in the gallery, and she took strolls about the gardens to mingle with the other women. But of all her daily activities, she particularly enjoyed the start of the week the most. Whereas she used to dread council meetings, she now enjoyed them. With Lord Tywin leading the charge, discussion ended faster and afterward she would always be swept away to dine with him in the Tower of the Hand.

“Osbert has been found to have been adding sawdust to his bread again.”

Tywin drummed his fingers on the table and chewed at the inside of his mouth. “Ser Gerold, have your men confiscate all of Osbert’s baked goods and distribute them in Flea Bottom. Prohibit his sales for the next week and,” his cheeks hollowed as he suctioned his tongue to the back of his teeth, “fine him. 5 silver stags.”

“My Lord, would a fine as such be enough to deter others from committing the same crime?” Lord Qarlton, the Master of Coin, added.

“For a baker? Yes.” Tywin tapped the edge of his glass in thought, unrealizing that he had just inadvertently summoned the princess as she came to his side and refilled his goblet. He turned his head at the movement, having to conceal the smile that puckered his lips as he watched her walk away. “Ser Gerold, your report?”

From his spot at the edge of the table, standing as he always did, Ser Gerold stepped forward. “Dungeons are full. One of the crows is coming down from the Wall in the coming week to have his pick.”

“And the rest of them?”

“They’ll face the king.”

Tywin nodded, along with the rest of the table, knowing exactly what was going to happen to the men who were not chosen for the watch. “Have a second cart of supplies readied. There is always a need for more men at the Wall.”

The rest of the meeting carried on, lasting about another hour in duration before the men grew tired and prepared to leave to attend to the other activities on their plates. Once again the room cleared, leaving Tywin alone with the princess who tidied the table and stacked dishes for the maids to get later.

“Sawdust in bread.” The princess contemplated, listening as Tywin shuffled his papers. “I’ve never heard of that before.”

A quick exhale passed by his nose. She truly was a princess. “During a long winter, the people need to keep their stomachs full.”

“It must taste dreadful.” Finalizing her work, she turned to face Tywin. Her hands rested on the table behind her, propping herself leisurely against it. Today she wore a fine dress of another thick material. It was stiffer than what she normally dressed in, but the style suited her. The neckline was delicate against her soft skin, framing her chest in a portrait style. Belled sleeves hung loosely at her wrists, framed with an intricate embroidery of golden thread.

“It doesn’t add much to the taste.”

“Then why is it a crime?”

Tywin was looking more kingly as the days went on. It almost seemed like he had grown a few inches. Perhaps his renewed presence on the throne was the contributing matter. He was fit for the throne and the princess did not mind that he was the silent ruler of Westeros. Giving his stack of papers a final pat, he raised his head and took in the sight before him.

She had changed quite a bit over the past year since their first kiss. While still dutiful and perfect as could be, she had a new spark inside her. A subtle mischevy brewed in her soul that bubbled more and more each day. Rhaegar was definitely one of the reasons she was opening up more. He encouraged her to mingle with the women who walked the Red Keep on a daily basis and she did. But the main factor for her change was standing before her - Tywin Lannister.

“Principle.” Crossing the room to stand in front of her, his hand moved on instinct brushing a stray hair away from her face. “If we allow the common baker to slight the people, what will stop the people from slighting us?”

The doorway had been closed behind the last exiting member, but it did not put any ease on her racing heart. Every moment they shared in such close proximity, she feared that her father would come barreling into the room and call for their executions. Yet, she couldn’t resist the concentrated allure that drew her to him. “Such a brilliant mind for politics.” Combing her fingers through his slicked hair, she allowed her hand to find a resting place on the nape of his neck. “Why is it that you aren’t the king?”

They both knew the answer.

“A Targaryen male will always sit the throne over the united Kingdom’s.” His own hands had moved. One rested on her cheek. The other was placed on her arm, gently cradling it in her hold. “You need watch your words, Princess. Illyn Payne lost his tongue for similar vocalizations.”

“I know, but that is why I spoke it only to you.” She sighed, relaxing into his grasp. “The realm prospers under your oversight. That is not something that anyone denies.”

