#ten year old me is still within grown up me

[adnirod]

You don't have any more unpublished Man from U.N.C.L.E., do you? Asking for a friend.

I'm sorry to say I don't! (I used to have an old spiral notebook of nonexplicit but Very Tropey And Romantic fic I wrote about them when I was a child, but it got lost during some move or other, alas)(perfect blackmail material for whoever found it)

@221squee

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Not A Verstappen: Lights Out {8}

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!driver!reader x Lando Norris Summary: Your due date approaches but that’s not the only thing that’s been a long time coming Warnings: 18+ only, fluff WC: 2.7k F1 Masterlist NAV: Sibling Rivalry One || Two || Three NAV: Gridlocked One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine NAV: A New World One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine || Ten NAV: Lights Out One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || 6.5 || Seven || SMAU || Eight || Nine

Round 4 - Japanese GP

“I think I’m in love,” you moaned happily.

“I should hope so,” Lando commented dryly, making Charles laugh.

“She’s not talking about us, mon cher.”

You patted the vending machine full of the greatest snacks you had ever tasted. “Ignore them, it’s just you and me, now take my money.”

“Are we going to karaoke?” Pierre asked, checking his phone to see the time. “Yuki and Daniel are already there.”

“Shh, let the pregnant woman eat,” his girlfriend reprimanded. “She’s growing a whole human in there.”

“Thank you, Kika.” You sent her a grateful smile before throwing your middle finger in Pierre’s direction. The machine whirred and you turned back to see mechanical arms moving your choice down to the little door. “I just need a few more.”

“She’s stalling because she knows she sucks at singing when she’s sober,” Max joked before pulling out his wallet and going to the next machine. “What else do you want?”

Everyone caught onto Max’s idea and lined up along the alley of vending machines and within minutes there were enough snacks to last you the night, plus one huge Pokémon stuffed animal that Pierre chose for the baby. You could barely wrap your arms around the teddy and you narrowed your eyes at your old teammate. “Out of all of the Pokémon you chose…Squirtle?”

His grin widened until his laughter broke through. “What’s wrong with Squirtle? Everyone loves a big squirtle.”

“You’re so immature,” you tried to say with a straight face but it failed as you giggled. “This is going in my bed when I get home. It’s going to be my snuggler when I’m abandoned.”

“We aren’t abandoning you, mon amour. Everyone agreed it’s too close to your due date to come to China.”

You didn’t like it, but it was the truth. You were lucky to even get away with coming to Japan since you were already 37 weeks pregnant. At least there was a two week gap between the races so you would have some time with Lando and Charles before they left for the next race.

“And your mother will be there, so you definitely aren’t abandoned,” Lando pointed out. He took the teddy from you so you could better see where you were walking and tucked it under one arm so he could still hold your hand. “Max has already given us his plane so we can get back if we need to.”

“I have?” Max cocked a brow.

“You may have been drunk when you said it, but there were witnesses.”

Max scratched his head in confusion but he couldn’t recall the memory. Shrugging, he wasn’t really bothered, he would have offered for them use it anyway. “Who’s your reserve if you have to go?”

“Ollie and Pato,” Charles answered. “My baby is in good hands if we miss the race. Lando is a little more worried.”

“Not of Pato, I’ve seen him in testing,” Lando countered. “I just don’t like sharing.” Everyone looked pointedly between you and your boyfriends. “Har-har, I meant my seat, assholes.”

You eventually made it to the karaoke bar and Yuki growled at everyone for being late, except you. You got a tight hug and a strong whiff of alcohol on his breath.

“I didn’t know what you felt like, so I got a bit of everything,” he said as he pointed to the side table full of snacks and non alcoholic drinks. Pierre reached out for a pack of biscuits but Yuki slapped his hand away. “Not for you motherfuckers. Get your own.”

The annual karaoke had grown over the years and you weren’t sure if it was better when you were sober or not. On one hand you nearly wet yourself laughing at how terrible everyone sounded but on the other your ears were almost bleeding by the time they were too drunk to continue. Crashing out onto the hotel bed never felt so good when you finally got back after midnight. Thankfully it was only going to be media day for the guys so they could sleep off their hangovers.

You combed your fingers through Lando’s hair as he spawned out next to you, soft snores falling from his open mouth. A smile played at your lips and Charles chuckled beside you. “Go on,” he said as he nudged you gently. “Say it.”

You couldn’t resist and he knew it. “It’s all too much for Little Lando Norris.”

“Not little,” Lando grumbled.

“You were asleep a second ago.”

“Wasn’t asleep, just resting my eyes.”

“Such a dad thing to say,” you teased, pressing a kiss to his cheek as his breathing evened out and he was asleep once more. “Sweet dreams, my love.”

