#red bastard- i want his head on a spike

[slapstermasterr]

[tayraedoll]

Silver Stag

The bonus chapter of Old Man as promised! Reader has reached the end of mating season and decides to poke the bear (stag). Maybe it wasn't the best idea.

18+ MDNI

TW: P in V intercourse, scent marking, biting, blood, bondage, tentacle s3x, edging, swearing

*squelch squelch squelch*

The sound of your bare feet slapping the marshy ground of the swamp seemed to echo in the silence of the bayou. Your mind screamed at you to quiet your steps, but in order to do that you'd have to slow down- and that was just not an option. Every breath felt like fire in your lungs, your legs pleading for a break; but you couldn't stop, if you stopped - you'd lose.

Not that losing would be a bad thing, you were actually looking forward to it. You just wanted him to work for it a little harder this time.

The bastard was correct, this was your third heat in the month you'd been locked away in your lover's room. The second heat passed much like the first one had- you came into heat, he chased you, he caught you, he fucked you mercilessly for 72 hours, and then he bathed you when you came out of it. Now, you were familiar with the signs of your upcoming cycle, so when you felt your skin flush and temperature spike you formed a plan. This final heat caught you at the very end of the mating season, so the biological effects were not quite as potent as your previous two heats. Your mind was still hazy, but you had a much greater capacity for strategic thought processes; you were not going to let the moment go to waste, you were not going to just lay there and wait for Alastor to stuff you with his cock. You were going to make the buck put effort into claiming you this time.

When you woke up with all the telltale signs of a doe in heat you took off into the bayou. Alastor was not in bed when you awoke, he never was, but you knew your scent would tip him off and he would inevitably come after you. The electric current running up for spine and the way your fluffy tail puffed out instinctively told you The Radio Demon was much closer on your heels than you thought.

You leapt over fallen logs without breaking your stride. There was no destination in mind, just running as far as you could and not looking back. A clearing appeared up ahead and you forced your tired legs to pump faster, this set a new record for how far you made it into the pocket dimension. A smile graced your lips- victory was yours.

Just as you broke through the trees you were abruptly ripped back into the forest's maw before your eyes could even adjust to the change in lighting. Your back hit a tree, the breath momentarily knocked out of you causing you to gasp. Yellow fangs and red irises filled your field of vision, a dark chuckle causing your ears to twitch.

"And just where were you going My Doe? Out for another stroll in the woods?", Alastor goaded you as his arms caged you against the tree.

You smile with mock innocence back up at him while batting your lashes,"Just trying to clear my head. Woke up a bit feverish, figured the fresh air would do me some good."

His hand came up to cup your jaw, holding your face still as he began rubbing his cheeks against yours. "Hmm, I wouldn't stray too far if I were you. I don't want you to catch a cold", as if on cue, a cool breeze blew by which caused his still-potent buck pheromones to swirl around you. You felt your body relax, wanting to let your mate take control; but you shook your head in an attempt to clear it, you may have been caught but you could still avoid making this easy for the stag. Alastor narrowed his eyes as he watched you struggle to fight off your biological instincts. He pressed his body to yours, you could feel every muscle quiver with the force he was restraining himself with. You smiled, perhaps you could get him to lose control first.

Leaning up on the very tips of your toes, you wrapped your arms around his neck and ran your nose up the column of his throat and jawline. He shivered at the soft caress, his claws digging into the bark of the tree behind you. You kept running your nose slowly across his sensitive skin while you unbuttoned his shirt, listening to his breath hitch with every swipe across his pulse point. "I won't venture too far into the forest. It would be a shame if I ran into some other buck all alone out here", with that you bit down hard on the juncture of his neck and shoulder, tasting his blood on your tongue.

His viscous snarl reverberated off your very bones, before you could even comprehend the movement you were flying through the air before bouncing onto your shared bed. Alastor stepped out of the shadow portal he had thrown you through and loomed over your smaller frame. His knees forced your legs apart as one hand curled around your throat, applying just enough pressure to reduce your breathing to small pants.

"Is that what you think of while I'm fucking you? Imagining it is some other buck's cock bruising your cervix? You are MINE in EVERY way possible! But if you truly require a demonstration of ownership, I will happily oblige, Ma Biche."

Shadow tendrils slithered forward and shredded your clothes off your body before fastening you to the bed. You were already dripping wet and he hadn't even touched you yet, just the sheer display of raw power from your lover had heat pooling in your core. You moaned sensually as slick poured from your needy hole- now that you had riled Alastor up you were ready to finally submit.

You watched as your buck languidly took off his coat, neatly folding it before placing it on the side table. His bowtie was next to be removed at the same glacial pace; Alastor was not moving with any sense of urgency, as if he wasn't wasting precious minutes of what was left of the rut. A low groan escaped you, your body felt like it was on fire and you needed him to hurry up and touch you. Your brows furrowed in confusion when- instead of climbing on top of you as expected- The Radio Demon sat in his chair and proceeded to simply stare at you as you writhed naked on the bed.

Your mouth opened to ask him what the hell he was doing across the room from you, but the snarky comment turned to ash in your mouth when a cool, slippery sensation spread up your sensitive inner thigh. Glancing down, a shadow tentacle had wrapped around your leg and was slowly inching up to the where you were burning for touch the most. When the appendage flicked your clit you let out a breath of relief; biting your lip and arching your back off the bed as it moved in slow, measured circles around your pearl.

You were so lost in euphoria that you nearly forgot that Alastor was there. "Do you think any other buck would be able to make you feel this good?", he asked over your moans, you completely missed the tense edge his voice held. The tentacle gives a harsh slap to your clit, nearly sending you over the cliff of ecstasy, "No one else can take care of you the way I can My Doe."

"Ah- Alastor! Hmph, right there!", you cry out. Just a little longer, just a little more and that coil would finally snap. Alastor knew you were close, he knew what you needed- just one more press to your clitoral glans and you'd make a mess on his sheets. With that thought, he halted all movement. A pathetic whine left your throat and you turned to him exasperated.

"My, my- what a needy little thing you are. What happened to all that sass hmm?", the demon said in a saccharine tone, his gaze fixed on your face and the disappointed pout of your lips.

"Please Alastor, I'm sorry! Please just- just touch me. I beg you, please!", tears began forming in your eyes. The heat was taking over your brain; you needed him- you needed his hands on you, his voice whispering words of praise- you needed his dominating presence. You felt that you'd go mad if he did not take you right at that moment.

"Oh ho ho! Begging now are we? We really are desperate! Well, since you asked so nicely...",

The tentacle returned to circling your bud, this time accompanied by another that prodded at your desperately needy entrance. Your body jolted, back arching off the bed as the second appendage spread your lower lips and sank into you. A loud squeal escaped you as you threw your head back, every nerve in your being ignited.

Your fingers dug into the bedsheets below you as the limb curled in just the right spot, pushing against that sensitive area over and over again. You reached your peak even faster than before, stars filling your vision as your body tensed- ready to explode with the orgasm you were denied.

Just as your world was about to shatter both tentacles fled from your core. You choked out a loud sob, tears flowing freely down down your face and pooling on the sheets and in your hair. But they were not just tears of anguish- now you were PISSED. "What the fuck are you doing Al?! Why won't you touch me? Why won't you fucking let me finish?!"

"Because you frustrate me Darling. I am simply returning the favor", the demon answered with a wave of his hand. "Now, you may think twice before even thinking of another buck coming anywhere near you." His smile was sardonic, clearly enjoying how he was tormenting you. If your wrists were not pinned by his shadows you'd throw him the double bird.

"You can't just keep edging me for the next 72 hours!", you seethed.

Alastor didn't reply verbally, but his smile dimmed ever so slightly. He knew you were right, even now his instincts were screaming at him to take you...to breed you. But Alastor was a master of self-control, he had never even taken a mate to satisfy his rut before you. No, he wouldn't keep up this game for the entire mating period...but he would fight to make it last as long as possible.

With that resolve in mind, the tentacles dipped through your folds once again.

Your core was aching, and not in the way you wished it would. You lost count of how many times you clenched around nothing, how many times that delightful appendage pulled from your body at the very last second. Sweat drenched every inch of your skin as you trembled; every sensation was magnified ten-fold- your skin burned at every touch like it was a branding iron, every squelch of your pussy loud as an atom bomb, and you had completely forgotten what everything besides Alastor smelled like.

It was going on 24 hours now. 24 hours of being driven right to the edge and then crashing just short of the finish line. You thought you'd get a break at hour 18- Alastor always took a break at that time- but when your eyes met red irises he tutted at you. "Breaks are for good girls."

You couldn't continue this any longer, you wanted to give up; but what would giving up mean? Sleeping? Surely not, your body was prepared to fight this out for another 48 hours; so you submitted instead. Tired of fighting, you let every limb go completely limp and melted into the mattress below you. Your buck could do what he wanted with you, you'd take this torture if that was what he wished. In a small voice you whispered, "I'll be your good girl Babe, I promise."

The second you caved your mate was on top of you, hands running up your torso and fondling your breasts while he rubbed his cheeks against yours again. This time you blissfully allowed your mind to be overtaken by the fog rather than fighting it off. The velvety softness of fluff and skin against yours alerted you that Alastor had already disposed of his clothing. Your wrists were freed and you were quick to wrap them around your lover, crushing him to you yet feeling like he still was not close enough.

Alastor ran the claws of one hand through your sweat-saturated hair, "Look at you Sha, absolutely beautiful. Now, isn't this easier? Now we'll both get what we want." You moaned erotically when his cock brushed through your folds, giving a harsh slap to your bruised clit before lining up with your entrance. You just had 24 straight hours of foreplay, you were absolutely soaked and ready for him to finally fuck you.

You screamed in sheer ecstasy when his member finally split your pussy open. With how pent up you were your first orgasm ripped through you just as he bottomed out, your core tightening and legs spasming as the coil released at long last.

Alastor immediately set a brutal pace- you weren't the only one worked up from the last 24 hours. He slammed his hips into yours, reaching your cervix with every thrust. Where you couldn't cum before, now you couldn't stop. Each drag of his cock through your walls had them clenching around him. You fisted your hands in his hair, nails digging into his skull and neck as your legs wrapped around his waist. He let out a guttural growl, hooking his arms behind your knees and pushing them to your chest in a mating press.

The coil wound impossibly tight again, your entire body going stiff as every muscle locked up. Your head pulled back, the tendons in your neck popping against the strain as your jaw practically unhinged in another scream that choked out as your body knocked the wind out of itself.

You don't remember closing your eyes, you barely have the strength to open them again as you ride out your high. Your arms are now laying limply at your sides, feeling like they were filled with sand and nearly impossible to move. With another low growl, Alastor bites down your shoulder as he finds his first release. Even after his climax however, he still keeps pounding into you never slowing his pace. You whimper as your core starts to wind and tighten again.

Hearing you, Alastor releases your shoulder and presses his forehead to yours, staring deeply into your eyes. "Ma Biche, we are only getting started. We have a lot of time to make up for."

48 hours later you are sprawled across Alastor's chest, his hand running down the length of your spine-including your tail- as he hums softly. You nuzzle your face into his neck, you are exhausted but don't want to fall asleep- once you fall asleep he leaves, and you are not ready to be parted from him just yet. "Will you stay with me? Please? I want you to stay." You speak so softly that your words are barely audible even to your own ears; you tense up, ready for his rejection.

Alastor stops humming but continues to rake his claws down your back, "I suppose I can afford one lazy day in bed with you Sha." He presses his lips to your temple. "I may not be ready to part from you either. The other residents will surely be used to our absence by now, I am quite positive this hotel will not burn down without us for a bit longer."

He turned on his side, wrapping his arms around you and cocooning you into him. You return his embrace with a smile before it falters, your teeth worry your lower lip as you wonder what your relationship will be like now that the rut is over. Did he get what he wanted from you and now you were disposable to him? Were you nothing more than a soul he owned now?

"I can practically hear the gears turning in that pretty little head of yours Darling. What's on your mind?", Alastor pulled away slightly to look at your face, using his thumb to rescue your lip from your teeth.

"What happens now?", you whisper, looking at his chest to avoid his eyes. "I'm afraid you won't want me like this now that your hormones aren't going haywire. I understand if you don't...it will just take some time to go back to the way things used to be."

One clawed finger gently pushed your chin up to force you to look at his face; his eyes burned with an intensity that stole your breath from your lungs. "Sha, what in Lucifer's kingdom makes you think I do not wish to continue this with you? Do you really think I am in the habit of bedding little does and then discarding them? No, I am afraid that you are stuck with me for the rest of our respective afterlives. YOU signed the deal remember? I will not be letting you go EVER."

Tears formed in eyes at his rant, you surged forward and crushed your lips to his, feeding all the passion you felt for this damned old man into the kiss. When you eventually pull away for air, you snuggled back into his chest, resting your nose against the bite you left on his neck and breathing in the scent of him.

After a few minutes, just before sleep could take you, a new thought struck you, "Am I really your first? You seem awfully competent in the bedroom."

A low chuckle meets your words, "Instincts Darling, and I am not a blushing virgin like so many seem to think. I simply have standards and was waiting for the right mate."

You smile into his skin, "Ya know... you're pretty spry for an old geezer. I wouldn't mind teaching an old dog new tricks next season; although, I wouldn't want to break a fossil such as yourself."

A record scratch echoed through the room; before you could lift your head up to look at him, you found yourself pinned on your back with The Radio Demon smiling down at you dangerously.

"Oh Darling, you just earned yourself another 12 hours."

Tags:

@stattikdemon

@vxllys

@sirens-and-moonflowers

@lady-intellectual

@shealizxx

@cryssyd

[feyhunter78]

Chapter Seven - Back in the Red Keep, you and Jon face a new set of challenges. Note: I think R + L = J is soooo boring and basic, so I'm throwing in a theory that's been floated around online for a hot minute

Ch 8

“He saved me cousin, he could have left me to be assaulted and killed by the crowd, could have escaped with his traitorous family members, but he stayed and saved me.” You add, lowering your eyes submissively, you hate this, hate playing this role, but you cannot lose Jon.

Joffrey looks at your aunt then grandsire who nods. “Very well, you may keep your dog, cousin.”

You curtsy, thanking Joffrey over and over again, spilling out platitudes that makes bile rise in your throat. Dog, he called Jon a dog, your Jon, your champion, your defender, the one who chased after you instead of his father and sister.

“But I want him kept on a leash, if I see him sniffing around, his head will substitute for his father’s on the spikes of the gate.” Joffrey warns, that cruel smile spreading across his face once more.

You nod and thank him again, before taking Jon by the wrist and dragging him out of the throne room.

Once you both are safely in your chambers, you collapse onto the rug near the fire, Ghost getting up and trotting over to Jon.

Jon buries his hand in Ghost’s fur, letting out a shaky breath.

“I am so very sorry, Jon.” You look up at him from your place by the fire, feeling completely in disarray.

“I am still alive.” He says, unable to look at you, the tension clear in every aspect of his very being.

He stands stiff, his chest rising and falling as he forces his breath in and out to calm himself, his eyes stay locked on Ghost, his head bowed, his inky curls falling forward shielding his face.

“But you are separated from your family, and you had to endure Joffrey speaking of you as a dog.” You say softly as you begin to remove the pins from your hair, letting it fall free.

Jon settles down beside you, holding his hand out for the pins. “I have endured much worse than being called a dog.”

You both sit in silence for a while as you undo your intricate hairstyle, the one your aunt favored, the one you thought would endear her to you. Jon takes each pin from you, setting them in a neat pile on the end table. This is routine, something you and Jon have done time and time again, and while it is calming, you know it is not normal. That sworn swords do not sit beside their charge and help them undo their hair, that they stand guard outside their door while the servants undo their charge’s hair.

But you had seen your Aunt Cersei and Uncle Robert do it once, when you were very young. And though he was not her sworn sword but her husband, as a child you found it hard to tell the difference, husbands were supposed to protect their wives, as sworn swords were it seemed so similar. It was a good day, they were getting along, and as he escorted her back to her chambers you spotted them.

Your aunt, heavily pregnant with Myrcella, pulling out the pins, your uncle taking them, helping her detangle the stubborn ones. He was smiling, and she was too, a small one, her expression soft and open, thanking him quietly when he gently ran his fingers through her hair. For a moment you believed the act they put on in public, for if this is how they acted in private, surely it was true? It was not until you were older that you realized you were wrong.

“Is what your father said true?” You ask Jon, detangling your hair with your fingers, careful not to pull too hard.

He sighs and leans forward stirring the fire with the iron poker, his armor now fully discarded and set aside against the far wall. “I believe it to be.”

“If Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen are bastards, ones born of incest they will never be able to inherit Casterly Rock, and Uncle Jaime cannot because he is a Kingsguard, my grandsire would not be able to give it to my aunt since she is the one who had the bastard children, which means…”

“After the death of your grandsire, you will be heir.” Jon says, completing your thought, speaking the words you dare not speak.

You lay down on the rug slowly, shocked. “I have never even dreamed such a thing.”

“Lady y/n Lannister, heir of Casterly Rock. A fitting title, you would do well as heir.”

You hum in response, staring up at the vaulted ceiling of your chambers. You can imagine it, you a golden heir, ruler of Casterly Rock, Jon by your side, perhaps a child or two with his curls and your eyes. He would do well there, shaping up the guards, playing with your children in the Hall of Heroes.

“Do you not wish to be heir?” Jon asks, leaning on one hand, his head tilting to the side, resting on his shoulder.

He looks tired, you are sure you do as well. “It is not that, I just…I am the daughter of a third child, a second son, a disfigured, scorned son. My mother was no one, the eighth daughter of the third brother of Lord Hawthorne, I could not even claim anything from her. It is my lot to marry some old man and bear his son, not rule Casterly Rock. I am not important in the grand scheme of things.”

Jon lies on his side facing you. “If the people of Westeros believe my father’s words, then soon the only trueborn Lannister grandchild of direct descent will be you. That will make you very important in the grand scheme of things. ”

You shift to face him, running your fingers over the plush rug beneath you both. “I guess you are right.”

