#plenty of kings are getting killed | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

copperhawks · 2 months ago

Text

The funniest thing to me about Kel, and maybe one of the most interesting because of how understated it is, is that Kel becomes a good commander in the end, not by emulating Wyldon who was cold and implacable and insensitive, or by emulating Raoul who mostly only disobeys orders out of principle or because he has an issue with what the order says about his personal relationship with Jon, but by emulating JON.

Kel doesn't even LIKE Jon, she BARELY respects him as a person. He's a good enough ruler that she's willing to fight for him and swear loyalty to him and to at least mostly believe that he wouldn't work with Blayce to make his own killing monsters, but that's as far as it goes for Kel. If he's kind to her, she finds it uncomfortable and almost untrustworthy because she assumes he doesn't care about her and so his kindness and respect towards her must be fake.

But from the outside, as readers, we know just how much Jon fought for Kel. We know how much he does respect her right to be a knight. Jon is the sole reason that Kel DID get the opportunity to prove herself, if he'd capitulated to Wyldon completely, she just wouldn't have ever been allowed to join. Kel doesn't KNOW THAT, obviously, but we do. We know that Jon did everything he could to find a way to convince Wyldon to let Kel become a page. While Wyldon claims later that the reason he chose to let her stay at the end of the probation year was because his better judgment convinced him she'd earned it, I'd be willing to bet that part of that better judgment also included knowing if he couldn't prove to JON that she needed to go, then he'd be in trouble. Kel was training and working in front of plenty of other trainers and teachers who could easily contradict Wyldon's lies if he'd tried it, many of whom are closer to Jon than they are to Wyldon.

Kel's experiences and feelings about that experience are entirely valid, and she doesn't have the knowledge we do about how hard Jon fought for her, so it's not shocking that she's upset with him for a good portion of her series. She never even discovers this truth by the end of her series, even though she does get a lesson from Jon and Thayet (and Raoul to some degree) about how politics and compromises work in order to make changes happen. So her opinion of him by the end is boiled down to the quote from Squire: "good kings weren't always good men." It makes sense for her to think this, but because Kel's knowledge base is so limited (and her worldview so black and white for much of her series), it makes her an EXTREMELY unreliable narrator about this particular issue.

Kel believes that while Jon generally does his duty and keeps the peace, he doesn't actually care all that much about his people as individuals. But in their only meaningful conversation in Squire, Jon is able to point out that he (and Thayet, who is actually equal to Jon in power, something Kel either doesn't know which would be a failure in her education or just tends to ignore so she can focus her ire on Jon) has to make a LOT of compromises in order to get ANYTHING useful done at all. Sometimes, often, it means making deals with people he doesn't like or people he just fundamentally disagrees with, because it's the first step in a multi-step plan to help more people in the long run. He also points out that just throwing his weight and authority around in order to be able to change everything he wants to change immediately regardless of what anyone else thinks about it is a great way to get himself and his family killed. Because even if he had good intentions, that would be tyranny. It does make Kel think a little, but she doesn't tend to like him much still afterwards, her resentment from her page years will always color her opinion of him a little.

However, then she gets to Haven and she's suddenly tossed into a position of leadership over a lot of other people, many of whom disagree with each other or disagree with her or both. And all of the sudden, Kel has to make compromises. She doesn't LIKE the way the sergeants often treat their men, especially the sergeants whose men are convicts, but there's very very little she can do about it without really pissing off those same sergeants and that's not something she can afford to do. There's a moment when Neal starts getting frustrated about the treatment of the convicts and she takes him out to vent to her so he doesn't vent to the sergeants, something that the sergeants would then take out on their men. Kel's reasoning as she does this is that she "preferred to avoid battles with them now so she would have authority with them later if she needed to use it." Later, Kel is talking to Daine and she says "That's all this job is... Trying to please everyone and pleasing no one. And it will only get worse, not better."

Both of these moments showcase Kel choosing to make compromises. She may not like the way the sergeants treat the convicts, but she needs to stay on the sergeants' good sides because she doesn't have enough resources to butt heads with them nor enough authority to just force the issue, and even if she DID, it could cause the sergeants to become troublesome or take out their frustration with her on the men in ways she can't see as well. But staying on the sergeants' good sides might mean letting some of their maltreatment slide if it's not physically harming the convicts. And even setting that aside, she's dealing with nearly 500 refugees eventually, all of which are from different towns in the area and have different needs, not all of which she can accommodate. This requires compromise. Sometimes she can please some of them and not others, but mostly she probably just ends up not pleasing anybody because that's often how compromises WORK.

She never makes the active connection to Jon and his lesson on leadership from Squire while she's in Haven, but that quote up there about how this job (aka being a commander) is all about trying to please everyone and pleasing no one? It sounds a HECK of a lot like "good kings weren't always good men." You can try your best to help others, but often doing the right thing can involve making everyone unhappy. You can't be everybody's friend if you're going to get anything done.

Some of this she might've learned from Raoul's style of command, but Raoul commands a fairly small amount of people (at least in comparison to a King), and so we see him able to be pretty friendly to the people he commands in a way that Jon is perhaps unable to do. And she might believe that she learned some of this from Wyldon, but Wyldon had a tendency to be very unfair and biased due to his raging bigotry and conservative values, as well as the fact that he doesn't actually even LIKE being a training master and that likely impacted the way he treated the pages (he's almost never that kind to the pages, whereas we see him capable of being quite kind with the refugees later, which is where Kel comes to the conclusion that he hadn't enjoyed being a training master).

But Jon makes an entire speech about how he (and Thayet) have been working THEIR ENTIRE REIGN to change laws that help people. He explains how they have to consider the needs of merchants, nobles, farmers, street people, priests/priestesses, and mages. They have to consider not only what these people might need or want, but also what they could do when they feel sufficiently offended and how that could impact not just the royal family or the nobility but the realm as a whole. Jon points out that they HAVE made changes, for the better, and that just because they don't always succeed at everything or because they have to compromise sometimes, doesn't mean they aren't working at making changes or that they don't care about helping people. Not everyone you have power over is going to be your friend, they might not even be someone you like. But if you're going to take on the job of leadership, that's something you have to be willing to accept and work with, which often means making compromises with people whose needs and values are contradictory to your own.

Jon probably knows when he makes the compromise with Wyldon that it will likely impact a lot of people's good opinion of him. Alanna is right there and clearly angry, and we know Thayet doesn't like the decision, either. And it's entirely possible that Jon knows in the moment that Kel herself will put the blame on him because he's the King. But he also knows that if he insists on Kel being allowed to be a page without trying to compromise with Wyldon, Wyldon will quit over it and he'll end up with ten DIFFERENT problems that could cause a lot bigger issues to far more people than just one girl. So he makes the compromise. He sacrifices Alanna and Thayet and even Kel's good opinion of him in order to ensure that Kel gets the opportunity to become a Knight without turning all of his nobles against him which could ultimately lead to a civil war. Is it fair? No, and he knows it. But it's the best option he has in order to get the outcome they all actually want which is just for Kel to have the chance to prove herself.

Kel has to make similar choices once she's finally in a position of leadership of her own. And whether she realizes it or not, without ever even spending more than a few minutes with Jon, she ends up emulating his leadership style more than anybody else's because it WORKS and it works WELL. She'll probably never admit it, she might never even realize it herself, but she's so much more like Jon than any of the other men she sees as role models. And I love that. I love the dramatic irony of that, that the one person Kel only barely respects because of a compromise he made on her behalf that she'll never even know about, is the person Kel ends up most resembling. Jon is the reason she has the opportunity to become the Protector of the Small in the first place, Jon is the person who created that environment that allowed her to nurture those values, and she'll probably never even really be able to acknowledge that, because sometimes that's what being a good leader means.

#tamora pierce #protector of the small #keladry of mindelan #jonathan of conte

476 notes · View notes

sp0o0kylights · 3 months ago

Text

Eyes wide, body frigid in terror, Eddie felt the sheer horror of the current situation sank in.

He was at Gen Con.

In their hotel.

With zero vacant rooms and one minor, Henderson created, screw up.

The room only had one bed in it.

“It’s fine, we can share.” Steve said, brushing past.

Like this was not the life ending, earth shattering, soul rendering issue that it was.

“I can sleep on the floor.” Eddie croaked trying to remember how a normal person acted instead of someone whose stomach had just fallen out of their ass.

“Nah, I did this all the time with the basketball team.” Steve said as Eddie actively regretted every single decision that had led to this point in his life.

“Hell this is even a king sized bed. We have plenty of space!”

Steve did a goofy little spin jump, landing butt first on the bed and bouncing on it with glee.

“Space, sure.” Eddie echoed.

Hands shaking, eyes determinedly focused on anything but the ex-jock, Eddie found himself chanting a mantra over and over in his head.

One that would valiantly get him through the next weekend, God and D20's willing.

'I'm fine, this is fine, everything's fine...'

“I don’t have cooties, if that's what you're worried about.”” Steve waggled his eyebrows. "Here, I’ll even let you have one of my pillows.”

Said pillow was flung through the air, to smack Eddie dead in the face.

'Fuck it." Eddie thought wildly. "I am NOT fine!'

And after Eddie got his hands on him, Dustin Henderson wouldn't be either.

xXx

“I am going to kill you.” Eddie snarled, the very second he could get Dustin alone.

“No you won’t, you love me too much.” Henderson dismissed, a smug little smirk in place.

The absolute brat.

“I do not, and if I did, I would take it back after this.” Eddie glanced around once again, beyond paranoid about discussing this in the open parking lot of a shitty hotel, but knowing he needed to get this under control, now.

“What were you thinking!?”

“That I read a really interesting zine about this exact scenario, mostly.” Dustin shrugged. “Worked out great for them, I thought I’d try it for you!”

Eddie groaned, head flying back as he fisted both hands in his hair.

(if only to prevent himself from wrapping both hands around Dustin’s stupid throat.)

“What did I tell you? This isn’t something you fuck with man!”

“I know, but as I told you, Steve is perfect!” Dustin protested, and didn’t even have the decency to flinch when Eddie lost control and grabbed him by the collar.

“Perfect!?” He sputtered, actually sputtered, shaking the fist that held Dustin's shirt captive. “Perfect!?”

“Trust me on this--you have a crush on him, he desperately needs someone in his life--seriously, Eddie, it’s sad how he acts when he’s not dating--and you guys get along great now! What’s the problem!?”

“He’s straight!” Eddie shrieked, startling several onlookers.

“Laced!” He added immediately after, in panicked afterthought. “He’s so straight laced we could never get him to agree to that plan!”

Dustin leveled an unimpressed look at him.

“Dude, really?”

“We are still in Indiana, Henderson.” Eddie said, then got close enough that he felt comfortable hissing the next part through clenched teeth.

“They don’t exactly care for the queers here, even at a place like this.”

“Are you sure? Because the Con’s welcome packet has a few different panels that--”

Eddie scrubbed a hand over his face, letting go of his idiot, freshman friend's shirt to grab at his hair again.

“Henderson, for once,” He pleaded, and maybe it was the sheer desperation in his tone or how upset he looked but either way Dustin seemed to finally realize how serious he was.

“just once, I need you to listen to me. You cannot let Steve know I��m gay. This is something that has to stay between us, especially now I’m sharing a bed with him.”

Which Dustin knew, because Dustin was the one who’d called and changed the room.

“But Steve’s--”

“Most likely bisexual, I heard you the first several times you said it, but you can’t just--assume that about someone!” Eddie was well and good on a rant now, two seconds away from pacing about. “Even if you’ve been to a salon with them!”

He pointed firmly at Dustin’s stupid face (and the kid's equally stupid mouth) before he could once again insist Steve was into men purely based on how anal he was about his hair.

“Steve might be cool with--other people,” Eddie was unsure of who knew what about Robin, and was not about to hand Dustin another secret given how he was acting about this one, “but that does not mean he will be cool with me--or you, pimping him out, to me!”

“I’m not pimping him out!” Offended, Dustin patted at his shirt where Eddie had previously been holding it. “Look I’m sorry, but--”

Eddie groaned, loud and dramatic.

“But,” Dustin doubled down, “You trusted me with the whole, you know.” He waved his hands in some sort of vague, unreadable gesture. “Can’t you trust me about this?”

“I didn’t trust you with that, you barged into my room and then dug around my closet insisting your character notes got mixed in with mine when I was hi-sleeping!--and then read something personal!”

The snort he got in return let him know Dustin was well aware he’d been high as hell, but that was neither here nor there, given what had happened after.

When Dustin, rifling through Eddie’s closet, came across one of Eddie’s private notebooks.

The ones that contained equally private stories, penned by Eddie's hand.

One of which might have had characters--who did not sound like Steve, thank you,-- and definitely not paired with a character based on Eddie himself.

(“So Sir Sylvan Harrachtáin and Edwin Morningson are random names you pulled out of your ass, huh?”

“Shut up.”

“Sir Sylvan with his great hair and--what’s this? A horse named…Beamer?”

“Henderson so help me--” )

It may have led to the two of them growing closer instead of Eddie getting chased out of town with pitchforks, but that hadn’t stopped the sheer panic it had caused when he realized just what it was Dustin was reading.

“Potato, tomato.” The little shit dismissed, and Eddie felt the urge to strangle him return in full force. “Look I get it--I promised I wouldn’t tell and I keep my promises. But since there aren’t any other rooms in our inn…”

Eddie looked at the sky, because if he saw the little dipshit wiggle his eyebrows in relation to himself and Steve Harrington, his new friend, who baked cookies with Jeff and once helped Grant jump his car, Eddie was going to lose his mind.

Loudly, and with much fanfare.

“You owe me. Big time.” He declared to the clouds.

He pretended not to hear the sigh that got him, either.

“If you so say. Now can we go to the convention?" A whine crept into Henderson's voice. "Steve’s going to think we’re fighting.”

"Fine.” Eddie finally lowered his head to glare Dustin dead in the eyes.

“But to make my ire clear, Henderson? That magic sword your dwarf just acquired is gone. Disappeared. Vanished like a puff of smoke."

He made a ‘proof’ noise, hands spreading out as he did it.

Dustin’s jaw dropped.

“What!? Eddie--”

“Nope.

“Edd-iieeeee--”

“I’m not listening.” He plunged both fingers in his ears, walking determinedly towards one of the other three hotel rooms Hellfire had crammed themselves in.

Wished desperately that he could manage to swap beds with Jeff, or Grant, or someone without making Steve feel like shit--which it would, because Eddie knew things like that about Steve now.

Behind him Dustin rampaged, which at least, made Eddie a little happier.

xXx

“We can switch rooms.”

“What?” Eddie asked, startled out of his present thoughts (and the giant pile of D&D related papers spread in a circle around him.)

He turned to look up at Steve, who was hovering awkwardly behind him.

“You’ve been weird ever since you realized we’re sharing a bed. If it’s making you that uncomfortable we can just switch.” He shrugged, like saying that didn’t hurt him, even as the kicked puppy look holding court on his face very much screamed ‘emotional damage.’

"I have not!” Eddie twisted himself around immediately. "I am perfectly fine, thank you!"

Steve frowned down at him.

“Eddie, this is the longest conversation I’ve had with you since we got here." Steve deadpanned. "I’d blame that on the whole, you know, nerd herd gathering, but it’s pretty clear that’s not it. I watched you literally turn around and walk the other way when you spotted me earlier."

Shit.

"It's kinda obvious you're avoiding me."