“Indeed,” he rubbed his thumb over the apple of her cheek, “it is, and someday your brother will sit the throne.”

“I’m well aware.”

“It was speculated that he would rise to power during your father’s stint in Duskendale. He will be a good king. When he does take his rightful place,” Tywin pushed her chin upward to lock their eyes, “where do you plan to be? If you speak against your father, it will only end in an early grave.”

“My plan…” The princess got lost in the sparkling emeralds of his gaze, practically drowning in the jeweling sea that flickered through his eyes. The two had often shared moments as such after their first. Rhaegar had been the only to know until recently when the princess tasked Ser Barristan with ensuring nobody searched for her in her chambers one evening. She trusted that they would not tell another living soul. “Perhaps, I’ll be at Casterly Rock?”

“Casterly Rock?” Tywin repeated with a knowing look. “What business would you have there?”

She pressed forward, standing on her toes to brush her nose against his. Her long lashes fluttered shut as a smile spread across her lips. “The business of being your wife.” Their lips met for a short kiss, relishing in one another’s touch. Pulling backward, Tywin could not help the smile that tugged at either side of his lips. “Would you like that?” Her tone was wishful and full of an unbridled hope that everyone held while they were young.

Tywin, having lived twenty one years longer than her, knew how the world worked. He knew that marriages of love were often only for the poor and downtrodden. Princesses and princes were to wed in arranged matches that usually led to both parties being unhappy. In his earlier years, he was lucky. He had wed his dearest, Joanna, only to have her torn away from him with the birth of his youngest. Before, it could be said that he was naive enough to believe that a pleasurable life was something within everyone’s grasp. The tunnel did have another side that brought light and cheer.

Now, though, he wasn’t sure. The world was cruel and unforgiving. Wars led to atrocities and atrocities led to war. Love would not last forever. The princess he truly cared for would be married off, sent away, and never to be seen again. He would lose another woman, and the hardest part would be that she would still be living. As much as he longed for Joanna, there was no place on the horizon for her return. If he were to lose (Y/n), she would still be out there. She would be with another man in his bed, in his arms, under his cloak of protection, and he wasn’t sure if he could live with that.

But for now, he would live with what he could have.

The beautiful princess of Westeros.

“I would.”

~~~*~~~

“No, Ser Barristan, it isn’t like that.”

The princess walked the gardens with her trusted knight. He held no particular feelings toward Tywin outside of the realm of respect. Both men had made good names for themselves and held high reputations for their respective works. Being in close proximity in age, they had known of one another for years, and would likely continue knowing one another for many more.

“He’s courting you, princess.” Ser Barristan noted, looking down at the girl he had always seen as a daughter.

“Perhaps, have you considered the notion that I want him to court me?” She said coquettishly, gripping at the front of her skirts as she swayed them back and forth.

The moon had risen some hours ago, casting the castle into dusk as the servants ran from torch to torch, lighting the outer walls with flames. She liked these times and often strolled through the gardens when the night was deep. Ser Barristan had taken to joining her, only finding out about her habit in the past months. He had nearly choked when he learned that she had been doing it for years.

“He is my age, princess. There are many younger that vye for your hand.” The moonlight danced across the shadows of his white cape, painting it in an arctic blue haze. “Mace Tyrell is your age, Lord of Highgarden. He would make a good match.”

“You and I both know that Mace Tyrell isn’t my type. He sent for my hand years ago and my father denied it just as he denied Brandon Stark, Robert Baratheon, and Jaime Lannister. All the children of the current lords are too young. I’ve got my eyes set on one man, and I intend on having him.

“You’ve grown bold.” He kicked his boots at the dirt, focusing on a particular rock that he had been keeping in front of his foot for the duration of their walk.

She exhaled, finding humor in his words. “Bold only to a select few… I don’t want an arranged marriage, I want a marriage of love.”

“You love him? Lord Tywin?”

Thinking for a moment, she stopped in her tracks and looked over the garden of flowering spring bushes. Even in the night, the garden glowed with an ethereal mist that exploded in a burst of whimsy. The plush petals of the gardenia flowers appeared in a powdery blue hue, pairing beautifully to the rose-pink azalea bushes that sprouted from the beds. As the spring-time vegetation grew, so did her heart. Never asking for anything she wanted, she had denied herself of her own wishes for many years. Walking the straight and narrow was simple whenever Tywin wasn’t involved, but the moment he made his presence clear to her she stumbled and couldn’t regain her footing. Thoughts of him jumbled in her mind, pushing all her past ideas and visions away to make room for the intense infatuation she held for the Lord Hand.

“I do.”

