#rod ic tag

[tuesdayscanons]

Some holiday cheer for @canon-fcdder

{¤} The Dimmadomes have fairly odd Christmas decorating habits—at least, to Rod.

There's a bunch of Christmas cows, bright lights, and monuments to themselves...but there's nary a nativity scene in sight! Sure, not every family is going to have a Baby Jesus in the front yard, but it feels sacrilegious to have so many statues of the family without including at least something celebrating the Lord. How self centered are the Dimmadomes?

Rod decides not to make a thing out of it, wanting to avoid an argument.

Besides, maybe there's a nativity scene in the house.

Giving a rap-tap-tap to the door, Rod patiently awaits a greeting from Dev. Well, he's hoping Dev will answer. He figures Dev's da—mom will be busy with work. Must be hard working for a large online retailer during the holiday season. Rod just hopes it's not one of those scary drone thingies. Being greeted by a lifeless metal husk feels impersonal. {¤}

[tuesdayscanons]

{¤} Rod is used to people not taking his questions seriously. Sometimes, it felt like everyone else (aside from Todd) thought Rod was a clueless baby. It...hurts.

Dev is different. He knows how to validate Rod without necessarily agreeing with him wholeheartedly. Rod wishes more people were like that.

"When I brought up the possibility of Christian aliens to Lisa, she said 'It's quite reductive for you to assume a civilization millions of lightyears away would hold the same beliefs as you when many of your fellow humans don't even agree with your religion, blah blah blah blah blah blahhhh'..."

Rod gives his best Lisa Simpson impression, his left hand opening and closing as if it were talking. When he finishes, he looks down at his hand in shame. That was kinda mean, wasn't it?

Then again, Lisa took no issue with being judgmental and condescending towards him and Todd, even if she tries to be polite about it. Surely, Rod is justified in mocking her behind her back to his close friend?

...Rod will pray extra hard for forgiveness just in case.

Though the prospect of God not being real makes Rod wince, it's hard for him to argue with that logic. It's a lot more open minded than Lisa's rebuttal.

"I like your perspective better...that makes sense to me."

While Dev rushes up to his bookshelf, Rod feels more questions bubble up to the surface. If God wasn't real, is Rod wasting his life? Have the Flanders been depriving themselves of joy over false promises of paradise? Are Rod's prayers empty wishes into the void? Is Rod an idiot for devoting himself to the delusion he calls a deity?

These questions die on the tip of Rod's tongue, now that Dev has presented him with manga. He couldn't possibly bear to bring the mood down when Dev is so excited!

"Oh! That looks like the comics Mrs. Albertson draws! I think you'd like her."

Rod hasn't gotten the opportunity to interact with Yumiko first hand, but he's seen her around town and heard about her from his neighbors. There's been more manga and Japanese imports at The Android's Dungeon since their marriage. He'll have to ask her if they have any Prime Meridian just in case Dev pays a visit to Springfield. If not, Rod heard there's another store in town they can go to.

Since Rod isn't familiar with Prime Meridian, he doesn't have any meaningful questions to ask about it. Part of him is embarrassed to admit he doesn't know a single thing about it. It's probably obvious anyway, but he still doesn't want it to seem too blatant.

Best to stick to vaguely relevant questions.

"Would you want to live underwater?" Rod innocently asks, "I think it would be fun for a while, but I'd miss basking in the sun or smelling flowers in my backyard." {¤}

✧   「   @tuesdayscanons   」   ✧  - Continued from ★  

「 ☆ 」 One of Dev's favorite aspects about spending time with Rod is the abundance of moments like this. Deceptively mundane at a glance, the pair wile away the hours in Dev's room. No current entertainment but the conversation filling the air and the occasional click of a fidget toy; Dev's hands demanding stimulation as his mind is allowed to wander. It's uncertain exactly how the topic crawled its way toward aliens... but it feels like a route worth exploring. Even if it's not, Rod would never say so.

That's another thing Dev enjoys about being around the agreeable boy.

Kicking his legs as he lies on his stomach atop of an overly-cushy beanbag, Dev lets Rod float down his winding stream of thought. Trickle turns into a roar as the expected starting point of religion— if there's one thing Dev knows about his friend aside from a tendency to go along with other people's ideas, it's that he's fixated on the concept of God —leads Rod to other questions. Each one adds upon the next, until the boy falters under the weight and decides to pretend it doesn't exist.

While Rod hastily throws his curiosities onto the ground, Dev simply picks them back up. Doubtful the interest is gone just because Rod's courage is. Besides, Dev has ANSWERS to those questions. It'd be a waste to let them go unheard. ❝ What makes you think they don't have marriage or monogamy? ❞ He begins with genuine skepticism, not judgmental... but advocating for another point of view. ❝ We don't know anything about these aliens. Just because they aren't us doesn't mean they can't be like us. ❞

Repositioning to sit upright on the beanbag, Dev keeps talking as he shifts with some difficulty on the unstable surface, ❝ Anyway, I guess whether they practice Christianity would depend on if God exists. ❞ Despite throwing out such a potent statement by Rod's standards, Dev treats it as casually as any other thought. ❝ If he doesn't, then there'd be no way for them to practice it because they don't have the same history as us. So, there's nothing to make the religion in the first place. ❞ With no human figures or man-made texts to guide them, it only makes sense that a belief system more catered to their culture would exist.

❝ But if he does, then Christianity would probably be at least one of their beliefs. Because they could have their own experiences with it. ❞ Satisfied with his reasoning, Dev then lights up at the opportunity to answer the more compelling of Rod's questions. ❝ Oh! And I know ONE way they could look! ❞ Eagerly scrambling to his feet, the small boy rushes over to his bookshelf and pulls out a book from what looks like a large collection. Flipping through the pages while he makes his way back to Rod, gaze is fixated upon the illustrations as he explains, ❝ It really depends on what kind of planet they're on, but if it was a water one— ❞

Never mind that technically, Dev has already had a run-in with intergalactic visitors. There can be more than one type of alien and it's not like Dev can tell Rod about it without delving into a lengthy explanation that he'd rather not. Opening to a page of the first issue of ❛ Prime Meridian ❜ , he points to the fish-like person prominently posing, ❝ —maybe they could look something like this guy. He sort of counts as an alien, just because the world he's from is like ours but ISN'T actually ours. ❞ Not according to the creator, anyway. But frankly, considering all the fantastical things Dev has been privy to since gaining a fairy godparent, he wouldn't be surprised if the manga could be more accurate-to-life than intended. 「 ☆ 」

[panasonicmelons]

me when a mobile horror game is about a game about guilt 😭😭😭😭

i hate the background so bad

it looks TERRIBLE wtf was i thinking

also i wanted to do this because the impulsive thoughts won :3

[bruxoide]

collab with @anoniart !! we drew our husbands!! wowie!! fuck off rod!!

original with no translations+ other stuff vv

acho que o original ta 10 milhoes de vezes mais engraçado

we killed them

[foundfamilyhq]

[muppetstimmoment]

Rod x Nicky Stimboard!!! [For @avenuequeer !!!!]