Shit, shit, shit!

“I'm not, promise!" Eddie lied. "I’m just--distracted. There’s just so much happening and it’s--a lot.”

He said it like the con was overwhelming, and not chaos he was positively thriving in.

Steve searched his face.

“Alright," He said doubtfully, "but I mean it. Say the word and we can switch. I'm sure Jeff'll let me share a blanket or something."

Which was the last thing anybody needed, on grounds that Jeff would try and fix things.

(Jeff, bless him, had never been good at fixing things.)

Drumming up every acting skill he possessed, Eddie flashed two thumbs up in response, painting a fat grin on his face.

“We're all good Stevie. Besides, I’m going to be up late at so many panels, you won’t even notice me coming back. You're practically gonna have the room to yourself!"

Because that was exactly what he was planning on doing, the second he realized the convention itself could provide a nice, neat little way out in the form of two different late night panels.

Who needed sleep anyway? Not him!

"Okay." Steve said, somewhat mollified.

Crisis averted, Eddie dove back into his plans, distracting himself as best he could while trying to ignore that Steve had dropped onto the bed.

(One of those plans might have involved revenge on Henderson, and that one he gave special attention to.)

xXx

There were no late nigh panels.

“Not until tomorrow, my friend!” The jovial guy dressed in what Eddie was pretty sure was supposed to be a wizard costume told him. “We had a few but the folks running them got stuck in traffic, so we had to cancel."

He beamed, like he hadn’t just disintegrated Eddie's one and only escape plan.

"Besides, if you go to sleep now you can catch some of the early morning panels!”

As if he hadn't planned on rolling into them anyway, lack of sleep be damned.

“Can we go back now?” Gareth grumped to his right, the only person who’d agreed to stay out all night with him (and who was not a 14 year old who’d been overruled by Harrington.)

"We could go find a room party?" Eddie hedged instead, as they made their retreat.

"Dude."

"Fine," He muttered, defeated. "We can go back."

To Steve.

And the single bed.

In his head, he plotted out Henderson's death.

Maybe he'd use fire.

Or sticks, or even a fricken--toy horse, or something...

xXx

He'd done it.

Changed into the oversized shirt he called sleep clothes, and crawled into bed like a completely normal, totally straight human being.

Had even done a remarkable job of laying perfectly still. Exactly how a normal, not panicking person slept!

'I'm fine, this is fine, everything's fine...'

Steve was laying next to him.

He had to of course, that's how a bed worked, and yet somehow, Eddie couldn't get past it.

Or the fact that the dick wasn't wearing a shirt to bed.

His thoughts chased each other in nervous little circles, anxiety gnawing on his gut like a favored bone as Eddie did his best not to move one single inch.

Pity that the thing about attending a large convention, was the sheer amount of walking, talking, and expending general energy one had to do.

Entirely against his will, Eddie fell asleep.

He had been planning on laying awake in frigid terror all night, to prevent any possible way Steve might clock him, but his body had other plans.

Some of which involved sleeping like Eddie normally slept--arms hugging a pillow, head buried in it's soft, comfortable, kinda ticklish surface.

He rubbed his nose further into it as the tickling sensation increased, pulling him away from the sleep he hadn't realized he'd fallen into.

Grumbling, Eddie went to adjust his stupid pillow when he had the weirdest realization that it too, was moving.

Pillows, his sleep addled brain informed him, did not move.

Steve would, though.

"Fuck!" He screeched, flying up into a sitting position as he registered that he'd gone full octopus--cuddling Steve with all four limbs.

Steve flew awake, his own body flying up into a sitting position.

His mouth started moving a mile a minute, and it took Eddie a second to parse that Steve was still partially asleep as he let out a string of absolute nonsense about code reds and being upside down.

"Whoa!" Eddie said when the guy nearly fell out of bed. "Shit Steve, it's just me!"

"Eddie?" Steve asked, halfway out of bed. "Are we--is everything okay?"

"Yeah I--yeah." He grimaced, grabbing a strand of his hair and pulling it protectively over his face. "I think I woke you up."

"S'okay." Steve ran a hand through his hair, before slowly sinking back into the bed, alarm fading. "Are you okay? Nightmare?"

Eddie blew out a breath.

"Probably. It's fine, don't worry about it."

Steve eyed him doubtfully.

"If you're sure..."

Eddie gave him a wobbly smile back, patting the space on the bed next to him as he made himself lay back down. "Promise. I'm--I'm sorry, I guess maybe I should have slept elsewhere..."

That did it.

"You're good. Startled me is all." Steve let out a sort of forced chuckle before laying back down. "I overreacted."

Eddie hummed, not trusting himself to say anything as the two of them settled back down.

It did not escape him that unlike most people who'd been rudely woken up in the middle of the night, Steve didn't try to keep any distance between them.

No, he had to scoot closer, like he needed to know his friend was near.

Eddie squeezed his eyes closed and prayed for death.

"I get nightmares too, sometimes." Steve admitted in the following quiet and oh, God, no, Eddie could not do an emotional late night talk right now.

"They definitely suck." He said flatly, before rolling over to face the opposing wall. "Night Stevie."

Steve snorted, but it sounded amused instead of hurt.

Eddie sighed quietly in relief as he too, turned away to face the wall.

He could do this. He just had to make sure he didn't screw up and fall asleep again, and everything would be...

Perfectly...

...fine.

xXx

"--ddie, you're on my arm man."

"Wha?"

"My arm." That was Steve, Eddie's brain dutifully identified as it crawled it's way to consciousness. Steve who was his friend now, and was also talking very close to his ear.

"Also my leg. And torso."

"You have a nice torso." Eddie mumbled thoughtlessly.

Why was Steve here? They were doing something that should have been stressing him out, was stressing him out, but it was hard to think when he was this tired.

"Thanks," Amusement threaded it's way through Steve's voice, "but I'm going numb here. You have a hell of a grip."

Eddie frowned, the words sludging through the fog, until finally, the dots connected.

Eyes opening wide, he carefully took stock of the position he once again found himself in--wrapped around Steve like the guy was the only life raft left.

Oh my God.

"Shit sorry--" Steve oof'ed as Eddie smacked an elbow into his ribs as he let the poor man go, madly scrambling to get as far away as possible.

He tried to apologize for that, but was too busy fighting the bedsheets to get anything out.

"Eds." Steve laughed, grabbing him as Eddie tangled them both up. "Calm down."

"I'm calm!" He protested, far too loudly, limbs flying every which way as he tried in vein to get the fuck away.

Stupid sheets-!

"Eddie." Two heavy hands came down on his shoulders, Steve having managed to get himself into a sitting position. "It's alright."

"It's not Steve." Eddie spat, and then panicked harder because fuck, that is not what he should have said.

"Hey, easy." Steve was talking quieter now, hands squeezing gently, like Eddie was some kind of spooked wild animal and fuck, he was really losing it here.

"I mean it. We're at the convention, remember? We're sharing a hotel room and you have a bunch of dorks and dumbass things to do in like, two hours."

Eddie violently shrugged him off.

"I know that!"

Steve, somehow, did not take offense to the very aggressive tone that had been snarled in.

"Then you know you can breath for a moment. Seriously, you look like you're gonna pass out."

Which was probably true, given the rapid, rabbiting beat of his heart.

"Is this what you were worried about?" Steve added, as Eddie finally freed himself from the damn sheets. "That you have nightmares?"

“It's not nightmares.” Eddie spat instantly, chest heaving.

His head hurt, his eyes hurt, and he was exhausted to the point where he wanted to cry about it.

God did being gay suck.

“Then--what? That you cuddle in your sleep?” Steve was teasing, Eddie knew Steve was teasing but that was too on the nose. “Dude trust me, Tommy was an octopus growing up. I don’t care.”

“No it’s not, that, exactly--”

"So what is it then, exactly?"

Too. Fucking. Close.

"Drop it Steve--"

Emotions rose like a tidal wave, all encompassing. Overwhelming.

"I would if you weren't clearly upset about something--"

He lost control.

“I’m gay!” Eddie yelled.

Then he clapped a hand over his mouth, like he hadn’t just panicked himself out of the closet.

It died.

The crazy, huge emotions. The way he'd been fighting himself, tooth and nail, the panicked thoughts that were zooming around his brain.

“I didn’t say that.” He said, eyes wide.

Steve blinked.

“I mean, you kinda did.”

Eddie shook his head.

“Nope. No. I said, I said--”

“That you’re gay.” Steve finished, then frowned when Eddie flinched. “Dude it’s okay--”

“Is it, Steve!?” He interrupted, hand finally falling from his mouth. “Is it? Because if you ask half the people at this convention--who are my kind of people and understand I’m not shilling souls to satan--if it's okay!? They'd say no!"

Tears pressed against his eyes, a reaction he hated that he had.

"They'd say no, and then they'd try to kick my ass for sleeping in the same bed as them!"

A tear escaped and he swiped angrily at it.

“I’m okay with it.” Steve said quietly, which had the effect of making Eddie shut up. “And those people suck.”

The laugh that escaped Eddie's mouth was brittle.

Bitter.

He turned his head away from Steve, angry that he’d gone and admitted the very thing he knew better than ever speaking aloud.

“Yeah well, I didn't think you would be, given how you used to accuse anyone and everyone of being a queer loser right along with the rest of the basketball team.”

Which wasn't fair, exactly--Eddie knew Steve had changed. Had seen it in the way he and Robin talked quietly about Will, when they thought no one could overhear.

(A habit Eddie would break them of, if he and Steve made it out of here as friends, still.)

He wasn't Will though, and Will wasn't the one presently sharing a bed with Steve.

“That’s because we were all making out with each other at away games.” It was said so fucking quick Eddie briefly thought he hallucinated it.

Lucky for him, Steve wasn't done.

“Robin thinks that whole thing was some kind of group denial. Like if we made enough of a thing out of it we could all pretend we didn’t have our hands down each others pants all the time. I am not exactly on speaking terms with that group anymore.”

He shrugged like that his fall from grace hadn’t been the center of the rumor mill for most of his senior year, and came with a lot of shit talking at his expense.

“But I can still prove it to you, if you’d like.”

Shock--and six million thoughts-- hit Eddie like a mack truck.

‘You’re lying/No way/that makes so much fucking sense/how did that even start/was it every game/whose pants exactly did you have your hands down and how do you feel about my pants--’

“How?” Eddie got out, sounding only slightly strangled.

“Well--you’re here. I’m here."

And then Steve gave him a smile Eddie had only ever seen aimed at women, a slow lazy curl of the mouth that implied a hell of a lot.

"I'm fine with making the math work."

Maybe he was dreaming this.

(Eddie pinched himself and found that somehow, he was not.)

“I realize I don’t look like it, but I don't the whole casual kissing thing." Eddie blurted out. "Hasn't exactly gone well for me."

He regretted it the second it left his mouth.

That was sharing too much of himself. The vulnerable gooey part who'd kissed a few girls (and even, once, a guy) and found he couldn't for the life of him make such things casual.

Plus Steve was kind of a good friend now, and Eddie had a crush so big that doing this and then never doing it again would kill him, and--

(and, and, and…)

“It can mean something if you’d like.”

What.

“What?”

Eddie stared at him.

Steve stared back.

“Steve Harrington." He said flatly. "Are you trying to get in my pants?”

‘I will rip them off right here and now if you are,’ He thought wildly, like he hadn’t just tried to die on some “it has to be meaningful” hill.

(Sue him, he was a horny teenager who'd just learned sex might be on the table, he could change his mind.

It totally wouldn’t tear his heart apart after either!

Nope, not his, made of steel Eddie’s heart was--)

Steve raised his hands in the “don’t shoot” pose, looking all too pleased with himself.

“Hey, you can’t fault a guy for trying. But,” and here he dropped the flirty little grin, which Eddie was only now realizing he was utilizing, “I meant it. I'm not opposed to trying this out, with you."

Trying? What the hell did that mean!?

Steve hadn't stopped talking.

"I won’t take it anywhere if you don’t want to though, don't worry.

Then he tilted his head and added; “I can also leave if that made you uncomfortable. Robin keeps telling me I can’t flirt with men like I flirt with women and--”

“No.” Eddie’s mouth betrayed him yet again, terrified Steve might talk himself into leaving. “No--you offered!”

Steve raised an eyebrow.

“I did.”

“To have--” God Eddie couldn’t even say the words, “with me?”

Somehow that last part came out as a question, and Eddie planned immediately to throw himself out of a window.

The grin was coming back. “Yes. With you.”

“And it would…mean something?”

That was pushing it, Eddie knew that was pushing it, but it was like he couldn't stop himself.

This whole thing was now a runaway train and he'd ride it to it's inevitable wreck.

“For me it would.” Steve said, raising himself up on his knees.

He inched forward, planting his hands down on the bed, face awfully close to Eddie’s own.

“I don't like doing things anymore without it meaning something. To be honest, I don’t think I ever did. Besides, Robin's right."

"About?" Eddie asked, goin cross-eyed as Steve leaned ever so much closer.

"That when I say I admire you, or I miss you, or that I want to see you, I'm not exactly meaning it in a friend way."

Oh.

"Oh." Eddie said dumbly.

Steve closed the distance, mouth first.

They were kissing.

Stars exploded in the sky. Fireworks went off outside, birds sang, people cheered--

(Eddie bit Steve’s lip, twice, in some sort of overexcited maneuver before he was gently guided into Steve’s lap, the ex-jock twisting to lay back down and bringing Eddie with him.

It was smoothly done, a slow maneuver, and Eddie had to go and ruin that too by ripping his mouth off Steve’s to press sloppy kisses all down his neck.

Thankfully Steve did not shove him off for that, or the hickie he definitely left on that stupid, tan neck, instead arranging them once again until things, finally, started to be less frantic.

It was the best night of Eddie's life.)

xXx

“So what does mean something involve, in this little situation we have here?” Eddie said some odd amount of time later, cuddled happily against a now naked Harrington.

“I’m not supposed to say boyfriends.” Steve mumbled into Eddie’s shoulder. “Scares people off."

Apparently he was the type to need naps immediately after having the naked kind of fun.

“Who the fuck told you that?” Eddie reached down, lacing their hands together tightly.

Steve kissed his shoulder.

“We haven’t even gone on a proper date yet.” He said, rather than responding directly.

“We can’t, Steve, or did you forget where we live?”

Another kiss, this one turning into a grin when it made Eddie shudder.

“Oh we absolutely can. I’ll prove it to you. Next Friday?”

It took him a moment--a stupidly long moment, for someone who prided himself as a wordsmith--but Eddie got it.

A smile exploded over his face.

“Next Friday." He said. "It’s a date.”

(A very long time later, Henderson would find out about all this and gloat about this so hard he’d fall off the steps of Eddie’s trailer.

Eddie would only let him live on grounds that Steve was also there at the time, and was worried about Dustin’s ankle.

This did not stop Eddie from standing above the little shit, announcing karma would one day get him soon, and if not, than Max Mayfield, who absolutely could be bribed into committing murder.)

This was the bonus for Door Prize/Sugar, Spice (and Everything Dicey) which can be read in it's entirely here: LINK

#one bed trope #door prize #S4 AU #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #0o0 fanfics #stranger things #convention #Dustin Henderson meddles #Eddie has a panic attack #bed sharing #fade to black sex scene

700 notes · View notes

hotdaemondtargaryen · 4 months ago

Text

EWAN MITCHELL TALKING ABOUT AEMOND TARGARYEN IN EPISODE 4 FOR NUEVA MUJER MAGAZINE.