~~~*~~~

Another month carried on with the same form starting at dawn and ending at dusk. The population of King's Landing and the surrounding lands came to the Red Keep seeking an audience with Aerys II. Only, instead of the king, they would find Tywin Lannister sitting the throne. Not that the people complained. Tywin ran Westeros with a tight watch, he reigned in any defiance and kept things running neatly.

On the few occasions when king Aerys did emerge from his chambers, it would be to oversee the execution of thieves with the plethora of wildfire he had the pyromancers crafting day and night. His descent into madness was palpable, the speedy fall from his peak was noted by nobles and commoners alike. It was especially felt by his two children. In a year, they had seen their father go from a somewhat irritable man who had his good days and bad to a man who did not trust even his own kin enough to stand in his presence without a kingsguard to protect him.

Nine months after his return from Duskendale, Viserys Targaryen III was born. A healthy baby with rotund and soft features was brought into this world. The kingdom rejoiced, as he had been the first child to live through the night since Rhaegar was born nearly eight years prior. Celebrations were held and the news of a tournament fated to be held at Lannisport was on the ears of anyone that would listen. Most excited was Rhaegar, who was the shining star of the Targaryen household, the Dragon of Westeros and far beyond. He was rarely bested at tourneys and lived for the cheer and roars from the masses.

“You should go.” Rhaegar suggested as if it were that plain and simple. From the pocket of his silken tunic, he revealed a small scroll of parchment. “Your valiant Lord Tywin extended his invitation to the entire family.”

“Father won’t let me go, you know that.” She unraveled the paper, eyes falling upon the elegant ink that glided across the page. “The most I have been outside of the Red Keep was when we left for the evening and you pranced about in the streets.”

“It is called ‘fun,’ sister.” Rhaegar defended, snatching the scroll back in the most dramatic fashion. Tywin had been visiting home when Viserys was born and given the invitation he had sent, he intended on staying there until the event had passed. “You could still go.” When his sister gawked back at him with stricken features, he gave a wide smile and mimicked her expression. “What? Father never comes from his chambers. Do you believe he will attend? We can leave at dusk tonight and arrive at Casterly Rock in twenty days… likely less. Ser Barristan and Ser Arthur are attending, they are preparing the horses now.”

“I don’t know how to ride.”

“Then you can ride with me.”

The cooling air of the spring night breezed through their silver manes, flowing in a cloud of white as they rode past the gates and onto the Gold Road that span through the raging rapids of Blackwater Rush. New strange lands laid beyond the walls of Kings Landing. The air was lighter, not weighted heavily by the musk of a bustling city. She was taken by how foreign everything was. Bright city lights turned to the moon as it was the only thing providing guidance on their journey. She held tightly onto her brother’s waist, arms locked at his midsection on the front of his shirt. He particularly enjoyed bucking his horse or riding over rough patches, laughing heartily when she would slap at his shoulders and demand he stop acting like a fool.

They camped along the waters of the rush for a few days. Each man found a different amusement in the way the Princess was entirely in awe and wholly disgusted by the sheer uncleanliness that comes with a journey such as this. She cringed at the squish of her shoes as Rhaegar assisted her in her dismount. The mud on the ground soaked into the hem of her dress.

“Rhaegar.” She complained in an exhausted tone, quickly bunching the fabric in her hands as she raised it above her ankles.

“I told you to wear pants, sweet sister.” He sang in a musical tone. “But alas, it would be a crime for a lady such as yourself to be seen in such manly clothing.”