“You should try to rest too,” Charles murmured as he settled into his pillow and opened his arms for you, his bleary eyes struggling to stay open.

“I will.” You would try to at least, but finding a comfortable position grew harder each day. “I love you.”

“Je t’aime aussi. De beaux rêves.”

He was asleep before you could even reply and you soon followed.

The need to go to the toilet once again woke you and you found Charles' space in the bed empty. After relieving yourself, you followed the light in the living room to see the curtains swaying softly in the breeze.

Charles stood on the balcony overlooking the city, his fingers idly running his matching trinity necklace along its chain. It was only as you got closer you saw his eyes weren’t on the city below but the dark skies above and you wrapped your arms around his waist, resting your head between his shoulder blades.

“What’s on your mind, handsome?”

He turned and leaned back against the rail, his hands coming to rest on the impossibly large swell of your stomach. You placed your hands over Charles’ and guided them to where the action was happening against your ribs, a nice reprieve from being kicked in the bladder. You couldn’t get much bigger before you popped and the stretch marks already showed the strain the pregnancy was having on your body.

“I wish Jules was here to see this.”

You hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting the driver but from what Charles had said it would have been hard not to love the charismatic person he described. “I’m sure he would be proud of you. I am. Have you thought any more about her name?”

Charles chewed his lip before sighing. “No, I want something new. I don’t want her to be pressured by the weight of the name she carries.”

You could completely understand how a name changed everything and nodded. “Okay, I’ll cross Julia off the list.”

“And Landa.”

You wrinkled your nose in distaste. “That was never on my list. I don’t know why you didn’t shut that idea down right away.”

Charles chuckled and kissed your nose. “Because it’s funny, mon amour. He actually thought it had a real chance.”

“Our hopeless dreamer,” you sighed, resting your head on his chest as you yawned.

There wasn’t much time left to narrow down the list of first names but a compromise had been found with the last name. To make it fair, they decided if it was clear Lando was the biological father then Charles' last name would go first and vice-versa. If it wasn’t clear then you were going to have to referee their debate, something you were hoping to avoid.

“Let’s get you back to bed,” Charles murmured as he kissed your hand and laced it with his. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

It was no secret you always woke up when one or both of them went missing from your bed. Even asleep you seemed to know when their body warmth disappeared.

“It’s okay. I’ll have to get used to it.”

“When we abandon you?” he teased, but there was an edge of sadness in his tone.

“Maybe that was a little harsh but I was hungry. I’m sorry.” You climbed onto the bed and snuggled in between their warm bodies. “I know you aren’t abandoning me, Cha.”

“Good, now I need to have an important conversation.” He shuffled down so he could kiss your stomach and whispered, “Ma petite, you need to stay inside there until daddy and papa get home. I know it’s a little tight in there and we are very excited to meet you too but you have to hang on just a few more weeks, ma fille. Deal?”

“I'm not sure you are going to get an ans-” A kick interrupted you and Charles smirked.

“My girl already listens to her papa.”

“Don’t get used to it,” you warned as he rejoined you on the pillows. “I hear teenage girls are terrible at listening to their parents. Not me of course, I was an angel.”

It was Charles’ turn to laugh as he curled his arm around your waist and closed his eyes. “An angel…I don’t think that was the word your mother used.”

Your yawn cracked your jaw before you said, “It’s a good thing I have matured since then.”

“Like fine wine, mon ange.” His nose brushed your cheek before he planted a sleepy kiss on your temple. “Bonne nuit.”

Exhaustion turned your tongue heavy as your body relaxed against his. “Goodnight, baby.”

Round 5 - Chinese GP

You wanted to smash your phone when the alarm went off in the middle of the night. The time on the screen said 7.30am but it was a lie. You had only been asleep for a few minutes from what the aches in your body indicated, not hours.

“The drivers parade is starting,” your mother called out from the lounge.

With a groan you pushed away the giant Squirtle you used as a body pillow and rolled to the edge of the bed before swinging your legs off. Just the small movement left you breathless as your lung capacity dropped and you hated the think what your VO2 levels would be like at this point.

“Can you hit record please?�� you yelled back before going to the bathroom. There was no way you were going to miss a moment of the days activities, even if it meant watching the pre-race grid walk after the race finished.

You made it to the couch in time to see Charles and Lando climb onto the trailer together and couldn’t help noticing the dark bags under their eyes. They matched yours. It was the first time being away from each other for so long that you were all finding it difficult to adjust and sleep. Video calls couldn’t replace touching them.

They would keep their phones with them until the very last moment when they climbed in the car so you grabbed yours and sent a quick message after reading the sweet good morning messages that came through while you were sleeping.

To Group Chat: Drive fast and keep it clean. I love you.