(video of the interview comes out this week)

AEMOND, AT THIS POINT, IS THE MOST INTERESTING AND COMPLEX CHARACTER IN THE ENTIRE SHOW. AT THIS POINT IN YOUR HISTORY, WHAT ARE YOUR INTERESTS?

"I love exploring the dark side of Aemond and delving deeper into his vulnerability."

"At the end of season 1, with his dragon, Vhagar, he knows he's made a mistake and lets his emotions get the best of him."

"It's good to see that feeling again and it breaks down and takes away that one-dimensionality: there's something more underlying beneath the surface that, in part, motivates it."

IT IS CLEAR THAT AFTER WHAT HAPPENED, A CONFRONTATION BETWEEN AEMOND AND DAEMON IS GOING TO HAPPEN. WHAT CAN YOU TELL US ABOUT THAT?

"Sure, but at what cost? Everyone saw the damage the three dragons did in the battle."

"After that moment, all of Westeros already knows what it is to fight with dragons and what they can do."

"Now, with Aemond and Daemon, if they sat together in a room, any item in it would be a deadly weapon."

HOW DO YOU DEFINE THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN AEMOND AND AEGON? IT IS VERY CLEAR THAT AEMOND IS INFINITELY SUPERIOR THAN HIS BROTHER AND HE KNOWS IT.

"Yes, I think he has always seen Aegon as someone who is inferior to him."

"He feels like he doesn't have the drive to be a king and the perseverance to be a leader."

"While Aemond was training with the sword and studying with the masters, his brother was probably in some Flea Bed brothel squandering his inheritance."

"So Aemond, although he was the second son, always felt that he should have been treated as the first and always prepared himself for that."

"He also feels that he would probably make a better king than Aegon."

"He hates his brother, but he loves him at the same time, because he is his brother."

"They share a heritage."

"He wants to love him, but Aegon gives her plenty of reasons not to."

BUT DID AEMOND WANT TO KILL AEGON?

"When we are in the battle scene, and when Vhagar attacks Aegon and Rhaenys, the question arises as to whether he intentionally tried to hurt his brother, or if he was in his way or if he was just collateral damage."

"I think it goes back to the previous answer: I think of them as Michael and Fredo Corleone, at the time when the latter betrayed his brother and plotted against him."

"This is because although they hate their enemies, there is a deeper hatred towards someone who should protect and care for you."

"And Aegon never did that. In fact, he led the bullying. Aemond “forgives”, but never forgets."

NOW THAT YOU'VE ALSO RECORDED 'THE LAST KINGDOM', AND, COMPARED TO YOUR CHARACTER, OSFERTH, AEMOND TARGARYEN IS CRUEL AND RITLESS. WHERE DID YOU GET INSPIRED FROM TO INTERPRET IT?

"It's interesting that you mention Osferth, because in many ways he is the antithesis of Aemond, in the sense that they are children of royalty who were marginalized and have been treated unfairly by their brothers."

"Aemond himself, because he has been sidelined, has a lot to prove."

"He is the second son who will inherit nothing and recognizes that whatever he wants in this life he will have to go out and get it himself, by hook or by crook."

"He has tremendous power in Vhagar."

"And, of course, he recognizes that he can do things that no one else in the kingdom can do."

"And that's why he sees it as a call to greatness, to write his name in the history books."

AEMOND IMPOSES FEAR. IT HAS A DANGEROUS AURA. HOW DO YOU TRANSMIT THAT SENSATION TO THE SPECTATOR, THAT SOMETHING TERRIBLE CAN HAPPEN TO SOMEONE LIKE THIS IN A PLACE?

"I think that in the first four episodes, Aemond is still not very much at the center of the conflict."

"You see it with Criston Cole plotting and trying to manipulate the council because they know war is inevitable."

"Now: Shakespeare said the eyes are the windows to the soul, but in Aemond's case, what does it mean to have one and the other a safari? Do you see less of his soul? There is silence."

"A lot of silence on your part and in those moments you say a lot without saying anything."

"I love those moments, because as a viewer, you can project your own interpretation on the character about what is happening through his or her gaze."

BY THE WAY, WHAT IS THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN AEMOND AND ALICENT?

"Someone asked me if I thought Aemond had problems with his mother and I don't think so: he just wanted to be loved by her a little more."

"He is an empty child and children need that unconditional love to be balanced beings and develop a vision accordingly."

"And since he never had that, he had to look for solutions in other beings. In Vhagar. At Mrs. Sylvie, from the brothel."

"Children need to be loved unconditionally: if a child is not embraced by the village, they will hug them to feel their warmth and seek validation through other means."

"In Aemond's case, it's war."

"And of course, if he finds out what Cole, his best friend, has been doing with his mother, I don't know how he would take it."

HE'S A PRETTY BROKEN CHARACTER. HOW DID YOU EXPLORE THAT?

"That's one of the most fascinating aspects of playing him."

"Because beyond that image that has been created, he is in a very different physical and psychological place from what we saw last season."

"He has cultivated this facade - almost homage - inspired by Daemon Targaryen."

"Now, there is a movie called 'Fire vs. Fire' starring Robert De Niro where he has a code to protect himself."

"Aemond has something similar."

"That's why it's so easy for him to reject the madame in episode 3, because he knows that in her world there is no place for love, since it is a weakness."

"He has to be seen as this 'Terminator' who scares everyone and is all-powerful."

"So it's interesting to see what's behind all of that, to see this abandoned boy who is still there."

DO YOU THINK THAT AFTER THIS BATTLE HE WILL HAVE SOME KIND OF GUILT LIKE WHAT HAPPENED TO LUKE AND ARRAX?

"He knows that there is no turning point this time."

"What happened with Luke and Arrax, he knows was a mistake."

"It wasn't his intention."

"He let his emotions get the best of him and lost control of his dragon."

"Here he is in complete control and knows what the dragons can do."

"In episode 5 you will see all the consequences of this."

356 notes · View notes

crivalsduo · 1 month ago

Text

techno never dies.

no, literally.

he's been shot, stabbed, hit by multiple cars and he doesn't die. injuries heal themselves even the most egregious ones. it started when he was a kid and crashed his bike into the shed. a piece of broken wood went right through him. he had pulled it out and walked it off, just like his dad always said to.

that time he almost lost his head? yeah, he was awake through the whole thing and felt flesh and sinew and bone stitch itself back together. he assumes he's immortal. might as well do something with it, right?

so he finds a way to get into situations where he's in the path of a killer. it's not hard, honestly. it's almost like he's drawn to it. all the crazy masked killers? techno's dealt with plenty at this point. part of the job, he guesses.

dream is hard to kill.

technically, he can die after awhile. but it never sticks.

the first time he died, he was five. he had climbed a tree and fallen out of it, snapping his neck. his parents found him and then they found out he can come back from the dead. his mom left a few months later. his dad never looked him in the eye. but he was five and he didn't really understand. no one had explained life and death to him. he hadn't even watched 'the lion king' yet.

the second time he died, it wasn't an accident. they probably didn't start out wanting him dead, dream thought, but that's definitely where it ended. with them beating him to death in the cabin they rented (should've seen that one coming) and then dumping his body in the woods. when he stumbled back an hour later, they assumed they just hadn't done the job right and tried again. honestly, burying him was a good choice because by the time he dug himself out, they were gone.

when techno hears about a group of young people who are slowly being picked off one by one, he figures it's a job for him. and it's not hard to track down the killer and his strange smiley face mask. the thing about horror movies is, they tend to over-exaggerate how hard it is to kill the killer in techno's experience. but this guy? techno is still cleaning up when he takes a deep breath and sits up and asks 'what the fuck was that for?? do you-- do you know what i'm doing? who the hell even are you?'

techno really wishes he had a witty comeback for that but sometimes when the guy you just killed is alive and yelling at you, all you can say is 'heh??'

#dreamnoblade #p.c. post #i need a name for this au help me #horror movie au #for now at least

250 notes · View notes

lostfracturess · 20 hours ago

Text

LAST DECEMBER MORNING — SATORU GOJO

pairing — satoru gojo x sorcerer!reader

summary — on a frost-bitten december morning, you watch satoru gojo prepare for his fated battle with sukuna with infuriating calm, like he isn't planning to sacrifice himself for the greater good. you've spent years being his secret, clearing battlefields for him and stealing kisses between missions, but now you're faced with the most brutal truth. that sometimes the cruelest curse isn't the one that kills you — it's loving someone who belongs to the world before they belong to you.

word count — 5.4 k

warnings — heavy angst, hurt/no comfort, mentions of blood and violence, implied death, unhealthy relationship, sad ending

author's note — this has been rotting in my drafts since the final jjk chapter dropped, and i finally dragged it out into the light bc i'm procrastinating uni. fair warning, this is pure angst with zero comfort, just two people breaking each other's hearts because sometimes love isn't enough. anywayys, happy reading <3

masterlist

Winter had never felt so much like an ending.

You watched frost creep across the windows of your shared apartment, each crystalline pattern forming like cracks in glass, spreading slowly but inevitably.

Outside, the world lay hushed under winter's blanket, everything soft and serene. Birds traced lazy patterns against a sky so blue it hurt to look at, and fresh snow made everything clean and new.

It was the kind of morning that belonged in fairy tales, the kind poets write about when they want to capture peace in words. Strange, how you'd never imagined death would choose such a beautiful day.

You watched Satoru move through his routine, each gesture precise and unhurried. White hair caught the pale sunlight as he smoothed it back, his reflection in the mirror handsome as ever before he adjusted his clothes, and put on his blindfold.

You'd watched him prepare for countless missions before, but this felt different. This felt final.

The normality of it all was almost cruel — how he could stand there, getting ready like this was just another day, just another fight. Like the sun wasn't rising on what could be your last morning together.

The clock on the wall ticked steadily forward, each second falling like a stone into still water. Time felt strange, both rushing too fast and moving too slow. You wanted to grab the clock's hands, force them to stop, to give you just a few more moments in this morning that felt like borrowed time.

"You're staring," he said without turning around, a slight smile playing at his lips.

"Can you blame me?" You were curled up in the window seat, tea growing cold in your hands. "It's not every day your— whatever we are goes to fight the King of Curses."

He turned then, and even through the blindfold, you could feel the weight of his gaze. "Whatever we are?" There was amusement in his tone. "After all this time, you still don't know what we are?"

"Well, we're not exactly big on labels," you pointed out, trying to keep your voice light despite the heaviness in your chest. "Secret relationship and all that."

"Ah, but that's what makes it fun, isn't it?" He crossed the room to where you sat, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. "The sneaking around, the secret meetings—"

"Satoru." You caught his hand. "How are you so calm about this?"

He tilted his head, considering. "Would you prefer if I was panicking?"

"I'd prefer if you showed any emotion at all about the fact that you're about to fight Sukuna." You stood up, setting your tea aside. "You've been acting like this is just another day, just another fight, but it's not. You know it's not."

"I think I've shown plenty of emotion," he said, pulling you closer with a playful smile. "Just last night, if I recall—"

"Don't." You pressed a hand against his chest, keeping him at arm's length. "Don't deflect. Not today."

The smile faded from his face, replaced by something more serious. "What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to tell me why you're so calm. I want you to tell me why you're not worried." Your voice cracked slightly, but you pushed on. "I want you to tell me why it feels like you're saying goodbye."

He was quiet for a long moment, his thumb tracing patterns on your wrist where he still held it. Finally, he spoke, his voice softer than before. "The world needs to move forward. It needs to find someone stronger."

"What are you talking about?" You pulled back slightly. "You're the strongest there is."

"Am I?" His smile was gentle, almost sad. "Or is that just what everyone needs to believe?"

"Satoru—"

"The world has relied on me for too long," he continued. "They've made me their symbol, their savior, their stupid hero. But what happens when I'm gone? Who protects them then?"

"You're not going anywhere," you said. "You're going to win. You always win."

He cupped your face in his hands, thumbs brushing your cheekbones. "Sometimes winning isn't about surviving. Sometimes it's about making sure what comes after is better than what came before."

"That's not funny."

"I'm not trying to be funny." He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against yours. "I'm trying to tell you that whatever happens today, the world will keep turning. It will find new leaders, new protectors. Maybe even better ones."

"I don't want new protectors," you whispered. "I want you."

"Ah, but you've always had me," he said softly. "Ever since that first mission together, when you told me my head was too big to fit through doorways. Do you remember?"

You huffed. "You were showing off, making everything more complicated than it needed to be."

"I was trying to impress you."

"You're always trying to impress me."

"But it's working, right?"

You pressed closer to him, breathing in his familiar scent. "You know it is, you idiot."

He wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight against his chest. For a moment, you both stood there in silence, listening to each other's heartbeats. The familiar rhythm brought back memories of how this all began, of the first time you'd been close enough to hear his heart race.

For loving Satoru Gojo had always been the most beautiful and dangerous thing in your world.

It started in blood, as most things in your world did. A mission gone wrong, cursed spirits thick in the air, the metallic taste of death sharp on your tongue. You’d seen him fight before—who hadn’t?

But that night was different. That night, you saw him bleed.

A special-grade curse caught you both off guard. One moment, he fought three curses at once like some untouchable god, and the next, he was crashing through three buildings, blood gushing from his mouth.

Something in your chest cracked at the sight — not from the impact of being thrown back yourself, but from seeing him, the strongest sorcerer alive, look so terrifyingly human.

You remembered how his blindfold had been torn, those devastating blue eyes meeting yours across the wreckage. Blood trickled down his chin, his usually perfect hair matted with debris, and yet he smiled. That damn smile that made your heart stutter even as cursed spirits attacked you from all sides.

“Trying to steal my spotlight?” he’d joked, wiping blood from his lips as he stood. “I’m the only one allowed to look cool here.”

You wanted to strangle him. You wanted to kiss him. You wanted to scream at him for making jokes when he could have died. You did none of those things. Instead, you cleared the area, giving him the perfect opening he needed to obliterate the special grade.

Later, after the dust had settled and the reports had been filed, he cornered you in the darkened hallway of Jujutsu High.

“You’re angry,” he said, not a question but a statement.

“I’m not angry.” You were furious. “I’m just wondering how someone who’s supposed to be the strongest can be so fucking reckless.”

He stepped closer, backing you against the wall. “Worried about me?”

“You wish.” But your voice shook, betraying you. Because you had been worried. Terrified, actually. The image of him lying in that wreckage, blood staining his white hair red, had burned itself into your mind.

“Liar,” he whispered, and then his lips were on yours.

Everything they said about Satoru Gojo was true — he was overwhelming, all-consuming, impossible to resist. Kissing him felt like being struck by lightning, like being unmade and remade in the space between heartbeats. You broke apart, both breathing hard, and reality came crashing back.

“Fuck,” you summarized eloquently.

He laughed, the sound low and rich. “That could be arranged.”

“Satoru.” You pressed a hand against his chest, feeling his heart race under your palm. “We can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re you. Because I’m me. Because there are a thousand reasons why this is a terrible idea.”

“I’m only hearing excuses.” He caught your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm. “Not actual reasons.”

And that was how it started — with blood and curses and kisses in dark hallways. With terrible ideas that felt too good to resist.

Keeping it secret was both easier and harder than you expected. Easier because everyone already knew how Satoru was — flirtatious, tactile, always pushing boundaries. No one questioned when he draped himself over your desk during meetings or appeared uninvited in your office and stayed for hours.