“Ser Arthur.” Calling out to the young knight who was guiding the horses to water. “Beat my brother in the tourney, would you?”

Ser Arthur scratched at the scruff of his jawline and nodded with an adolescent grin, “as my lady wishes.”

She slept uncomfortably on a bed roll brought only for her as Rhaegar anticipated her discontent with their traveling conditions. In the morning, they rode again. A week passed with the same routine. Only the landscape changed, shooting into mountains that burst from the grounds and caged in the settlements that relished the protection they provided. They stopped for a night at the Deep Den, seat of House Lydden, to refresh themselves and prepare for the final stretch of their travels.

Princess (Y/n) relaxed in the comfort of her first hot bath since the journey’s start, enjoying the steaming water as it wisped away the soreness in her legs from their relentless riding. Rose and lavender fragranced the air, washing away the earth that clung to her body. Their first temperate meal was a beef roast cooked in red wine and vinegar. Peppery arugula seeds worked together with a healthy dose of ginger to spice the dish, contrasted by the warmth of cinnamon and nutmeg. Everything was served on a bed of wild rice, seasoned with lemon and salt.

The evening of luxury quickly came to an end as the group retired for bed, woke in the morning, and raced for the foothills of Lannisport. At the first sight of the magnificent rock that soared into the air, Rhaegar slowed his pace and pointed with a gloved finger. “That’s Casterly Rock.” He announced, watching as his sister’s eyes lit up in anticipation. It was a powerful display compared to the bustling city below. White stones increased the height of the castle, carving its way into the sky and heavens above. The sunlight of a new day blinded them, leaving the great build in a blazing glory.

At the gates of the city, the group was greeted by men wearing the haloed helms of the Lannister army. Crimson capes hung from their shoulders, cascading down past the red steel breastplates and lion stamped armor. Paraded through the city center toward Casterly Rock, the princess did not bother to strap the false composure to her face. Instead, her curious eyes met those of the onlookers. She smiled at a group of children who beamed back at her, immediately running away to tell their parents that they had seen the princess.

Upon arriving in the grand courtyard of Casterly Rock, the group dismounted their steeds and watched as various stablehands ushered them away. Standing at the resplendent doors to his home, Lord Tywin Lannister stood with his sons and daughter. Immediately, she recognized them as Jaime, Tyrion, and Cersei. The twins were just five and ten at the time. Cersei’s hardened features were already beginning to show in the height of her cheekbones and softness in her golden hair. Jaime was the tallest of them all, and the pride of the Lannister household. He served as a squire to Lord Sumner of House Crakehall, but was called back to attend the event. Lastly was Tyrion. He was notoriously shorter than the rest of his family. Disliked heavily by his sister and father, he remained a relatively quiet boy. At one and ten, he spent the majority of his time reading and studying the rich history of Westeros.

The patriarch of the family took long strides with his hands locked behind his back. His chest puffed in a display of pride as he approached the two royals. Nothing was different about the Tywin that stood before them now and the Tywin who strolled about the halls of the Red Keep. He held his same dignified look as always. Only now they were on his territory and he ruled.

“Prince Rhaegar.” He greeted with the polite nod of his head. “Princess (Y/n).” His surprise was undetectable, but ever present. The princess was rarely allowed in the public eye. In truth, he had not expected her to attend. “Welcome.”

Rhaegar and Ser Arthur were fast to leave after being dismissed, wanting to explore the grounds. Ser Barristan stayed with the princess, pleased to walk at her rear as Tywin guided her throughout the halls. Her hand was placed gently on Tywin’s arm, his other covered hers, warming her to the touch. With the king’s apprehension to attend the tournament, Tywin had the chambers changed to accommodate the princess. Handmaidens rushed through the halls with full arms as they changed out the sheets and left gifts to please a young maiden.

“We did not expect you to attend, Princess.” Tywin stopped at a terraced walkway. Pillars of limestone held up the arched roof. Scalloped carvings were etched into the retaining wall. “I must ask,” he looked out upon the harbor that was filled with ships. “Would it be presumptuous to assume your presence here today is out of the realm of your father’s knowledge?”