“And if they do not believe his words—Jon reaches out and his fingertips ghost the curve of your cheek—you are still important to me, I know it is not as grand, but it is true.”

You want to kiss him, you have never wanted to kiss anyone in your life as badly as you want to kiss Jon, but you will not. You will not put him in such an awkward position, and your father’s words ring in your head. Not a husband. A lover, or a guard, but never a husband.

Instead, you close your eyes and lean into his touch, featherlight as it is. “It is grand enough, my champion.”

Jon laughs softly, more an exhalation of air than a laugh, his breath stirring the hair around your face.

“You are important to me too, Ser Jon, I do not wish to lose you.” You admit, keeping your eyes closed, not wanting the moment to shatter. “I forbid you from fighting in any other tourneys.”

“Then how will I present my lady with her crown?” He jests, his hand settling on the side of your face, his thumb resting just below the corner of your lips. “Surely the one you have now will wither beyond repair soon enough.”

“I care more for your safety than a crown.” You say, finally opening your eyes and meeting his gaze.

His eyes are the color of a gathering storm, dark storm clouds rolling in, shot through with streaks of lightning, the air alive, the taste of rain. The depth of them going on for leagues and leagues until you feel you could be lost in them.

“I would give you the crown, the throne, if you asked it of me.” He breathes, his eyes searching yours, his spoken words of treason slipping from his lips so easily you cannot help but reach for him, anchoring your fingers in his tunic.

He is a man of eight and ten, you a woman of seven and ten, you are not ready to be queen, not yet, but his words, his words make you believe you are.

“That is treason you speak of.”

He gives you a wry smile. “Will you turn me in, My Lady?”

“Never, I trust no one else with my safety, I would die before you are taken from me.” You say, tightening your grip on his tunic, panic coursing through you at the very thought of Jon being taken from you, of being alone in Joffrey’s court, of being without Jon ever, in any place.

His smile fades, that solemn, serious look returning. You have spoken at length of Joffrey’s cruelty, of your fears if your father was ever not there to protect you, what vile men wished to take you for a bride, the things they have said to you. “I would never let that happen. Do you hear me, y/n? I will never let anyone separate us.”

You nod, warmth flooding your veins, washing away the fear at his words, at the sound of your name and your name alone coming from his lips. He says it so perfectly, wrapping each syllable in his rough Northern accent. It is unlike any pronunciation of your name you have ever heard, and you adore it.

You wish to ask him to stay, to share your bed, not in a carnal sense, but to sleep beside you, to ease your fears, but you know you cannot.  You and Jon already act far more companionable than most sworn shields and their charges, and with Joffrey’s eye on him, it is too risky.

Your father calls you to his solar for evening meal, Jon your ever-present shadow is ordered to wait outside the door, and not to enter until he is called for, but he does not move until you give him a nod. Once the door is closed, and you take your seat, your father laughs. “You have him trained well.”

You bristle at his words but calm yourself, this is your father, he has been insulted all his life, he would not be so cruel, not to Jon. “He is my champion.”

“Yes, I am well aware, seems we picked well out of the Stark lot.” Your father says, beginning to cut into his food.

You do the same, waiting for a moment before you speak. “Do you know who set Lord Stark and Sansa free?”

“Stannis most likely, or Renly, either stand to gain from the North backing their claim, though Renly less so now. Though they did make my plan flow much smoother.”

You chew thoughtfully, then take a long drink from your wine. Of course, your father had been a part of the plan to free Lord Stark and Sansa, he was a good man at heart, and the death of Lord Stark would mean war. “And the rumors? Of my cousins’ parentage?”

Your father sets down his knife. “I have seen Robert’s bastards, and while it sickens me to think my siblings could be engaging in such…I do not think the rumors are false.”

“So, will we be named heir of The Rock? There is no one else, besides one of Grandsire’s brothers, but I doubt he would be willing to give them control.” You hope your father will tell you yes, yes, he has been named heir. Then you will take Jon and run, run all the way to Casterly Rock, and hide with him there until the realm has forgotten of your shared existences.

“I think it is more important to focus on the current heir problem, little lion.”

Your shoulders slump, but you nod. “Of course, Father.”

He sighs and reaches for your hand. “Y/N, my darling girl, I know your life has been upheaved ever since we left Winterfell, but I need you to trust me.”

“Trust you with what?” You ask, though of course it matters not the answer, he is your father he will always have your trust.

“Renly will fall, Stannis is declaring himself king, and the Tyrells will soon move to set one of their own beside Joffrey.” Your father explains, picking up serval cubes of cheese and setting them on the table strategically. “We shall send Myrcella to Dorne to shore up allies, and for her own safety, I would send you as well but—”

You cut him off, horrified. “I will not go to Dorne.”

“Yes, yes, I know, which is why I am not sending you along with her.”

“Thank you.”

“I have spoken with Lady Olenna Tyrell, terrifying women, intelligent beyond all others, if she were not so old I might suggest she take the throne herself. And we have come to an agreement that relies on many moving pieces, ones which I am delighted to say do not involve you and Jon until later plays.”

“Go on.” You are already making mental notes, attempting to see the connections before your father speaks them aloud.

“Joffrey should not be king, this is well known, and while I do adore Myrcella and Tommen, neither are fit to rule, they are sweet and innocent, too easily taken advantage of.”

“So, the Tyrells?”

Your father shakes his head, “not entirely. The Tyrells and the Starks.”

You digest the information, about to speak when your father continues, his voice lowered to a whisper. “I spoke with Ned Stark when I helped him and Sansa escape, he revealed something quite interesting to me about your dear champion.”

You lean forward, eyes darting towards the door.

“You know of the tale Rhaegar and Lyanna, the horrid tragic downfall of the Targaryens.”

“Yes, of course, all the realm does.” You say, trying to hurry him along, your curiosity growing with each moment.

“Jon Snow was born of a Stark, but not the one the realm believes he was born of.” There is a conspiratory smile on your father's face, as if he is not speaking madness.

“Are you—Lyanna, Jon is Lyanna’s son? He is a Targaryen?” Your own voice drops to a whisper, shock seizing your muscles, keeping you frozen to your chair.

“Gods no, though that would make our lives much easier.”

“Then what is he? Do not tell me he was born of incest.” You say, your hand going to the hollow of your throat, stomach churning at the very thought.

“He is a Dayne.” Your father says carefully, watching your reactions. “Son of the Sword of the Morning.”

“He is in line for the seat of Starfell? Rhaegar’s closet companion slept with the women he assisted him with kidnapping?”

Your father shrugs. “The ways of men are odd little lion, we cannot know how it all came about, only that the blood of Dorne runs in his veins.”

“But Arthur Dayne is dead, and Lyanna Stark is dead, there is no one who can prove this claim.”

Your father smirks. “Is he?”

You massage your temples. “Father, please do not drag me about, tell me the truth.”

“My apologies, allow me to elaborate. Lord Stark said he believes Dayne to be dead, but he did not deal the final blow himself, he and Lord Howland left with Jon before Dayne had taken his assumed final breath.”

“And unless you see the body cold before you, there is no assurance of death.” You say, remembering a pearl of wisdom your Uncle Robert had impressed upon you once.

Your father nods. “We must presume Dayne is dead unless proven false and act accordingly. A marriage must take place to secure a more profitable future.”

“You will not marry off Jon, he is mine.” You snap, pushing back from the table and standing, your face like stone.

“He is not yours; truly he belongs to House Dayne, his family.” He says, raising one eyebrow at you.

“No, he does not, they do not even know he lives.” You argue, clenching your fists, anger bubbling up inside you, a fire sparking, kindling, snapping to life.

“If you do not wish him to marry, we could send him home to Dorne with Myrcella.” Your father suggests.

The flames jump, climb, scale the walls of civility built within you and consume your rational mind. Your actions are no longer your own as you seize the nearest thing you can—an apple—and throw it at your father, who easily dodges it.

“Y/N, you are acting like a child, stop this at once, you cannot keep Jon from others forever.” He demands, his voice cold, colder than you have ever heard directed towards you.

It hurts, his words, the truth of them, the idea that someone else would take Jon from you, will warm his bed, bear his children, will get to love him as you long to. But you are a Lannister, you do not feel grief or sadness, you feel rage.

“He is my sworn sword, my champion, my Jon.” You grab another thing to throw, a plate, it crashes against the wall. “I will not let you or Lord Stark auction him off like a breeding stud.” Plates, fruits, silverware, even your napkin has been thrown in a fit of rage until you have nothing left to throw but the heavy chair you were sitting in. Which you do not have the strength to throw far enough, that it will make you feel better. “Jon swore his life to me, no one else, he is mine.”

Your father’s solar is a mess, and you are breathing hard, angry tears in your eyes as you stare down at him.

“He did, which is why we will not marry him off, we will marry off Robb.” Your father says, unfazed by your display of rage. “Ned Stark was declared regent, there was no mention of who should be heir, assumptions could be made.”

You slump into your chair, tears slipping from your eyes. You are not Joffrey, not a full-blooded Lannister, Hawthrone blood lessens the lion’s rage and allows you to cry. “Why did you not say that first? Why would you allow me to think—”

“I needed to be sure you wished to stay by him, and so did you. This will not be easy, little lion; many things may change once the truth is revealed. The Daynes may call for his return, or seek retribution for the deceit, if deceit was at play.”

You wipe under your eyes with your sleeve, the anger draining from you, leaving you hollow. “Why can I not simply flee to Casterly Rock and hide with Jon there?”

Your father walks over to you and embraces you tightly. “Because you deserve more, if Lady Tyrell is correct, you could control the Westerlands, you could marry a man you love, and the realm would have a good king through Robb.”

“But what if that does not work? Stannis has a daughter, does he not? Could we offer to betroth her and Tommen?” You ask, wracking your mind to try and recall the age and name of Stannis’ only child.

“If the Tyrell’s plan does not work then I will convince my family to extend the offer, then you and I will lock ourselves away in The Rock and let Cersei and Stannis eat each other alive.”

You laugh, the sound watery. “Or perhaps we shall run to Dorne and try to install Jon in the line of succession for Starfell.”

“That may prove more difficult, but it is always an option.” Your father laughs, the sound eases the remaining unrest in your heart.

You rest your chin atop his head. “Alright then, I will trust you. But who will tell Jon?”

TL: @mostclevermiss, @solacestyles, @2valentines, @sharknutz, @idohknow, @bdudette, @pluraldoggo

[more-sonorous]

Uh I love going through your channel and reading all of the stories you come up with and I’m amazed and love them. It brings me joy to read them. I don’t know if you take requests I was wondering if you could do one where race has some problems and Jack is the only one who can get him to talk. Thank you!!!

i loved this ask! played around with it a bit and created a piece full of brotherly love that i'm truly hoping is what you were looking for!

have this little slice of life :)

.....

little ray of sun-- racetrack and jack

By all accounts, Jack Kelly had a decent day. He’d spent the morning pissing Pulitzer off by drawing egregious comics all of the other artists found funny, flinging droplets of ink onto the man’s shoes every time he strolled up to his desk, and using the most horrible grammar he could muster. By five, Pulitzer’s jaw was twitching but he had three spectacular political comics staring him down, so he couldn’t complain. Instead he glared up at Jack and a snarl formed beneath his perfectly groomed mustache as he dismissed him for the day.

Pushing old Joe’s buttons was Jack’s favorite work pastime when he worked at The World on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. It always put him in a chipper mood to know that he was one of the most popular artists on Pulitzer’s team, so the old bastard couldn’t really fire him even if he wanted to since people were raving about his comics. He couldn't fire him over little things anyways, like Jack putting his feet up on his desk or wearing a bandana ‘round his neck instead of a tie. He’d gotten good at subtly irking the man without breaking any office rules, and it added a bit of life to his boring office work. When he earned that little jaw twitch? Well, Jack considered the day a win. 

He carefully shelled out a few cents on a pretzel for dinner and finished it on his way back to the Lodgings, brushing the coarse salt off on his trousers and whistling to himself as he walked. At his core, Jack Kelly was a little shit. He enjoyed his little shit moments when he could.

As he dreamed up ways to dramatically retell his office antics for the littlest newsies, he rounded the corner to find Albert’s head of gleamingly red hair perched on the steps leading up to the familiar lodging house. The moment the sarcastic ginger laid eyes on him found him shooting to his feet and practically speedwalking to Jack. 

“Kelly!”

“Yo, Albert.” Jack greeted cheerfully, removing his own hat and pushing a hand through his hair as he took a glance at the distressed expression on the freckled face in front of him. His cheer seemed to slip into nothingness. “Everythin’ okay?”

Half of Albert’s thin mouth curled into a snarl. “No. Obviously it ain’t. It’s fuckin’ Racer, Jack, he’s– he’s doing that thing he does and I dunno what the fuck to do.”

“Ah, shit.” Jack sighed, glancing up at the doors as a spike of worry for his almost-little-brother shot through his chest. Tension coiled through his limbs. “Okay, I’ll handle it–”

“You better, man, because I couldn’t. I even got Crutch and Davey to try. He wouldn’t budge, wouldn’t say a goddamn word to us. Davey’s out collecting bits from the guys to pay for Race’s bunk tonight, and I’m sure he’s gonna get enough, but this can’t happen tomorrow. Racer’s already short on cash–” Despite Albert’s harsh, biting tone, Jack knew the kid well enough to see deeply rooted concern in the furrow of his brow and the tight shrug of his shoulders. He was tense right up to his ears.

“I got it, Albert. Anyone tried getting him to eat yet?” He started a quick jog up the stairs and into the building. Though Jack knew what to do, that didn’t make him any less jittery when things like this happened.

He found himself despising his ‘real job’ because it meant he couldn’t spend mornings here with the boys. If he’d’ve known about Race’s situation sooner, maybe his brother wouldn’t’ve missed out on a day of selling. Jack barely checked in with Kloppman as he thundered up the stairs, Albert trailing behind and talking a mile a minute through a lopsided, thickly accented mouth. His speech might’ve sounded like another language to someone that didn’t know him well.

“Yeah, Crutch’s up there workin’ on dinner. I just dunno what coulda caused this one, Jack, he seemed fine yesterday and he was playin’ poker last night before bed– he seemed fuckin’ normal and now he ain’t even speakin’ to anyone–”

“Well, sometimes there ain’t a reason.” Jack toed open the door to the bunkroom and Albert stumbled to a halt behind him, both of them gazing at the sight of Crutchie murmuring softly to a despondent lump of Racetrack. Other newsies lingered silently around, awkwardly pretending like they weren’t nosy-ly watching the scene in the corner unfold. Jack’s chest squeezed tightly and a soft exhale escaped him, worry and exasperation all in one. “Sometimes he just gets like this. But I’ll figure it out, Al, don’t go all batshit on me.”

The redhead practically growled, proving every stereotype of fiery gingers more than true at that moment. Race would be delighted to know that he had an angry guard dog as a best friend. “I ain’t even close to batshit, Kelly.”

“Well, if that's the case, why don’t’cha help Dave collect donations? Scare the kids into puttin’ a penny in your hat or somethin'.” He swiped Albert’s backwards cap right off his head and held it out with a well-practiced cheeky grin, earning him another sneer. 

Albert snatched his cap back and stormed out of the room, each movement tight and tense with worry. Jack crossed the room in a few strong strides, gently tapping Crutchie on the shoulder. He held a glass of water and a sandwich wrapped in wax paper, both entirely untouched. When Crutch met his eyes, a silent understanding passed between them and like the well oiled machine of brotherhood they were, the boys switched places. Crutchie ruffled Jack’s hair and tucked his crutch beneath his arm, immediately limping off to go clear the stragglers out of the room.

Jack pushed a hand through Race’s head of fair hair and glanced over his expression– tight with sadness, blue eyes staring straight ahead. “Mornin’, buddy.”

Racer closed his eyes at the sound of Jack’s voice, which he took to be a good sign as he ran his fingers through his brother’s tangled hair. Jack's skin seemed darker than usual against the light coils of Race’s dirty hair, matted and tangled. “Rough day today?”

As expected, Jack didn’t receive a response. He carefully set the sandwich and water aside and tugged his fingers through Race’s hair. It wasn’t very intimate or sweet as it might’ve been with someone like Dave or Kath, because Race was a proper mess and his hair was beyond tangled. Jack worked the kinks out and watched his nose wrinkle and twitch, upper lip curling every so often as a reminder that he was cognitive and alive and feeling something, still. 

“Everybody’s worried about you.” Jack started, trying not to betray just how deep that worry was. This wasn’t the first time– far from it– but that didn’t make it any less scary. “I am too, a’course. Wish I woulda been there for you this morning, buddy, but Bastard Old Joe would fire me if I was any more than a minute late to his shitty office. Still, ‘m here now. Want’cha to talk to me, if that’s appealing at all. You gotta talk to someone, after all, or Albert’s gonna get so mad his head’ll turn as red as his hair. Then he’ll explode or some shit, I dunno.”

Jack knew this side of Race like the back of his hand. He remembered countless days in their shared past when Race would wake up just the same as he was now, glued to the sheets and subdued and silent, remaining still and motionless for as long as possible. The impossibly impish trickster he normally was would disappear beneath lumps of thin quilt and stony silence would take over in its wake, turning Racer into someone unresponsive and lethargic. Jack had a hunch that it was because of the constant motion Racetrack was in. Always with a smirk or a stinging quip, running betting circles and poker games and puffing cigars. Full of biting sarcasm, mind racing a mile a minute, bright as a star with nowhere to shine. An engine constantly chugging along, overheating until the point of exhaustion. Breakdown. That was whatever this was– the point where he chugged to a sudden halt and collapsed, withdrawn and almost unreachable. 

It happened once or twice a year, almost always in the bleak, dark, wintry months. Sometimes Race would spring out of bed the next morning, chipper like nothing ever happened. One time, when they were around ten and twelve, he was stuck in bed for a week. Jack wasn’t about to let that happen again.