Harder because every moment felt like a lie of omission. Harder because you had to watch him walk into danger again and again, had to maintain professional distance when all you wanted was to grab him and never let go.

You stole moments where you could find them. Quick kisses in empty classrooms, heated encounters between missions, quiet nights in your apartment when the world thought he was somewhere else entirely.

It ate at you sometimes. Not because you wanted to announce it to the world, but because each moment felt borrowed, stolen from a future you might never have.

Every time he left for a mission, every time he faced another curse, you wondered if this would be it. If this would be the time your last memory of him would be a secret smile across a meeting room, a cryptic message that no one else understood. But then he’d come back, always with that insufferable smile, usually with some ridiculous story about how amazing he’d been.

He’d find ways to touch you in public that looked casual — a hand at the small of your back during briefings, fingers brushing as he passed you documents, his body angled toward yours in crowded rooms like a sunflower seeking light.

And the worst part? The absolute worst part was how good he was at pretending. How easily he maintained his public persona — the untouchable, unbeatable Satoru Gojo, who flirted with everyone and meant it with no one.

Sometimes you’d catch him looking at you in meetings with the same expression he gave everyone else, and for a moment, you’d wonder if you’d imagined everything between you.

But then night would fall, and he’d show up at your door with takeout and that soft smile he saved just for you. He’d kiss you like he was trying to apologize for every moment he had to pretend you were nothing special, like he was trying to prove that this, the two of you, was the only real thing in his world.

You never talked about the future. How could you? In your line of work, tomorrow was never guaranteed. Each mission could be your last, each kiss could be your goodbye. The closest you ever came to acknowledging it was in the desperate way he’d hold you after a close call, in the way you’d trace his features in the dark like you were trying to memorize them by touch.

Some nights, when sleep eluded you both, he’d tell you about the weight of being the strongest, about the exhaustion of being everyone’s last hope.

He’d whisper his fears into your skin — not of death or defeat, but of failing those who believed in him. Those were the moments when the great Satoru Gojo disappeared, leaving just Satoru, just a man who carried the world on his shoulders and made it look easy.

You lived for those moments. The quiet ones, the real ones, the ones where he wasn’t the strongest sorcerer alive but just yours. Just as you were his.

You carved out your own little infinity in the spaces between battles and duties. A secret world where his laugh wasn’t for show, where your touch wasn’t professional, where you could just be the two of you without the weight of expectations and reputations.

But infinity, as it turned out, had limits. Even his.

Looking at him now, preparing to face Sukuna with that same causality he brought to everything, you wondered if this was how your story was always meant to end. If all those stolen moments were just preparing you for this — one last morning, one last smile, one last chance to pretend tomorrow might come.

The world needed someone stronger, he said. But you needed him. And maybe that was the cruelest curse of all — loving someone the world needed more than you did.

"Promise me something," you said then.

"Hmm?"

"Promise me you won't just give up. Promise me you'll fight to come back."

He pulled back slightly, reaching up to remove his blindfold. His striking blue eyes met yours, intense and clear.

"I promise," he said, "that everything I do today will be for a better tomorrow."

"That's not what I asked."

"It's the only promise I can make."

"Stop." Your voice turned sharp, anger finally breaking through. "Stop talking about tomorrow. Stop talking about the future and the next generation and whatever noble sacrifice you think you need to make. I don't care about any of that."

"Don't you?"

"No, I don't." You grabbed his jacket, fingers twisting in the fabric. "I don't care if the world needs someone stronger. I don't care if the next generation needs to step up. I care about you, you impossible man. I want you here, alive, with me. Is that so wrong? Am I not allowed to be selfish when it comes to you?"

"Huh." He caught your hands in his, but didn't pull them away from his jacket. "And here I thought you understood me better than anyone."

"Don't." You tried to pull away, but he held firm. "Don't you dare try to make this about understanding. I understand perfectly. But you're wrong. You don't have to do this."

His smile faltered slightly. "It's not that simple."

"It is that simple!" Your voice cracked. "You're choosing to make it complicated. You're choosing to walk away, to... to what? Make some grand statement about the future? Prove that the world can survive without the great Satoru Gojo?"

"Someone has to."

"But why does it have to be you?" The words burst out of you, raw and desperate. "Why do you have to be the one to show them? Why can't you just fight to win, to live, to come back to—" You cut yourself off, biting back the words that wanted to follow.

"To you?" he finished softly.

"Yes," you said, dropping your forehead against his chest. "To me. Call me selfish, call me short-sighted, I don't care. I want more mornings like this. More everything. More of you, being insufferably calm and making terrible jokes and acting like the world isn't ending when we both know it might be."

He was quiet for a moment, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head. When he spoke, his voice was gentler than before.

"I can't promise to come back." He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "But know this, every moment with you has been worth fighting for. Worth living for."

You pulled back enough to look at him, really look at him. "Then fight for more moments. Fight to make more memories. Fight to come back to me, not for some greater purpose or stupid sacrifice, but because you want to."

"And if I told you that wanting isn't enough?"

"Then I'd call you a liar." Your voice turned cold. "Because you're Satoru fucking Gojo. When has anything ever been impossible for you? When have you ever let anyone tell you what you can't do?"

"This is different—"

"How? How is this different? Because it's Sukuna? Because it's the fate of jujutsu society? Or because you've already decided how this story ends?"

His hands tightened on you, and for a moment, just a moment, you saw something flicker behind those blue eyes — doubt, fear, longing, you couldn't tell. But then it was gone, replaced by that same calm certainty that made you want to scream.

"Because I can't protect everyone—can't protect you if I allow myself to believe in a tomorrow," he whispered.

The gentleness in his voice, the soft way he delivered words meant to cut, made you want to tear the world apart. It was so perfectly Satoru — to break your heart like he was doing you a favor, to wound you with a tenderness that felt more cruel than any violence could be.

"I never asked you to protect me," you said finally. "I asked you to stay. There's a difference."

"Is there?" His hand came up to cup your face, shaking ever so slightly, betraying the calm he fought so hard to maintain. "Because every time I look at you, all I can think about is how many people would use you to get to me. How many would hurt you just to prove they could touch something I care about."

"So your solution is to what? Die nobly? Make sure there's nothing left for them to use against you?"

"My solution is to make sure the world doesn't need me anymore." His thumb brushed across your cheek, catching a tear you hadn't realized had fallen. "To make sure you don't need me anymore."

"That's not your choice to make. You don't get to decide what I need. You don't get to martyr yourself for some greater good and pretend it's for my protection."

"Then what would you have me do?" For the first time, there was a hint of frustration in his voice. "Ignore my responsibilities? Pretend I'm not who I am?"

"I would have you fight like you want to come back!" The words ripped from your throat. "Fight like there's someone waiting for you after. Fight like you love me as much as I love you!"

The confession rang out between you, and the moment it left your lips, you realized you'd never said it before. Through all the stolen moments, all the secret touches, all the nights you'd spent memorizing each other's bodies — you'd never actually spoken those words aloud.

You'd both danced around it, implied it in every action, every look, every unfinished sentence, but neither of you had ever dared to make it real with words.

Until now. Until you were angry enough, desperate enough, terrified enough to let it slip from your heart straight past your defenses.

"Love?" His voice was barely a whisper.

"Of course I love you, you idiot." Your voice equally quiet. "Why else would I be standing here, begging the strongest sorcerer alive to be selfish just once?”

He made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, maybe a sob, his fingers tightening on you. "Don't," he whispered, and for the first time that morning, his voice was shaking. "Don't make this harder than it already is. Don't say things that make me want to—" He cut himself off, jaw clenching. "That make me want impossible things."

"Impossible? Since when does Satoru Gojo believe in impossible?"

"Since I realized loving you means putting you at risk." His thumb brushed your cheek, the gesture achingly gentle. "Since I understood that staying alive isn't the same as keeping you safe."

"I hate this." You shook your head. "I hate how calmly you can stand here and talk about sacrifice like it's inevitable. Like there's no other way."

"Would you prefer if I fell apart?" His smile turned sad. "If I raged and cried and promised things I might not be able to keep?"

"Yes," you admitted, your hands coming up to cover his where they still held your face. "Because at least then I'd know you want to stay as much as I want you to."

"Oh, my love." The endearment fell from his lips like a confession. "Wanting to stay has never been the question. The question is whether I can live with myself if I do."

"And what about whether I can live with myself if you don't?" Your voice broke. "What about whether I can forgive myself for not fighting harder to make you stay?"

"This isn't your fight."

"Like hell it isn't." You pulled back. "You think I spent months learning to clear battlefields just so you could take center stage? You think I perfected my technique to complement your infinity because I had nothing better to do?" You dug your nails into your palms, throat tight with fury. "I've been fighting alongside you since before you ever kissed me in that hallway. Before you ever decided I was worth protecting. Don't you dare tell me this isn't my fight when I've spent years making sure you had the space you needed to be great."

He was quiet for a long moment, studying you. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, almost reverent. "And that's exactly why I need to go. The world doesn't need more people making space for me. It needs people who'll fill that space themselves."

You recoiled like he'd slapped you, hurt burning in your chest. "Is that what you think I've been doing? Making myself smaller for you? Made space for you because I was afraid to reach higher?" You stepped closer, deadly calm now. "I made space for you because that's what you do when you love someone."

His lips twitched into a smile. "So you do understand me."

"Don't pretend those are the same thing."

He was quiet for a moment. Then, instead of answering, he pulled you into a kiss that tasted like goodbye. Like all the tomorrows you'd never have, all the moments you'd never share, all the promises neither of you could keep. You kissed him back with everything you had — all your fury and fear and love condensed into this one perfect, terrible moment.

His hands tangled in your hair like he was trying to memorize the feeling, yours gripping his jacket as if you could keep him here through sheer force of will. When you finally broke apart, hearts pounding, foreheads pressed together in the space between one heartbeat and the next.

"I'll hate you," you whispered against his lips. "If you don't come back, I'll hate you for the rest of my life."

He pulled back just enough to look at you, and for once, his smile held an edge of something raw, something that looked almost like pain. "No, you won't."

"I will." Your fingers tightened in his jacket. "I'll hate you for making me fall in love with someone who was always planning to leave. I'll hate you for every morning I wake up alone, for every mission briefing where someone else stands in your place, for every year I have to leave flowers on your grave."

"You'll move on. You'll find someone—"

"Fuck you," you cut him off, the words sharp enough to draw blood. "Don't you dare tell me how I'll feel. Don't you dare stand here and plan out my future without you in it."

"I'm just trying to—"

"To what? Prepare me? Make it easier? There's nothing easy about loving you, Satoru Gojo. There never has been. But I chose it anyway. Every day, knowing this moment would come."

"What do you want me to do? Do you want me to say goodbye? Make it messy and painful and real?"

"I want you to stop pretending this is just another mission and show me something that tells me this is killing you like it's killing me."

The silence stretched between you like a chasm. For just a moment, beneath his careful composure, you caught a glimpse of the man behind the name — vulnerable, conflicted, maybe even afraid. But he buried it quickly, like he buried everything that might make him waver from his chosen path.

You'd always known this about him, hadn't you? Known it from that first bloody mission, from every fight where he'd put himself between the world and destruction.

Satoru Gojo was a man built for sacrifice, shaped by duty and power into something that could never truly belong to just one person. You'd fallen in love with him anyway, foolishly hoping that maybe love could be enough to make him choose differently.

But watching him now, seeing the gentle finality in every movement, you understood with crushing clarity that this was always how it would end. No amount of pleading or anger or love could change what he'd already decided.

He'd made his choice long before this morning, probably before he'd ever kissed you in that darkened hallway.

"Keep the tea warm for me," he said finally, stepping back. The words were casual, almost playful — exactly the kind of thing he'd say on any other morning. But that's what made it cruel. Even now, he was trying to soften the blow, pretending this was just another goodbye, just another mission.

You didn't say anything as he walked to the door. Didn't wish him luck or tell him to be safe. The time for those platitudes had passed.

Instead, you watched him pause in the doorway, his hand resting on the frame. For a moment, you thought he might turn around, might drop the act and let you see something real. One last true moment before the end.

He didn't fully turn, but his voice carried back to you, soft and achingly sincere. "I love you. More than anything." A pause. "That's why I have to go."

The words hit you like a physical blow, knocking the air from your lungs. You'd never expected them, had made peace with the silence between heartbeats where those words should have lived.

You'd imagined them differently, in all the quiet moments you'd shared — whispered against your skin in the dark, laughed into your mouth between kisses, murmured sleepily on lazy mornings. Not like this. Never like this.

How cruel, that he would finally say them now, when they felt more like a funeral rite than a confession. A parting gift from a man walking towards his own chosen end, making what should have been beautiful feel like another wound. The words you'd never dared hope for now hurt more than a lifetime of silence ever could.

Your throat burned with all the things you wanted to scream at him — about how love should mean staying, about how he was breaking your heart while trying to save it, about how dare he make those words sound like goodbye when they should have been a beginning.

"I hate you," you whispered.

He made a sound that might have been a laugh or might have been something more broken. "No, you don't." The certainty in his voice felt like another wound. "You love me. You said so yourself."

"I'll hate you." Your voice hardened with each word. "I'll hate you so much it'll make you wish you'd stayed."

His hand tightened on the doorframe, knuckles white with tension. For a heartbeat, you thought you'd finally cracked his composure. That he might turn around and choose you over duty, love over destiny.

He didn't.

The door closed behind him with a soft click that sounded like an ending.

"But I'll wait for you anyway," you whispered to the empty room, hating yourself for the truth in those words.

The truth was, you'd always known it would end like this, known that loving Satoru Gojo meant loving someone who belonged to the world before he belonged to you.

But you'd been naive enough to hope. Foolish enough to think that maybe, just maybe, love could be enough to make him choose differently. That your selfish desire to keep him alive and whole could outweigh his selfless need to reshape the world.

The morning light cut across the empty room, highlighting the space where he'd stood moments before, and you wondered about the cruelty of it all.

Was it wrong to want to keep him here? To ask the strongest sorcerer alive to choose personal happiness over humanity's future? How many would suffer because you'd asked him to be selfish just this once?

But then again, how many had already been saved by him? How many times had he bled and broken and pieced himself back together for a world that only saw him as a shield, never as a man? Didn't he deserve the chance to live for himself, just once?

If love died today, buried six feet under noble intentions and greater goods, then maybe hate was all you had left. And wasn't there something pure in that? In hating him with the same intensity you'd loved him? In letting that hate fill the spaces he left behind, burning away the softness until all that remained was sharp edges and bitter truths?

The world needed Satoru Gojo the symbol, the untouchable god of jujutsu. But you'd needed Satoru, just Satoru, the man who brought you tea exactly how you liked it and kissed you like you were his everything. The man who was walking away, leaving you with nothing but memories and the taste of hate on your tongue.

Was it selfish to think your love was worth more than the world's need? Was it cruel to measure the weight of one heart against humanity's future?

Love and duty were never meant to be weighed against each other like this, weren't meant to be choices that tore a person in two. And perhaps that was the real tragedy — not that he was walking away, but that you'd let yourself believe he wouldn't.

You'd known how this story would end from that very first kiss. Had tasted it in every goodbye before a mission, felt it every time you waited anxiously for his return, seen it lurking behind every smile that never quite reached his eyes.