Creds:

https://www.tumblr.com/mike-stims/734294317456408576/sleepy-montgomery-gator-fnaf-stimboard

https://www.tumblr.com/meilia-stims/712803803505803264/howdy-pillar-welcome-home-stimboard

https://www.tumblr.com/bubbleblujay/721624633567281152/frutiger-aero-stimboard

https://www.tumblr.com/lapisslazulite/705011484244279296/would-i-be-able-to-request-a-lovecore-blinky-or

https://www.tumblr.com/sauce-central/729661492877754368/strawberryjam1986-on-tiktok-credit-if-used

https://www.tumblr.com/hawksplusbie/733217992144502784/its-okay-to-feel-sad-sometimes-birdie

https://www.tumblr.com/your-local-xenogenders/692501121779007488/pacicatgender-stimboard-for-no-one-made-by

[itsraiyninmeteors]

Tag dump!

[Do people still do these?]

[skyboundprime]

" I-- but... I... ah. " He lifted his dark grey hand to rub the back of his neck, closing his eyes while he sucked in a breath (they didn't need to breathe, but it was something he'd learned from Spike)... " Right. I've been getting confused. I-I apologize, Hot Rod. " The Prime said, quickly trying his hardest to regain composure. A bit hard, with the situation he was in...

Despite this, though, Optimus switched gears a bit himself to try to lighten the mood. With a huff of a laugh, he piped up, " Well-- of course, I just... I do not know what I could've done to possibly leave one of you, or both of you, in such a state, but... I would like to try to remedy it. Maybe I will not be able to, but I want to do something to help. And, you... are indeed, pretty cool, Hot Rod. " He lifted his hand to very gently pat his shoulder, albeit visibly hesitating-- what if that would make him just as uncomfortable as the other Ho-- Rodimus? He kept overthinking...

... Everything was so new, but thank goodness, Hot Rod's reassurance did in fact comfort him. He exhaled. " That is indeed very helpful. This is... all new to me. I've met another version of you, but a prime-- and he seemed so uncomfortable with me. Then I'd met others, a future Megatron that was dealing with the influence of Unicron. Unicron! By the Allspark... "

Now, now... don't go losing it, Prime. You had to uphold that look of strength and fearlessness. But it was very hard.

" How about we sit for a moment and catch up? I'm sure your universe is far different from mine... if... Megatron's arm is anything to go by. "

"Eh."

He gives a wave of his hand, trying to play things off as cool, as he often did.  "I mean, it's hardly the worst argument I've had." A pause, his palm raising up to correct the bot. "Oh, and it's just Hot Rod. Just regular—but no less cool—me!" Thankfully. He doesn't really himself as prime material.  

Seeing that the Autobot leader was doing...not as hot, he shifts gears to gently reassure him. "Hey, hey! It's okay. You're just overwhelmed, but if it helps, I'm kind of experienced with this sort of thing!"

[hottpinkpenguin]

For event:

Alfie Solomons with

A - “Ask me to stay” + N - not good enough

Please. Thanks

A/n: hiiiiiii, i realized after i wrote it that i got over-excited and forgot the quote (the trope is there though!!) but i like this too much not to post it!

Alfie Solomons X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2229 Tags: angst, steam, canon-divergence, swearing, misogynistic themes

Alfie Solomons was a man of many vices and few virtues. He’d gone to great pains to ensure that. 

Usually this fact was one he lived proudly. He lived violently, lavishly, and with reckless abandon. Spent his money foolishly, shot his pistols carelessly, and slept with women thoughtlessly. This earned him a larger-than-life reputation in Camden Town. It impressed his employees, amused his business partners, and irritated his enemies. Alfie Solomons was a thorn in the side of propriety, and he loved it.

That changed quickly after meeting you. 

Alfie wasn’t entirely sure when that change happened - he couldn’t finger a specific moment or blame any particular feeling - but he had realized some time ago that the man he’d spent his entire life growing into was suddenly a hindrance.

And it had never been clearer than now.

��Mr. Solomons, I am not a man prone to jokes or levity, especially in moments as grave as this.” Your father was sitting across from Alfie, his back as straight as a whipping rod, hands splayed on the small kitchen table between them. He was taller than Alfie remembered, with shrewd dark eyes that bored straight into him. The absent smile of regret slid off Alfie’s face when he snapped back into the moment, dragged out of wistful reverie. 

“No, n-no sir.” A stutter? Alfie Solomons had never stuttered a day in his life, but here he was, reduced to a stuttering, sheepish shadow of himself in your kitchen. He could hear the slightest creak of a floorboard outside the kitchen door - no doubt you and your three younger sisters listening intently to the near-midnight conversation about your future. 

“I must admit, Mr. Solomons, I am utterly perplexed. My daughter is a young woman with no means, very few prospects beyond that which marriage will afford her. It is my understanding that she intends to pursue a life in the church, in fact.” Alfie’s heart froze to solid ice in his chest. A nun? My god, what was this woman doing to him. Alfie Solomons swore silently to himself that he’d die before he saw you don a habit and wimple. The mere sight of that alone would kill him.

“Yes sir, yes, I understand. I understand well.”

Your father’s eyes narrowed as it was rather obvious that Alfie Solomons did not, in fact, understand at all.

“She is a good girl, but plain and modest in both looks, prospects, and background. Surely a man of your… stature-” your father’s voice pressed down on this word with distaste “- would have his pick of eligible brides.”

Alfie stifled a chuckle, recognizing that it would do him no good to appear cocky or dismissive of your father’s concerns. Your father was right on all accounts: Alfie Solomons was a gangster, a womanizer, and a criminal. You, on the other hand, were… well, words failed Alfie when it came to describing you, but to say you were everything that he was not was an understatement of the worst kind. 

He settled on what he hoped was an appropriately chaste nod. Your father leaned back slightly in his chair, eyeing his eldest daughter’s apparent suitor with bald antipathy. Alfie wasn’t used to people - especially other men - regarding him so openly. It made him uncomfortable in a manner he was quite unused to, as if he was being truly seen for the first time in a long time. He squirmed slightly in his chair, clearing his throat and fidgeting with the wide-brim of his best hat, something he’d had commissioned specifically for this occasion. 

The silence between the two men was widening into a chasm. It was more than you could take. Suddenly unable to stop yourself, you leapt up from the crouch you’d been in for the last half hour, eavesdropping from the stairwell with your mother and younger sisters. You launched down the stairs, despite your sisters grabbing at your nightgown. Your mother gasped as you flung open the kitchen door, almost unseating Alfie in the process. Your kitchen was as modest as your future prospects, and with the three of you crammed into the space it was mighty tight. The added pressure of your nearly-dashed hopes, your father’s broad disappointment, and Alfie’s hopeless attachment to you turned the meager room from cozy to positively stifling. 

“Papa, please! I love him! You can’t keep me from him, I won’t let you!” 

Childish and painfully simple, not nearly the eloquent protest you’d been mulling over all day. And a lie to boot. If push came to shove - as it so often did with your father - he could very much keep you from marrying Alfie Solomons. Your cheeks reddened in embarrassment at your outburst.

Alfie, for one, thought you’d never looked more perfect. Your eyes sparkled in the dim lamplight, your hair was undone and slung over one shoulder in a lazily constructed braid, small curls breaking free around your temples and forehead. Your skin flushed with the unseasonable warm of the September night in Camden Town, those beautiful pillowy lips he couldn’t get out of his head parted and pink. If he was a coarser man and the situation less important, he felt sure he’d grab you and pull you onto his lap right then and there, bystanders and naysayers be damned.

“Saints above, m’dear, come away and cover yourself!” Your mother had been only a few steps behind you. Unable to step fully into the kitchen, she settled for tugging on your arm. Your blush deepened to a shade of red bordering on purple as you realized you were standing in nothing but a summer-thin nightgown. Alfie’s gaze hadn’t made its way far enough from your face yet to take in the ample expanses of skin on display, but your father was glaring daggers into the opposite wall, his jaw set so tight you wondered his teeth didn’t break. 