It took almost half a minute with the delay of live tv for them to pull their phones out before turning and waving to the camera with big smiles, Charles even blew a kiss.

The boys had promised an interesting race during their media interviews on Thursday. Everyone knew it was the first race without you there and they were going to make up for it by pushing their hardest for a win. As it turned out, Checo tried to go three wide into turn one with Max and George, causing a red flag and the retirement of all three cars.

You could practically see the fumes coming off your brother and you didn’t need to be a lip reader to know what he was saying when the camera panned to him in the garage. Maybe Checo would be the next to learn just how fast Red Bull can take away the seat they gave. He wouldn’t be the first and he definitely wouldn’t be the last.

“Eat your breakfast, it’s gone cold.”

The dish your mother made would still sit on the coffee table for another 37 laps but you couldn’t take your eyes off the screen. Charles was leading with Lewis in second place but you knew the Mercedes’ tyre degradation meant Lando would soon be able to overtake, and you weren’t even there to scream for them.

“I will soon,” you lied as you edged closer to the tv and saw the two cars enter the straight. “Get him baby…”

Lando’s rear wing opened, adding to the slipstream he was already getting from Lewis, and he pulled out to shoot past, diving onto his breaks in the corner and taking second place.

“Yes!!!” you screamed as you jumped to your feet.

“Don’t jump around too much, you might break your waters,” your mother warned as she pulled you back down into the couch cushions.

“But did you see that? That was perfect!”

Your mother smiled at your enthusiasm. “He did very well, but you need to calm down.”

Your nail beds were ruined by the time it came to pitting and they both went in on the same lap but Ferrari made a mistake and took a few key seconds to recover. It was just long enough for Lando to be released and get in front of Charles.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, nervously bouncing your knee as Lando defended against Charles. “I can’t watch. Mum, my heart can’t handle this…” She held your hand and you gripped it tight for the remaining laps.

“Go! Go! Go!” you screamed at the tv, leaping to your feet again as Lando finally crossed the finish line less than two seconds ahead of Charles. “YESSSS!!!”

You couldn’t keep still as you rubbed your belly and laughed exuberantly. “Daddy just won his first race! Holy shit, he did it!” You were giddier than the first time you won but he had waited so long for it after being robbed of the win in Sochi. “I can’t believe I’m not fucking there!”

“Language,” your mother reminded with a laugh. You turned to see she was recording your reaction and sent the video to the group chat with Lando and Charles.

“Oh please, she’s not even born, and that’s the least of her worries.”

Lando’s shouts over the team radio made you smile harder and he was still laughing and possibly crying by the time he pulled into the pit lane. “Yeah, baby, about fucking time! Woohoo!! Who’s your daddy?”

“Well done, mate, you deserve this.”

“Thanks, Jarv, are you crying?”

“I just got something in my eye.”

“Yeah me too.”

His car parked in the centre position but he couldn’t get out as sat in disbelief, his helmet dipped with his head. Charles was the first out and half hung into Lando’s cockpit as he embraced the winner. You couldn’t hear their exchange but you could imagine Charles telling him how proud he was before helping him climb out of his seat.

Lando jumped from the halo and into Charles’ arms before Carlos rushed in too after taking third place. You couldn’t help thinking it should have been you with them.

“What a way to take your first win,” Jenson said with a grin as he started the post race interview. “I guess there will be plenty to celebrate tonight. Any plans?”

“Mhmm,” Lando hummed as Charles joined him after his weigh-in. “Big plans. Important plans. We are heading straight to the airport and going home to celebrate with our wife.”

“Wife?” you asked aloud.

“Wife?” Jenson echoed.

“Uh, figure of speech, you know?” Lando chuckled, his neck turning pink at his mistake but he was so high on elation it had slipped out. “We have a baby on the way and our lives are built together. It doesn’t get more committed than that kind of thing.”

“So there haven’t been any secret nuptials we don’t know about?”

“No, not that we wouldn’t if we could but there’s kind of laws or something against it, or so my lawyers say.”

“Trust me, they’ve checked,” Charles added, but it was the first you had heard of it.

You were still thinking about that when they disappeared to the cool down room and when you watched them stand proudly on the podium, the British national anthem playing loudly. You were still thinking about it when they left the stage and the Sky presentation came to an end.

Click here for the next part.

[themotherofhorses]

pairing: aemond targaryen x handmaid!reader

summary: ...aemond realizes he’s fallen in love with his handmaid five months later as he stands outside his bedchamber.

warnings: explicit language. aemond's kinda horny but mainly a lovesick dude. steamy makeout session towards the end??

notes: welcome back to another short episode of "aemond targaryen being a total fucking simp for his handmaid bc vic is too damn obsessed with this pairing."

his handmaid's tales | main masterlist

Aemond realizes he’s fallen in love with his handmaid five months later as he stands outside his bedchamber.