Loving Satoru Gojo meant loving someone who was always meant to be sacrificed. You'd just been naive enough to think sacrifice could look different, that it didn't have to end with you here, choking on love turned to ash in your mouth.

Your fingers traced your lips where those three words still lingered like a curse. The tea was getting cold on the windowsill. You should pour it out, make a fresh cup. Should start preparing for a world where Satoru Gojo was just a memory, a legend, a story of sacrifice and strength. Should learn how to breathe around the thorns growing in your chest where love used to live.

Instead, you stayed frozen, caught in the space between what was and what could have been. Because maybe he was wrong. Maybe the world didn't need someone stronger. Maybe it just needed him to come back. You certainly did.

But it was too late for maybes now. He was already gone, walking toward a destiny he'd chosen long before he'd chosen you. And you were left here, caught between hating him for leaving and loving him for exactly who he was — a man who would always choose the greater good, even when it shattered both your hearts.

But perhaps the cruelest irony was that in trying to protect humanity, he'd forgotten he was human too. That in becoming everyone's shield, he'd forgotten shields could break. That hearts could break. That yours was breaking.

The sun climbed higher in the sky, indifferent to your pain, indifferent to the way your world had just walked out the door with a smile and a promise he might not be able to keep.

You'd wait anyway. Even knowing how the story was meant to end, you'd wait. Because that's what love was — not just the beautiful parts, but the ugly parts too. The waiting. The hoping. The hating.

The choosing to love someone even when they choose something else. Even when that love turns to poison in your veins.

Even when they choose the world over you.

The tea had long gone cold when you finally moved, muscles stiff from standing still for so long. You'd sworn you wouldn't watch. Had promised yourself you wouldn't be there to see him die for his greater tomorrow.

But your hands were already reaching for your jacket.

Because that was the thing about loving Satoru Gojo — even when it turned to hate, even when it felt like acid in your throat, you couldn't look away. You'd watch him fight Sukuna. Watch him smile that infuriating smile as he chose the world one last time.

After all, you'd already promised to hate him if he didn't come back.

The least you could do was be there to keep that promise.

author's note — thank you for reading this little piece of heartbreak. i was very unsure if it will ever see the light of day but i finished it now bc i was in the mood for pain. if you enjoyed, i would greatly appreciate a reblog or comment. hope your heart isn't too broken <3

ps: if you want to get notifications for future updates, you can join my taglist here!

tags — @fayuki @starmapz @saurondriell @starlightanyaaa @sxnkuna

@cocomanga @nanamis-baker @rosso-seta @shervinss @chiyokoemilia

@janbannan @bloopsstuff

#satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x y/n #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo angst #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk angst #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #gojo angst #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujustu kaisen x y/n #jujutsu kaisen angst

244 notes · View notes

heartshapedmisery · 1 year ago

Text

𝐚 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 | jon snow

summary ― .ﾟ‪‪ ˖ in which jon wanders too far north of the wall into free folk territory and is put under your supervision, mance rayder's daughter, after your voluntary offer of him staying in your tent. you never thought you would be willing to bunk with a crow, but of course, there's a first for everything.

warnings ― .ﾟ‪‪ ˖ MINORS DNI ! ( 18+ ) | language, graphic smut, unprotected sex ( wrap it before u tap it y'all ), inexperienced!jon, reader taking jon's virginity, little bit of subby!jon, riding, handjob, mentions of blood ( reader bites jon's lip on accident whoops ), oral ( f! recieving ), jon having a praise k!nk, jon having literally no self-control, reader calling jon a crow about a thousand times lmao, minimal use of Y/N, lmk if i missed anything!

word count ― .ﾟ‪‪ ˖ 3k +

pairing ― .ﾟ‪‪ ˖ jon snow x fem!rayder!reader.

author’s note ― .ﾟ‪‪ ˖ jon snow is so babygirl

honestly loved writing this, lmk what you think! also, should i make a part two with ygritte involved ?? wink wink

publishing date ― .ﾟ‪‪ ˖ june 26th, 2023 | © HEARTSHAPEDMISERY

When you first saw the darkness of his furs sticking out so flamboyantly against the white of the northern snow, you knew Ygritte had struck gold on her hunt with the others.

You watched with a cautious but intrigued look on your face as she pulled him along behind her by a long rope tied around his hands, cradling a longsword in the crook of her arm with a wide smile on her face. But, the look on the crow's face seemed to be the total opposite.

Everything about him was dark, from his ratted furs to his hair that looked like it hadn't been given a good wash in ages, to even the disgruntled frown that didn't seem to leave his face until Ygritte finally untied him from his restraints. He was a crow, through and through.

You had seen plenty men of the Night's Watch before―even killed a few―but the one who stood before you as you made your way into your father's council tent was different. His eyes were a deep, darling brown, holding a youth that couldn't have been any older than your own. Most of the crows you had captured were all old and gray, not nearly as attractive and brooding as this one.

You didn't know there was such a thing.

"Where'd you find this one?" you whispered to Ygritte, your voice low enough for only her ears, your eyes raking over his figure that seemed disproportioned from the thick of the furs and leathers he wore.

"About a few miles north of the wall," she told you, watching him just as closely as you were. "He was just too pretty to pass up." The two of you shared a laugh as she handed you the young crow's sword, heavy and dull in its scabbard.

The Lord of Bones pushed him roughly towards the man sitting in the center of the tent, biting into a hunk of meat as if it were his last meal.

"I smell a crow," Tormund muffled with his mouth full, turning his head barely enough to get a good look at the young man. His scowl hadn't changed, if anything worsened since being shoved into the large tent.

His name had been Jon Snow, which he revealed to Tormund just before kneeling before him and muttering your grace. The entire tent seemed to bustle with laughter at the attempt of respect, you and Ygritte sending each other a knowing look as the crow's face reddened with embarrassment. Tormund may have looked and fought like one, but he was no king.

"Stand boy," a voice hidden in the back of the tent sounded, silencing everyone in the room within a matter of seconds. Your father, Mance Rayder, unveiled himself from the shadowy corner room behind Tormund, looking down upon Jon Snow as he stood.

Jon was quick to rise to his feet, looking up at him as the man stood taller than even Tormund. "We don't kneel for anyone beyond the wall."

Slowly, you moved towards your father from Ygritte's side, resting your hands on the hilt of the crow's sword as you allowed it to stand in front of you. Your father always valued your opinion when coming to decisions over the free folk, and this matter was no different.

Your eyes had hardened by now, catching Jon's gaze with a look that could only be interpreted as defensive. No matter how pretty you thought he was, he was still a man of the Night's watch. Your enemy infiltrating your land.

You watched him carefully as he went on to explain why he had left the Night's Watch, telling your father about the things he had seen in Craster's Keep.

"And why would that make you want to abandon your brothers?" Mance asked, his voice low and gravelly. His words seemed to intimidate the young man, his eyes flitting away from your father's before moving back to them hesitantly.

"Answer the question," you growled, leaning in towards him with a malice that couldn't help but send a chill down his spine. His eyes shot to yours, wondering why you were making such commands in the presence of Mance Rayder.

He explained how the Night's Watch did nothing to prevent Craster from giving up his newborn son to the white walkers, creatures that had been known to be gone for centuries.

"I want to fight for the side that fights for the living," he told your father, sparing you only a quick look as you stepped back to Mance's side. "Did I come to the right place?"

Mance mulled over the boy's words before looking down at you, the look on his face clear that he wanted your opinion. "What do you say, girl? Shall the baby crow stay?"

As you held his sword close to your chest, you stepped closer to Jon, your face inches from his as you gave him a good look over. He seemed nervous, his breathy shaky as it blew past his lips.

"I say he can," you paused, circling around him before meeting his gaze once more with a sly smrik on your lips. "But he stays with me."

He didn't speak much to you at first―or anyone really―only saying a few words when needed to and biting his tongue when you made some snide remark or called him a crow.

Since you had taken the responsibility of monitoring him, you practically stuck to Jon like glue until nightfall―as did many other girls in your camp, including Ygritte. She was an exception, but you had to keep running the rest of them off since their eagerness to catch a glimpse of him drove them to fights and quarrels in the snow.

Not to degrade any of the people in your camp, but men that looked like Jon Snow were not a common sight in free folk territory.

After showing him around the camp and getting him a new set of furs made of polar bear skin and boiled leather, you eventually gave him Longclaw back―which was what he called that heavy sword of his. He was grateful, but his disgruntled frown hardly left his face.

"Lose the frown, Jon Snow," you had told him as he joined you and Ygritte for dinner around the fire you had built near your tent. "You're not in the South anymore. There's no need to look so miserable."

When nightfall finally took the sky, you escorted Jon to your tent with a mischievous smirk on your face, earning looks from other wilding girls―most of them being of annoyance or jealousy. Their glares didn't go unnoticed by Jon, a look of confusion and concern evident on his face.

"Are they always like this?" he asked sheepishly, looking over his shoulder as the two of you stood still in front of the flaps of your tent.

You couldn't help but laugh, the scowls on their faces feral and sour as you led him into your tent.

"You're the first pretty crow they've seen in ages, Jon Snow," you told him with a grin. "They'll claw each other's eyes out to lay naked with you."

Your words seemed to surprise him, but he didn't say anything as a reddish tint rose in his cheeks. He had never been with a girl, he was too young before he joined The Watch, and his vows forbade him from lying with a woman. He had never gotten the chance, so the idea couldn't help but intrigue him.

"Your furs are over there," you pointed to the makeshift bed across from yours, "Though I know you'll be far much warmer over here with me."

He disregarded your comment, silent as he made his way over to his side of the tent and tried not to think too hard about laying with you.

It wasn't a large tent, your furs only a mere few feet from his. You still laid rather close despite being on separate sides.

Beginning to undo your outer layers and shedding them off, you were left in only a thin undershirt and pants that barely left anything to the imagination as you sat across from him.

Jon's eyes widened.

You could feel his eyes on you, his cheeks flushed at the sight of your hardened nipples poking through the fabric as you reached over to light a few candles between the two of you to brighten up the tent. He felt a sting of guilt run through his chest; he didn't want to betray his vows, or even think about betraying them, but you were making it very difficult for him to abstain on his side of the tent.

"What, have you never seen a woman's body before, crow?" you said playfully as you undid your hair from the braid it had been pulled back in all day, tousling it with your tired fingers to get ready for bed.

Jon only widened his eyes, gulping rather harshly as his lips parted, catching your eyes that seemed to be filled with nothing but seduction.

"What do you care?" he looked away, the tension too much for him to bare. His cheeks were flaming red at this point, embarrassment flaring in his chest. He could feel his hard-on begin to grow under his thick trousers, hoping to the Old Gods you couldn't see.

"Oh, right," you said sarcastically. "The Night's Watch will hack your hand off if you even think about touching a woman, is that right? Miserable bastards."

Jon tried to protest, his words caught dead in his mouth as you cut him off abruptly.

"Have you ever laid with a woman, Jon Snow?" you asked lowly, sitting up from your spot on your warm furs before slowly starting to crawl over to him, sultry laced thickly in your voice.

He shook his head, his eyes wide and blown out with lust. You were dangerously close to him, sitting down in front of him with your legs tucked neatly beneath you as you leaned in towards him.

"Do you want to?" you said slyly, your lips inches from his.

Your hand slowly reached out for his, grasping it gently before bringing it to your breast and allowing him to cup it. A shaky sigh blew past his plump lips, his gaze flitting down to your chest as he rubbed the pad of his thumb over your sensitive nipple gently.

The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could even think. Before he could remember the vow that he had made not long ago. Your sweet scent of firewood and pine was like truth serum to his senses. "More than anything."

His gentle, pleading words were enough for you to bring your lips to his, enveloping in the taste of him as you moved swiftly onto his lap, lips moving in sync hungrily as if he would be your last.

His arms tightened around your waist, pulling you flush against his hard chest. As you lowered your hips down onto his lap, you could feel him hard against your core, making you gasp in surprise.

You laughed gently under your breath in excitement as his eyes fluttered shut, not being able to help yourself as you began to slowly grind against him, earning a low and shaky whimper from his throat.

It was like music to your ears; his soft whimpers and pants. When you had been with other wildling men, they grunted and groaned as they worked their way in and out of you, almost animalistic. Jon was different.

"Do you like it when I do this?" You cooed in his ear. His moans were soft and desperate as he yearned for more of your touch, his hands gentle and needy as they grasped at your hips and worked you across his lap slowly.

He had no idea how much of an effect it had on you. How his exasperated pants made something foreign blossom in your chest and spread down to your lower half.

"Please," he begged as he pulled away from your lips, looking up at you with an adoration you had never seen from any free folk. You had him wrapped around your finger, drunk on your warm touch. Nothing could've riled you up more.

"You can have me however you want," you promised him, tucking a stray piece of hair behind his ear. Slowly, you pulled your undershirt off over your head before wriggling out of your thin pants, leaving your body bare and on display for him. "You're mine now, Jon Snow."

Your hand traveled down slowly between your bodies, running over the front of his trousers and cupping his hard-on, dancing your fingers across it tauntingly. "But first, let me help you with this."

Your fingers quickly worked at the ties at his trousers, pulling it open and helping him get rid of them before assisting him in removing his heavy furs and leathers and throwing them to the side, leaving him bare and warm beneath you, his pale, toned skin burning against your own.

Carefully, you sat back down on his lap, sitting at the edge of his knees so you could get a good look at him splayed out before you. Excitement buzzed in your chest at the sight of his reddened tip, leaking with precum practically begging to be touched.

With a soft look, your hand grasped his hardened cock gently, making him shudder at the sudden contact.

The feeling was foreign to him; Sure, he had used his own hand once or twice to relieve himself when he was feeling desperate, but his calloused and thick hands didn't compare to your small, soft, and experienced ones as you began to pump him gently.

"O-Oh," he sighed, his eyes fluttering shut as you rubbed him carefully, allowing your forehead to press gently to his. You could feel his soft, warm pants fanning against your face, gentle moans falling from his lips every so often.

"You're so good for me," you whispered to him, your thumb running over the slit at the head of his cock, earning a shaky gasp from him. Your lips peppered kisses against his, before moving slowly to his cheeks and working your way down his jaw tauntingly.

The feeling of your lips leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses along the skin of his neck and collarbone made him ecstatic. He didn't know what he had done to earn such a heavenly gift from the gods, but he knew he never wanted this to end. He never wanted to be without your touch.

"F-Fuck," he whined, entranced by the look of desire in your eyes as you rubbed him.

His toned stomach contracted gently, his abs tensing as he inched closer and closer to his release. His moans became more guttural, incoherent mumbles to the sound of your name filling your ears.

"I'm g-gonna-" he warned, his eyes fluttering shut. But, before he could finish his sentence, hot, white spurts of his release shot onto his stomach, painting him sinfully as a shaky groan rumbled in his chest in response. It lit something inside you, the way he trembled beneath your touch and moaned your name as if it were a prayer. You could drown in it.

Carefully, you reached for the undershirt you had thrown off and wiped his stomach clean, not caring you had dirtied it and would have to wash it by hand on the morrow.

A calm silence fell between you, allowing his forehead to fall to the crook of your neck as his hands snaked around your waist, pulling your chest flush against his. Your warmth was something he wanted to live in forever. He never wanted to leave this tent.

"You're so-" he mumbled against your skin, his breath faltering as he tried to find the right words. "You're so good at that."