Appropriately embarrassed, the element of surprise now lost to you, you bowed your head and let your mother tug you out of the kitchen. Your mother - a soft-souled romantic at heart - made gentle soothing motions against your back as silent sobs began to rack through you. You climbed the stairs in a fog, your sisters scattering at your mother’s insistence that ‘the show’s over, girls’. With each step higher, you felt certain that the future you’d imagined for yourself with Alfie was destined to be nothing more than a far-flung dream. 

The kitchen had sunk back into a tense silence, however for subtle reasons not quite clear to Alfie, your father seemed infinitely more disquieted by your scene than he’d have expected from the sour old puss. Those gnarled, knobby hands that had, until just a moment ago, been laid out like piles of kindling on the table all evening were suddenly clasped together and fidgety. Your father seemed shorter, his spine bowing under an invisible weight. Against himself, Alfie Solomons found himself leaning forward with a hint of concern.

“Sir? Are you quite alright?” 

Your father’s gaze had lost none of its venom, although behind that mask of derision was a spark of emotion. 

“How did you manage it, Mr. Solomons?” The question was as quiet as snowfall in winter. Alfie almost had to ask him to repeat it. 

“What, sir? Manage what, sir?” More stuttering. Gods be damned, Alfie Solomons was a mess. The image of you bursting into the kitchen, all softness and outrage and girlish desire, had tied him into knots. 

“My eldest daughter is many things, Mr. Solomons. A diligent student, a kind voice to her sisters, a steadfast helper to her mother. A pious child of God.” (Alfie struggled to keep himself from breaking into an impish grin, knowing that if your father had any inkling of the enthusiastic midnight rendezvous the two of you indulged in frequently that he most certainly would not dub you pious.) “And a passionate spirit, I confess. Yet… that part of her is… locked away.” 

Alfie found himself nodding, his memory dragging him back to the first few weeks of your acquaintance. You’d been all business - all ‘yes, Mr. Solomons’ and ‘right away, sir’. But he’d seen that fire in you, the same fire your father spoke of. It simmered deep in your eyes and bubbled up when you laughed. It had sent Alfie to the brink of madness to come so close to something he wanted so badly and to be denied it. But with diligence, patience, and focus - all virtues that Alfie Solomons had gone to great lengths to rid himself of - he’d finally won you over. He’d finally found that the fire inside you burned wild and free. You were raw and open and unfettered with him now. A gift he’d kill for. Hell, he’d die for it too. 

“But not with you, apparently.” Your father’s voice trailed off into quiet. Alfie wondered what he was meant to say. He settled on a noncommittal grunt of agreement. 

“How that came to be, I find myself unable to hazard a guess…” Another probing gaze, the kind that made Alfie squirm. “And perhaps I wouldn’t like the answer. In fact, I…” Your father stopped suddenly, clearing his throat and straightening his crisp Sunday jacket. A ridiculously formal choice for the occasion, Alfie thought, although he realized he could hardly cast stones as he looked down at his freshest suit, newest hat, and shiniest shoes. It seemed both of them had understood the importance of this night, and of the things that hung in the balance with their words.

“I am quite shocked to hear myself say this, Mr. Solomons, and I urge you to leave quickly lest I reconsider. But yes. You may marry her.” 

Alfie wondered if he’d finally drank himself into madness. This surely was a dream, a whiskey-addled fever dream. He gaped openly at your father, stammering out nothing more than shocked noises. 

“You don’t have my blessing, although I won’t stand in your way.” 

The door to the kitchen burst open again, and in you came once more, squealing and flying into a pair of outstretched arms. Alfie smiled as your father engulfed you in a surprised hug. You were bouncing on your toes, peppering the side of his freshly shaved face with kisses and earnest expressions of ‘oh thank you Papa! Thank you!’ Alfie was glad to see that you’d thrown on a housecoat and pinned up your hair in a style more akin to what he was used to seeing you wear. He didn’t trust himself around you with that just-woke-from-sleep blush on your lips. 

Always trailing behind you, in rushed your three sisters and your mother, exclaiming and clapping their hands as if it were a jubilee. How the entire family - plus Alfie Solomons - managed to fit into that pint-sized kitchen was nothing short of a miracle. Hugs were exchanged, and Alfie kissed so many hands he wasn’t sure who’s high-pitched voice was talking to him anymore. 

It wasn’t until he felt your familiar weight balancing on the toes of his boots that he felt himself begin to swim into reality. Without thinking, he wrapped his arms around you tightly, lifting you up off your feet into his embrace. You squeaked with joy, your soft hands finding their way to frame his face. Tossing all rules of propriety to the wind, your lips connected with his in a defiant, joyful, and soft kiss. You were warm under Alfie’s hands, and he was glad that no one but you could hear the groan of need he let loose as he tasted you on his tongue. For a moment, he let himself lose time in your mouth, hands resisting the urge to roam across your backside and around the swell of your hips. 

A pointed throat cleared, bringing Alfie Solomons down from the high. 

“As I suggested, Mr. Solomons, a timely exit would be a wise decision.”

Despite his generally somber countenance, Alfie could detect the faintest note of happiness in your father’s words. A confident declaration you’d made earlier that week drifted back to Alfie: Papa loves me, Alfie. He’ll have no choice but to say yes when he sees how in love we are. 

Alfie hadn’t believed a word of that back then, but he was grateful for your prescience. With a broad smile and a swelling heart, Alfie nodded graciously to your mother, sisters, father, and lastly to you, his bride-to-be, before making his exit. He donned his cap on the front steps outside your door, not minding the oppressive warmth of a sticky night even under his three layers of wool suit.

You stepped halfway out the door to wave shyly as Alfie retreated into the night, his feet barely touching the pavement beneath. He turned back more times than he could count to see you still standing there, bathed in the streetlamp’s light. He rounded the corner at the end of your street with the warm realization that, in a few weeks time, there’d be no more goodbyes from front stoops between the two of you. Only goodnight kisses - likely much more than that, if Alfie had any say at all - as one of you would turn down the bedside lamp, turning off the light on another happy day together in a future neither of you were sure would ever come to be…

[bunnist4rz]

A PERFECT DAY AT THE BEACH; SATORU GOJO

synopsis; On a beautiful beach day, you and Gojo savor ice cream as the sun sets, enjoying the peacefulness of the moment. As you stroll along the shore, you reminisce about your first visit and share sweet conversations that deepen your bond. Gojo expresses his appreciation for the day, and a tender kiss solidifies your feelings for each other. After returning home, you create a loving note for Gojo, who wakes to a beautiful morning filled with promise. Together, you embrace the day ahead, knowing that every moment spent together is a cherished memory in your love story. word count; 2.5k content; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, set in canon au, fluff very silly guys, introvert/extrovert a/n; Hi guys :33 sorry for like going on hiatus for like a week ive just been like battling a illness and i couldnt write 🙁🙁 but i hope this makes up for it!!

The sun was setting, painting the sky with strokes of vibrant oranges and pinks that mirrored the color of our melting ice cream. You had spent the entire day playing in the waves and lounging in the sand, and now you were enjoying the sweet finale of our beach escapade. The coolness of the ice cream was a stark contrast to the warmth of the sand beneath you, and the sound of the waves was like a gentle lullaby, soothing my nerves.