“You don’t want Alfred to explode, do you? We’ll hafta find another token ginger…”

“No.” Race croaked, finally responding to the subtle joking that always drew him out of his shell. 

That’s what Jack had figured out– gentle touches, lighthearted mood, quips and teases. It took that. He didn’t respond well to Crutchie’s optimistic mothering or Albert’s intense pushing. Jack could picture Davey in all of his awkward loveliness trying to sternly coach Race out of the bed with false logical positives, like he was waking Les up and trying to get him dressed for the day. No, Jack knew Race, and he knew that Race responded to the feeling that he hadn’t done anything wrong. That things were normal.

“That’s what I thought.” Jack responded, with the same calm cheer coloring his tone. “Now c’mon, you can’t let me have better hair than you for a whole day. You wanna get up? Have a bite of dinner? Looks like someone got you somethin' from Jacobi’s…”

After a moment of silence, Racetrack weakly shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut tightly. “Can’t.”

“Can’t get up, that’s okay. I ain’t gonna make you.” He parroted, gently pulling his fingers through Race’s separated curls. “I would like it if you’d talk to me, though. So’s I can get a good night’s sleep, knowin’ what’s on your mind. I know you like torturin’ me but I sorta need my rest…”

The blonde let out a quiet snort, the motion jerking the blankets he held clutched to his chest. Jack couldn’t help his own smile at the transformation in the younger boy’s expression. He seemed to soften around the edges, with a little exhale that spelled progress. “Can’t deprive the great President of his beauty sleep… How’s he gonna sell papes without his pretty boy face?”

“That’s the problem– I need my pretty boy face. It’s the only thing I got goin’ for me.” Jack joked back with practiced ease, like everything was fine and Race wasn’t having one of his bad days. It was good, and it worked, because Racer snorted again.

In one shift of obviously difficult motion, Racetrack rolled onto his back and stared up at the wood holding up the bunk above them. Jack placed a careful hand on his shoulder and went still, waiting patiently. He could see Race’s mind moving behind intelligent blue eyes, the dart of his irises and the wrinkle of his nose as he thought. Sorting through his thoughts. Analyzing. A mathematician's brain, not at all like Jack’s artist brain or Davey’s literature brain or Kath’s journalist brain. Solving a problem. Race was a skeleton of problems and solutions wrapped in skin with a trickster’s smile. He was missing one of his pieces in that bed, because half of his face was occupied by an uncharacteristic frown. 

Finally, he spoke. “I can’t stop thinkin’ about what the fuck I’m gonna do after this.”

“After what?” Jack tried to put the pieces together, but he’d never been good at solving Race’s cryptic riddles. “When you get outta bed?”

“No. After all’a this.” He muttered, throwing one hand up as if gesturing to the entire bunkroom. “I got nothin’ planned. Once I’m eighteen and Klop gives me the boot, I’m done.”

Oh. Jack knew this rabbit hole of thought all too well. The cause of Race’s spiral was one that had caused him many spirals of his own, and it probably did the same for almost every newsboy that came before them. “You ain’t done. You basically got two years to figure shit out, man. Plus, you’se smart as a whip. Anybody would kill to have you workin’ for them if they knew how your brain worked.”

“Yeah, but they don’t, and since my Ma had to go and fuckin’ die on me, I ain’t got no schoolin’ to show for it. No proof.” He muttered, dragging his hands over his face. “I hit eighteen and boom, I’m on the streets. My Pa’s gonna want me to join his fuckin’ gang and I can’t do that, Jack, I swear to God–”

“You don’t hafta join any gang, Race, we’ll find you some other job. Stuff comes up when you least expect it. You gotta look at the good and the bad.” Jack reassured, carefully squeezing Race’s shoulder.

He sighed, hard and long. “Well sometimes it don’t feel like there’s any good.”

“Yeah, I hear you.” Jack responded, even though he knew the feeling far too well. Before Pulitzer miraculously offered that job, he’d been thinking the same thoughts. Now he was staring down the barrel of a secure future where he worked full time as an artist for the paper. It had all been pure luck. Chance. How was he supposed to explain that sorta thing? “I hear you, but you might not be lookin’ in the right places. Listen– we’ll get Davey on the job hunt with us. I’m sure he knows a couple places that are hiring. You can get in early, start up part time like me, work your way up. By the time you’se eighteen, you’se set.”

“Okay.” Race breathed, eyes fluttering shut. “Okay, that… that sounds okay.”

“Yeah?”

A tiny nod, a jostling of blonde curls. Jack let out a sigh of relief as Race finally pushed himself to sit up, rubbing his hands over his face. Every movement seemed like he was pushing through a sea of syrupy fatigue, fighting his own body to get things working again. Jack rubbed his back through it all– though he’d never experienced this sort of thing, Race had been through it more times than he could count, and it looked the same every time. Painful, difficult, but a surefire show of Racetrack’s incredible determination.

After a moment, he twisted awkwardly and lurched into Jack’s arms, wrapping him in a messy embrace. “Thanks, Jackie.”

“Don’t call me that, bud.” Jack responded simply, swinging his arms around Race and embracing him happily as the little shit exhaled a harsh laugh into his shoulder. He smelled like sweat and stale bed linens but he was talking and awake and moving, and that was more than enough to make Jack grin. “You want dinner? Water? You’re prob’ly fuckin’ parched.”

“Huh. Guess I am.” He said almost absently, like he was just then remembering his own humanity. Race reached across Jack and downed the glass of water in one go, before Jack offered him the sandwich and he slowly tucked in.

Moments like this made Jack remember why he’d stayed in this position for so long, leading these boys. They made him dread the day he had to leave, too. He slung an arm around Race’s shoulders and leaned back against the headboard of the bunk as the door creaked open, revealing a green-eyed boy with his cap held carefully in his hands. Jack motioned Davey in, tugging Race closer up against his side. The younger boy curled up beneath his arm, seeming to melt into the embrace.

“Hi, Racer. Feeling better?” Davey asked politely, coming to a halt beside the bed and tucking freckled hands into his pockets.

Race nodded wordlessly, without making eye contact as he bit his sandwich. He’d probably only be talking to Jack for a few hours, but that was how things always went. Jack had a remarkable knack for weaseling into people’s cracks and gently breaking them open. Davey rocked back on his feet, wearing a pleasant little smile. “That’s good. Your bunk is all paid for tonight, so no need to worry about that.”

“Great. Thanks, Dave.” Jack briefly grabbed his hand and squeezed, and like clockwork, Davey squeezed back. He trailed up to hold onto the taller boy's wrist as an idea struck him. “Hey, Davey, you think you could help Racer here start up a job search? Like, a post-newsie career?”

“Well, sure. I can think of a couple things that suit you, Race.” He smiled the type of smile that appeared when he had an idea. Jack felt confident for Racer that Davey was going to take good care of this little issue. Things would be okay, even if it was slow going. Even if Race was burrowing further into his arm, looking stony and miserable. “I’ll get back to you on that as soon as possible. Is it alright if I go tell the guys you’re alive and well up here?”

“Go inform the masses.” Jack responded easily, shooting Davey a lazy grin.

Davey returned the bright smile, crinkling his wide eyes into crescent moons. “Yessir. Oh, and Jackie?”

“Yeah, Dave?”

“Les gave me a couple of taffies for Race.” He briefly dug into his pocket and carefully deposited the candies in Jack’s palm, just a simple brush of pale skin against tan. “You don’t have to eat them if you don’t want to, but if you do, I promise they’re safe for consumption.”

Jack thanked him and he disappeared as quickly as he came. Only once Jack had set the taffies aside, did he notice Race’s shit-eating smirk. A little bit of bright mischief was returning to his eyes as he trained them on Jack, brows curling downwards into a ghost of his usual impish expression. That was both a good and bad sign. Jack felt his own eyebrows raising. “What? What are you making that face for?”

Race’s teeth flashed in a little grin as he did a remarkable impression of Dave: “Jackie…”

And that earned him a smack upside the head. Jack’s face prickled with heat as he adamantly shook his head, rolling his eyes to the soundtrack of Race snickering beneath his arm. “Shaddap, ya’ bastard.”

Then he started fucking cackling, and Jack didn’t even have the energy to be pissed off at being the butt of the joke, because Race was gonna be okay. Rough patches were tough, but he could see a bit of sunlight through the clouds. Jack held him a little bit tighter and thanked the higher powers for small breakthroughs. 

....

thank you for the ask, darling! <3

[ziptiesnfries]

Season's Beatings

Read part 1 here - Box Bastards masterpost

CWs: beating, drunk whumper, pet whump, noncon touch, creepy whumper

The basement is chilly as usual, but for once, Lynx isn’t cold. They’re curled up in their pet bed, bundled in their new red blanket. Their food and water bowls are full, and they haven’t seen Kennedy in hours. He went out to have Christmas dinner with some friends, which means Lynx won’t see him until tomorrow morning. The promise of solitude is an even better gift than the blanket—although they’re not complaining about either.

Lynx has never celebrated Christmas before. At their last owner’s house, they stayed chained to the hot radiator in the living room, watching Christmas movies on TV while the humans did their little rituals. Everyone in those movies, even the meanest, shittiest people, seemed to be nicer on Christmas. Lynx never really believed that a specific day of the year could make someone nicer; that was just made up for TV. But they’re not sure how else to explain Kennedy’s attitude today. He fed them three meals, didn’t dig his fingers into the sores on their arms, didn’t even snap at them. He treated them more like a regular pet than a punching bag.

Of course, they’re not getting their hopes up. He’ll be back to normal tomorrow. Maybe he’ll even take away their blanket and bed again and leave them freezing in the corner of the basement. But tonight, they don’t have any new wounds, and they drift off to sleep warm and content.

-

The basement door slams open, and Lynx jolts awake. Their heart pounds to the sound of footsteps beating down the stairs. They’re upright before they can even think about it, pushing off the blanket as they scramble out of bed. The lights flicker on, searing their eyes. “Get over here, mutt,” Kennedy snaps.

They stagger to their feet, still squinting. Suddenly Kennedy’s fingers hook through their collar, yanking them off their feet. “I’m not in the fucking mood,” he hisses. His breath reeks of alcohol. Lynx cringes away. “Get on your knees.”

He drops them, and they let their knees hit the floor, tensing their stomach instinctively. Sure enough, his foot drives into their gut and sends them sprawling backwards. The next kick catches them in the ribs, and they curl up to protect themself as the blows rain down. “Son of a bitch,” Kennedy seethes. “That fucking asshole—” The next kick hits Lynx in the stomach, forcing the air from their lungs.

The kicks let up sooner than expected. Lynx takes the opportunity to catch their breath. They remain curled on the ground, arms wrapped around their torso, bracing themself for more.

Kennedy’s catching his breath, too, panting hard. “Ah, shit.” He kneels down, his hand sliding into Lynx’s hair. They flinch, expecting to be yanked upright. Instead, his fingers scratch against their scalp. He sighs, and they hesitantly peek up at him. “Those guys piss me off sometimes,” he mutters. “You didn’t do anything. You’re a good pet, Spike.”

They raise their eyebrows, but stay quiet. He’s drunk, they think to themself. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. Their skin crawls as he pets them, but as long as he’s giving them a break, they don’t want to set him off again. Lynx stays put, resting their head on the carpet.

“You’ve been so good today,” Kennedy mumbles, continuing to pet their hair. “I shouldn’t have kicked you, since it’s Christmas and all. I was just a little mad after hanging out with the guys, that’s all …” They stiffen as he drags their head into his lap. They try to squirm away, but his grip tightens, pulling at their hair. He doesn’t seem mad about it, though, so they reluctantly stay still. “I promised myself I wouldn’t hit you today,” he continues. “I was giving you a break, as long as you didn’t act like a little bastard, and you’re being so good …”

He cups their face, his thumb stroking their jaw, and a shudder runs down their spine. They’re just about to pull away when a shaft of light catches their eye. Hesitantly, they follow it up the wall, all the way to the top of the stairs. The door is open. Kennedy, in his drunken stupor, left the basement door open.

Lynx’s heart flutters. They take a deep breath and brace themself against nausea before nuzzling into Kennedy’s leg. “Aww,” he coos, laughing. “Are you tired? Is that why you’re being so cute?”

“Yeah,” they grumble, “you woke me up.” They have to be careful. Too much attitude, and he’ll get pissed off. Not enough, and he’ll sense that something’s up. They have to keep him distracted.

“Oh, you poor thing.” He sounds mocking, but only a little. His fingers stroke skin-crawlingly through their hair, catching on knots. “Want me to rock you back to sleep?”

“Fuck off.” Lynx slowly pushes themself upright, pressing their cheek into his shirt. It makes them feel sick, drowning in the scent of his cologne, the warmth of his body. They’d rather freeze to death than fall asleep on him. They swallow down bile as they rest their head on his chest, faking a yawn. Now, they’re in a better position, leaning sideways to rest against Kennedy’s chest. 

He chuckles, hands sliding up to support their back. They halfway suppress a shudder, but Kennedy’s used to that—enjoys it, even. “I’ll never understand why you don’t just let yourself be a lapdog,” he murmurs, breath ghosting against their hair, palms sliding down their waist. “You’ve got the looks for it, when you’re not acting like a little asshole …” His pinky brushes the bare skin beneath their shirt.

Lynx’s stomach riots, and their patience evaporates all at once. They shove Kennedy as hard as they can. He tumbles backwards, and they just barely glimpse the slow, shocked expression on his face before they slam the heel of their hand into his nose. He grunts in pain, and they scramble over him, slipping away from his blindly-grabbing hands as they sprint for the stairs.

They take the steps two at a time, using the handrail to haul themself up. They hear Kennedy growl behind them, maybe at the foot of the stairs already, but they don’t look back. Their feet pass the threshold, and then they grab the door and slam it, fumbling with the deadbolt. Not a second later, Kennedy’s weight slams into it. “Spike!” he shouts. His fist pounds incessantly against the wood, jolting Lynx’s body with each strike. “You fucking bastard, open up!”

The doorknob rattles. Lynx backs away and watches it cautiously. It doesn’t budge. Their heart pounds as they fumble with the chain at the top of the door. The motions are unfamiliar, clumsy; they’ve never locked a door before. They’ve fought and spat at people all their life, but they’ve never done something this brazenly stupid before. They watch the door with amazement, and for all its trembling and shuddering with the force of Kennedy’s struggles, it holds true. He’s locked in.

“Spike!” The pounding continues as Lynx brings themself to attention. They’re out. They need to … they need to … fuck, what should they even do? “Spike, I swear to fucking god, if you don’t let me out right this second, I’m putting you down!” Lynx unbuckles their collar and tosses it on the ground with a satisfying thud. They’re so glad Kennedy never bothered with the padlocked one he always threatened them with. “I’m serious! First thing tomorrow, you’re going to the vet and I’m making them euth—euthan—” Kennedy’s threats become background noise. They consider their thin sweatpants and tank top, and then glance down the hall. “I’m going to kill you!”

Kennedy’s voice recedes as they make their way to the foyer and glance out the window. There’s snow on the ground; of course, it’s Christmas, it’s probably freezing as fuck out there—not that they’ve been outside recently. They have to do some scavenging. Quickly.

The screaming from the basement keeps Lynx on task as they root through Kennedy’s closet. His clothes are too big for them; they have to roll up the sleeves and pant legs, and cinch the belt tight. What the hell do humans wear out in the cold? Hat, gloves? Lynx isn’t used to it. They grab everything they can put on. They find Kennedy’s wallet in his coat pocket and strip it for cash; they’re not making that mistake again. Kennedy’s stench is thick on the scarf as Lynx wraps it around their neck, pulling it up to their face.

“Spike!” The door almost sounds like it’s splintering now. “Let me out, you stupid, evil little son of a—”

A frigid wind blows into the house as Lynx opens the front door. Just for a moment, they stand at the threshold. The cold, dry air stings their nose as they drag it into their lungs. They step out onto the porch. The fresh snow on the railings sparkles under harsh floodlights and gentler, decorative string lights. Lynx has never noticed the snow before. It’s pretty.

They shut the door behind them, and Kennedy’s protests go silent.

-

Box Bastards tag list: @spectral-whumpy-writer @transgender-scout

[phyx-m]

Beneath The Silk | True form Sukuna x Reader

🔗 Masterlist

Chapter 13: Ruiner

Content warning: Sukuna POV, violence, murder, oral sex (brief), Sukuna's two cocks

🔗 Songs for this chapter:

The Becoming - Nine Inch Nails Something I Can Never Have (Still) - Nine Inch Nails

Chapter 12 | Chapter 14

Four years ago…

The trees stand skeletal, their long, bony branches stretching skyward like grasping fingers. A slight breeze stirs, dislodging leaves that drip to the ground, blanketing the earth in a sea of dirty golden brown. It’s all the King of Curses needs to know—it’s time to head out.

Walking down the longest corridor toward the shrine’s front entrance, he feels his impatience growing. Such an emotion is unlike him, but perhaps the impending carnage stirs it within him. Or maybe it’s something else entirely, but he pushes the thought away. Allowing it to linger would be worthless.

As he reaches the massive doors, he senses a faint presence behind him.

“Leaving, Master Sukuna?”

He turns, red gaze lowering to meet the pink eyes of his white-haired subordinate, who stands with hands tucked neatly inside their kimono.

“Yes,” he muses. “I’m heading north.”

North. It hadn’t always been an obsession—not like it claws at him now, its pull growing stronger with each passing year. It was once just an impulse, a return to forsaken lands he had tried to forget. But something changed the night he first set foot back in the northern territories. Since then, the call has only deepened, dragging him back again and again.

“This will be the second time this year,” Uraume observes. It is. “Are you targeting the territories under the snake’s rule again?”

Sukuna clicks his tongue, unable to hide the hostility that twists his features with contempt.

“The snake.”