You couldn't help but blush. The way he worshipped you made you ecstatic, your hands raking through his dark curls as you tilted his head up to look at you.

"Can I kiss you?" he rasped. His eyes were full of want, his eyebrows pulling together slightly as he pawed at the flesh of your thigh. Carefully, you moved to bring your lips to his with a wide grin but he stopped you, pulling his head to the side tauntingly.

He shook his head gently. "Not there."

You didn't understand what he meant. Kiss you where?

Cautiously, he pulled you off of his lap and laid you down on the soft furs, his body hovering over yours as he slotted himself in between your legs.

He began to make his way down your body with gentle kisses, nipping at your supple skin as he trailed from the crook of your neck to all the way down between your plush thighs, leaving little love bites in the wake of his mouth as he inched dangerously close to where you needed him most.

"Getting brave, aren't we?" you taunt, his hands moving to tuck your legs onto his shoulders before he gripped your hips with both of his hands firmly, holding you in place as you could feel his warm breath fanning against your glistening core.

He ignored your snide remark, wasting no time before licking a clean stripe against your cunt and beginning to work away at you, his eyes fluttering shut at the sound of your euphoric moans.

Your face contorted with pleasure as you felt his lips wrap around your clit, gently sucking at it, before cautiously bringing his middle and ring fingers to your core and allowing them to curl in an upward motion blissfully.

You had never felt anything like this before. The way his tongue moved against your folds made you ecstatic, wondering what they put in the southern water to make him so good at what he was doing.

"J-Jon," you gasped, your fingers combing through his dark locks and giving them a good tug, earning a moan from him as it vibrated against your core and only pushed you closer to your high. Your thighs clenched around his head in an attempt to pull him closer to you, the tip of his nose brushing up against your clit just enough to make you jolt with a shaky gasp.

He enticed moans out of you like never before, licking and sucking at your core in ways you didn't even know were possible. He seemed so skilled for claiming to have never touched a woman before. Could he have been lying to you?

Your eyes practically rolled to the back of your head as you saw his hips begin to grind slowly against the furs as he lapped away at your core, his cock hard once more from the sweet taste of you. Moans grumbled in his chest as he squeezed your thighs tighter, his fingers sure to leave bruises on your supple skin.

The abrupt feeling of his fingers pulling out of your core made you whine. But his tongue entering you was enough to make you see stars, your back arching up off the soft furs as you could feel the tight coil in your stomach begin to snap.

Your wanton moans filled his ears, loud enough to be heard by the rest of the camp, but you didn't care. Your only concern was him and your climax—which wasn't far off.

"Gods!" your heel dug into the middle of his muscular back as you gripped the furs at your side, your orgasm washing over you unlike ever before. Your thighs trembled gently around Jon's head, his mouth pulling away from your core, his chin glistening with your release as he watched you with a lazy smile while you writhed in pleasure before him.

He pulled himself up so he was hovering over you once more, his face a mere few inches from yours as your chest heaved up and down, coming down from your high. Your eyelids felt heavy as he gripped your hip, and the sheer look of lust in his eyes made your lips crash against his hungrily.

You could taste your release on his lips as his tongue slipped into your mouth, not even thinking before wrapping your legs around his waist and flipping him over on the furs, now sitting on his lap as he laid breathlessly beneath you.

You smiled at the way he looked up at you with want, his hands playing with the flesh of your ass impatiently. His hardened cock beneath your wet core made it hard for you to concentrate, but you still managed to roll your hips against his tauntingly.

"Just lay there, sweet. Let me give you what you want," you rasped, your hands splayed flat on his chest as your teasing became nearly unbearable for him.

"Please," he pleaded. "I need to feel you."

Slowly, you brought your hand to grasp him gently, giving him a few pumps before guiding him towards your entrance as you hovered over him, your eyes not leaving his as you sank down onto him.

Relieved moans left your mouths in unison, your cunt stretching around him sweeter than he could imagine. Your warmth made his heart flutter, his hands gripping your hips firmly as he waited for you to move.

Soft whimpers filled the space between you as your hips slowly began to roll across his lap, your nails raking down the front of his toned chest as you fell into a steady pace. His mind was fogged with the sheer sight of you on top of him, finding the gentle bounce of your breasts with every movement entrancing.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he breathed, his head falling back as he screwed his eyes shut, which couldn't help but send a wave of pleasure straight to your core. You couldn't help yourself when your fingers trailed to your clit and began to rub the sensitive bundle of nerves back and forth, clenching around his length with each roll of your hips.

"Gods," he cursed, sitting up from his spot on the soft furs as you still guided your hips back and forth on his cock.

Your arm automatically slung around his broad shoulders as his own pulled you closer to him by your waist while he propped himself up with his free hand, allowing him to thrust up inside of you and reach deeper than before.

The way the tip of his cock just barely brushed your cervix enraptured you. You were finding it very hard to believe that he had never done this before.

"Right there," you panted out, gripping his bare shoulder so hard your fingernails were sure to leave tiny crescent indents in his skin. His pace quickened, slowly becoming more desperate and sloppy as your moans grew with it. You were sure the entire camp could've heard the lot of you by now.

His lips met yours in an instant, a poor attempt on Jon's part at silencing you as best he could. You allowed his tongue to roam your mouth, your fingers collecting at the nape of his neck to hold him closer to you. But to his surprise―with a sudden thrust of his hips―your teeth caught his bottom lip with a moan.

"Ahh," he hissed, the metallic taste of blood collecting at the front of his mouth. He pulled back, panting heavily as the look of lust didn't leave his eyes. Your lips were reddened and wet, and the way your tongue poked out barely to wipe them clean made a low groan rumble in his chest.

Within an instant, he smashed his lips back onto yours, pushing you back so you were laying flat on the furs now with his hips between your legs, his length still inside of you as he wasted no time to begin a steady pace pistoning in and out of you messily.

"Jon!" you moaned, his cock stretching you perfectly with each thrust. His lips attacked at the supple skin of your neck, peppering little love bites trailing down over your collarbone. You could feel him wince between moans against your skin as your nails dug into his back uncontrollably, leaving long, reddened welts along his pale skin.

Your fingers trailed slowly up to his hair, giving it a good tug as you brought his lips to yours. Your movements earned a low grumble in the back of his throat in response, his hips beginning to stutter as he could feel his climax rising.

You weren't far off either, with his sweet, incandescent moans that made the coil in your stomach tighten filling your ears. "Are you gonna come for me, baby?"

A guttural moan ripped through Jon's throat at your soft whispers, unable to form words as he nodded his head breathlessly. You could feel his cock twitch inside of you, his last few thrusts hard and deep before pulling out of you—just enough to send you over the edge of your high.

You swiftly propped yourself up on your elbows, breathless from your climax as he pumped his shaft a few times before releasing himself all over your stomach and chest. His face contorted with pleasure as you watched him with amazement, a sly smirk creeping on your face as he came hard.

A gentle silence fell between the two of you as he caught his breath, moving to lay next to you on the soft furs and wrapping his arm around your waist before pulling you close to his side. His warmth burned against your cheek as you laid your head on his chest, running your fingers lazily across his skin.

"You were right," he whispered against your hair, pressing a kiss to your head as you snuggled your face into the crook of his neck. You smiled against his skin, "How so?"

You lifted your head up, meeting his darling brown eyes as a small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

"I'm far much warmer with you."

#jon snow smut #jon snow #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #got #fanfic #scarlet was here!#jon snow x reader

3K notes · View notes

moonybug444 · 4 months ago

Note

Queen i love ur stories will you ever do other characters one day? keep writing girl ur killing it

i actually have been working on something for gojo so here it is lol but i didn’t think people wanted other characters! please let me know someone you guys would like me to write for!

you had it comin’

tw: daddy kink / reader is called a brat a lot / gojo ruins an orgasm / ——————————————————————————————————

“y’like it satoru? really?”

gojo looks at you like he’s got stars in his eyes. the second he even sees your pretty frame he was done for.

he had just come in from an entirely too long stressful day of work, the only thing on his mind was you. and of course, like you read his mind, you had a pretty surprise for him

you’re cutely giggling by the time he finally walks over to you, quickly shuffling himself so he sitting on the king size bed and your straddling his long legs.

with a bright smile on his face he demands, “gimme a spin beautiful,” and you happily get up. raising to your tip tip toes and giving him a short yet thorough spin. you’re in a short, pretty, baby blue lingerie set, and paired with the cute little matching bows you topped, he thinks you want him to explode.

when it comes to your husband, it doesn’t take much to get plenty praise from him. in his eyes your perfect. shit, it’s gotten to the point where you wake up in the morning already expecting praise just for opening your pretty eyes.

of course that has its ups and downs though. i mean you’ve always been really, ‘taking cared of’ as you call it, though satoru calls it spoiled. getting everything you’ve wanted since the day you were born without so much as a rebuttal plus satoru’s constant yes’ didn’t do well for you at all. before you were only spoiled, now you’re a full on brat. you never hear the word no out of anyone’s mouth anymore, and when you do, who cares? you know your husbands going to make it happen for you.

gojo cuffs both hands under your ass and grins handsomely.

“look what you do to me, baby.” he looks down at the hard-on in his dress pants, and your eyes follow, practically drooling at the sight.

you feel like your going crazy the longer you look at it, you need it. it’s not like you haven’t had it or anything, you’re fucking yourself on your husbands dick practically every night. which is why your confused when satoru doesn’t make his move like usual. and you’re even more confused when he shoves your hand away from touching him.

your lips curl back when you pout, “satoru…why can’t i—”

“what you think you deserve it all of the sudden?” he takes a deep breath and tries to put on his stern voice. “you really think weeks worth of being a spoiled brat is gonna erase from this, sweetheart?”

yes. most definitely. even satoru knows it can, but he’s realized going easy on you doesn’t get him anywhere. he can’t help it though, you’re as cute as can be. how’s he supposed to just say no to his pretty wife when she’s looking up at him with those perfect doe eyes, those wispy lashes he just adores on her? that big pouty lip and the puffed out cheeks when you start to throw a fit? exactly he can’t. although he figures he’ll at least give it a shot, just to say he tried.

“but—” of course he sees ‘em before they come. those big fat crocodile tears you force out whenever you’re not getting what you want on your timing. “i have been a good girl…! you just don’t even love me—” you go to wipe at your eyes and whine. usually they work, but this time satoru’s putting his foot down.

“nu-uh, no— baby c’mon, we’re not doing this tonight, ok?” he says the kind words though an antagonizing smile shows on his face, which he tries to hide.

he pulls you back on his lap and rubs circles on your back. he speaks to you in a delicate tone when you’ve finally calmed down he speaks to you in a subtle tone.

“what’s been going on, huh?” he fakes a pout. “what’s up with my sweet girl? i just can’t say no to anything these days, just throw a fit.”

your eyebrows are raised when you curl your head into his shoulder like a cat, trying to get on his good side. “m’sorry toru.” you sniffle out a whiney, “i jus’ miss you so much.” when you puff your chest out and start to slowly move your hips against him, you think your older husband starts to listen.

“i know you do pretty girl, but you can’t just—”

“please daddy…can i make it better?” when you say it like that all satoru can look at is your plush tits in that pretty set you’ve got on. all he can pay attention to is your full hips slowly circling his cock.

out the window is his stern attitude when you lay him down and take his clothes off one by one. out the window is you being a spoiled brat the last few weeks. all your husband can think about now is the way you let yourself sink on top of his leaking cock. he thinks all can be forgiven.

——————————————————————————————————

“hah—” you’re still whining as you bounce on his cock, wanting to hear his praise. “m’doin g….good, daddy?” your pussy still dripping from the last load satoru gave you, sucking everything he’s got.

satoru slaps your ass and pants against your tits, mumbling incoherently to himself. he looks up at you bouncing on your tip toes and he feels like he’s gonna faint. he’s never seen something so beautiful, sure of it.

“mygosh, baby…” he tries to grab on to something—your hips, the bed, anything to keep him stable. “can’t keep doing this, ok? n…next time m’putting my foot done.”

yeah, yeah. you give him a cutely whined, ‘k, daddy’ and keep yourself going, trying your best to fuck him good like he does you. your trying your best and your husband knows it. and it’s almost like he reads your mind, because the second you feel your legs grow aches and tired of riding, he flips you onto the edge of the bed.

satoru leans down to fuck his tounge into your mouth when he starts to hear you whine about how its, ‘too much,’ all the sudden. he just can’t get a fucking break from your shit, can he? when he’s not fucking you its, ‘you don’t love me,’ but when he is you can’t take it?fuck that. he feels himself taking deeper stroke when you complain. fucks you harder and harder. you try to push at his lower tummy but he won’t let up—just grabs both of your hands with one of his and holds them above your head.

when your pussy starts to squirt out more of her mess he knows you’re starting to get overstimulated, but he just can’t seem to get himself to care. when you get too fussy all he does is stuff two of his fat fingers in your mouth.

“yeah,” he looks down to see the mix of slick and sweat pooling at the base of his cock every time he pulls away from you. “pussy feels even better when it’s not a fucking brat in my ear.”

drool pools around your mouth when you go to say something. satorus positive it’s something along the lines of, “m’not a brat!” he’s just glad he doesn’t have to hear it.

your clit pulses against his moving fingers and he can tell your there, just a few more strokes and you’d be making another mess.

“you wanna cum, baby?” satoru watches you hurriedly nod and his eyebrows raise, ready to play. he keeps fucking you deeper and deeper and you swear your feel your pussy gradually molding just for his dick.

his cock getting messier by the second, white ring showing every time he pulls in and out of your pussy. as soon as satoru sees your eyes start to roll back, and feels that little pussy let go. he pulls right out.

the whine that escapes from your lips is beyond satisfying, he can barely hold his smile. “wha— ‘toru!!” your little fingers fly to your clit, trying to at least ease some of the dissatisfaction. you rub your middle and ring finger in circles on your little clit messily, not nearly doing it as fulfilling as your husband. when your twitchy pussy does nothing but ache you cry out.

your eyes are weeping when you look to see your husband already pulling his briefs up and laughing at you. “don’t look at me like that baby.” he looks down at your pretty pussy still leaking with his and your cum and licks his lips, “you had it coming’.

#gojo satoru #gojo satoru smut #gojo smut #jjk smut #husband gojo #brat reader #jujustsu kaisen smut #gojo x reader #satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader

298 notes · View notes

space-blue · 6 months ago

Text

Feyd thoughts from Fenring scene

I was sharing thoughts to a friend while rewatching the Feyd and Fenring scene and figured I'd share it here too, it's my blog innit.

He's walking on his own in a completely empty corridor. Upon being followed he ambushes and pulls a knife, meaning he immediately assumes he's in danger. Calm and collected attitude at this prospect, clearly not his first time.

But he also doesn't toy with her, doesn't threaten her beyond asking about her presence, he's not showing any sadistic traits.

He openly asks if they've met because he recognises her, isn't being coy.

Instead of being violent, he tells her the rules: 'You're not allowed in this section', meaning at least he knows not to be openly hostile to guests.

He's suspicious she got past the guards. He asks about that in a higher pitch, but extremely bland face. He doesn't sound upset or happy or angry. More like low key worried.

From there Margot uses the voice.

She reveals he's shunning his own celebrations, AND he refuses to say why despite being asked with suggestive voice.