Gojo's arm was around your shoulder, and you felt safe, protected from the whispers of the world that didn’t matter anymore. You took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of his sunscreen and the faint hint of saltwater from his hair. "Isn't this the perfect end to the day?" you mused, leaning into his embrace.

He smiled, his eyes reflecting the fiery horizon. "It really is. I can't think of anywhere else I'd rather be."

The beach was slowly emptying, families collecting their things and children being herded towards the parking lot. The air grew cooler as the sun dipped lower, leaving behind a trail of fire across the water.

As we finished our ice creams, you felt a sense of contentment wash over you. You looked into Gojo’s eyes and saw the same happiness reflected there. His thumb brushed against your cheek, wiping away a stray drop of melted chocolate. “Let’s take a walk before we go,” he suggested, standing up and offering a hand.

"Sure," you replied, taking his hand. "I'd love that."

You took it, allowing him to pull you to your feet. Your bare feet sank into the cool sand as you strolled along the shoreline, the waves playing tag with your toes. "Remember the first time we came here?" you asked, a nostalgic smile on your face.

Gojo chuckled, the sound mingling with the ocean breeze. "How could I forget? You tried to build the biggest sandcastle and ended up burying me instead."

You laughed, the memory bringing warmth to your heart. "I guess some things never change."

The horizon was a canvas of color, the light dancing on the surface of the water like a million shimmering jewels. It was a moment of pure magic, unmarred by the troubles that waited for us beyond the beach.

As you walked, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of peace settling in your chest. Gojo’s hand was firm in yours, a constant reminder that you were not alone. "You know," you began, your voice soft, "today really meant a lot to me. Thank you for bringing me here."

He squeezed your hand gently. "Anything for you. Seeing you happy makes me happy."

The waves grew quieter as the sun disappeared, the sky darkening into a velvet curtain studded with stars. The beach was almost empty now, save for a few lingering couples and the occasional night fishermen setting up their rods. The sound of the ocean was a rhythmic lullaby, and the cool evening breeze whispered sweet nothings in your ears.

You stopped walking, letting the waves kiss your ankles as you gazed into the horizon. Gojo stood behind you, his chest pressed against your back, his arms wrapping around your waist. His breath was warm on your neck as he leaned in to whisper, “Thank you for today. I needed this more than I realized.”

You leaned back into him, feeling his warmth and strength. “Thank you for making sure I felt like I belonged here with you,” you said, your voice soft.

He pulled you closer, his embrace tightening. “You always do. No matter where we are, you’re my home.”

The stars began to twinkle, their light bouncing off the gentle waves. It was a moment frozen in time, a memory you’d hold onto tightly when the world grew stormy. But for now, you had the beach, the stars, and Gojo.

And it was enough.

You turned in his arms, looking up at him with a smile that spoke volumes of your affection. "You know, I was worried today might not go well with everything that's been going on."

Gojo’s eyes softened. "I know you've been feeling overwhelmed. I'm glad we could take this time together."

His eyes searched yours, as if trying to read the story of your soul. In that moment, everything was silent except for the whispers of the ocean and the pounding of your hearts. He leaned down, and you closed your eyes, feeling his lips brush against yours in a gentle kiss that seemed to hold all the love in the universe.

When you broke away, breathless and smiling, Gojo took your hand once again. The stars had taken over the sky, casting a soft glow over the beach, making everything seem otherworldly and perfect. The sand was cool underfoot, but the warmth between you two was enough to keep you from shivering.

"Come on," Gojo whispered, pulling you towards the shoreline. "Let's make this night last a little longer."

Walking hand in hand, you found yourselves lost in a silent conversation, one that didn’t need words to convey the depth of your feelings. The sound of the waves was your music, the stars your spotlight, and the beach was your dance floor. You spun around, laughing, letting the breeze twirl your hair as Gojo watched you with a fond smile.

As the night grew cooler, you decided to head back to the car. Your feet left footprints in the damp sand, a trail of moments that would soon be washed away by the tide. "I don't want tonight to end," you confessed softly.

Gojo glanced back at you, his eyes reflecting the moonlight. "It doesn't have to. We can come back anytime."

In the quiet of the evening, as you drove home, you felt a sense of tranquility settle in your heart. The whispers of the beach and the warmth of Gojo’s hand on your leg reminded you that love isn’t about grand gestures or fighting off competition. It’s about moments like these, when the world faded away, and all that mattered was the two of you, the salt air, and the promise of forever.

The car’s headlights pierced through the darkness, illuminating the path ahead. You leaned your head against the seat, watching the world pass by. Gojo’s hand found yours again, and you squeezed it tightly. "Tonight was perfect," you whispered.

He nodded, his thumb gently stroking your knuckles. "Every moment with you feels like a dream."

You knew that no matter what tomorrow brought, tonight was a treasure, a memory to hold onto when the storms of life raged.

And as the beach grew smaller in your rearview mirror, the horizon a line of fading light, you felt a surge of hope. Because with Gojo by your side, you could face any challenge, conquer any fear, and create a future as beautiful as the sunset you had just witnessed.

The story of your love was still being written, with every kiss, every shared laugh, and every quiet moment of understanding. And as the stars twinkled above, you realized that sometimes, the simplest days could be the most profound, leaving an imprint on your soul that no amount of time could ever erase.

The drive home was filled with the same easy conversation and occasional bouts of silence that you had come to cherish.

As the car rolled to a stop outside your apartment, the world felt a bit brighter, a bit warmer than it had when you had left that morning.

You stepped out of the car, the cool evening air kissing your skin, and took a deep breath. The scent of salt and the sea still clung to your hair, a reminder of the day’s adventure. Gojo opened the trunk, grabbing your bags with a yawn. “I can carry yours too, if you want,” he offered, his eyes sparkling in the dim light of the streetlamp.

You smiled, shaking your head. “I’ve got it,” you said, taking your bag. The weight of the day’s memories felt good in your arms. As you approached the building, you could feel the exhaustion tugging at the edges of your consciousness, but the happiness from your time at the beach was a balm to your soul.

Inside, the quiet hum of the elevator was the only sound as you ascended to your floor. When the doors slid open, Gojo leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, lingering kiss. “Thank you for an amazing day,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble in the stillness.

You stepped into the apartment, the warmth of the lights a comforting embrace. "It's been a perfect day," you whispered back.

Gojo followed, his eyes scanning the room with a fondness that made you realize just how much he enjoyed the simple moments with you. The mess of shoes by the door, the pile of discarded clothes from your quick change, it was all part of the story of your life together.

With the windows thrown open, the sound of the distant waves seemed to follow you into the apartment. You watched as Gojo shed his wet swimsuit, his muscles flexing as he moved with an easy grace that never failed to make your heart race. "Need any help?" you teased, reaching out to trace the patterns of sand on his skin.

He laughed, the sound resonating in the room. "I think I’ve got it from here."

But you couldn’t resist, moving closer to him. "Not if you want some help."

He chuckled, leaning into your touch. "Alright, but only if you promise to make it quick."

But first, there was the promise of a hot shower to wash away the salt and sand. You stepped into the steaming water, letting it cascade over your body like a gentle embrace. As you washed the remnants of the beach from your hair, Gojo joined you, his hands strong and sure as he lathered soap over your skin. "You smell amazing," he whispered, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror.