She drew her bottom lip between her teeth, caught in an act of defiance. “I…” She stuttered, unable to hold her focus on anything in particular.

“It is merely a question.” His voice lightened as he let out a quick exhale in amusement. “I have no plans to return you home until the tournament’s end.”

Once her room was prepared, he bid her farewell until the evening feast. The room was lavish to say the least. A large bed sat at the back of the room, a golden divider decorated with a large dancing lion separated the two spaces. Beyond that was a balcony that stretched from the back of the room to the front where another door led outside. The floors were marbled with white stone and gold, covered with detailed rugs from merchants and craftsmen in Essos. A table suited for four was surrounded with chairs. Atop it was a silver tray containing pitchers of wine and water, and a bowl of fresh fruits. The bath was equipped with water that flowed in from a viaduct, heated as it moved through the castle by the warming of wood beneath its stone plates. Exquisite oils were set delicately on the edge of the bath, all contained in varying sized and shaped vials.

A knock at the door was answered by Ser Barristan who opened it to find a young woman with a rich dress draped over her extended arms. “For the princess.” He moved aside to allow her in.

When the dress was laid out upon the bed, she could see how luxurious the fabric and fit were. The burgundy neckline plunged to her upper breastbone. From the shoulders a sheer cape fell to the floor where it was bordered in extravagant gemstones and gold. The bodice of the dress was painstakingly covered in an intricate lace that matched that of the chiffon material. Within the designs were small jewels of diamond and ruby. “From Lord Tywin. He asked that you wear it for tonight’s feast.” Ser Barristan excused himself from the room as the handmaiden drew the princess a bath and assisted her in dressing in the garment.

The feast was extravagant but still fairly conservative for a noble event. Roast meats, stewed vegetables, fresh bread, every dessert imaginable, and a fine selection of wines and ales were served. Rhaegar gleefully toasted to the birth of his newest brother, joined jovially by the crowd of men and women who had ventured from their homes to bear witness to the tourney. As the guests of honor, the princess (Y/n) and prince Rhaegar were seated at the head of the table, centered perfectly with Tywin on one side of the young woman and Rhaegar on the other.

Concluding the meal and turning everyone out for the evening, Tywin raised his glass, bringing with it a wishing of good fortune to the king and his many years of ruling to come. “Princess (Y/n).” The man to her side rested his hand over the curvature of her arm.

“Lord Tywin.” She nodded back to him, having acknowledged him many times over the course of their meal. “This was a lovely welcome to Casterly Rock. My journey was well worth it.”

“Your journey was full of complaints, dear sister.” Rhaegar noted, practically leaning into her lap as he hung himself over the arm of his chair.

She rolled her eyes, pushing at his head as she plucked his goblet from his hand. “Perhaps it is time you took your leave.” It was not a suggestion, but a demand and Rhaegar knew it. While only three years apart in age, he often took the role of an older sibling. Seen as the heir to the Iron Throne, he was immediately thrust into a position of power and oversight. But on occasion, he would listen to his sister’s wishes and do as told.

“Perhaps it is.” Rhaegar sat to his full height and finished off his wine. “Lord Tywin.” He nodded. “I thank you for the grand welcome. I hope to not disappoint in the joust.”

“I cannot recall a time when anyone was disappointed with your performance.” Tywin answered, watching as the crowned prince let out a loud laugh, nodded to him and made his exit, followed by Ser Arthur and Ser Barristan. His head scanned around the room for another second. First focusing on Cersei whose heart had been stolen by the crowned prince; she followed after him, assuming nobody to be watching. Jaime was being entertained by Genna who looked to be annoying the boy as he cringed when her fingers pinched at his ear. Tyrion was missing, likely buried in a book somewhere. Applying the slightest bit of pressure to her arm, Tywin rejoined the conversation and looked to the woman at his side. “Would you be opposed to excusing ourselves for an evening stroll?”