A man with a surprising amount power for someone who is nothing more than a power-hungry despot. Sukuna finds it laughable that the bastard’s people remain loyal despite his tyrannical grip over the northern region. But they do. Every time Sukuna makes his twice-yearly visit, the snake throws everything he can at him—warriors, trained men, young boys, even children. All of them meet the same fate. All of them are nothing but fodder.

The fact that the people haven’t risen against their ruler is a testament to their stupidity and blindness. They are all fools—every last one of them.

“Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to,” Sukuna hums before pushing open the massive doors and stepping outside.

The late October wind rushes toward him, sharp and biting, and Sukuna wonders if the northerners know he’s coming. They should by now. This marks the third consecutive year he’s launched his incursion, always in the same seasons: summer and autumn. Those are the times when the North is most vulnerable. The weather plays its part—resources dwindle, and recovery takes longer. By the time they manage to rebuild, he’s already back to tear it all down again.

He rolls his shoulders, anticipating the next miserable village he’s about to snuff out. Technically, he could go straight for the snake’s head and sever it, but that’s too easy. He wants the snake alive. He wants to toy with him, slowly strip away everything—his land, people, power.

Maybe even more than that.

Sukuna takes the first step down the shrine’s grand entrance, and the sound of hurried footsteps echoes down the corridor.

“Master Sukuna!” His irritation spikes the moment Sayuri’s voice reaches his ears. “Where are you going?”

She brushes past Uraume, coming to stand before him. The once-tangled and dirty black hair she had when she first arrived is now sleek and well-kept. Sayuri is a different woman, born anew. But over the last year, she’s grown far too comfortable for her own good. It shows in the way she presents herself, in the way she looks at him with those stormy brown eyes, and in the way she yearns for more—something utterly worthless, something he can never give her or anyone else.

She steps closer, ignoring the expected bow, and instead places a delicate hand on his kataginu, her fingers sliding up the fabric to rest against his chest.

Sukuna’s nostrils flare.

“Please, Master, return to your chambers. I can help you forget wherever it is you think you need to be.” The sultry tone that spills from her lips is sickly sweet, making his mouth curl in disgust.

If anything, Sayuri is a poison—a parasite. He knows there may come a day when he’ll regret allowing her to worm her way into his life and shrine. But for now, she serves her purpose. She amuses him. She entertains him with the way she sucks his cocks and the way she allows him to use her body.

“I have better things to do than watch you squirm beneath me like a filthy whore.” His voice is devoid of heat as he uncurls her fingers from his clothing.

The dark-haired woman shrinks, taking a step back, face faltering. Good. She needs to be reminded of her place.

Without sparing her another glance, Sukuna tips his chin toward Uraume.

“I’ll be back in a week, maybe more,” he gruffs before descending the steps.

Mounting one of his obsidian horses, he gives the reins a tight fist and nudges the creature’s flank. With a sharp motion, the horse bounds forward, and in a heartbeat, he’s gone.

* * * * *

The ride northward takes three days.

When Sukuna arrives, he enters a region of the North he has never visited before. And it’s in shambles. Dismounting, he greets the sight with a cruel smile on his lips.

Overgrown weeds choke the withering crops beneath his wooden sandals. A thick, dank stench of putrid waste hangs in the air, clinging to his garments and lingering in his nostrils. The field, fallow and useless. Sweeping his eyes further, he notes the irrigation canals are clogged with mud and debris, while flies murmur over stagnant pools of water, long since turned swampy. Beyond the neglected crops, a decaying village looms in the distance, its rooftops sagging under the weight of neglect.

The snake makes it so easy for him. The way he disregards his own people, allowing them to weaken, while those who keep him in power gorge themselves at his table, growing fat and bloated—it’s almost too delightful to witness.

Though Sukuna isn’t much better, once he subjugates a region, he keeps it under his rule—relatively safe, if only out of fear and respect. As long as they meet his demands, they can “thrive” together, though thriving under Sukuna’s rule is a twisted thing, more survival than prosperity.

By the time he reaches the outskirts of the northern village, the autumn sun is dipping low, casting long shadows that curve along the broken roofs. The silence presses against him, a quiet that speaks of desperation, of people huddling inside their homes, praying for mercy that remains abandoned and unanswered.

Sukuna pauses, shutting his four eyes to savour the moment—the cooling air, the scent of decay, the fear seeping through the cracks of the village.

It’s intoxicating.

With grace, he brings his upper hands to the front panels of his kimono and peels it down, letting it hang at his hips, revealing the black ink that covers his chest. He left his kataginu with his mount, farther back, safe from the hell he’s about to unleash.

Opening his crimson eyes, he lets his energy rise to the surface, simmering beneath his skin. He knows it won’t take much to level everything in his surroundings.

He rolls his shoulders, takes two more steps, then lifts his upper right arm. With a flick, he extends his index and middle fingers, his voice quiet as he simply utters, “Knock, knock.”

* * * * *

Everything collapses in perfect chaos.

The homes topple like kindling in a fire, snapping and breaking apart. Soot and ash rise from the destruction that carpets the ground. Mounds of wood and debris groan and crack as they settle into the wreckage. Strewn across the earth are shattered belongings and mangled bodies, concealing much of the ruined landscape beneath.

From the edge of the village, Sukuna watches as people flee their shattered homes. He makes no effort to hunt them down, unless they stray too close. It would be a waste of effort, and that’s not his purpose here. He’s hoping the snake will send reinforcements or at least some kind of opposition, something to sink his teeth into for a real challenge. Rumours suggest the man has been forging connections with more powerful clans, potential threats that could make future encounters intriguing.

For now, Sukuna waits. And waits, and waits.

To his dissatisfaction, the bastard sends no one, abandoning the people of this shithole to their fate. At least now, Sukuna knows he'll need to target wealthier communities. Perhaps then, his efforts will provoke a more satisfying response.

He adjusts the front panels of his kimono, drawing the fabric up and threading his four arms through the sleeves. There’s no point in lingering any longer.

He takes one last look at the devastation before turning to leave, but something approaching catches his eye.

A skinny, greasy man drags a young woman by the handful of her hair. She staggers weakly, a grimace of pain on her face. When they reach Sukuna’s feet, the man roughly pushes her down.

“Please, my Lord,” the man begs, bowing with an air of false superiority that makes Sukuna sneer. “I offer you my niece in exchange for sparing what’s left of our village and aiding us in restoring it to its former state.” Still gripping her hair, he gestures to the woman.

Sukuna’s gaze falls on the girl. At a glance, she’s a pitiful sight—cowering meekly with her head bowed in submission.

“Show me her face,” Sukuna commands, stepping closer, his presence looming over them.

Without hesitation, the hand fisting the woman’s hair pulls sharply. Her head snaps back, bending uncomfortably, chin jutting upward. She lets out a muffled cry as he roughly brushes aside the strands framing her face, fingers lingering far, far too long for her comfort. The woman flinches, struggling to pull away from her uncle’s invasive touch.

As Sukuna studies her face their eyes lock. She’s not afraid of him; rather, she’s more terrified of the man clutching her.

“You can remove your hand,” Sukuna chuckles, circling the pair. “She won’t be crawling away from me anytime soon.”

Reluctantly, the man lets the woman crumple to the ground and glances over his shoulder at Sukuna.

“Will you accept my offer?” he asks nervously, trying to hold the four-armed demon’s gaze.

“Perhaps,” Sukuna replies, his tone turning chillingly light as he raises an arm. “But—” he tilts his head, “—it’s a shame you won’t be around to find out.”

“Pardon? My Lor—”

Before the man can finish, Sukuna’s hand parts his flesh like sodden paper, punching through the tissue and fluids that sustain his spinal cord. His fingers curl around the fragile threads of the man’s spine, which pulses like a ribbon against his fingertips as he strokes it.

The man’s throat emits wet, gurgling sounds that quickly dissolve into a flat hiss as he collapses to his knees. Sukuna chuckles softly, nudging the nerve trunk through his neck. With a final, decisive tug, he partially dislodges it from the man’s back.

Withdrawing his hand, gaze stony, the King of Curses watches the body fall, slumping to the ground, as if it were nothing. With a flick of his wrist, he attempts to rid his hand of the blood and fluids, repeating the gesture as if the mess personally affronts him.

“What’s your name?” he drawls, attention snapping back to the woman, who remains silent and unmoving despite the gruesome scene before her.

Slowly, she rises to her feet, eyes fixed blankly on the body of her uncle.

“Ren, my Lord,” she replies quietly.

“Ren,” he laughs deep and low in his chest, “what a dreadful name for a woman. Your parents must truly despise you.”

“My parents are dead,” she hisses, the words sharp, rough like a point, prompting Sukuna to reconsider her.

“Was that my fault?” Casually, he tips his chin toward the remnants of the village he just tore to the ground.

She shakes her head.

“No. They died a long time ago. Starved. Hungry. Because no one cares about us here,” she spits the words out.

He tilts his head.

There’s something intriguing about this woman, Ren. Unlike the weak, timid creatures who scurry away like rats, she doesn’t flinch before him. She stands firm. In the face of death—in the face of him—there’s a resilience that he finds both oddly fascinating and entertaining.

What’s even more curious is the sensation wriggling inside, compelling him to bring her back with him. It’s not driven by personal sentiment but by a cold, pragmatic sense that she might prove useful for a purpose he can’t yet define.

“Come,” he says, turning away and expecting her to follow.

And she does, without hesitation.

In the years that follow, Ren settles quickly at the shrine. She proves to be a remarkably diligent subordinate—adaptable, intelligent. However, the fire Sukuna once saw in her eyes gradually fades, replaced by a rigid hardness. It seems she is waging a war known only to herself—a struggle that no one, not even Sukuna, fully comprehends.

What confounds him most is the night he discovers her waiting for him in his chambers, offering herself. Not to his surprise, she isn’t alone; Sayuri is there, too.

And this is just the beginning.

* * * * *

Three months ago…

Six heavy-lidded eyes stare into Sukuna’s four.

Each pair belongs to the three women who have ended up at his shrine under varying circumstances. Their differences are as pronounced as the paths that led them here.

Ren drapes herself over him, straddling his right tattooed thigh, while Sayuri clings to the center, her eyes filled with unspoken longing.

The third, Hina, a woman with deep copper-coloured hair, hovers to his left. About two years ago, she had arrived from a slowly dying village in the east. When her home had fallen to ruin, she had learned to survive on her own, honing her skills in hunting and killing. But sustenance was fleeting, and on the first of the month, she had come to him, offering herself in exchange for survival.

Now, they surround him with their three pliant bodies.

Each of them takes turns trying desperately to please him. Sucking and pumping his hard dual cocks.

Writhing, squirming, moaning.

The sight alone should satisfy any man, but it does nothing for him.

The situation grows increasingly intolerable the moment Sayuri looks up, his lower cock between her lips, eyes imploring not just for his attention but also his affection.

Sukuna remains impassive, his expression unreadable as he reclines on the futon, his four arms curving over a plush set of cushions. His silence, rather than deterring, seems to embolden her further.

Suddenly, Sayuri maneuvers her body, climbing up and turning around, her cunt sitting directly in his face as if expecting him to pleasure her.

His lip curls up as he looks at it.

“Off,” he grunts, voice carrying a menacing bite. His sneer begins to reveal the sharpness of his canines as his patience wears thin. “Get. The. Fuck. Off.”

When his command goes unheeded, he shoves Sayuri aside. She tumbles across the futon, forcing Ren and Hina to quickly retreat as he swings his legs over the edge and plants his feet firmly on the floor.

“Get out,” he snaps.

Gaze deliberately averted, he retrieves his discarded haori and slips it on.

Behind him, he can hear the muted sounds of clothing being smoothed, the shuffling of feet. The door slides open with a soft rustle, and they are gone.

Silence.

Sukuna exhales deeply, running a hand through his swept back pink hair.

Barefoot, he crosses his chambers toward the garden door. With a simple tug, it glides open, revealing the evening dark. The moon hangs directly overhead, lonely. Stars appear one by one, scattering the sky with pinpricks of light.

The warm breeze sweeps through, carrying a reminder. He inhales the night air, feeling its subtle nudge to head north.

Tomorrow, he decides, is when he’ll go.

The following morning, the bright, fat sun taunts Sukuna. Its harsh light pierces through the garden door of the private room and plagues his meal.

Impatience creeps in.

He should have left hours ago, mounted up, and headed north by now. But something told him to stay, to eat first. So he did, though the decision irritates him now.

From where he sits on the cushion on the floor, he notices Sayuri, sulking like a spoiled child, aware that he’s leaving today. Her pouting only puts him in a sour mood.

“Fuck.” He exhales, “Just—come here, you stupid brat.” With his lower hands, he beckons her to come to him.

Sayuri’s face beams bright, and without hesitation, she eagerly slips onto his monstrous lap.

Swivelling her hips, she attempts to get comfortable, making him grumble wordlessly.

“Better?” he grunts, though the proximity does little to quell his annoyance. She smiles up at him, dark eyes gleaming.

“Yes. Thank you, Master Sukuna,” she murmurs, leaning in and nuzzling his chest. Affectionately.

Fucking pathetic.

He’s about to toss her off when the door slides open, revealing Uraume.

“Master Sukuna,” they begin, bowing respectfully as they step inside. His four eyes shift from Sayuri to the white-haired monk. “A messenger just delivered this.”

In their hand is a piece of parchment, seemingly insignificant at first glance. Eyeing it more, he notices it's neatly folded and tied with a high-quality silk cord. But what truly catches his attention is the wooden seal holding it together.

His eyes narrow, and he stretches out an arm, palm flat. Uraume places the message there. 

Lazily, he brings it closer, holding it before Sayuri’s face.

“Tell me what you see,” he croons, placing his upper right hand against her back.

Sayuri shifts, wets her lips, and studies the paper.

“I see a seal,” she replies. Sukuna nods, urging her to continue. “I see… a snake, my Lord.”

He clicks his tongue, a smirk stretching across his face.

“Good girl,” he coos, patting her back twice like a dog.

Slowly, his lower hands begin to untie the silk cord. It unravels with a soft rustle and falls to the low table. Without bothering to read the contents, he gestures to Hina, who has been hovering nearby.

“Read it,” he commands flatly.

Hina obediently steps forward and takes the parchment from his hand. She unfurls it carefully, eyes scanning the ink blots scattered across the paper. Though the copper-haired woman isn’t fully literate, he knows Uraume has been teaching her, slowly cultivating her ability to decipher the written word. 

“To the, um, most Honour’ble and I-illust—”

Sukuna barks out a sudden, sharp laugh, not at her stumbling over the words but at the thought of the snake who penned this letter. The idea of that man being forced to address him as ‘honourable’ is a delicious irony; Sukuna knows the man despises him.

“Continue.” The smirk on his lips grows.

Hina shifts on her feet.

“To the most H-honourable and I-illust-rious Suk-un-a Ryo-men, the King of—”

“Too long,” Sukuna interupts. “Ren.”

Ren quickly steps forward. She bows before taking the parchment from Hina’s grasp.

“To the Most Honourable and Illustrious Sukuna Ryomen, the King of Curses,” she begins, voice steady. “Like two rivers, our paths have collided, flooding the northern lands with strife and destruction. Yet even rivers can find harmony when they merge, flowing stronger together than apart. Recognizing the futility of further conflict, I propose an end—”

“Sayuri,” Sukuna barks.

Ren hands the parchment to Sayuri, who squares her shoulders, straightens her posture, and smooths the paper a few times.

“Yet even rivers can find harmony when they merge, flowing stronger together than apart. Recognizing the futility of further conflict, I propose an end to this turbulence—” She pauses. “—by…”

She lifts her eyes, casting a sharp glance at Sukuna.

His eyes darken, and his grip tightens.

“By offering you—”

Another pause, a beat.

“By offering me what?” he growls.

Sayuri swallows.

“By offering you… my daughter in marriage.”

Silence descends upon the room.

An invisible string tugs at the corner of the King of Curses’ mouth.

Finally.

He dips his chin.

“Continue.”

Sayuri’s eyes begin to glimmer with unshed tears before they reluctantly drop back to the parchment.

“Through this union, our clans can finally channel our energies toward more productive pursuits. You can retain the territories you have subjugated and gain a longstanding foothold in the north without further waste of time. Let us resolve this swiftly, so that we may turn our attention to more pressing matters. Signed—”

Sukuna plucks the parchment from her fingers, crimson eyes narrowing as he scans the closing line.

“Kasai Takuma, Lord of the Kasai Clan.”

* * * * *

Present day, moments ago…

Sukuna’s going to kill you.

That decision was made long ago—when your father first proposed the marriage, when the wedding day approached, when he first laid eyes on you. The decision was simple. Final. You were the daughter of the snake, after all, and your fate was sealed from the start.

He’s going to kill you.

And yet, for some inexplicable reason, he hasn’t done it. Each time his eyes meet yours, something stirs within him, something he doesn’t want to acknowledge, something he desperately wants to—

Fuck.

He exhales deeply, dragging a hand through his pink hair, frustrated by the persistence of this hesitation. He should have let that polearm tear you apart instead of stepping in to protect you. But he won’t allow anyone to harm you—if anyone should, it will be him.

He’s the one who's going to kill you.

Even now, as he walks away, out of the kitchen and down the shrine’s longest corridor, the irritation grows. It's an irritation he knows is tied to you, to the way you’ve started to seep into his thoughts more and more, occupying space in his mind that he doesn’t want to give.

He cannot give. He will not give.

By the time he reaches the front entrance, the irritation has grown into something darker, more unsettling, and he knows that despite his decision, despite the certainty with which he made it, you’ve become something he didn’t anticipate—a complication.

A distraction.

You are a fucking nuisance. 

He’s going to kill you. That decision was made long ago...

Opening the doors, he steps out into the cool night and heads for the stables, where the creatures offer a welcome reprieve. The familiar routine of caring for them soothes his mind, pushing his thoughts aside—if only for a moment.

But it isn’t enough.

By the time he mounts one and guides it toward the dirt-packed road, he feels it—an uncomfortable tug in his chest. An urge to turn back, to return to the shrine.

To return to you—his wife.

He ignores it.