The intimacy of the moment washed away any remaining insecurity from earlier, leaving only the warmth of his touch and the knowledge that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

Afterwards, wrapped in towels, you curled up on the couch, the salty scent of the ocean clinging to your skin. Gojo pulled out a movie, something light and romantic, and you snuggled into his side. "Pick something we both love," you suggested, feeling the day's tensions melt away.

His arm was a warm band around you, and his laugh was a soothing balm to your spirit. As the credits rolled, you looked up at him, your heart full. “Thank you for today,” you said, your voice thick with emotion.

He kissed the top of your head. “Always, my love. Always.”

The world outside could wait. For now, all you needed was the warmth of Gojo’s embrace and the promise of forever.

As the final credits danced across the screen, Gojo turned off the TV, the room bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight that streamed through the open blinds. He pulled you closer, his arm tightening around your waist. You nestled your head into the crook of his neck, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your cheek. His scent, a mix of saltwater and sand, was comforting, a reminder of the carefree hours spent at the beach.

"I love nights like this," you whispered, tracing patterns on his back.

He smiled against your hair. "Me too. They remind me of how lucky I am to have you."

You felt his thumb tracing idle patterns on your arm as his other hand found yours, lacing your fingers together. Your breathing synced with his, lulling you into a peaceful tranquility. It was moments like these that made you feel invincible, as if nothing could ever break the bond that you shared.

“Do you remember our first date?” Gojo’s voice was a gentle whisper, breaking the silence like a soft wave against the shore.

You smiled, the memory as vivid as the day it had happened. “How could I forget? The way you looked at me, like I was the only person in the room.”

He chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest. “I knew then that you were special. And every day since then, you’ve proven me right.”

Your heart swelled with affection, his words resonating deep within. You sat up, turning to face him, your gaze searching his eyes. “And do you remember what you said to me that night?”

Gojo’s expression grew contemplative for a brief moment before his eyes lit up with recollection. “I said that I’d do anything to protect you, no matter what curses the world threw our way.”

“And you have,” you whispered, reaching up to cup his cheek. “Every single day, you’ve kept that promise.”

He leaned into your touch, his eyes filled with a love so profound that it stole your breath away. “And I always will,” he murmured, before pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that was as warm and deep as the ocean itself.

The night grew late, the moon high in the sky, but neither of you made a move to go to bed. The pull between you was too strong, a magnetic force that didn’t care about the ticking clock or the responsibilities of tomorrow. As your kisses grew more passionate, you felt your fears and worries dissolve into the night. In this moment, there was only Gojo and the love that bound you together.

With a soft groan, he pulled away, resting his forehead against yours. “I never want this to end,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

You brushed a strand of hair from his face, smiling through the mist of happiness that clouded your vision. “It never has to. We have an eternity of moments like this to cherish.”

He leaned in to kiss you again, his lips tender and reassuring. As you melted into the kiss, you knew that no matter what the future held, you’d face it together. Hand in hand, heart to heart, you’d conquer each new day, creating a love story that was uniquely your own.

And as you eventually drifted off to sleep in the safety of his arms, the sound of the waves from the beach carried through the open window, a lullaby that whispered sweet dreams and promised more days of joy, laughter, and endless love

[tuesdayscanons]

rod - do you ever worry about dev's eternal soul?

{¤} Is Rod worried for Dev's eternal soul? It's hard to really say.

Dev is the closest thing to Heaven Rod has at the moment. Just being in Dev's presence makes Rod happier and more sure of himself. The longer Rod spends with Dev, the more he craves Dev's company.

He's so nice and caring and sweet—who else other than Todd would be willing to spend time with Rod and appreciate him for who he is? If Rod was being honest, he's finding out more about himself from being around Dev. He likes the person he is around Dev. God wouldn't have sent Dev his way if it'd lead Rod to sin, right?

"A good God wouldn't forbid someone from going to heaven solely for not worshipping him."

A good God also wouldn't flood the Earth or allow suffering in the world, but Rod has yet to square that circle.

"In a way, isn't being virtuous despite a lack of faith a true test of character?" Rod muses, "Dev has no motive to be nice to me other than him caring about me and my feelings. Some Christians are motivated to be virtuous out of fear or the desire to get into Heaven, but Dev is kind for the sake of being kind. That seems more in line with Jesus's teachings, doesn't it?"

Still, there's the chance Dev isn't as innocent as he appears. Eve wouldn't have eaten from the fruit of knowledge if it hadn't been so tempting. Rod had always thought he'd be able to resist, but could Dev be the one to lead him into a life of sin? Is this God's ultimate test?

If it is, it seems like an awfully cruel test. Dangling a juicy carrot in front of Rod's face after taking away his mother and doing nothing about his father's favoritism feels more abusive than loving.

Worship is supposed to require sacrifice. Rod knows his suffering and devotion would be rewarded with eternity in paradise...but is this sustainable for Rod? Shouldn't he be allowed to be happy in life as well?

Rod looks left and right to make sure no one else is in the room, before continuing with—

"If the person who makes me happiest leads me to sin...I-I guess I'm a sinner then."

Fidgeting nervously, Rod feels a weighted blanket of guilt. Not overwhelming, but heavy enough for him to feel its presence. It certainly feels better than the misery he'd been subjected to before he met Dev.

"I've given so much to God...can't I have this one thing for myself? Is it a crime to want to enjoy being alive?"

If Rod's going to be concerned about anyone's eternal soul, it'd be his own.

[drabbletron]

Cyberformed!Reader PART 1

|| I was thinking about how terrible it would be to suddenly wake up in a body that wasn't yours on the Lost Light and wanted to write something for it. I do not speak for people who have this issues irl and I wanted to explore a topic and combine it with some not so nice feelings. ||

TAGS: body dysphoria, panic attacks, mentions of weapons, potential use of weapons, anxiety, poor coping mechanisms, people trying to help but accidentally make it worse, potential body horror, general fear and sense of doom, biology, potential dead dove do not eat, POTENTIAL NSFW

( if any of the above things upset you please do not interact with this work )

🔞 MINORS DNI 🔞

You’re not sure what’s happened but you feel something is off the moment you wake up.

At first, you’re roused awake at the soft whirring of machine parts, which is odd as they’re much louder than the distant hum of the ship you fell asleep to. When you open your eyes, you’re startled awake by the words “System Recharge Complete.”

Jolting, you backpedal on the bed to get away from the sudden crowding of screen menus and targeting systems that alight your vision, when you hear a crunching of metal rods and the text – “LEDGE DETECTED” – flashes in your face.

You suddenly can’t feel metal under your hands anymore and tumble off the edge of the converted berth you slept on, and the noise you make as you fall is what startles you the most. It sounds like Trailcutter when he hits the floor at the bar after having one too many; a sudden clang and the ringing sound of metal scraping metal while the rest of your body follows, and you end up sprawled on the somewhat cold floor. Hadn’t it always felt like ice before! You don’t even have time to consider that sound maybe came from you before your habsuite door springs open, and you hear a startled “Oh frag!”

Somehow the fall wasn’t as bad as it could have been, as though you’d only fallen a short distance versus ten to fifteen feet that would usually land you in the medibay. You also don’t feel any pain from your fall, at least not much. That doesn’t stop the words from consuming your vision though and more just seem to spawn in, one on top of the next on top of the next. No matter how much you scramble backwards they just keep coming! To get away you do the only thing you can think to do and clamp your eyes shut. Hard.

“Oh frag!”