He immediately recognises the use of the voice on him and calls her a Bene Gesserit. How? He doesn't answer when she asks what makes him say that. We have to keep in mind that his mother (who he killed) was BG, and since we don't know when she died, it's possible he received some training from her.

He instead says he dreamt about Margot, harkening back to Chani dreams from Paul. Meaning we can safely assume he's just as plagued with semi-visions as Paul was in Dune 1 before going to Arrakis, and we can safely assume that's not common knowledge.

Immediately goes 'Don't mock me woman' when she teases him. BUT crucially, she says "a pleasant dream I hope?" which is not mockery but closer to flirting? It's like he genuinely takes that as a literal tease, when the actual teasing is when she says "I wouldn't dare!" which he doesn't comment on, maybe because he's used to many forms of grovelling.

He also reacts as if the voice is a physical pressure, like when you come down on a plane and your ears get blocked, and tries to shake it off:

Again with 'I know your BG tricks'

Margot asks, again, and gets no reply, again. She even says "tell me" in a normal voice. There is no cut or weird editing afterwards, so we can assume that Feyd didn't answer either time he was asked.

Instead he takes his bearing and looks around. He is not aggressive or panicked when he admits to not recognising the place.

Dude is designed to blend into his surroundings. Bonkers he doesn't wear gloves at this stage.

Risk taking : he steps unprompted in the door entrance, and she then says "come to me, kneel," etc. BUT we know he KNOWS about the BG tricks, so we can suppose that he's actually making the decision to go in despite knowing full well she can and will control him.

There's plenty of hints that he may still be heavily under her charm, but there's also evidence he can resist the voice she uses on him (he never answers her repeated questions, tries to fight it off).

He never reacts agressively. He says "where are you going?" with some heat when she leaves though, which to me hints at loneliness. He was all alone avoiding every harkonnen under the moon on his birthday despite being the king of the night, meets a random chick he dreamt about, and now she leaves? Spiced suggested though he may ask because he's not used to people leaving without being dismissed. But imo these can blend.

I lean towards Feyd being quite resistant to the voice because they sent Margot in the first place. Yes, Mohiam wants a child made, but in her excuses, she does't say "I want him bred". Instead she says she's a motherly figure and he might have killed her because he killed his mom. If the voice was such a perfect tool of control, that wouldn't really be an issue, especially once you have him under the Gom Jabar.

There may be an element of "These men [Paul and Feyd] are one generation away from the KH and can't be toyed with carelessly".

He also killed his BG mother, which means he's capable of killing a sister and not any small fry.

So they send a sexy woman to woo him and yet she still has to ask multiple times about what he knows of the BG.

Regarding his dreams, it's also possible Feyd is so compliant and keen to follow Margot because he might have foreseen a freaky good time with her.

One is left to wonder if he looks at Mwaddib walking into the throne room with such intensity not because he's hot for him (he doesn't yet know it's Paul), but because he may have SEEN this scene in dreams. We know Paul was very affected by the spice in the air and food on Arrakis. We also know he made frequent false visions (Jamis helps but it ends up being Chani. Chani and him cut ambiguously in the killing scene. Seeing himself in Chani's place in the final combat scene...) So we can also imagine Feyd may be overconfident in taking in the Emperor's challenge because he's dreamt of this too. Just spitballing.

The BG call him a sociopath with a side of hollywood competency. He has a bit of the BBC Sherlock and Hannibal Lecter disease. He should not be as tame or as competent as he's described and shown if he had the full disorder.

It's very interesting to look at the Fenring scene with sociopathic traits in mind and see how they apply or don't.

He's not getting his need for validation avoiding the party, but he just survived an attempt on his life by his Dear Uncle before getting his freedom dangled in front of him. Lots on his mind.

He's not prone to anger outburst in general. His behaviour isn't very erratic either. Both of these classic traits were probably curb-stomped by the need to fit the mold imposed by the Na-Baron position.

But he definitely has a high sense of his superiority and is opinionated. He speaks up unprompted during the Baron's interview, and again behind the Emperor with 'he's bluffing'

High propensity for violence: check. Whole film, basically. He can be prompted by anger (against Rabban), perceived threat (arena), reactive/defensive (against Margot trailing him). Violence in reaction to fear isn't shown.

Difficulty maintaining relationships : the only people he seems fond of are his once shown, once mentioned pets he brings with him. His family relationships are what they are, and he has no friend to go to on his Birthday.

Generally fearful, vulnerable to anxiety and rejection, easy to humiliate : what a cincher. This is him reacting defensively to Margot's flirting. The BG say fear of humiliation is one of his levers, and if you give him a strong attachment to an honour code, it's very easy to manipulate.

IMO this feeds into his displays of vanity (black teeth, tailor made pretty pets). Also since black is seen as a rich and beautiful colour on their world, his all black outfits with clean cuts may not be as muted as we think they are.

the end... for now.

#feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #house harkonnen #margot fenring #gom jabbar #dune 2 #dune #dune meta #dune part two #dune part 2 #paul atreides #character analysis #sociopathy #bene gesserit

352 notes · View notes

pumpkinfyre · 5 days ago

Note

Hello. Yandere husband Jaehaerys i Targaryen and wife reader (she not Alysanne) and yandere platonic children.(Jaeh and reader's children. Daenaerys/ Aemon/ Baelon/ Alyssa/ Maegelle/ Vaegon/ Daella/Saera/Viserra/ Gael)

cw's: yandere content, unhealthy relationships, romantic and platonic relationships, abuse and death, maegor's wives are mentioned, arranged marriage, mention of alysanne, non-incestuous marriage hooray, infant death, mentally unstable reader, jaehaerys lowk having a breeding kink lol

Jaehaerys is a gentle husband, and for good reason. He grew up watching his uncle mistreat several women, even kill them, for no good reason. Watching the Black Brides be killed and abused for no reason at all, Jaehaerys wants to be a good husband to his future wife, nor matter the situation.

So, when Jaehaerys is initially married to his wife, he tries his best to be accommodating towards her. Jaehaerys becomes king at a very young age, and therefore, he gets married at a young age. He had initially wanted to marry his sister, Alysanne, but his wife was chosen for him by his mother, Alyssa Velaryon. Despite his initial disappointment, Jaehaerys becomes very fond of his lady wife. He grows more than fond as their marriage progresses, and by the end of the first year together, he's completely hooked.

The courting process happens after they're married. Jaehaerys realizes that arranged marriages are harder for women than men, so he tries to be very kind and accommodating. At first, his lady wife takes advantage of this and keeps her distance from Jaehaerys, most likely knowing of his past affection for his sister. Alysanne was married to Alaric Stark and thus lived in the Riverlands. Still, the thought of her husband harboring affection for another woman is likely discouraging for his new wife.

This bothers Jaehaerys quite a bit because he's become infatuated with his wife. He wants her to adore him just as much as he adores her. Things change once their first child, Aegon, is born. Jaehaerys' new wife changes with motherhood. She loves her son and covets him like a star, so when Aegon dies as an infant, she's absolutely destroyed. The only person who truly understands her pain is Jaehaerys, so she seeks comfort in her husband for the first time since she was forced to marry him.

When they go on to lose their second child, Daenerys, Jaehaerys becomes very protective over his wife. Mentally, she isn't doing well, so he keeps her distanced away from anyone who mentions the death of Daenerys. Their other children are very close with their mother, Baelon, and Aemon take after Jaehaerys in being protective over their mother, as does Alyssa and Saera. Alyssa, Gael, and Maegelle are very close with her, and Jaehaerys becomes relaxed, knowing that they have plenty of children to keep his wife content.

Viserra, ever the diva, likes to bring her mother out into the city to shop. I imagine her as a mama's girl, and she's absolutely spoiled by her mother. The silk and velvet dresses, diamond encrusted tiaras, and fluffy pillows are all things Viserra has commissioned for her momma. They even have matching dresses!

Gael and Maegelle would cling to their mother, as would Daella. Daella is terrified of dragons, and I imagine so would Jaehaerys' wife, so they're content to read in the garden together. Maegelle and Gael are similar, always following their mother around the Keep like little ducklings.

Vaegon, much like his older brothers, is protective over his mother. I feel like the boys have that Targaryen supremacy ideology, so they believe that since their mother isn't a Targaryen, she's weak. They all believe she needs to be protected, much like how Jaehaerys feels.

All in all, their children love their mama, and Jaehaerys has a horrid breeding mentality. The loss of their children, especially those who died in infancy, left his wife depressed and desolate. Jaehaerys believed that producing more children would fix her sadness.

haha, I hope this was good enough 😅 I love thinking about how it would have been if jaehaerys and alysanne hadn't married each other, but it's so sad that she lost so many children :(

masterlist ᡣ𐭩

139 notes · View notes

brittle-doughie · 1 month ago

Text

Tribute Day (Cookie Kingdom)

Y/N Cookie: “Yet again, it is Tribute Day. The time of the month where kingdoms and villages with their cookies send their gratitude and admiration with gifts.”

Dumpling Cookie: “You’ve grown a reputation across the land, Y/N. It’s not out of the norm that the cookies simply wish to give their thanks. It would be rude of us to decline them, they even just got here.”

You sighed in acceptance as you lay back in your throne.

Y/N Cookie: “Alright, alright. Let’s see the tributes this time, advisor.”

Dumpling turned back to her cohorts, Salsa and Crowned Cupcake, who proceeded to bring in the tributes.

Salsa Cookie: “The tribute of the Hollyberry Kingdom is 50 crates of juice, your Majesty. They had plenty during harvesting this year.”

Crowned Cupcake Cookie: “Darling, the Dark Cacao Kingdom has sent you 8 crates of weaponry! Sharpened and polished for the best possible cutting and stabbing!”

Dumpling Cookie: “The Golden Cheese Kingdom sends their tribute of 8 chests of gold and treasures.”

Y/N Cookie: “I can see which of the three is trying to win my favor…”

Salsa Cookie: “The Pure Vanilla Kingdom sent…bags of raisins. Hmph, talk about a tribute…”

Y/N Cookie: “Hey, Puré Vanilla stepped down as king, the PV Kingdom is for everyone there. I don’t care if they sent me dirt, the fact they even sent anything at all is surprising enough.”

Salsa Cookie: “You’re right, I’m..I’m sorry for speaking out of line, Y/N Cookie. I promise I’ll do better….”

Crowned Cupcake Cookie: “I’m sure you didn’t mean to be against my darling’s word. Because if you did, I might have to kill ya~”

Salsa Cookie: “Back up, you lunatic.”

Dumpling Cookie: “If you guys are going to kill each other, please do it outside so that it’s easier to clean. That would be great, thanks.”

Y/N Cookie: “Alright, alright. That’s enough, you three. Let’s see…a tribute from the Silver Kingdom?”

Salsa Cookie: “It’s a cart of plants that are native in that region. White Lily Cookie had figured it would look nice in the garden…”

Crowned Cupcake Cookie: “White Lily Cookie? You mean that impudent wretch trying to get at my darling? Ooo hoo hoo, silly mistake~”

Dumpling Cookie: “Do not start swinging that sword around.”

Salsa Cookie then reached into one of the potted plants and fished out a letter.

Salsa Cookie: “Is this…a love letter-CRUMBS!”

Salsa Cookie is spooked when a dagger is suddenly thrown at the letter she was holding, pinning it to the wall.

Crowned Cupcake Cookie: “My hand slipped.”

Salsa Cookie: “The hell is wrong with you, psycho?! You could’ve chopped my hand off!”

Dumpling Cookie: “Please stop shouting, you’re making a scene!”

Salsa Cookie: “I should have half a mind to chop your head off right now!”

Crowned Cupcake Cookie: “You wanna go, tough cookie?”

Y/N Cookie: “Maybe I should’ve invited Financier to do tributes this time…”

#cookie run x reader #cookie run x you #cookie run #cr x reader #cookie run kingdom #crk x reader #cookie run kingdom x reader #cr kingdom #cookie oc #oc cookie #brittle’s cookies #crowned cupcake cookie #salsa cookie #dumpling cookie

269 notes · View notes

writeyouin · 9 months ago

Text

Lucifer (Hazbin Hotel) X Fem-Reader - Sinless Sinners - Chapter 3

Chapter 3 - Learning To Get Along

A/N – So, a user on A03 suggested the snake servants’ new names. It was a stroke of genius on their behalf, and I can only thank them for it.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

MALE VERSION HERE

GN VERSION HERE

Tag-List: @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @sseleniaa @randomgurl2326 @22carolina08 @astrxwitch @yu-87 @clover-1767 @lil-bexie @thesimpybitch

Do you think you can manage that? Lucifer’s words hung in the air, creating an icy barrier between you.

So, Lucifer thought himself too good for low-life Sinners such as yourself. That wasn’t fair. Sinners might be in Hell for a reason, but sometimes such reasons were just fucking stupid. Heaven ought to base their entry requirements on a person’s character or strength of heart, not just their actions. You had met plenty of Sinners who were in Hell because of the most trivial shit.

There were those who liked to sleep around, but if sex positivity was a problem, then how did Heaven explain Angels like Adam, whom Charlie had told you about in excruciating detail. Lust shouldn’t have ever been considered a Sin, as long as all participants in any such carnal act were above age and consenting.

Then, there were a few murderers you knew. Granted, murder made the lines blurry, but some Sinners killed in self-defence, or only targeted others such as themselves, protecting the innocent in a very gruesome Dexter-like fashion. Were they really to be condemned? And who the fuck gave a damn about Sloth. So, some people were just bone idle, who gave a shit? Heaven apparently.

And now, the ruler of Hell was condemning those around him as well. He was supposed to care for his people, good or bad. Not to mention those who were solely created for or born in Hell, such as Imps, Hell-Hounds, or the Deadly Sins themselves; they hadn’t committed any crimes to get sent here originally – it was their home.

Your eyebrows furrowed, creating an annoyed crease along your forehead.

“No,” You told Lucifer, who stared at you incredulously.

No? Didn’t you understand the situation? He was Lucifer. King of Hell. He could destroy you with no effort spared, leaving no trace that you ever existed, and you were telling him no? He wasn’t an unreasonable guy, but how could you possibly think that being around him was a good idea? Did you respect Charlie more than you feared him? Granted, he didn’t go out much so few knew how powerful he was, but no other Sinner would dare deny him his wishes.

You saw the look he was giving you and decided to explain yourself.

“Look, I’m only here ‘cos Charlie thought it was a good idea, and if you genuinely hate me, I’ll go and you’ll never have to see me again, but you’re not even trying right now. You haven’t spoken to me. You don’t know anything about me, and frankly, I think Charlie’s right, you do need someone to talk to.”

“I don’t-” Lucifer started.

“You don’t even know why I’m down here,” You interrupted angrily, though you refrained from raising your voice. “And you don’t want to know, right? ‘Cos all of us filthy Sinners must be the same. Ooh, we squandered your gift of Free Will and now we deserve to suffer for eternity, do we? Grow up!”

Lucifer stared at you in astonishment, and you sighed, apparently not finished in your tirade, “I’m going to my room tonight, but tomorrow, I expect that you’ll at least try to tolerate me. Who knows? We might even find some common ground. We both love Charlie, don’t we?”

Lucifer didn’t know what to say to that. He certainly loved his daughter, more than anything else in the universe, but you? He still suspected that you had some kind of ulterior motive… everyone in Hell did. Yet, you had a point. He would do this for her, even if it meant he had to tolerate you.

Who were you, really?