He rides off, away from the shrine and, more importantly, away from you. Distance, he thinks, will clear his head.

Yet as the cold air lashes him, a nagging sense of regret creeps in, an unsettling awareness that he should have known better, that leaving was a mistake.

Because after all this time, he should have known what was coming.

🔗 Chapter 14

[sassycheesecake]

In honor of Iwa-chan‘s birthday today, a small os for my bestie @rukia-uchiha-98 ❤️

Warnings: mentions of blood

You’re already in a bad mood when your friend drags you to a volleyball game that your school is having.

Aoba Johsai against Karasuno.

Now, if it were an actual match, you‘d understand her hype a lot more but the thing is, she really wants to watch that smug bastard Oikawa play.

Neither you or your friend knows anything about volleyball though, it’s just an excuse to watch pretty sweaty high school boys play ball and run around.

Pulling you by your uniform to some free places along the side of the gym hall, you and your friend sit down.

As soon as your friend spots the Captain of Aoba Johsai, she squeals in excitement and shakes you a little bit by the shoulders.

Letting her do what she wants, you just sit there with an annoyed expression and wait for her to calm down.

In the beginning, you watch the ball going to your team‘s field and the opponent‘s field but after a while, you get bored, so you fish your phone out of your hand.

Swiping through your homescreen, you open your Pinterest app to look at some more Satoru Gojo fanart to distract yourself.

All of sudden, your friend next to you screams out your name and she ducks to the side.

Before you can even react, an extremely heavy force lands on your face, making you see a white light for the moment.

Only a few seconds later, a vastly pain spreads through your face.

"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God (Y/N) are you okay?!“ A shrieking voice rings in your ear.

You barely acknowledge your friend‘s voice, as you hold on to your nose with your hands, when you felt a warm wetness against your hands.

Slowly pulling your hands back, you see blood covering your hands.

Due to your huge shock, your feel a lot of tissue papers being shoved into your face, covering half of it.

„Owwww….“ you mumble out.

„(Y/N)! SPEAK TO ME! WHAT YEAR IS IT?!“

„2012 and stop screaming in my ear, I am right next to you. Oh gosh this hurts so bad.“

„Oh sorry… let’s go to the nurse‘s office, maybe she can give you some ice.“

With both of you heading out to the gym to the school nurse‘s office, you hear a voice shouting behind you.

„HEY WAIT!“

Both turning around, you see a muscular guy in his Aoba Johsai uniform running towards you with the number „4“ on the front of his shirt.

His dark brown hair is slightly spiked up, it reminds you a little bit of a cute hedgehog.

The sweat is slightly running down on his face, his cheeks red from probably running after you.

His face shows deep concern and big regret and you can guess from his guilty face that he was the one that slammed the volleyball into your face.

Your friend is just as much as in shock like you, surprised that the Wing Spiker followed the two of you.

„Are you… are you okay?“ He pants when he stands in front of you.

„I uh… I am okay… just in pain…“ You retort.

„(Y/N) I will leave you be, since Iwaizumi is here, text me later what the nurse says.“ Your friend farewells you with a smirk on her face.

As you and the volleyball player stare after your friend, you mentally curse her for her devious smirk.

When the brunette turns around to look back at you, he frantically starts apologizing.

„I am really sorry, I-I uh…-“ You gently interrupt him.

„It’s not your fault that the ball flew in my direction, unless of course you did that on purpose, then I will slam a ball into your face.“ You threaten with a dangerous tone in your voice.

He looks even more horrified at the thought of him doing it on purpose.

„No! I swear! I tried receiving the ball from the opponent and it bounced off and flew with an incredible amount of speed into your direction.“ He mutters with a redness on his cheeks.

You hum at his explanation.

„We‘ll just blame physics then.“ You try to smile beneath the bloodied tissues, getting into the nurse‘s office.

The handsome looking stranger mirrors your smile, follows you into the room after making sure you’re okay with it because he still feels bad for your probably broken nose.

After the nurse has checked out your nose, she confirms that it is indeed broken and tells you to go to the hospital to have it checked out. She did give you some pain medication and a cold compress to hold against your nose. Luckily your nose stopped bleeding.

Both of you exiting the office, you notice you don’t even know his name, so you ask for it.

„Call me Hajime.“

„What a beautiful name. I‘ll see you around Hajime. Thank you for accompanying me.“

„Goodbye (Y/N), I‘ll see you around.“ Iwaizumi blushes a bit around his cheeks, the tips of his ears gushing red as well.

You part your ways, with you heading home and Iwaizumi back to the gym.

With a small smile, Iwaizumi walks back to the gym, a tumbling feeling settling in his stomach, like his heart is making more jumps than usual.

When he reaches the locker room, he sees his teammates almost done with changing into their school uniforms.

Hanamaki notices Iwaizumi first when he walks in.

„So? Got her number?“ The Outside Hitter asks intrigued.

Iwaizumi frowns at that.

„What?“

„We saw you running after that girl like a headless chicken, don’t try to deny it, we followed you until you both went inside the nurse‘s office.“ Matsukawa explains.

„You guys have nothing better to do than spy on my personal life?“

„Nope.“ They all say in sync.

„Iwa-chan, can I be the best man at your wedding and tell your future wife that you still collect Godzilla merch like a 10 year old geek?“

Iwaizumi throws a bottle from the bench at Oikawa, who barely dodges it.

The rest of the team laughs at their banter, happy that Iwaizumi may have found someone special in his life.

@nerd-of-karasuno @wake-uptoreality @darthferbert

[mammalsofaction]

For the writing thing : Perryshmirtz (15)

From the kissy prompt list here

Perryshmirtz kisses

... Made in anger (45)

... Made in jealousy (46) @dinnerdog

... Passionately (15)

Pushing All My Buttons

Rating: M

Relationship: Heinz Doofenshmirtz/Perry the Platypus

Add tags: Human Perry, speaking Perry, Peter the Panda (mentioned), Professor Mystery (mentioned), semi-public snogging, telenovela moments, owca agents being nosey little shits.

A/N: Yall would not believe how much fun I had with this.

---

Unbelievable. Unbelievable.

"Perry. Perry. Oh, for Gott's sake, Perry would you please slow down and let me explain-,"

He doesn't slow down. In fact, he lets the heavy swinging door leading out from Monogram's office swing loudly shut behind him, hoping it would slam Heinz in his stupid, simpering, unapologetic, lying face. Maybe even break his nose. Breaking Heinz's nose always makes him feel better.

His co-workers peek from beyond their cubicles, but cower quickly upon the sight of a single frightening glare.

"Verdammt, ok, I know you did that on purpose but I won't hound you for that now, it's an action made out of anger, and I forgive you-,"

Unbelievable! "Me?" Perry echoed incredulously, turning on his heel just as he realized he'd been baited, and he threw his hand up in resignation as Heinz caught up, practically out of breath. "Me? I'm the dick?"

"Baby, please-,"

"Do not baby me, Doofenshmirtz, after the kind of mess that you've just made me clean up back there with that no-good son of a bitch-,"

"Ouch, last name, okay, so you caught me in Seattle talking with Peter behind your ba-,"

Perry slaps him.

He doesn't realize he'd been thinking of doing it until he's already done it, with Heinz's face thrown back and cheek stinging red from the blow. He hadn't realized he hadn't wanted to hear that bastard's name again until Heinz spelled it out.

There is an unmistakable gasp from the crowd all around them, and an even more noticeable silence after.

He can't fucking do this. He needs to leave. This is the most humiliating day of his life.

Perry turns back on his heel, keeping his dark gaze on the floor ahead of him lest any of his co-workers caught any strays, thought they all jumped away quickly from his path, spilling coffee and handfuls of paperwork. He's half hoping Heinz would leave that as is, letting Perry run home and lick his nonsensical emotional wounds in the privacy of his own home, with his brother and maybe Pinky, who will most assuredly hear about this down the grapevine in a couple of minutes.

No such luck. Just as he reaches the door on the other end of the office, he hears the man scramble after him, continuing to shout his name. Jesus Christ.

He usually takes a right out the door, heading for the lift, but he's not in a mood to be gawped at any further by another batch of not-quite-strangers and let the gossip run any worse than it already had, so he takes a left instead, for the stairs. He's got the feeling he's going to need the exercise.

It takes two full flights of stairs before Heinz properly catches up to him, pulling him back by the shoulder. On instinct alone, Perry twists his torso to fully bodyslam Heinz against the wall. Here's an unfortunate side effect his rage-addled brain oversees; it presses both of their fronts tightly together, bringing their faces closely enough as to breathe the same muddled air, and Heinz keeps him there with his arms wrapped around his shoulders.

"Caught you." Heinz pants.

"You're a sick sonofabitch and I hope you break every bone falling down the rest of these stairs."

"I'd let you push me," Heinz admits. "If it means you'd spare me a minute to explain what I was doing in Seattle."

The mere mention of the city sends another spike of angry adrenaline through his veins. Perry feels like he could take down a while SWAT team. He's done so with less.

As it was, he only presses his forearm harder into the front of Heinz's throat. The former mad scientist chokes, and it oddly makes him feel better.

"Maybe I should." Perry muses humorlessly. He lets the man struggle a little longer for air before he eventually releases his hold. He does not otherwise create distance, keeping their fronts pressed together with nowhere else to go. "30 seconds."

Heinz gasped. "Peter and Mystery broke up."

The statement actually caught him enough unawares that he does let off to let Heinz breathe. "What?" He said.

"Peter and Mystery broke--I don't know, he's told me it was complicated." Heinz rushes to say with the given opportunity. "Liebling, you know what I was there for. I've told you about it. I was there to attend Diminiutive's seminar at the Evil Expo down the street, and I was going to get some linner on the way back-,"

"Don't call it that."

"That's what it's called!"

"No one else calls it that."

"It's like brunch, which is--you know, combination breakfast and lunch, so combination lunch and dinner-,"

"Can we please-," Perry interrupts, refusing to let Heinz convince him into the grooves of this well-worn argument. Already he can feel himself relax against his better judgement. "You just have. 20 seconds."

"You were not counting down."

"10 seconds."

"Ok, ok! Look, he wasn't even there for me, he was there for Diminiutive, I was just helping out an old friend, so we got into a bit of...a...squabble,"

"You flooded the mall," Perry points out, gentler than he'd initially made it out to be.

"He short circuited the whole place and the convention ended a day early, which was probably what he'd been aiming for." Heinz shrugged, tightening his arms around Perry's shoulders. They were already so close...it was easy, too easy to let the taller Drusselsteinian man lean down, planting a gentle kiss on his lips. And again, as he realizes Perry makes no move to push him away. Again, and again, and again, and Perry feels the last of his fury seep out milimetre by milimetre, until at last Heinz cradled a boneless agent, softly cradled within his stubborn embrace.

Heinz swipes his tongue down his bottom lip, requesting entry, which Perry allows with a gentle sigh. He licks down the back of his teeth, tasting of coffee and flaky, overpriced pastries, and when they next depart the sound of their smacking lips echo obscenely in the silent emptiness of the stairway.

"Yeah?" Heinz murmurs, pressing his nose to the side of his temple. Perry can feel his stupid, smug grin.

"I hate you so much." Perry mutters fiercely, but he lets the man pull him into another kiss, more heated than the last, angling their faces to pull him deeper, tugging him closer, manhandling their positions so he could press Perry into the wall, slipping his knee between his thighs and dropping his hands to Perry's waist. When air becomes a more pressing need, Heinz pulled away only to latch onto the spot just underneath the back of his ear, right where he loves it most. "I hate-you, God, Heinz-,"

"You know you're the only nemesis for me, hmm?"

He's meant to have a proper retort, something suitably sharp, maybe about his current track record thwarting wise, but Heinz flexes the thigh pressed his groin just as he bites down the joint of his neck and shoulder--just where the collar couldn't hide, and what comes out instead was a breathy moan. "Hmmn, Heinz,"

"Mm? Right here?" Heinz asked, rhetorically of course. Perry moans as Heinz's trailed a line of open mouth kisses down the side of his jaw, feeling dizzy from the lack of air of the enclosed stairway as well as the joint thrill from the knowledge they could be busted by any random passer-by at any moment. Nevertheless, as Heinz's hip jumped unwittingly, pressed to Perry's own, the teal haired agent reciprocates readily. "Fuck, liebling-," Heinz chokes, surprised.

A niggling thought remains on the edges of his mind, puzzle pieces he couldn't quite pin down until he pulled Heinz back down for another kiss, licking down the back of his throat. Perry lets it run its course before he finally pushes the man away.

Heinz looked wrecked, pupils blown and teeth bared. Like he was hungry. Perry reminds himself to focus.

"You taste like chicken pastries." He accuses.

This time, it is Heinz who looks like he'd been caught off guard. He blinks. "What?"

Perry's still got his hands on Heinz's chest, where they'd settled after they've relaxed from his previous stranglehold. Perry narrows his eyes, and his fists clench on Heinz's shirt. "You've had 'linner'." He accuses. "How did you know Peter and Mystery broke up?"

The man freezes. "Uh...,"

Ah, there it is. That welcome surge of annoyance that had gone missing so quickly some minutes before. He hits his hands palm down on Heinz's shoulders with enough force to push him away, but he doesn't let Perry slip out of his hold. He ought to slap him again. As if reading his mind, Heinz quickly held on to each of Perry's wrists separately.

"Ah, Liebling, wait-,"

"You are such an unbelievable asshole-,"

"I'd just let him buy me dinner!"

"Fuck you." Perry wrestles his hands away with a simple twist of his wrists, pushing the man away with a hard shove. Heinz hits the railing behind him with a grunt, likely bruising the small of his back. As Perry advances forward, Heinz flinched. "Ah, Perry, wait just a moment-,"

Perry fists his right hand into the fabric of his shoulder, and he pulls Heinz into one last kiss.

To his credit, the scientist reciprocates immediately, mouth slack in surprise even as Perry bites viciously on his lip, mauling the lower half of his face. It is only when Heinz is sufficiently dazed and confused that Perry lets up, letting Heinz blink at him with no small measure of confusion and wonder.

"What-,"

Perry cuts him off by slamming the heel of his shoe to Heinz's left foot, right above the joint of his ankle. Heinz yowls, a sharp cry of pain echoing down the hall that finally fills him with a sense of satisfaction.

"That's fair." Heinz whimpered.

"I thought so." Perry smirks, and finally lets himself walk down the rest of the stairs.

He doesn't slow down as Heinz hobbles pitifully behind him, not even once.

[viburnt]

Maybe helping puppy hybrid dabi and Shigaraki (seperately ) with their heat for fem reader?

Doberman! Dabi + Heat

Heats for Dabi aren´t the most frequent. It only happens once a year, and it isn´t much of a hassle to deal with it. When it occurs, his behavior doesn´t change at all, remaining the laidback cocky bastard he´s always been. Of course, his sensitivity spikes; he still needs some alone time to relieve some of that energy. 

He usually locks himself in the bathroom and bites his shirt to avoid getting too noisy while jerking off. It doesn´t take him long until he´s shooting blanks, emptying all that primal desire into his hand as his breath hitches.

Things changed when you appeared whatsoever, his heat becoming problematic whenever you were close by. If he could handle himself in the past, he is a lost case when he smells your scent in the room. He becomes pushy, grinding his crotch against you at any given chance. It doesn´t matter to him if he is in public or private, he´ll make sure to let you know he wants you. 

Dabi´s heats with you amplify his sly and smug behavior, making innuendos here and there to gauge a reaction from you. He hates himself for being so insistent, but he wants you to give in to his debauchery and let him breed you once and for all. You often have to scold him for being such a bad dog, but the warmth coming from your sex often betrayed you. You liked that, and Dabi knew it perfectly.

When you finally agree to help him with his heat, Touya loses no time. He doesn't even undress you fully, he just removes your bottoms and tugs your panties aside. Needless to say, he is inexperienced as fuck, but his confidence was too much for you to notice. His go-to position is doggy style (no pun intended), where he can pull your hair and watch your ass bounce with each thrust.

Dabi says the nastiest things when he is lost in pleasure, the animalistic side of him taking over as fat hot tears roll down your cheeks when he bullies your cunt. "What a good bitch! Ah, fuck- Taking my cock so well, gonna fill you until it´s dripping out of you." He feels a little embarrassed when you remind him of his words, but he is not sorry about saying it.

Safety is something that needs to be talked out with him during his heats. No, I´m not talking about being on the pill or using a condom, I´m talking about literal dog safety. During his heats, Touya can get a little too enthusiastic; he tends to bite and scratch, leaving red marks on your skin that sometimes take a while to disappear. It´s not intentional (although he is a little proud of them), so he allows you to either put a leash on him (to tug whenever he is getting too aggressive) or a muzzle (to prevent unwanted bitemarks).

Gets very clingy after he is done pumping your cunt full of his seed, not letting go of you and making sure you´re ok. You´re his little lady after all, and one day you´ll be the mother of his puppies (or at least that´s what´s in his plans), so he rubs ointments on the places he hurt you and cuddles you a lot.

"Sorry, was I too rough?" Dabi asked, kissing the skin of your shoulder as he held you close. For the past hour, he´d been fucking you senseless on your bed, face buried against the mattress as he bullied your cunt. Rough would be an understatement, but you guessed it was your fault considering you never pulled the leash. "It´s f-fine, I promise," you assured him with hitched breaths, "I just need a moment." Dabi shook his head, engulfing your body in the warmth of his. "Let´s take a break for now, we can continue later..."

Rottweiler! Shigaraki + Heat

Heats for Shigaraki are a little more frequent than Dabi´s, occurring from one to two times a year. They normally happen during spring and fall, lasting about two or three days. His behavior is the worst out of all the puppy boys in L.O.V., growing aggressive towards anyone who tries to interact with you. He rubs himself against you and refuses to let go of you even if it is to have some privacy. "I´m just keeping an eye on you, that´s all!"