- Rodimus hears a loud clang coming from your hab and he rushes in. He can only stand there in utter shock at the sight of something – someone crumpled on the other side of your berth with their arms raised above their face swatting at the air. His optics dart from them to the crushed ruins of your bed and then back to them.

He doesn’t stop himself from lunging to restrain their thrashing form hoping that you, the human, hadn’t been crushed by them in their obvious ham-fisted attempt on your life.

“Hey, hey STOP!”

[sweetpaintedladie]

9 people I’d like to get to know better

ty @coutoffoli for the tag :)

last song: have i told you lately by rod stewart

favorite color: yellow!!

currently watching: nothing lol

spicy/sweet/savory: probably savory

relationship status: single and planning on staying that way!

current obsessions: keith richards!!!!, reading outside, homemade iced coffee, the river by bruce springsteen, and rod stewart 😵‍💫

tagging: @omg-hellgirl @cosmo-the-frog @little-bit-of-mystery @thelastdj @finch-connor and anyone else who wants to do this lol [and sorry if you’ve already been tagged and i’m tagging you again </3]

[lovemyromance]

idk why but i think itll be forced if gwyn and az get together. Like say elain accepts the bond and gets with lucien and azriel knows he has to step back and then suddenly he likes gwyn and they started to form a bond and get together. like... no. thats not it at all. like at least do some type of slowburn for gwynriel if elain and lucien get together. (Idk why but I keep thinking itll be like a forcing thing if elain and luc get together because they know they are mates. LIKE IT JUST WONT HIT THE SAME) But, I think thats why im so built up on elriel and cant fully ship the other ships because theres nothing for me to fully ship.

My meeting got cancelled just now and I'm in a silly goofy mood so let me just say this: if I were SJM and I for some reason DID intend to write Elucien or Gwynriel, I would not have done it this way. I don't think any writer would've done it this way.

The way the books are currently written, it is a clear setup for Elriel. People who deny that are those who still hold out hopes for their preference of ship, but the writing does not support that. It has not supported that since ACOWAR.

Not that I am in any way SJM equivalent but here's how I would've done it, starting from ACOWAR, which was when she started actively planning Nesta & Elain's spinoffs. (And this is in no way Anti Lucien or Gwyn. But I'm tagging it anti because I don't want them getting any ideas lmaooo)

1. The second they got back to the Spring Court, have Lucien grow a backbone and tell Tamlin he's going after Elain. Not simply "Get her back" but "I'm getting her back." (Ring any bells?)

Not wait for Feyre to leave and tag along to see if Elain was "worth fighting for", not simply think about how Elain had been thrown at him, not even think about Jessiminda. I would've had Lucien take action himself. He would've left to go after Elain immediately, and Feyre would've followed HIM - or waited till she got the spring court fucked up and then followed him.

2. Have Lucien be patient with Elain. Have more than just one awkward conversation with Elain. Have Feyre observe multiple moments between them. Have Elain slowly soften to him or get used to his presence. Have Lucien sit in the garden with Elain. Have him frown at her words and bring them up to Feyre and actually try to help her. But most importantly I would've had Lucien figure out her powers. (Sound familiar? Good. It should.)

3. Have Azriel go volunteer to find Vassa, not Lucien. Perhaps he goes into the library to research (starting the foundation for Gwynriel very subtly). Have Lucien join the IC as they fight at SC, have Lucien join them at the HL meeting. Have Lucien go into an angry rage at seeing Graysen and how that man's words hurt his mate. Have him comfort Elain and say "I'll wait - however long it takes."

4. Have Lucien save Elain from Hybern's camp. Have Lucien go feral and break the wards around the camp - setting up for his parentage plotline - and winnow in and save her. Have Elain kiss his cheek. Have Elain finally see him in a different light. (Wow where have I seen this before?)

5. Have Elain willingly invite him to Velaris at the end of ACOWAR. Have Lucien take her up on that offer.

6. In ACOFAS, have Elain & Lucien get each other presents. Elain does not get Azriel a gift, just Lucien. She appreciates the gardening gloves. Gets Lucien ... a fishing rod or hair tie or something idk "here's a rod: for all the fish that you catch with your hands" 🤣🤣🤣 Lucien laughs and Feyre thinks "wow I've never seen him so happy"

7. Continue to develop their relationship in the background of ACOSF. Lucien offers to help Elain train her powers in the background (idk how he would but still). He is there at solstice and gets her another gift. Cassian thinks Elain is sneaking around with him but won't admit it. Lucien goes with them to Hewn city and gifts Elain a dress that suits her better and is from the Day court or whatever. There's a bonus chapter with LUCIEN's POV where Elain & Lucien are about to kiss but they get interrupted and Lucien feels bad he pushed her too far so he says sorry this was a mistake. Miscommunication trope ensues.

8. After ACOSF, start their book with a major conflict that comes up immediately. For some reason, Lucien & Elain go to Day court to research and train her powers - maybe they have a Seer there idk. make something up, a la CC3 translation bean. Their friendship has been steadily growing since ACOWAR, and now it turns to love.

I would've set Elucien up for a slow burn, friends to lovers romance from the second Elain got chucked out that cauldron.

But again, SJM did not write it that way. She wrote all those key pivotal moments with Elriel, not Elucien. It would've been so easy to do the storyline above. It would've made us root for them more by the time their book came around. Lucien was a main character since book 1 (before he fell off) so their story would've been eagerly anticipated.

And I could do this same thing for Gwynriel, but she didn't exist until ACOSF so it would be much much shorter and basically would be Nesta noticing ACTUAL romantic moments between Gwyn & Azriel (not "bye Shadowsinger" or "you're new ribbon Az" but actual romantic attraction - like Azriel physically helping Gwyn cut the ribbon and touching her - with her consent ofc - and Gwyn blushing at him). Like - do the antis realize how EASY that would've been? I dare say it would've been easier for SJM to write Gwynriel than any moment with Elriel at that point in ACOSF, because Nesta spent more time with Gwyn.

There's absolutely no way SJM wrote the books this way with all this Elriel buildup, just so she could have a shock factor (?) of "Elain & Lucien are mates but she avoids him for 3 books and gets with Azriel but SURPRISE- Elucien is actually endgame! And Az gets with Gwyn!"

That just doesn't make any sense. At all.

[vesanal]

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊The 3rd Day of Writemas₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

Howdy!! Back at it again with Writmas! It’s kinda late sinceI live in a completely different timezone so yeah T_T. Uh anyways, Here is the invite post! And here are the prompts for Day 3!!!

Prompts used:

Setting: A carriage

Narration: She had never felt so alone in all her life.

Dialogue: "Tell me everything."

A new one is about to drop so it may be a bit short! I’m trying to get on track with the rest of y’all haha. 

Read about the WIP here!!

Here it is!

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

“Set course to the Capital.” 

Aerlyra froze in her tracks. The Capital? As in The Capital? Haukrosen? It was almost a foreign word to her now. Almost a lifetime had passed since she had heard the city’s name, much less been there. She hadn’t thought she would ever be back. Not after such a short time, anyways. 

“Tell me what exactly we are doing, Sir. Tell me everything." Aerlyra prodded them. Though, regret washed over her. No one ever talks back to a Queensmen. She winced in anticipation of a reprimand. 

“Ms. Ghorne, we do not have all day.” The Queensmen muttered, seemingly stifling a response. 

She noticed his strange attitude towards her. Something was important about her. Almost like she had to be protected. Something larger was happening. Something right under her nose. Could it be related to those disappearances? Why me, of all people?