“I’m still growing used to crowds.” She smiled. “I would love to get away for a moment.”

~~~*~~~

“An intense guilt fills me for even entertaining the thought, but I think I like Casterly Rock more than the Red Keep.” The princess shared her thoughts freely as the two walked in step with one another. She felt more relaxed, unfearing of any watchful eyes. Tywin’s home was more protected, closed off to the public in all areas. Only the nobles walked the grounds, and many of them actively avoided passing them by out of courtesy.

“Upkeep of the Rock is a daunting task.”

“You’ve done a lovely job, Lord Tywin.” They passed by the landing they had spoken on earlier in the day, stopping again to look down upon the city and port. “I only wish that I had been able to see it sooner.”

He swiped his tongue across the back of his teeth and retained his grip of her arm in his. “Lannisport is one of our great cities.” The flickering of fires that illuminated the streets reflected off of the swaying water. “I see no reason as to why you shouldn’t be able to see it.”

“Someone has eyes for the opposition.” She chided. “That is why I’m known as the realm’s hag.”

At the mention of it, he turned to examine her features, but he found no profound disgust. It was almost as if she believed their harsh words. Years of domestic exile within the confines of her porcelain cage had worn on her morale, and hearing the women of King’s Landing speak so freely about her assisted in its downfall.

“You are the most beautiful woman in the realm. The title of ‘hag’ is not befitting of a princess.”

“But if it is true…?”

Ser Barristan hovered behind them, trying his best to not notice the way Tywin’s fingers tightened around hers in their rather intimate stance. Tywin was ever-aware of the knight’s presence behind him, but there was one thing that united the two - the princess’s happiness. So, even as Tywin stood too close and locked her arm in his, Ser Barristan did not dare to separate them. He instead turned a blind eye, suddenly finding the marble flooring in the corridors more exciting than anything that was happening behind him.

“We needn’t concern ourselves with the opinions of the common people.” Tywin noted Ser Barristan’s back to them and brought his hand up to cup her cheek. “We only need concern ourselves with ourselves.” He drew himself close. “You are the most beautiful woman in the realm. Any man would fall on their swords to be by your side.” Hushing his voice, he practically whispered. “But it is I who gets that privilege.”

He pressed a thoughtful kiss to her cheek and sent waves of thrill down the princess’s spine as his hand softly touched her jaw and rested finally on the side of her neck. She stared up at him with the youthful doe-eyed look that captivated him at the start. Dancing purples and lilacs sung beautiful melodies to his vibrant greens, waltzing together in a complimentary fashion as they flowed amongst the midnight stars.

She was taken by him. Every ounce of him. He was the perfect lord in her eyes, a wonder of magnificence and regality that she bathed in each time they could steal a moment together. There was no doubt in her heart. Lord Tywin Lannister was the man she wanted.

Breaking the silence of their wordless conversation, Tywin spoke. “Tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow morning?” She repeated.

“Before the tournament’s opening ceremony. I will come personally to collect you.”

Her evening was filled only with the intense thought of Tywin. The bed chambers she slept in were comfortably plush, filled with fabrics befitting of a princess that bunched cozily around her body. She laid upon her mattress with eyes wider than the moon. A soft sleep befell the Rock, drawing those who still wandered the grounds to bid their company farewell in favor of their sheets. Yet, she remained awake. Her mind wandered the halls, flowing freely about the beautifully bleached stones.

There were so many mysteries with Casterly Rock. She had lived in the Red Keep her entire life, never once resting anywhere except for within its suffocating walls. Now, she had slept under the stars, in a smaller Lord’s home, and in the fantastic chambers of Tywin’s residence. The puffy and arid comforter hugged her body, molding to the curves and edges that peaked and valleyed along the lines in her figure.

Rest did not come easy to the princess that night. For she was too busy theorizing what would happen when morning came.

Eventually, she found herself fast asleep, dreaming of nothing in particular but far more comfortable than she had ever been in her own room.

~~~*~~~

A knock at the door broke her shaky gaze in the bright mirrored glass, bringing her focus behind her where a voice resonated through the door. “My lady, Lord Tywin Lannister.” A guard positioned outside announced.

Smoothing down the front of her dress that had also been provided by the Lannister household, she replied. “He may enter.”

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