Before you, he´d take care of his ruts by locking himself in his room and getting distracted with video games. It felt embarrassing for him to try to jerk off, even if his body was aching to. Sometimes, when things were too overwhelming for him, he´d take out his anger/frustration with the people around him; heats amplify his mood swings, and he can get very destructive if he doesn´t have the correct enrichment to deal with it.

With you, his heats are more focused on the attention you give him. It´s embarrassing and humiliating for him to be so clingy and touchy with you, especially when his brain screams to be smothered by you; he´s afraid that you may think of him as a pervert or a loser.

He gets very whiny when he can´t get what he wants, messing with your stuff in retaliation. Tomura doesn´t mean to be that bratty, but he acts on impulse during his heats. You need to scold him from time to time, otherwise he´ll get too bold.

Tomura is a pillow humper during heats. He rams himself into the cool pillowcase of his pillow while taking a whiff of any piece of your clothing available. He tries to imagine it´s you who he is breeding, but as his left hand tries to steady his cushioned companion, his body can´t be fooled. He thinks he´d die on the spot if you were to ever catch him doing something like that.

When you agree to help him out, Tomura gets very shy. It´s almost cute to see his pale skin turn into a deep red hue. His favorite position to do it is mating press, holding your legs up to your head with carefully gloved hands to avoid hurting you. There´s something about your facial expressions and the way your tits bounce that make him go feral. You also are allowed to only "help him" if you don´t feel like getting stuffed. He is very compliant when it comes to you, so if you tell him to sit between your legs and rest his back against your chest while you jerk him off, he does! 

A curious thing about him is that he doesn´t take the spiked collar of his neck off. Why? Who knows, but it´s cute to see his fucked out face while wearing it. Oh, he also has a thing for instructions, so if you´re feeling lazy, you can just talk him through his orgasm while he humps his favorite pillow in front of you. Quite the view!

"Come on, Shiggy, you can do it." You purred. Tomura was carefully seated between your legs, hands on your thighs to steady himself a little as you dragged the pads of your fingers to the tip of his cock. "P-please, don´t make this more embarrassing than it is!" he whined, hissing at the way you massaged and pressed his glans. "I just want you to feel good, puppy. Want my baby to cum." You mumbled, kissing his ear in an oh-so-sweet way that made him jolt. After a few more pumps, he became undone, shooting translucent hot ropes of cum into your hand and dripping onto his sheets. "Ah, such a mess. We can´t leave it like this, can we? Let me clean it for you." You offered, licking off the slick of your hand, sending shivers down Shigaraki´s spine. "I hate you so much..." He stuttered, but he knew it was a lie; he´d be begging you to do it all over again after a few hours.

[shesjustanothergeek]

His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part Thirteen

Master List of Series

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Author's Note: The first part of this is pretty plot heavy. I had initially planned for this to be a part of the previous chapter because I really don't like splitting up an event that's happening into separate parts, but it would have been super duper long. I didn't want someone to have to split reading the chapter when you could do it in one sitting. Idk. That's just me. When I finish the story, I'll re-edit everything and combine specific chapters, but that won't be for a while. ANYWAYS, thank you so much to those who have been with me since the beginning and those who have joined along the way. It means a lot to me that you decided my work was worth being interested in. I live and breathe for your support.

Chapter Warnings: Corporal punishment.

The time between arriving at the Keep and being escorted to the Queen's apartments felt like you were in a dream. Your body's subconscious was controlling your limbs, pulling and contracting the muscles to work as you climbed stairs, crossed underneath red rock archways, and stood before the drawbridge of Maegor's Holdfast—the only entrance into the royal apartments.

You stole a glimpse at the twins escorting you, Aegon in the middle of them both. They seemed to have aged at the same rate, with no grey in either of their chocolate-colored hairs. Erryk, you had found out was the Prince's sworn protector since birth, and it had you speculating just how old they were.

You realized it would be necessary to decipher which twin was who, judging by how many people believed they were talking to one when speaking to the other as you walked past guards. It would likely gain the favor of both of them, and you needed all the allies you could gather in a den of vipers. Besides, you supposed they preferred to be called by the correct name.

Thinking back to the night's earlier events, you believed Daemon would be proud of you. How you fought, schemed, and plotted before you even met Queen Alicent. Seeing Ma for sentimental reasons was not your only purpose for being there. You remembered in letters past how she mentioned her network of spies went further than that of the notorious White Worm, Mysaria, and you intended to use that to your full advantage.

You knew that Madam would help you even if you had not offered a substantial flow of Gold Dragons for the rest of her life. Her anger and resentment for what the Hand and the Queen did to Lyra and one of her spies, Sara, was enough incentive along with her love.

"Open the bridge," Ser Erryk shouted, interrupting your thought. "We are on orders to escort His Grace Prince Aegon to the Queen."

The drawbridge lowered with a screeching of its metal hinges, creating a path over the moat of iron spikes that separated you from the Holdfast. Another member of the Kingsguard appeared, his white cape flowing behind him as he walked over the stalwart oak, his short dark hair blending into the night.

"I trust you brought him well, Princess," he spoke, tilting his head at the sulking Aegon and disregarding the brothers.

"Ser Criston Cole, I presume," you shot back, walking between the three men you were with. You could feel their eyes on you, but you held firm, clasping your hands behind you. "I have brought the princeling unharmed, a feat that has proven..." You stopped before him, lowering your voice as your boots scuffed the bridge, "toilsome for you. Or so I have heard."

He chuckled, briefly looking into the sconces on the stone walls, the fire reflecting in his dark irises. "I believe we can forgo the general pleasantries, Princess. I will escort you to Her Majesty once Prince Aegon is safe within his chambers."

"No. I will take him myself," you declared, leaning closer. You needed to present him yourself. Your plan hung on the dramatic appearance of Aegon, for you were afraid without it, Queen Alicent would not listen. "Given your history," you jabbed, covering the oddness of your demand.

As a smirk formed on your lips, Criston swore he saw a flash of Daemon in the darkness. The same arrogant smile he knocked off a horse and bested with his beloved flail, Morning Star. He did not want to repeat the same things he thought about your father about you. No matter your lineage, you were still a daughter of the Mother and a picture of the Maiden.

"I understand," he said, something simmering beneath his bronze skin you couldn't quite name as he motioned for the waiting siblings to bring Aegon forward.

Erryk took Aegon's arm rougher than you would have thought of someone's protector, the Prince wincing as he practically dragged him. You hoped you had hidden your displeasure at his actions as he walked past, trailing behind them.

The trip was short from there, following the Kingsguard to Alicent's apartments as the two brothers departed with a bow. You looked at Ser Criston expectantly, waiting for him to open the chamber doors.

"Please, afford Her Grace some patience. She had hoped this would be in the morn rather than at the hour of the wolf," he answered your unasked question.

You acknowledged him with a curt nod, leaning against the stone wall next to the door frame, at ease for just a moment knowing there was someone else to watch the runaway prince.

A flicker of movement caught your eye, a pristine eggshell-colored cloth extended near your face. You glanced at Ser Criston with a raised brow as he moved his hand to swipe across your jaw. You had forgotten of the blood splattered onto your skin. The remnants of how far you would go to protect Aegon, what sacrifices you were willing to make for your family.

Despite your picking, you knew Ser Cole was a fine warrior, his skills unmatched with Morning Star. You could not tolerate how he was rumored to speak about your brothers as you quickly snatched the handkerchief from his hand, cleaning your skin.

You could barely stay awake and were sure you appeared like it as you relaxed. Your eyelids slowly closed before you would snap them open again, swiftly looking around to make sure no one saw. You wanted to give Queen Alicent the courtesy of waiting. It would only be proper, as Ser Cole mentioned, but you couldn't help how your knees gradually weakened, sliding down onto the floor as you rested your head against the stone wall.

Aegon watched you fight with sleep as everyone waited for his Mother to ready herself, ever the one to keep appearances. He saw the delicate features of the girl he once knew as your body finally gave in to rest, your lashes fluttering.

He believed today was a day of old memories, seeing you in the flesh again and recalling how you looked with your cheek squished against his sweaty chest so long ago.

Had you thought of him while you were tucked away at Dragonstone? He thought of you every day. You were the only person in his life that had shown him what it was to be cherished. What it felt like to have someone enjoy his presence without any enticement. You were his only true friend, and after years without contact, he was frightened that brief friendship had slipped away.

Aegon knew you were still there and that this current persona was angry and resentful for what happened with Sara and Lyra. He saw it when you placed his grimy hands on your face, your eyes a window, showing him how much you still cared. He saw it in how you carried him while drunk, whispering words of encouragement to keep moving into the night air.

Since then, Aegon had been watching you, gradually comprehending throughout the eventide how much you had changed. Your hair had gotten longer, your ebony tresses nearly at your waist, even when braided. Your maids had woven the white streak throughout the intricate designs on your scalp. He had forgotten how divinely that birthmark contrasted the rest of your strands, a single patch of snow glimmering in the moonlight.

Throughout his observations of you, he concluded that even though you had a scowl when you saw him, your lips in a thin line of disapproval when you looked at him, you had not changed. Not really. The darling little girl he met in an alleyway at Flea Bottom was still there, hidden deep within you to protect yourself from the horrors of the past, present, and future.

He did not care how his Mother invariably said your plain-looking features matched those of your adopted siblings. How insulting it was for the House of Dragon to become a House of Bastards, she would reiterate over dinner, noticeably when the King was not there.

Aegon did not care much about what his Mother said about you and your siblings. He had no concern for propriety and appearances; in his opinion, it was all too priggish. He did not understand why she concerned herself with Rhaenyra's children. The oldest of the Strong boys still had a claim to the Iron Throne through his mother. You all still had Targaryen blood within you despite what she made it seem.

You were not sure how long it had been when a servant opened the door. It was enough for you to doze off and wake up as you saw Aegon above. It startled you, not expecting to see his violet eyes so close, but the feeling that rose as he looked at you made your heart skip a beat. They appeared sad and empathetic as they stared down.

You frowned, pushing yourself up as you smoothed your messy hair, annoyed with his proximity as he followed behind. It was as if he was your shadow as soon as you entered the Queen's meeting room, being uncharacteristically silent when he saw his Mother. Ser Criston announced you both, trying to make the informal situation formal. She sent him away with a grateful nod, leaving the room silently with just you and her son.

Aegon continued to hide behind you, his shoulders slumping and chin tucked into his chest as you turned. You wanted to reach out and extend a comforting hand but thought better, your fingers fidgeting at your sides.

He did not deserve sympathy.

"Princess," Queen Alicent broke the silence, "Thank you for returning my son to me. You have proven fit for tasks even the best men of the Kingsguard could not accomplish."

You extended a polite smile, curtsying as you thanked her as well. "Thank you, my Queen for confiding in me about your worries. It is an honor to aid the Crown in any way I can," you spoke.

"I see," she said, her lips pursed and her hands clasped as she peered around your body. "Aegon, my son, please let your dear Mother see you. I have been sick with worriment in your absence."

Aegon peeked from behind your body, looking like a scared child rather than a man of ten and nine, soon to be twenty.

"You missed me?" he asked, his voice small and soft like in his youth. She smiled, opening her arms to him as he reluctantly approached.

You watched the exchange with apprehension; your brows creased as she whispered to him words you could not hear. Aegon took a breath to say some, but before he could speak, the Queen's hand came down, smacking him across the cheek.

You stifled a gasp, covering your mouth with your palm as the urge to yank Aegon away caused you to take a step. Alicent was furious, as any parent would be, if their child had run away for such immature reasons, scolding him with trembling lips.

"Have you no conscience for your actions? You shame us deeply every hour of the day and night and know this, yet you continue to do so," she shouted, her cheeks tinting pink in anger. "I could not find you for a week! I am your Mother. How do you think this makes me feel? Not knowing where you went or what might have happened to you." You wanted to insert yourself into the conversation, to act as a buffer between Mother and Son but did not want to make things worse for Aegon.

"I had to request the help of this," Alicent paused, glancing at you before her voice lowered, "bastard in order to find you. Do you not know the embarrassment that brings me? To ask-"

Before you could think of being insulted by her words, Aegon's hunched form stood to his full height, looking down at his Mother.

"Do not call her that," Aegon snapped, speaking as a man. "She saved my life! Killed three men who had the intent to rob and beat me!" Alicent released a quiet breath of air, her features softening at the mention of her son's life in danger. "The Princess cared for me with a kindness no one has extended before. She is honorable and undeserving of the insults you spout when father is not around. She is royal not only in name but in blood. The same cannot be said for you, Mother." He spat her name out like sour candy on his tongue, his anger palpable.

You were overcome with guilt at his words. You were anything but kind after you found him. Berating Aegon with a variety of scurrilousness based on your outrage for acts he had no part in. You hated him simply because he was the kin of murderers, a show you had associated him with even though he had no role in it.

You could see the Queen becoming outraged at what he said, looking like she would strike her son again as you moved, making space between her and Aegon before she could try. He did not warrant abuse in his defense of you.

"Her Grace is not wrong, Prince Aegon," you interjected, easing the tension between the two. "I am a bastard by birth."

"The King has legitimized you; therefore, you are a princess, undeserving of her bad-mouthing," he sneered at the Queen, a petulant imp talking bad to their parent.

Your eyes grew wide as you stared at him, stunned into silence at his steadfast protection of your honor. You realized then how wrong you had been in your thinking. It wasn't right for you to blame the by-product of the people you hated. They had nothing to do with Aunt Lyra other than they were their kin.

Why had you been so callous? He did not warrant it, no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself. Aegon did not deserve any of the harsh whispers people spoke. Unquestionably, he was a drunken whore of a man, uncaring of traditions and customs that he was expected to abide by, but there was more to him than the gossip. If only people had given him the opportunity. It should not have surprised those around him that Aegon became what everyone believed him to be.

"Yes, my Prince." You looked to the Queen, her features covered in shame at how she had lost her temper before you. "The King legitimized me, but it does not negate the origin of my birth. It no longer upsets me when people use it in degradation."

Aegon moved away from you and Alicent, slightly stumbling as he recoiled into himself, tear tracks on his cheeks. You wanted to embrace him, whisper in his ear how much his words truly moved you, how such a sweet boy he was, but you didn't.

"Thank you, Prince Aegon, for defending my honor so valiantly. Your actions are not something I will soon forget," you said instead, bowing your head gratefully.

Aegon did not like this side of you. It was so cold and impersonal, fitting into the shell courtly manner dictated you to be. You turned to the Queen, your expression hardening into one used when speaking to Lords and Envoys.

"Queen Alicent and I have much to discuss, my Prince," you said, looking at him with a doe-eyed expression, hoping to cater to his permissive side.

"And I am sure you are tired from your long journey back to the Keep. We will reconvene in the following days when you and I are both well-rested. After all, your name day is coming soon, and I should hope to see you at the events."

It was an intelligent way to revisit your original purpose as you saw the protests die on his peony-colored lips.

Aegon cast you one last glance of his purple glassy eyes as he left, reminding you of how your Mother's looked when you left Dragonstone. If you fell for every sad puppy look thrown your way, Luke would indeed be attached to your hip at this very moment.

The Queen stared at you in silence once he was gone, her neck so stiff and straight in the simple green gown she wore, wavy hair falling past her arms. You waited for her to speak, etiquette lessons coming to your mind.

"Please, sit, Princess. I am sure the day has been extended for you," she said, gesturing to the high-backed armchairs near her.

You instinctually wanted to protest your pride, wanting to show her it was no trouble for you, but you could not deny the ache in your feet, the pang of lower back pain that was emerging, and decided to accept.

"Words cannot convey how grateful I am for what you have done," she started, picking at her red cuticles. "I realize he can be such a difficult child, and I want you to know that my words were honest when I said your efforts will be rewarded. I will give you whatever you desire. A place at court, land, and titles to your name, gold, garnering a match more impressive than your status lets you," she trailed on. "Anything you want, Princess, name it, and it will be yours."

You already knew what you wanted. You didn't need to think. Money and matches and titles were not something you cared about. You would become a penniless spinster if it meant Rhaenyra and her true-blooded children ascended their thrones. What you sought was for them.

"The only thing I desire, my Queen," you paused, taking Alicent's attentive expression. Oh, how you would reveal in her misery once you finished. "Is a seat on the Small Council."

You watched her features fall, her once slightly upturned lips now in a deep frown as she processed your answer. Clearly, it was not something she anticipated.

"As a consequence of my Mother's years residing at Dragonstone, their has been a lack of her presence—one unbefitting for the heir to the Iron Throne. I will take her seat that has remained vacant for so long."

"Princess," the Queen stuttered, glancing at her red fingers, "your Mother's presence is already there with us in the form of the Hand. He only makes decisions with the King's and The Heir's opinions in mind."

"It must be exhausting, having to cater to two people's thoughts," you said with a front of sympathy, though you knew the truth of the matter. "Let me take the burden off his shoulders."

"A duty in which he follows deligently," she interrupted, defending her crooked father.

"Lord Hightower does have a commitment to the Crown." You did not have to say it outright for her to know why. "That is something which I have no doubt, but the lack of her royal presence is something people have taken note of," you replied, dancing around the valid reason for why you wanted on the Council, but she already knew.

"I must admit," she paused, taking a breath, "my confusion on the matter. I do not understand why Princess Rhaenyra needs someone in her place when she already has one."

You placed your elbows on your knees, resting your head in your palms as you leaned closer. Unladylike for you to do so, but you did not care. You needed her attention.

"You have a seat at the Small Council, do you not? Whose interests are your representing when you say your father already does for both?"

Alicent could not answer, the anxiety in her wide brown eyes reflecting the candlelight as you saw her pull a thin piece of skin from her fingers.

You raised a brow at her. "It certainly cannot be your own. The Queen does not have a say in matters of the realm." You couldn't stop the giggle as you continued, "Until my mother takes the throne."

She still sat silently, staring at your improper position an demands as you grew impatient. "Your Grace, you gave me your word that I could have anything I wanted. This is what I want," you said, sitting up straighter.

"Is it?" She couldn't help but ask, the words rolling off her tongue before she realized it.