Aerlyra quelled her thoughts down. Nothing gets down with thoughts like that. Her gaze shifted to the step that laid out in front of her. The cart was huge, about half the size of her cabin. Expensive golden rods held it up, winding around the body intricately. It was quite the spectacle, looking out of place in this neck of the woods.

Though, She stayed in her spot. Was hesitancy or fear that weighed her feet down? Her heart skipped a couple of beats. This step was too large for her to take. She looked back at her quaint cabin in the woods. Before she knew it, her own two feet jumped onto the stairs of the carriage. After she regained her footing, she held onto the sides of the cart. She looked down at her clothes. They were nice—yes��, but not something to meet the Queen in. Then at her home. The only thing that kept her warm these days. A comforting place with no worries. There must be a reason they chose me. That the Queen chose me. A purpose. Yes–a higher one perhaps, but a purpose nonetheless. Something ignited within Aerlyra. She could feel her body temperature rise, and the biting cold air did little to stop it. Again, she looked back at her shack. It stood quiet. Miniscule. Broken down. Covered in snow. Separated from the rest of the world. Truth was, she had never felt so alone in all her life. So, wiping off the ice cold snow from her coat, she hops inside the carriage, planting herself firmly into the seat where she eagerly awaits the long journey to begin. 

Remember to be formal. She told herself, smiling for the first time in a while, You don’t want to mess up your only chance. ------------------------------

(PLEASE tell me if you wanna get added to a tag list here because I genuinely don't know who to tag lol. I'll edit this and add you in!! <3 )

TAGLIST SO FAR: @sunflowerrosy @seastarblue

@thebookishkiwi @viridis-icithus @corinneglass

Our wonderful host <3 → @agirlandherquill Have a lovely day everyone!!

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: 'I'm not here to fuck spiders' type of vibe. I am just going to warn you now, the reader is definitely a 'fuck around and find out' type of gal. "Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under't'" - Lady Macbeth, the original man eater, my guiding light.

Chapter 30:  Fire and Blood

For days you bobbed beneath the surface of consciousness, breaking through the waves rising to the top, looking around to observe your surroundings, your body still heavy as a stone before you crashed down into the abyss once more, tart liquid on your tongue. 

You emerged from the turbulent waves again, eyes sliding open, head turning sluggishly to the seat beside your bed. Each movement of your head against the pillow made nausea climb up through your throat.

The world spun as you were finally able to concentrate on the figure that sat rigidly beside your bed. Donned in a tight green dress sat Alicent, watching you unmoving, with her lips pursed into a tight line.

She sat so stiffly, you would not be surprised if a rod had been shoved inside of her. As though you were to blame. As though by some inexplicable reason, that she had been put out by the actions of her own son, who had been encouraged by her bitterness for years.

How dare she fucking look at you like that.

Fury burst through you as you struggled to pull yourself sitting, desperately dragging your body up from beneath the sheets, grunting. The pain in your side was raw as you heavily laid your back against the board of the bed. You sucked in greedy breaths, holding in whimpers of pain as your side was alight with pulses.

She watched you impassively, having not moved as she waited for you to pull yourself upright. She did not offer help, nor twitch at the sight of you struggling, or in pain. She was every inch an Ice Queen.

You looked at the tables beside your bed, they were empty. No cups to throw at the Green Queen, no blade to slit her throat with, no makeshift weapon to avenge your family.

You stared at her, begging to keep your grief at bay, and let your anger rise above it all. You needed to hold strong. You needed to be a dragon.

“How are you feeling?” She asked, head tilted as she spoke.

How were you feeling?

How were you feeling?

Her son murdered your brother in front of you, chased you about the skies tormenting him. For years she and her kin have made your families lives a living nightmare. Her son usurped the crown from your mother as she forced people to support him. She made the realm a more dangerous place for women, ensuring that you would never become heir to the throne.

How were you feeling? 

You watched silently as she fidgeted with her hands in her lap, pulling and twisting, waiting for your response, though none came. The skin around her nails were raw and bloody as they twisted in her lap.

You wished she would bite through the bone next time. 

“I prayed to the Seven every night for your speedy recovery from certain death. You fell and Aemond caught you. The Prince brought you here, gaunt, pale, wet with rain and blood. The Maesters were sure you would not survive, but Prince Aemond insisted on saving you."

Saved you?

Saved you??

He was the reason you were in this godforsaken bed.

It was almost laughable. In fact, you did laugh, though the dryness of your throat caused your lungs to seize. A ragged cough forced itself from your lips as you doubled over in pain, clutching your side.

What had he done to you?

What was wrong with your side?

If he had saved you, why do you feel broken?

You sucked in an agonising breath as you leant back, pulling the white chemise up your side higher and higher from your body, slowly exposing your skin to the room. You grunted with every movement.

Around your ribs were thick bandages pulled taught against you. Blood stained the left of the creamy strips. Tentatively, you went to pull the bandages away from your skin, to look at what lay beneath.

“Aemond saved you.” She repeated, as though you hadn’t heard her.

You scoffed, but the rush of air caused your side to flare with pain. You sucked in a shallow breath, snapping your head to the woman at the side of your bed. 

Her face had not changed. Ever the martyr. Ever the goddamn self righteous woman of the Gods who could do no wrong. Who could never be held accountable for the domino affect of her actions.

You swore to yourself then and there, that once you were healed and ready, you would kill her. Present her eyes... No. Her head to your mother as a gift.

As you looked down at your side, large bruises peaked above the bandages, dark purples and reds blooming across your skin. You breathed shallowly, fingers resuming their pulling on the bandages, more discolouration becoming visible to your eyes.

“He saved you from the fall, a certain death if you were to hit the waves below you.”

Your fingers pulled at a bandage with dried blood away from your ribs, the strips resisting as they had stuck to the wound below. You held your breath as you pulled the bandage further away, feeling the scabs pull from your wound, a sharp stinging spreading across your side.

Beneath the bandages, your skin was deeply bruised. A large gash ran around the side of your ribs from your front, to your back. Its edges were jagged, as though a blade had been roughly pulled along your flesh, the tight skin snapping apart from the tension.

Through the ragged and torn flesh were lines of hastily done stitches, their dark thread holding the wound tightly shut together. Every movement pulled on them. And the wound was swollen and red, there was no sign of infection to be seen.

You sucked in a stuttering breath as you placed the bandages back against your side, slumping as you watched the woman in front of you ramble.

“The Seven heard our prayers and saved you from The Stranger. Princess Helaena has prayed for you too, as did the King. You are safe here. We have made sure that you have had the best medical treatment in all the realm.” 

You felt bile rise up in your mouth. You stared at her, unblinking until finally you spoke.

“My brother is dead.” Your voice cracked dryly.

Alicent stiffened in her seat, sitting up straighter as her hands came to a stop in her lap.

“I grieve-“

“Lucerys was murdered…” You cut her off. “By your son…A Kinslayer.” 

Every word twinged your side in pain.

You breathed heavily, the strumming pain curling around your lungs as you waited for her to respond. The Dowager Queen simply stared at you, waiting for you to talk again.

You both sat like this for some time, willing the other to talk as thoughts whirled through your mind. You gave in to the silence.

“I suppose you have informed the Queen that you have me as your prisoner?” You inquired dully. 

The Dowager Queen's perfectly manicured brows twitched above her eyes, lightly scrunching in the centre as she suddenly shifted in her seat.

Her fingers picked at her skin more openly.