He looked at you closely for the first time, trying to pick out some detail of who you might have been. It was even more disturbing than he previously thought. Before, he only saw a human. Now, he examined your clothes. There was little to say about the style, but your apparel was reminiscent of a Holy Animal. With the ruffled cuffs of your jacket, the way the back peaked to create the image of feathers, and the yellow ribbon that lined the white material, you looked like a dove.

Yet… Despite living in the Hazbin Hotel, Charlie had insisted that you didn’t seek redemption. Why go through the farce of dressing like an Angel then… unless? No, you couldn’t be. No Angel would dare stray from Heaven unless they were ordered to.

Lucifer held back a glower, trying to keep his emotions in check so you wouldn’t sense his thoughts. There was a possibility, though small that you had been sent by the likes of Adam to spy on Lucifer and his kin, ensuring that none of Charlie’s patrons ever found a way to the Pearly Gates.

Well, it wouldn’t take long to uncover your ruse. Lucifer had ways of telling an Angel from a Demon, and once you were asleep, he would know.

“Yeah,” Lucifer said evenly. “I love my Charlie.”

“So, you’ll try then.”

Lucifer nodded his head in consent.

“Okay, I’ll see you in the morning. Good night.”

The sentiment went unreturned as your King returned to his chambers, biding his time until you slept.

When you returned to your room, you got ready for bed. The day had been long and unusual. Honestly, you didn’t feel that you had a place in the manor, and you longed for your room in the Hotel, even if it was smaller, had a large stain on the carpet (which Nifty had named Vivienne) and an unruly infestation of roaches.

In the short time you had spent there, it had become home.

You would miss the arguing inhabitants, the energetic wake-up call from Charlie, the feeling of safety that Vaggie instilled, and the sound of Alastor’s morning and evening radio broadcasts. Yet, you hoped you might find something equally valuable in return if only Lucifer would open himself up to the possibility that you didn’t want anything from him.

After glancing out of your window, which had a balcony you could step out to if you so wished, you took in the whole of the Magne District which was the heart of Pentagram City. If you strained your eyes, you could just see the flashing neon of the Hazbin Hotel, and if you turned your gaze up… There was Heaven, out of reach yet always in sight, taunting most Sinners, yet emboldening a brave few who dared to wonder What If? What if they could change and gain admittance to a better life?

You sighed and dared not ponder further when you needed to get some sleep.

Throwing yourself on the plush bed, you got comfortable, arranging yourself how you liked, then leaning over to your bedside table, you blew out the cherry candle you had previously lit.

You rested your head atop the satin pillows, then frowned, feeling a lump beneath it. You reached under and pulled out a rubber duck, painted to look like a Hellhound-Duck hybrid. Assuming it was one of Charlie’s childhood toys, you placed it carefully atop the table; it would keep you company on your first night in a strange new place.

Lucifer waited till the late twilight hours before leaving his workshop. He transformed himself into a snake, slithering silently through the Hallways, ensuring that you wouldn’t hear him coming.

Before being cast out of Heaven, detecting an Angel would have been a simple task. He would just know, the way he now knew how to read a Demon. Yet, with you giving off little sign of Demonic energy, he now had to test if you were of Angelic origin. There were two ways he could do so. The first was by spilling your blood. Those who were born in or sent to Heaven had golden ichor instead of the oozing red or black goop of Hell-spawn and Sinners.

However, not wishing to alert you to his presence, Lucifer decided to opt for the other method.

Once he was inside your room and certain that you were in a deep slumber, he reverted to his original form, standing over you, his pupils turning to slits at the thought of a traitor in his house. If you were what he thought you to be, he would kill you immediately.

He pulled a small yellow twenty-sided stone from his pocket and baring his fangs in anger, he pressed it lightly against your skin.

Nothing happened.

Lucifer’s expression changed from one of deep-seated loathing to confusion. You weren’t from Heaven. If you were, the stone would have glowed a brilliant shade of Gold. Instead, it remained its original dull yellow.

Very well.

He would keep his word and… Tolerate you.

He left your room as quietly as he had entered it. Tomorrow, things would be different.

Lucifer didn’t sleep that night; the idea of change was terrifying.

The next morning, when Lucifer finally resigned himself to the fact that he was going to have to face you eventually, he headed downstairs, assuming that was where you were.

“JUST TRY IT!” He heard you yell. “TRY! OPEN YOUR MOUTH, DAMN IT!”

“Uh…” Was all he could think to say as he entered the kitchen and found you clinging to one of the snake cleaners he had created the previous night, in a rodeo-like fashion. The creature was trying to buck you off, with a somewhat derpy expression, probably stupidly assuming it was a game; Lucifer hadn’t bothered to instil them with much intelligence since he didn’t need them for anything more than cleaning.

“ARGH!” You grunted as you were dislodged from its back.

“What- What is this?” Lucifer asked, confused.

“Oh shit!” You cursed, embarrassed to have been caught in a less-than-dignified position. You attempted to regain a little composure by standing up, then held up a handful of wadded-up pancake.

“Do they eat?” You demanded, referring to the reptilian cleaners, “’Cos they’ve been in a picture frame their whole lives, and they must be hungry by now.”

Of all the stupid things you could have done, Lucifer couldn’t help but crack a smile, though he had the decency to hide his laugh behind a clenched fist and pass it off as a cough.

“They don’t need to.”

“Okay, but can they?”

“If they wanted to, I suppose so.”

You glared at the mushed-up pancake, “I fucking knew it. Spick, Span, eat your fucking breakfast!”

“I’m sorry, who now?” Lucifer asked.

“Well, they clean, don’t they? Spick and Span seem to fit unless you have something better to name them.”

Lucifer chuckled, a half-short-lived chuckle, but one all the same. You were more chaotic than he expected.

“Fine, if you want them to eat, you’ve got to cook in style.”

He waved his hands energetically, his outfit transforming from his usual suit to one befitting a flashy Michelin Chef. He was comfortable in the role of an entertainer as he made a dazzling display of cooking up eggs. With the flash-bang of indoor fireworks, the island counter gained a conveyor belt to transport several dishes, all perfectly presentable and giving off a delectable aroma of herbs and spices.

Eggs-benedict, frittatas, and shakshuka shot by you, closely followed by a hungry Span, though his twin was busy writhing on the conveyer belt, trying to get to his feather duster, yet doomed to chase it since he didn’t think to travel in the opposite direction so it would meet him in the middle.

The sight was memorable to say the least, even when Spick knocked the food onto the floor and his brother was left stupidly sucking on the corner of the countertop where his seemingly new favourite dish had splattered.

You couldn’t help laughing.

“See?” You struggled to get the words out, “I knew they’d like food. I’m just a shite cook.”

Lucifer gazed at his dishes proudly, even though they were no longer fit for either of your consumption.

“Hah,” You said, feeling somewhat awkward now that the moment had passed and Lucifer’s gaze was upon you, trying to figure you out. “I’ll uh, clean this up.”

“No need, leave it to Flim and Flam,” Lucifer said nonchalantly.

“You know that’s not their names.”

“Whatever. So… we’ve met, there was breakfast with a show. We done for today?”

The smile fell from your face as you realised that all of this was just another of Lucifer’s acts. Granted, he might have actually had fun with it, but it was all just in the name of claiming he had tried to be around you, and just wanted to leave as soon as possible.

“I don’t know. I was going to go into the City if you wanted to come.”

“I can’t. I have… plans.”

Lucifer’s mood soured as he thought about visiting Heaven’s embassy to set up the meeting for Charlie. He hated everything about that building. The décor was just a cruel reminder of everything Heaven had banished him from. Moreover, while the Angels had to respect his power, they didn’t respect him; their cruel words and thinly veiled insults always cut him the deepest. Not to mention how bitter he was that the balance of power was uneven. Sure, Heaven had an embassy in Hell, but there was no such building in Heaven where Demons could work to arrange meetings between Angels and him.

It would always be Lucifer going to their building, on their terms, usually at their behest.

“Plans? So, you’re setting up Charlie’s meeting today?” You guessed astutely. “You know, I’m walking that way too.”

Lucifer guessed at your game. You probably hadn’t been going in that direction at all, but this was all in the name of ‘trying’. One way or another, he would have to learn to get along with you.

“Fine. Let’s go,” He said, flicking his hand back blasély, even though he found the idea of walking the streets of Hell daunting.

It would be better if he could teleport there, but at least, by the end of the day, you would have something positive to report back to Charlie.

755 notes · View notes

synchodai · 4 months ago

Text

When I say Tyland Lannister is my favorite character...

I am being 100% dead serious. Here is why I prefer this seemingly average nobleman over the many many many fan favorites in Fire and Blood.

Tyland Lannister is a second son in a story about second sons. Whether his feelings on this are as strong as Aemond's or Daemon's, we never know for sure in the books, but it's obvious that he's subservient to a mirror image of himself who only has more authority because of a few seconds separation between twins. It's a great display of both the arbitrariness and rigidity of succession.

His initial role in the Dance is as the master of coin for the greens. He's depicted as a typical Lannister: charming, comely, and cunning. He did what any savvy accountant would do and divided the crown's treasury amongst different allied regions for safe-keeping, ensuring that if King's Landing were sacked, their enemies wouldn't loot their coffers dry and they'd still have plenty of gold for their war efforts.

And of course, King's Landing gets sacked. Tyland is put in the black cells and ordered to be tortured by Rhaenyra to extract the gold's whereabouts. Winter is coming, people are starving and rioting, her army is dwindling, so she desperately needs that gold. Tyland is gelded, maimed, disfigured, and blinded but the torturers get nothing out of him.

Mind you, this man has been a rich, pampered bureaucrat all his life and he endured all that without breaking. When Aegon II releases Tyland from those cells, he has no fingernails, his eyes have been gouged out and/or sewn shut, this man who was once known for his good looks doesn't look human anymore — but he still manages to maintain his wits so much so that he plays an important role after the Dance.

Even with Rhaenyra dead, there are still armies raising their banners for her eldest surviving son, Aegon Trois. Tyland tells Adult Aegon to kill Child Aegon because obviously, the latter threatens the former's claim and Tyland's understandably angry over what his mom did. Aegon Dos is like, nah, I'll keep the boy hostage instead — that'll keep the armies at bay more than outright killing him.

So Tyland volunteers to go to Myr to hire sellswords for Aegon 2 since their armies are pretty much kaput after six years of this civil war. Tyland is blind at this point I remind you — there is a huge chance this man will never get to go home again. But he does it anyway, because even after years of fighting, he keeps his unwavering loyalty to the monarch he declared for.

Aegon II dies while Tyland is in Myr, and Tyland goes back to Westeros just in time to see Cregan Stark use his powers as the new Hand to marry Aegon III and Princess Jaehaera to unite the green and black sides. Cregan dusts off his hands, says my work here is done, warns the boy king not to trust anyone, then leaves for the North for everyone else to sort this mess out.

Now comes the part where Tyland shines as a character. He becomes the Hand of Aegon III and when you see his policies detailed in the book, it's clear that his goal is focused on repairs and renumerations. After what happened to him, he has every right to be spiteful and bitter against the blacks, but instead he "claimed a curious failure of memory, insisting that he could not recall who had been black and who had been green." He abolished the heavy taxes imposed on the smallfolk, sent out gold to lords whose holdings had been devastated during war, and set out to rebuild the Realm's granaries and fleet. Cleaning up is a tedious, unglamorous job — and because of his monstrous appearance and former allegiances, Tyland was looked upon with distrust.

And yet, while other regents grasped for power and tried taking advantage of the 13-year-old King Aegon III, Tyland seemed to be different. If he wanted power he could have married his twin brother's widow and convinced the boy-king to route more resources towards Casterly Rock and the Westerlands. But he didn't.

Instead, he genuinely seemed to be a father figure to Aegon III.

Tyland Lannister, blind and crippled, had always treated the king with deference, speaking to him gently, seeking to guide rather than command.

And for that, many lords saw him as a weak Hand. But Aegon, who cared for very little and never laughed and was always sullen, seemed to care for Tyland.

When the plague ravaged King's Landing, Tyland dutifully prioritized it over quashing the Ironborn raids at Lannisport. He was the last person to become afflicted with the Winter Fever, and the king sat by his Hand's side during his final hours. When the council starts discussing who should be the new Hand, Aegon (the boy who rarely ever speaks) says:

I would have Lord Rowan as my Hand. Ser Tyland thought well enough of him to offer him my sister’s hand in marriage, so I know he can be trusted.

This boy trusted Tyland, the man who only years ago wanted him dead.

So it's easy to imagine that this man saw Aegon III as the boy he was responsible for, as the son he could never have because of what the war had done to him. Tyland Lannister was a broken man who despite losing everything, his king and his brother and himself, kept a broken Realm and broken boy together when everyone else swarmed like vultures just trying to pick at carcasses.

What motivated this man's loyalty for a boy whose mother mutilated him? Did he regret pushing for the death of an innocent child and this was his penance? Did this man who gave everything for his cause think that this boy was something that could still give all that sacrifice and tragedy meaning? Was the mercy and kindness he afforded an apology for the horrifying trauma that scarred this boy — did he feel responsible for his mother's downfall and the failure to save his uncle? Did his disfigurement and blindness allow him to let go of the man he once was and become someone capable of seeing the folly of pride and power?

Here is his obituary in Fire and Blood:

Ser Tyland Lannister had never been beloved. After the death of Queen Rhaenyra, he had urged Aegon II to put her son Aegon to death as well, and certain blacks hated him for that. Yet after the death of Aegon II, he had remained to serve Aegon III, and certain greens hated him for that. Coming second from his mother’s womb, a few heartbeats after his twin brother, Jason, had denied him the glory of lordship and the gold of Casterly Rock, leaving him to make his own place in the world. Ser Tyland never married nor fathered children, so there were few to mourn him when he was carried off. The veil he wore to conceal his disfigured face gave rise to the tale that the visage underneath was monstrous and evil. Some called him craven for keeping Westeros out of the Daughters’ War and doing so little to curb the Greyjoys in the west. By moving three-quarters of the Crown’s gold from King’s Landing whilst Aegon II’s master of coin, Tyland Lannister had sown the seeds of Queen Rhaenyra’s downfall, a stroke of cunning that would in the end cost him his eyes, ears, and health, and cost the queen her throne and her very life. Yet it must be said that he served Rhaenyra’s son well and faithfully as Hand.

Tyland wasn't extraordinarily badass, noble, or even skilled. He was an excellent politician but no way the best. But I think that's what makes him compelling to me — that he's this down-to-earth depiction of a POW, a war veteran by all accounts, trying to pick up the pieces and slowly glue what remains of the Realm and himself back into something vaguely human.

We tell so many stories about the glory, the tragedy, and the losses of war. But I think it's important and beautiful to tell stories of those bravely and optimistically choosing to keep living in the aftermath as well.

#house of the dragon #hotd #a song of ice and fire #long post #hotd spoilers #hotd meta #I'm a sucker for redemption/second chance stories #your life has been reduced to ashes and you are the shell of the man you once were #but goddamn you will try to do something good with all that remains of you #you can still make good #tyland lannister #there's an argument to be made that rhaenyra could have won the war if it weren't for tyland #I wish Tyland was a popular character but that won't happen unless he becomes part of a popular ship #Cregan is also interesting handsome and nuanced but he gets more love because he has multiple ship options #Tyland could possibly have romantic chemistry with Aegon II or Rhaenyra that would be cool

398 notes · View notes