Anger began to bubble inside your stomach, your neutral expression leaving your face for a scowl.

"Yes. It is," you sneered. "Does the promise of a Queen mean nothing now?" You questioned rhetorically, forgetting your place.

She inhaled deeply before she spoke again, stopping the fiddling of her fingers. "I," she paused for what felt like the tenth time, "will see to it. I owe a debt to you, and I intend to pay it."

Alicent was beside herself with fury, bested and taken advantage of again by Rhaenyra in the form of her adopted child. It seemed as if the Princess was intent on rocking the boat, even if it was not her own. Imagine if she did that, Alicent thought. She would not have been offered a seat at the table if Alicent had. She had to work silently and delicately for that treatment while Rhaenyra demanded and received it without hesitance.

The Queen's jealousy raged within as she dismissed you, further fueled by the triumphant smile on your face.

The thought that she might do what she had done to Rhaenyra on Driftmark all those years ago crossed your mind, but you brushed it off with a quiet laugh as you left, a slight bounce in your step as Ser Criston escorted you out of Maegor's Holdfast and into the Guest Wings on the Keep.

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Thank you so much for reading! This was a turning point chapter for the main character. I'm glad she finally realized it was wrong of her to lump Aegon in with his mom and grandfather. I hope she doesn't find out anything that will change that...

Tagged Peeps: @zeennnnnnn, @malfoytargaryen, @targaryencore, @justasmallbean, @alexandra-001, @omgsuperstarg, @sommornyte, @minttea07, @silverslive, @unclecrunkle, @prettykinkysoul, @duesobabe, @djlexi, @ynbutbetter, @honestlykat, @graykageyama, @legolas017, @iiamthehybrid, @brezzybfan, @dd122004dd, @ladybug0095, @millies0bsimp, @kalfild, @sheislonelyalways, @tempt-ress, @bellameshipper, @minttea07, @trikigirl271, @esposadomd, @buckylahey, @justarandomflowerchildofthenight, @partypoison00, @please-buckme, @pastelorangeskies, @joliettes, @existential-echo, @priyajoyy, @valaenatargaryensdragon, @merovingianprincess, @rachelnicolee, @candy12110, @w3ird11, @ruhjkie, @fatalewomen, @somemydayy, @ariana-dumbledore8, @marikkjj, @zillahvathek, @adelusionalwriter, @sunny-boy-06

Bold means I couldn't tag you for some reason :(

[barbswo]

I think I missed the Q&A :(

I was going to ask, what interested or drew you to Lucemond as a ship? (I know I have many reasons;) & what aspects/traits about them do you think attracts them to each other the most in ‘Tides’?😉

Don’t worry, I’ll host more! I had too much fun with you guys on the last one)

Moving on to your question:

You know, I had to go back and reread the texts I was sending my bf after having watched the first season, because I couldn’t pinpoint the moment in which I first thought about those two as a ship. I vividly remember seeing Lucerys grinning at Aemond across the table at that family supper and thinking “oh, that one will be a menace” (at that point I never opened ‘Fire and Blood’) and then the 10th episode hit, and I was mad. And what do I do when I’m mad? Yup, I go to ao3.

After spending an ungodly amount of time searching for fics that would be to my liking, I stumbled upon Lucemond. Then my tiktok fyp caught up, I bought myself a copy of ‘Fire and Blood’, read it, and my brain started spinning with the same infamous question that made me itch with a need to sit down and write my version of a story since I was like 12.

“But what if?..”

What if Lucerys had time to grow? What kind of a person he would become? What would his role be in the Dance, had it been postponed?

Lucemond sort of came as an afterthought. I was tired of seeing the same toxic, arrogant, devilishly handsome yet blank character Aemond was being written as in 90% of stories, because I couldn’t help but think what it would be like to be thrown as some kind of souless weapon into a war you had no intention of starting, being what? A teenager? How would he realistically react to all of that, being fed the idea of Rhaenyra and her family being the enemy since he was a child? How would his morals shift? What would their dynamic with grown Lucerys be like, once their skills reached the same level of excelence?

All those questions started giving me ideas, and I couldn’t find one story that would encapsulate them, so I sighed, opened a notebook and started writing.

Now about aspects and traits that attract those two to each other in ‘Tides’.

For Aemond, it obviously started with jealousy. Not only the bastard that took his eye isn’t punished, he has a brother that actually cares for him, speaks High Valyrian like a pro and refuses to burn—while Aemond is rotting in the Red Keep, alone and angry, his potential never recognized even by those closest to him. Jealousy spikes anger, anger spikes fury, fury bleeds into astonishment—and voila, our boy is hooked. Aemond is a simple guy at his core, to be honest. You tell him you hate him and he tilts his head and asks you to prove it.

For Lucerys, it was frustration. Imagine being called names over and over again, every insult followed by promises of vengeance and death—promises that never come to life. And then you spend some time apart, grow up, learn to defend yourself, and suddenly realize that the person you are supposed to be scared of is just as messed up as you are, and far more stupid. And you just want to shake them and bellow, “What do you fcking need from me?”, but they keep surprising you, so your frustration grows into curiosity.

Hadn’t Viserys died, I think they would’ve solved their issues in weeks. Because before the Dance hit they weren’t enemies, not really, more like rivals that had some bad blood between them, and most of their intense feelings were born out of bottled-down attraction. Once they got over themselves and talked, everything would be okay. Unfortunately for us, this is a story about a civil war.

And wars are never pretty.

I could go on and on about the intricacies of Tides!Lucemond, but I’ve never liked explaining my writing, because in truth, it’s all already out there. At this point in the story they both have seen the good and the bad in each other and accepted both sides of their coins. I’ve said this before, but I don’t believe in Lucemond if those two aren’t equally psychotic, and I wrote them to match “each other’s freaks”, so I guess their shared insanity works like a magnet there, too.

They still have a long road ahead of them. Both will make mistakes and choices. Tides are changing.

New chapter out soon.

[captain-mj]

Muzzled Ghost prompt! Where Ghost gets caught and Soap immediately goes to find him. When he does he finds that Ghost has freed himself but still has a muzzle stuck to his face and well Soap might get a little too hot under the collar seeing his Lt angry, victorious, and annoyed about the muzzle but surely they don't need to get to the exfil right away do they?

Yes... Yes... I'm loving these asks

Soap was staring. He shouldn't be, but christ how can you blame him??

His Lt was a sight to see. Stripped down to his tactical pants, lines over his chest from where he was no doubt tightly tied down, but never secured. His blond hair spiked up and messy. He was clean, no blood or dirt on him which was shocking considering. Though, it seemed Soap had killed everyone coming in, meaning Ghost just had to free himself.

That was all... one thing. Already, Soap would be gagging for him. But now, there was the added fact that Ghost was collared and muzzled. They had used brown leather ones, obviously meant for a human with the way they curved around his jaw. The collar and muzzle had a string that kept him from moving his head properly.

"Johnny, thank fuck. It's locked. You have a lockpick right?" Ghost looked at him, pausing once they made eye contact. Soap realized he was drooling. "I know you like me shirtless but pull yourself together Sergeant." He crossed his arms over his chest like he was a blushing bride trying to protect himself from Soap's wandering eyes.

"I um... Yeah I..." Wait. He laughed awkwardly. "Actually... I don't have a lockpick... Mine broke at the beginning of this mission. Remember?"

"Jesus fucking Christ." Ghost tugged at the leather, making it press taut against his skin and Soap went weak in the fucking knees. "Help. Me." He hissed at him.

"You look so fucking good." Soap mumbled, accent thick as honey over his words.

Ghost went red, all the way down his chest. "You kinky bastard. Like seeing me in a fucking collar?"

"Collar is helping, but that's not my focus, Lt." He reached up, grabbed the muzzle and yanking him down. Without his boots, Simon was still tall, but he didn't tower over him quite as much.

"Bloody Hell." Ghost mumbled out. "I'm the one muzzled but you're the one acting like a fucking dog." He looked embarrassed. Fucking hell. His badass Lt, bashful..

Soap couldn't kiss him so he pulled him closer, starting to back him up.

"Eva-"

"Can't it wait just a minute, Simon? I think if we don't fuck, I'm going to die here." He pressed his hard cock to Ghost's legs, looking up at him desperately.

"Jesus Christ. Are you still open from before?"

"Yep! Shame I can't fuck you, but we can always get a muzzle for home."

Ghost shook his head but let Soap desperately undo Ghost's pants. He shoved him down, realizing he was probably sore and hurting from everything.

"I'll just take care of you right now okay?" Soap got on top of him.

Ghost shook his head and looked up at him. "Jo-"

"Put your hands behind your head and keep them there." Soap interrupted.

Ghost stared at him for a moment before slowly, achingly, complying. He crossed his wrists, pale skin all on display. Soap needed to appreciate this view more. Fucking hell.

"God you're gorgeous."

"Johnny." He bit it out like it was warning but he was clearly starting to enjoy himself. Soap took off his pants and settled more properly on Ghost's hips.

Ghost stayed eerily still, staring up at him. His pupils had dilated, taking up the majority of his iris. Soap swallowed thickly and wondered briefly how feral Ghost could get. Part of him wanted to push. See what he could make him do. Ghost had a knack for making Soap a pathetic needy mess, but with the way Ghost was staring into his soul like he'd devour it if his mouth wasn't covered, he wondered if that went both ways.

Soap spit on to his fingers before sliding them into himself. Ghost tensed but his hands stayed where they were supposed to. It would sting a little, but Soap hated having to wait through prep in the best of circumstances. He knew it was necessary, but Christ, he wanted the real thing.

So Soap quickly sank down on Ghost, panting softly at the feeling. "You're so big."

Ghost's hips jerked up into him and Soap quickly grabbed the collar. The tiny whimper that got from Ghost was going to be in every single one of Soap's wet dreams for the rest of his damn life.

"Don't move." Soap ground down on him and Ghost fluttered his eyelashes at him.

"Johnny. Please, we don't have time for you to tease me."

God Soap hated that he was right. He started moving faster, slowly moving up and down on him with a lazy grin. Fuck it felt like Ghost was tearing him apart, but he wouldn't let Ghost know that. "You so rarely give me control, sir. Forgive me for wanting to indulge." His thighs pressed against either side of Ghost's hips, clenching around him.

Ghost moaned. Soap almost drooled at the sweet sound. His mouth could be seen through the leather and he could see it was open. His soft tongue just barely visible. He was trying so hard to stay still.

"Good boy." Soap offered and Ghost groaned, head falling back. He started riding him much faster, with much more purpose. His hands reached down and grabbed the soft flesh of his pecs. Soap wanted to be greedy. Take his fill of this before the mask went on and Ghost went back to being his rough and tough Lt. He leaned down and bit his shoulder, feeling him almost shake with the desperate need to touch Soap.

Ghost looked at him, eyes hooded and desperate. Black greasepaint smearing down his face. "Fine."

"fine?" Soap echoed, a bit confused.

"I'll let you muzzle me and get fucking creative later just speed up." Ghost groaned.

Soap's brain went wild with ideas already but he couldn't deny him. He scratched down his chest as he bounced on him, twisting his hips slightly when he almost got to the base of his cock.

Ghost panted and moaned, making it hard for Soap to keep a rhythm when he sounded like that. His hips kept stuttering or thighs clenching.

"Come on, Simon. I got you." Soap ran his nails over and Ghost came inside him, going quiet as he did. He stroked himself to finish on Ghost's chest.

They silently got dressed afterward and eventually found Ghost's gear. He had his extra lockpick in and they quickly got Ghost out of the muzzle and collar. He pulled his mask back on.

Soap stashed the muzzle into one of his pockets. For later.

[calisources]

𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐍 𝐁𝐘 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐄𝐍, 𝐀 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐅 𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄.

All these quotes are taken from many materials from George R.R. Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire, from members of House Targaryen. You can change location, names and pronouns as you see fit. Some of these are little spicy as well might mention the typical topics of the book like inc*st.

I mounted him and took him for a ride, and I mean to do the same tonight. I love to ride.

Red maidens, the two of us, but now we've both been mounted.

You were made for battles, and I was made for this.

As soon as I am well, let's make another. I want to give you twenty sons. An army of your own!

But you are far braver than me. I would sooner fight a dozen battles than do what you've just done.

He's either brave or mad, that one.

You will be a great king, even greater than your father.

A ruler needs a good head and a true heart. A cock is not essential.

If your Grace truly believes that women lack the wit to rule, plainly you have no further need of me.

My uncle Maegor was cruel, but age is crueler.

No mother should ever have to burn her child.

I am old as well, but I am still younger than you.

She was his most trusted counselor and his right hand.

Dark Sister was made for nobler tasks than slaughtering sheep. She has a thirst for blood.

The war will end when the heads of the traitors are mounted on spikes above the King's Gate, and not before

Prince Daemon had been the wonder and the terror of his age.

The archmaesters call you the Conciliator, I have heard. It is time that you conciliated.

I have my own kingdom here.

Such a fierce little thing she is, they say, she has no need of comfort. They are wrong in that, I fear. All men need comfort.

She has no interest in kissing games, nor boys. She plays with them as she used to play with her puppies.

I have seen the way she preens and prances around Baelon. That is the husband she desires, and not for love of him.

She wants to be the queen.

How can he rule the Seven Kingdoms when he cannot rule his brother?

Your guards are slow and lazy.

If any man questions my son's right to the Iron Throne, let him prove his claim with his body.

When the sun sets, your line shall end.

A king should never sit easy.

Aegon the Conqueror brought fire and blood to Westeros, but afterward he gave them peace, prosperity, and justice.

Do you think we would name him Aegon the Conqueror today if he had not had dragons?

But we will come again, Princess, and the next time we shall come with fire and blood.

I fed my last husband to my dragon. If you make me take another, I may eat him myself.

We can go back to the ends of the earth together. But I'll get there first, as I'll be flying.

Brother, if it please you, we have brought your new queen.

The sound of the queen's laughter was like music to this fool, so sweet that even the king was known to smile.

The whole realm knew that the girl loved Daeron's bastard brother Daemon Blackfyre, and was loved by him in turn.

Daemon Blackfyre loved the first Daenerys, and rose in rebellion when denied her.

A hundred years ago, Daenerys Targaryen came to Dorne to make a peace. Now another comes to make a war.

Too many dragons are as dangerous as too few.

I have done my duty by you, and given you an heir.

When Viserys sold their mother's crown, the last joy had gone from him, leaving only rage.

Whenever Aerys gave a man to the flames, Queen Rhaella would have a visitor in the night.

The queen your mother was always mindful of her duty.

I want to be with you, I want to sail the seas and have adventures.

Every knight needs a squire. You look as though you need one more than most.

omeday the dragons will return. My brother Daeron's dreamed of it, and King Aerys read it in a prophecy.

If you cannot manage a horse, fetch me some wine and a pretty wench.

Why did you throw your life away? For this whore? She's scarcely worth it. A traitor. The dragon ought never lose.

She bathes in blood to keep her beauty.

You've known queens and princesses. Did they dance with demons and practice the black arts?

Duels were fought over the right to sit beside her.

She gave him her bed, but never her hand. It amused her more to make him jealous.

I want him dead, the traitor. I want his head, you'll bring me his head, or you'll burn with all the rest. All the traitors.

But a man does not marry his heir to his servant's daughter.

Aerys was mad, the whole realm knew it.

There have always been Targaryens who dreamed of things to come, since long before the Conquest.

[stepswordsen]

【Magi】 Judar and JuAli 🐈‍⬛🖤 ❤️ 💛

JuAli WIP doodles 🖤 ❤️ 💛

Quick doodles before I head back to my assignments

Been a while since I drew Judar and Alibaba together… I missed them!!! I hope to draw them more~

You can see the rest under the cut~

I wasn't sure if I should post my sketches here since they're so messy but I thought I might as well

I'll copy paste my old rambles too since I have more to add this time

2024 vs. 2022

(2024)

Comparison (2022 ~ 2023)

(2024)

Comparison (November 2022)

For the kissy one:

Wasn't sure which one I liked more tbh

1st one fits more...

Though for the 2nd one, I think Judar looks more efforted ADHSHDHSH

Since I excel at drawing meow meow mf charas

3rd one I drew in November 2022. The expressions are still cute in this one so I still like it, but my brush strokes improved a lot since then

For the hanfu Judar one:

Recent versions (+ the old one from 2022)

I've been playing around with the eyes~ I like these ones best. The eyes are bigger in the 1st one, and the others have them a bit smaller. The 1st one has a more innocent look. The 2nd has more slitted eyes and a "seductive" look?

Judar has sharp (tsurime) eyes and rings in his eyes, which are really fun to draw hehe 🤗

I'll redraw the hair soon! I just drew it quickly in like 5 minutes. It's finals season for me. I'm not fully free from this semester so I'm still quite busy, but you'll probably see small doodles from me 🙏

I'm definitely seeing art improvement (improvement in brush strokes and anatomy and proportions)

Ohtaka deliberately draws hatched lines near Judar's eyes to represent his eyeshadow 🤭 ❤️

I drew the hair quickly, so I didn't pay much attention to the shapes of the hair spikes so it's not as soft. But even with the quick doodle, the hair has better weight now. Once I get to refine things properly, I'll actually pay attention to the way his hair spikes are drawn.

I was recently rereading my old dialogue scripts from my JuAli AU and revamping them! I doodled Judar and Alibaba SO much in 2022. It's the Fire/Ice duality and Black Cat x Golden Retriever ship dynamic 🖤💛🐈‍⬛🐕

I wanna draw JuAli again soon and redraw my old doodles. JuAli is my main Magi ship so ofc I wanna draw lots of them~ I haven't gotten the time yet, but I want to draw my ships like AliHaku, SinJa, and KouMor eventually, too 🙏✨

Inspiration

Based on this black and red (Judar colours) hanfu I got~

Judar rambles

I originally drew Judar wearing hanfu in 2022! Still one of my personal fave doodles ❤️ Judar is my fave (no one is surprised, I have the most obvious predictable tastes in the world LMAO). A meow meow mf perfect for my tastes.