Realisation dawned on you, as you leant your head back, looking down at her from your nose.

“They do not know I am alive,” You prodded, “Do they?”

The Hightower did not respond. 

There was your answer.

A huff of laughter jerked out of your mouth, side twinging. Your lips pulled into a wide smile as you began to laugh, the pain from your wound ignored as joy coursed through your veins. You wondered if anyone else in the Keep knew of your survival, except those trusted by Alicent to tend to you.

You laughed loudly at the predicament as the Dowager Queen sat rigidly in her seat, fingers clenching in her lap. Your laughter peeled across the room dryly, wisps and croaks following after. 

What a delight to know that Alicent truly had made a grave mistake. 

The door to your chambers opened as Ser Cristin Cole and Aemond walked into the room, watching as you laughed heartily, clutching your side in agony as you felt the stitches pull tightly in your wound, fresh blood soaking the bandages. 

You laughed louder at their entrance, their confusion evident on their faces as they came to stand beside Alicent, looking down at her, eyes searching for answers.

Aemond watched you intently, almost unsure of how to react.

Oh Gods, it just got better.

They think you've gone mad.

A cough worked its way up your throat as your laughter turned into a string of hacks, pain capturing your entire body. The bitter taste of blood pooled in your mouth as you coughed, hand coming to touch your lips delicately as you smiled through the pain.

“They do not know I am alive.” You laughed, hand pulling back to look at the spots of blood on them.

You leant heavily against the board as you looked at them all grinning, blood in your teeth. Aemond watched you curiously, eye patch once again gone, as he looked at your hand covered in blood.

You pushed your arms below you, pulling yourself up to sit higher against the wooden board behind you, as you shook your head gently at the woman in green, tutting her as you did. 

“You’re all going to die.” You beamed viciously, “You know this… Don’t you, Alicent?” You pushed out a grunting laugh again as your eyes skimmed to Aemond, watching him as you spoke again.

“They’re coming for you. All of you.” You mimicked Rhaenys warning. You slid your eyes back to Alicent who’s head sat higher on her neck. “Oh Alicent, I thought you were smarter than this.” You chastised her, “Mothers favourite son, and fathers favourite daughter?” 

You laughed again at the absurdity.

“You really should have told them that I was alive.” 

You looked pointedly out of the window across the room, sighing dreamily as you spoke, the room silent except for your voice, “I suppose they should be here very soon.”

Aemond shifted on his feet as he stepped forward, placing his seated mother behind him. Always the protective young man you thought, as your laughter turned into little huffs of giggles before you finally calmed yourself.

The bitter copper taste in your mouth made you run your tongue along your teeth to clear it.

“If you continue to allow the Queen and King Daemon to believe that both I… and my brother were slain, you will find the Keep burnt to ashes before the morrow. If you were clever, I would send a raven.” You mocked.

“We have tended to your wounds, brought you back from the brink of death, kept you safe he-“

“Safe? You have imprisoned me in my old chambers,” You looked about the room as you spoke, smiling through the pain, “Your demented son chased me and Prince Lucerys around the skies when we were messengers, and allowed my parents to believe that they lost two children at the hands of your Kinslayer son.” You hissed.

“I would have sent a raven by now, though I have no issues with dying in the Keep with you all.” You smiled, looking directly at Aemond, “At least I will get to hear you scream.”

Alicent pushed up from the seat beside your bed turning to Ser Criston Cole, before swiftly leaving your chambers, the dark haired knight trailing after her as you guessed they were to send a raven to the Queen.

“Send my regards to my mother!” You called out as Aemond stood stiffly beside your bed, looking down at you.

You stared up at him as you sat lazily against the board of the bed, fatigue slowly working its way through your body as your side began to throb viciously.

You sighed as you looked at him, his demeanour confused you.

The silver haired man looked tired, large bags under his eyes standing out against his pale skin. Most likely due to celebrating his murder and capture of his obsession.

The One-Eyed Prince went to turn away from you, but you stopped him.

“Aemond wait.” You called out to him, false desperation in your tone as he halted to turn and look at you, eye searching your form before it paused on your bandages.

You swallowed thickly, looking down into your lap before looking back at him, pulling your face tightly together as you faked a sob. The tall man twitched forward towards you as you pulled your hands up to your face, hiding your sneer.

You dropped your hands back to your lap, looking at the man before you. Nothing but violent rage curled through you as you looked at him. Images of your brother dying, flashed behind your eyes. 

You sniffed. 

“You saved me.” You spoke quietly, looking him in the eye.

Aemond shifted on his feet as he looked at you, saying nothing. 

You sniffed again, wringing your hands in your lap before touching your side gently, “Thank you.” 

He still said nothing.

Simply observed you.

Come on you bastard.

“Thank you for saving me.” You looked at him with pleading eyes. You watched his form relax, the tension moving slightly from his shoulders.

Men.

They are so easy to manipulate. How dull they all are. You simply bat your eyes, put a little bit of stupidity in your tone and flash them your cunt, and they will do anything you say.

Anything.

"Thank you, uncle." You sniffled as you gave him a sad smile.

The Prince took two steps towards you, still towering over you as he watched. You looked into your lap, twiddling your fingers together as he stood beside you.

Look innocent, and sweet.

Quite the performance you made as you reached a hand shyly to grasp at his that was by his side.

And he let you.

You reached for that hand and held it as though you were a maiden, shy and unsure. You pushed down your disgust and the way your skin crawled at the contact of your brothers murderer.

You rubbed your thumb over his knuckles softly as you gazed up at him, before you brought his hand towards your face. You felt him stiffen slightly, hesitant, and so you put the act on harder.

You almost dropped his hand, uttering a gentle whisper of 'sorry'. His hand squeezed yours gently, keeping it in your grip. He was reassuring you.

You had him.

Hook, line and sinker.

Letting your lips pull into a mournful smile, you looked down at his hand before you brought it up to your lips. You had to use every ounce of energy within you to not bite his fucking fingers off.

Those rough fingers. The ones that had been inside you. That had touched you. That have held blades and swords, and books and wine. The same ones that had taken life, touched your lips as you pressed a slow and gentle kiss to them, shyly looking up at the Prince.

It was every mans wet dream.

He leant into your touch, his eye blinking. He seemed almost shocked.

Good.

You rubbed your cheek against his hand, looking at him with your sweetest doe eyes. Something you had learnt from your father. He said the eyes carry a thousand words that your lips cannot.

As you leant your face into his hand that was still clutched in yours, you smiled sadly at him. Pathetically. Like a bird with a broken wing, singing a sad song to its captive.

And as you watched his shoulders sag, and the tension leave his brow, and his lips relax from the god awful purse he always wore when angry, you let yourself smile.

A soft smile, just a hint.

A sort of smile you give to someone you might pity.

And you did pity him.

What a stupid fucking man.

You opened your mouth, closing it again for show as if in thought on how to thank him next. Perhaps he was thinking you may ask him to bed you. He could certainly crawl into bed with you, and you would certainly bite off his cock.

What an exhilarating thought.

You opened your mouth again and spoke in the most sickly sweet manner that you could muster.

"Thank you, uncle. For saving me. For saving my life."

You paused for effect.

“Now that I live... I will get to watch you die screaming.” 

You smiled cruelly at him. Hand still holding his gently against you.

And then tension was back in his shoulders and face, and the spell you had cast was broken as the older Prince seemed to come to his senses, his one eye locked on yours as silence captured the room.

“You really should have killed me, uncle.” 

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