Judar fits perfectly into the highly specific Sen-core niche that my top faves all tend to fall under - Meow meow mf. C*nty sen-core bastard cat who's violent, threatens people, and ok with murder. Bloodthirsty. Monochrome aesthetic colour palette.

Manga Judar has red eyeliner (?) and anime Judar has purple eyeshadow? Both are good, but I like Judar with red eyeliner since black and red are his theme colours! 🖤❤️ I like how the colours pop, the contrast against his design, and how it matches his red eyes.

In my HCs, Judar wears a type of hanfu called Ruqun (襦裙). Ru (襦) is the cross-collared top of a hanfu, and the wrap-around skirt is called Qun (裙). The coat jacket is called Da Xiu Shan (大袖衫).

I want him to wear black, white, red, gold, hanfu & hanfu earrings, with red eyeliner and black painted nails 🤗

I still need to pick my headcanon hanfu earrings for Judar... I imagine they'd be gold with red accessories.

I just have to refine the eyes, redraw the hair and hanfu, and then start doing the lineart for it! I love the expression tbh

Additional rambles

I miss my sons, I wanna draw my HC designs of JuAli (with Judar wearing hanfu and Alibaba with tanner skin, wearing traditional Arabic clothes), as a fix-it for the obvious colourism going on in Magi's character designs of SWANA and South Asian inspired characters

I bought black and red hanfu back in 2023. I based my Judar hanfu doodles on it 🥺❤️ It's in Judar colours. Black red and white 🖤❤️🤍 I'm so HAPPY to get something that reminds me of my fave 🥰🤭❤️✨ I got it from the Hanfu Story~ They have such a large selection of hanfu and they're all so gorgeous~

Basically Judar themed hanfu~ I love traditional clothes, so it's my dream to collect them! Now I can use it as refs to draw him with the poses and lighting I want teehee. Hanfu & huafu look GORGEOUS to me. I also have Việt Phục like áo dài and áo tấc~

The colours are amazing!! I love black and red combo 😭💖 It's way too easy to fall into the fashion hole and collecting traditional clothes but I definitely want more in the future!

Magi: Ch. 110 - 111, Ch. 196 - 197, Ch. 239, Ch. 288

I love how Ohtaka stylizes and draws the shape of Judar's hair and braids. It's so clever how she simplifies the shapes. It just looks so good. It looks galaxy/tornado shaped… I love how the hatched lines above his eyes in Ohtaka's inking represents his eyeliner... ❤️

Judar's expressions from Ch. 110 - 111 are so unhinged… The Ch. 288 omake Judar is iconic. Fucking crazy ass LMAO 😭😂 Love you tho! 💞🫶

I'll be honest. I've thought about changing my PFP to this Judar again from the Magi omakes, like I thought of doing it as an April Fool's joke before, but I feel like no one would bat an eye cuz of how my faves are like LMFAO

Sen-core faves: Murderous, bloodthirsty, violent (or at the very least, has a disposition for violence), MAY eat people and/or their innards 🙌

JuAli core ship posts

And while you're at it, have the meme edit of them I made (1st image)

Anyways I made the 1st image's meme edit myself <33

Alibaba with tanner skin has such great visual contrast against his earrings~

I also wanna commission arts of JuAli at one point but I'd want to do it with my headcanon designs of them (Judar wearing hanfu and Alibaba with tanner skin wearing traditional Arabic clothes)

Art rambles

When I sketch, I draw out the expressions and decide which ones looks best (I either do it once or a few ~ several times) depending on whether I'm satisfied with it. I like the two most recent 2024 versions I showed~ The old ones are still nice... But I prefer the recent versions, because I think it shows how my art style and proportions improved.

These sketches are super messy right now so when I get the time I'll refine them more! It's just to make it consistent with my current style. I'm a little insecure about my sketches, so I prefer to keep most of them on priv for mutuals.

Since I'm not really a fan of the idea of my sketches/WIPs getting posted around when I'm bound to fix/refine/improve on them later when I get the chance to refine them. Though thankfully with my 2022+ lining style, my sketches look more "aesthetically nice" or "post worthy" to me...

Perhaps in the future... I do genuinely like my art style and I'm very happy with my art improvement, but I want to keep growing as an artist first. I want to reach the point where I manage to become more technically skilled and confident about my works (even my sketches)

Though since I posted the rest of the sketches under the cut, feel free to reblog them if you want!

[damien-thedoctor]

First meet.

Oleander and Damien

(This mini-fic was made as a thanks to my good friend @xxweirdtripxx. Thank you for your funny rambles about a certain someone’s Sebastian and your amazing art of our characters that you have drawn again and again. You are an awesome friend and I wanted to write you something as a thanks. I don’t think I say my thanks enough so allow me to say them but in writing form.

Your good artist and bird pall,

-Birb <3

——————————————————————

“First meet.”

[Running was easy, running while wounded isn’t. Every breath felt a wound was being opened in his chest as he ran. He just wanted to get away- no he NEEDED to get away. Away from that monster of a man. His boss. He was so stupid letting his guard down, allowing him to make him a drink. He should have known the bastard would have spiked it. Damn it Scot! He mentally screamed at himself, the halls of the blacksite becoming blurry. They seemed to go on forever, endlessly stretching out in front of him.]

“SHIT-“

[even in his drugged haze, he could see the lights flicker. An entity was approaching, he looked around for the only place he could hide- there were no lockers in the room he was in. He saw a medbay and took it. He couldn’t deal with being shredded apart by an angler today. He just couldn’t. He didn’t want anymore fangs against his flesh. Not for a long time.]

[SCHREEEEEEEEECH]

[The sound of the angler passing made Damien’s blood run cold. He could barely see where he was going, let alone hear. Even his sense of smell had deteriorated. What was in the drug that bitch had given him? He slumped against the ground, his breathing was unstable and erratic. He could feel blood beneath his hands. Did he cut himself? He couldn’t tell.]

“Fuck..” [His voice was rapidly slurring.] “Hu-…rts…”

[He didn’t know who he was saying it to in particular, but he did notice a vague shape moving towards him. A long shape. Were those pouches along its body? Fuck was it Z-13?]

“N-..no.. shit.. n-o..”

[He struggled trying to move away as it came closer. No, it wasn’t Z-13. It was a pinkish-white colour, axolotl frills on his head? Brown hair..? Milky eyes..? Damien was struggling to stay conscious, this creature was looming over him now. Was it going to hurt him too? Of course it wa-]

[He went rigid when he was placed upon its back, on a makeshift stretcher. It was saying something to him. Something along the lines of ‘stay with me sir’ or whatever. He just wanted to close his eyes and go to sleep. To let go of feeling anything.]

[He didn’t know how he stayed awake, long enough for him to be lifted from the stretcher and onto something soft. Was he in its den? He could see medical supplies along multiple desks and other equipment. Must have been one of the abandoned healing stations. He was loosing so much blood, it stained his laboratory jacket a dark red and his shirt too. That would be a pain to clean and explain later. So what was this thing going to do with him. He could see it taking off his jacket, no. He didn’t want anything to touch him. He began thrashing slightly, shaking his head rapidly. His tongue felt too heavy to talk. It was saying something to him, trying to calm him down. His pupils dilated more. Signs of distress.]

“Le..t… me… go..hnghnn…”

[He managed out, demonic impish tail lashing out of his control as if whacked against the entity wildly. He saw it turn away, grab something from one of the desk and turn back. It had a soaked cloth. Was it going to gag him? Suffocate him? What was it going to do. Surprisingly, it simply lifted the cloth and put it against his forehead, it felt nice. He didn’t even know he was running a temperature, fuck you Silver and your stupid drug. He stopped thrashing as much, slowly in his drug hazed mind he knew that this creature was… trying to help him.]

[He remembered a long, long time ago when his mother would do the same thing. She always took care of him whenever he was ill. This creature almost had the same hair as she did, the same glasses too. It was also murmuring something, it reminded him of her. He blinked hazily again, pupils still wide and dilated. It was both a great pain and comfort that he received when he remembered his mother, he never even got to say sorry to her.]

“M….m-mo..m..?”

[He slurred out, barely stopping himself from passing out. He had to say it, then maybe he could let this longing within him rest. To apologise for his mistake.]

“..I..I’m..so.. .. I’m… s…orr…y…” [He choked out, tears running down his face as his ears drooped, looking up at the entity. He could see it had stopped talking.] “..fu..ck..  it’s.. all.. m-..my fa…lt… it.. happened..”

[He babbled out, before he could barely say words and now they wouldn’t stop. One of his clawed hands grasped onto her blouse.]

“..I..I..”

[He couldn’t speak anymore, in this state he was reduced to full blown sobbing. The entity reached out her arms, and without disturbing any of his injuries, pulled him against her for a hug. She could tell, though she could not see it, how much pain he was in. Both mentally and physically as he kept sobbing about his mother. She knew that blood-loss could lead to hallucinations, she had never had any of the expendable’s think of her as their mother. His sobs were horrible as she patted his back trying to calm him down. She wouldn’t be able to treat him when he was in such a state, in face she was surprised that he was even still awake. That much blood-loss should have killed a normal human, the amount of blood she could smell made her realise that he had lost triple the amount of blood that should have killed a person. Yet somehow he had remained conscious?]

“*hic..*…do..n’…t…. Le…a-av..e me… agai…n.. pl…ea…sh..e…”

[her eyes softened, hand moving in slow rhythmic movements against his spine. He seemed to relax, allowing the wounds that he had received some relief from the strain of sobbing.]

“I won’t leave you.”

[She replied, these words seemed to calm Damien down, pupils constricting slightly as his eyes closed. Oleander checked his pulse, he was still breathing. He seemed to be asleep, this was good. Now she could finally work on cleaning up his wounds.]

——————————————————————

[Oleander woke the next day to find him gone. She must have fallen asleep after fixing that man up. There was a note beside her, when Oleander squinted her eyes through enough strain, it read]

“I have cleaned up the mess I have made. Whoever you are, thank you.”

[It was a true genuine thank you.]

[obsessedwhim]

Paperwork

"Would you stop houndin' me already! I'm already sparring with you so just shut up already!" Ichigo yapped at a red-headed Lieutenant who slashed at him with a bamboo blade "Just go ahead and admit It already, ya pansy!" Renji slashed at his pal one more time with a yell, their swords crossed between stubborn gazes "How're you supposed to survive on the battlefield if you can't even ask someone out on a daTE!" the taller of the two pushed the ginger away but quickly drew close for another wave of quick attacks, which Ichigo was able to dodge and block with a mild frown all while losing ground in small steps "That's got nothing to Do With IT!"

Ichigo swung his carved stick, and if Renji hadn't leaned back in that one specific second he would have a bloodied nose which is exactly what his brawling partner was aiming for, letting out a tsk Ichigo leaned the weapon on his shoulder for a moment, using the back of his free palm to swipe at the dribble of sweat coming from his chin.

The Kurosaki's eyes flattened as Renji gave him a comfortable smirk "Well I'll be, The Almighty Ichigo Kurosaki- scared of asking a certain special someone out to dinner" his grin grew like moss on a wall but this particular gardener hated moss and threw his shinai directly at the bastard, which hit said bastard square in the face "Just go ahead and shut up already, I can't handle anyone else knowing" Ichigo scratched at his orange spikes with a groan "And with a voice as loud as yours the whole Seireitei will hear about it at this point"

"How're nyou so dure they don't all nyow awready?" Renji pinched the bridge of his nose.

Ichigo narrowed his stare suspiciously and, despite his best efforts that fucking grin sat ever present through the streams of blood on the idiot's face, teeth showing with a peak of pink gums as if the Lutennant were holding back the loudest hardest laugh of his lifetime, if even a peep came outta that loudmouth who knows what Ichigo would do.. Arson? A warm crime? Peeeerhaps mmmMMurder? Hm, nah. Rukia would probably disapprove.

"There are still some people who don't know, I have it all perfectly under control" Ichigo waved his hands in assurance but still the redhead shrugged from the smooth floor, leaning back on his arms with legs sprawled around him "But soon, everyone will know"

Renji watched as his friend seemed to pause at this moment, mulling over what could happen if you were to figure it out in some way, through sharp sense or public knowledge oh Godit would all just be so embarrassing, especially since it takes every ounce of his spiritual energy to just not merely implode when your presents nearby. The male's eyes had drifted away to the blade he threw moments before as he continued to go over every chance meeting you both had and how those chances were beginning to grow few and far between. Though Ichigo had yet to formally meet you, this crush only seemed to grow with every glance he took and every fact he learned, for a while, he thought he could settle for this distant feeling of fondness but, Ichigo was also never one to leave unfinished business- though, in his eyes was there any business to begin with? He can barely say with confidence that he knew you deeply, no saving you from horrible flashbacks or an oddly calculated Villain to protect you from, you were just some squad member who's always come across as a cheerful hardworking individual and, for some strange unknowable reason, kept stuck in Ichigo's thoughts.

He wanted to know you, that was His unfinished business.

Turning with a backdraft flame in his gaze framed with furrowed brows "All right!" Ichigo proclaimed before picking up his lost weapon and pointing it at his advisory "First I'll defeat you, and then right after I'll ask 'em out!" the ginger huffed pompously with the blade resting on his shoulder "Piece of cake!"

Renji smirked as he held his weapon before him with a smirk "Don't think I'll go down that easy, and I'll bet you chicken out as soon as you See Them TOO!" the Lieutenant yelled and once again they clashed in the middle of the bare dojo.

Truly, this battle will be one of legends.

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

You wandered down a bright hallway with flittering Reaper's heading in and out of various rooms or just straight up running down the narrowed space, but not you.

Though your task was one of importance you didn't think your dear Capitan would deem it necessary much like yourself, besides- the never ending windows gave a favouring scenery of your home along with the odd bird paired with a background of the bluest sky of the week.

Blinking down at the papers you noticed a few crumples from the mishap they were included in during their processing.

Passing colleges glanced at your from, of which you hadn't noticed stopped walking, and some giggled as they noticed steam rising and rosy red ear tips.

'He picked me up'

Your gaze followed the wrinkled valleys growing from of the top of the pages where Ichigo's large fingers nipped at the end of their trail.

You felt Ichigo's fingers slip under the white ribbon of your robe and the brush of his knuckles on foundation of your tail bone as he tightened his grip.

"Gah!" You finally recalled breathing, and how one should do so. Hands had slapped at your hot cheeks in order to bring you to some form of sense.

You remembered how his collarbone met at the base of his neck when he bent over to meet your invasive gaze.

It wasn't working.

"Get a hold of yourself, we're Sixth Seat now!" You held up clenched fists with a huff "Gotta be responsible!"

Glancing to the floor in a second of recalling responsibilities you gasped at the mistake "The paPERS NoooOOOOooo!"

Collapsing to the ground like a mudslide in the rain hands scattered for the fallen pages "Can't believe this" you murmured as they came together in a, further wrinkled pile and your shoulders followed in their limp state as you released a whiney sigh.

Leavening your sorry state behind you stood with arms crossing the papers in a protective hold.

"Hey There Sixth Seat!" a cheery voice came from behind and you paired it with a screech, short and to the point as you turned with a dip in your spine "H-hello there, Lieutenant Renji"

"Sorry, didn't mean to spook you there"

Spooked you were indeed, but not just by the red head's welcoming greetings. By the ever washing ocean of spiritual energy that spilled from the friend next to him, to whom Renji held a thumb out to "You remember this guy, right?"

Though Ichigo remained calm he very much did not like this introduction already.

You eyes must have been perfect circles from pure anxiety but there was no stopping the shine of admiration swooning in your gaze "I-Ichigo Kurosaki" never has there been a more tense breathless breath of a name from someone's lips, and hearing his name spoken by you for the first time made him think this might not have been such a bad idea.

"Oh! Good, you two uh... already know each other..?" Renji quirked a brow at the ginger next to him, Ichigo never mentioned giving his name to you at any point.

"No I-I..umm"

Are you really going to say this? Was today really going to be that day for a lowly Sixth seat. Your forearms tightened and sweat dripped to the corner of your jaw "I'm a.. huge.. fan, actually" you blinked up at him bashfully through your lashes.

You wished the sheets in your hold were big enough to cover your body, a wall to hide your blushing shame.

Renji was taken aback by your answer but he was quick to recover and watched from the corner of his sight as Ichigo's jaw clenched in preparation for it hanging low, he had worked so hard for the Cool Guy™ look, and now was the time to keep it cool!

The tallest of the three sighed at his nonresponsive Substitute and gave the limp dude a sharp elbow "WOOOOooooow that's super cool right? Ichigo? That's certainly something to talk about!" He wrapped an arm around the shoulders of his leading friend "Maaaaaybeee you two should hang out and talk about cool stuff like that"

"Huh?"

Hang? Out?

Ichigo's nervous stare met Renji's stern eyes and they both had a moment of wordless solace and the young Kurosaki raised from the never-ending pits of bombardment between what could go wrong right now and what could go right.

The man of Two Blades, destroyer of Law and defeater of the madman Aizen, grew weak at the knees as he watched the red hue grow from your cheeks to across your forehead, it was so hard to not reach out and drag the back if his finger across your warm skin and curl a hair behind your rosy ear shell.

Just two blushing idiots staring at each other in the middle of a quiet hall, as if Soul Society itself were listening in on the exchange, every single Reaper on standby just to see what came next.

All aside one who didn't get the memo as the sound of running slaps echoed in the alley sized hall coming closer and closer "Sixth Seat! There you are!" a young man with brown hair released few heavy breaths before giving a respectful bow "Apologies Sixth Seat but! I've been sent to locate some missing paperwork.."

"THE PAPERWORK!" you yelped, holding said work above you before disappearing from sight "Wow! Sixth Seat is as fast as ever!" Harunobu gasped, turning to meet the very cross stare of a red headed Lieutenant "Do you have any idea how long it took us to get to this moment?!"

"Gguwaaa!! I'm So Sorry!"