Through the doors comes your soft voice from the inside, feminine and melodious, absolutely beautiful to him. It’s muffled by the thick walls, but he can hear the verse you sing to yourself. I loved a maid as fair as summer, he chants along in his head, with sunlight in her hair...

He sneaks a peek inside the room. You sit on the settee, crossed at the knee like a highborn lady, with an eyepatch in one hand and a thread and needle in the other. Aemond recognizes that one eyepatch at first glance. The sight tugs at his heartstrings. It was a favorite of his, a rare gift from his father on his thirteenth nameday. Viserys had his name embroidered along the inside in pretty cursive.

Aemond One-Eye.

Viserys’s smile was as brilliant and big as the blue summer sea. My boy…three-and-ten. How you’ve grown so fast before my very eyes.  

But the eyepatch grew too small for him as the years passed, and he hid it away, never wishing to see it again. His father now was nothing more than a half-decaying corpse still sitting the throne in pure mulishness, who hadn’t muttered his second son’s name in two long years. He doesn’t know how you found it, nor does he feel any slight bit of bother.

“I loved a maid as red as autumn, with sunset in her hair,” you hum next, turning the eyepatch around to thread the loop. Your feet are bare, pretty hair tousled, and the servant’s robe does little to veil your blinding beauty. His gaze focuses on your face. Your lips look pink and plump- ripe for him to kiss and bite and swallow in all the endless kisses he yearns to give you, and your eyes twinkle as bright as the midday sunlight.

I love a maiden as beautiful as all the seasons.

“I love a maiden as white as winter, with moonglow in her hair-”

He strolls into his bedchamber, striking you off guard, your singing breaking off abruptly. “My prince!” you exclaim, bolting up to slip your feet back into your shoes. “Oh, my sincerest apologies, my prince. I was told you would be gone for the better part of the day.” Amid your babbling, you drop the needle and thread onto the floor, “is there anything you need from me?”

He wanted to laugh.

“I had no notion that you had such a…lovely voice,” Aemond instead tells you, lacing his hands together behind his back. The compliment widens your eyes, and he hears how your breath hitches in your throat. You resemble a fairytale maiden, doe-eyed and flustered at the sight of her wooer. “I’m very sorry, my prince….”

“Do you sing a lot?”

You bite your lip, and it causes his cock to stir within his pants. No, no, stop that at once, he wishes to say aloud. Only I should be allowed to bite your luscious lips like that. All mine. “My mother sang to me as a little girl,” you admit, braving a faint smile up at him. “Sometimes, when I’m missing her, I sing. Perhaps it sounds a bit silly…but it makes me feel as if she is in the room with me.”

Aemond hums, nodding his head. He then looks down at the eyepatch within your hands, raising an eyebrow. “Pray tell where you found my old eyepatch. I swore I hid it well all those years ago…” and he hopes you catch the thin amusement in his tone.

“Oh…” you fall silent, unsure what to say next. “I was tidying up your desk and bookcase, my prince…I opened a drawer, I believe it was the second to last one to the left of the desk, and I found it there….” you glance at the eyepatch, running a finger over the black cloth patch, “-I thought, perhaps, it would be a nice surprise if I extended the straps so that you could wear it once again. It is very pretty!”

You hold it out for him to take. “Would you like to try it on? Just for me to check if I need to loosen it up some more.”

Aemond stiffens. “Perhaps later,” he says, a bit sullenly. “I do not like to take off my patch when others are still around. I’ve found that my missing eye is quite the…dreadful sight to many.” He clenches his jaw so tight he wonders if his teeth might shatter. But you just shake your head.

“My prince, believe me when I say that no such thing would ever terrify me.” Aemond could hear his brother snigger in the back of his mind, and he shifted uneasily. “I’m your handmaid. Please trust every word I tell you.” He remembers the cool night under the stars when he claimed Vhagar for himself, gazing out into the darkened sand dunes where she slept. Your smile is the warmth he needed.

He tilts his head, searching for any sign of deceit amongst your features. Gods, but you’re too damn beautiful for your own good, he thinks as he sighs and slides the patch from off his face.

Do not dare mock me…flinch…or run away…

But you just stare up at him, studying the dark sapphire he’s stuffed inside his missing socket. The skin stretched around it is rather uneven and tender and pinkish, and his healed scar cuts through his eyebrow. “May I, my prince?” you ask. He nods, and you gently trace the scar with your fingertip, up and down. Your touch is soft, and delicate, sending a shiver up his spine.

“You did not deserve this, believe me when I say that,” you whisper, and he feels your hot breath, “—you were just a boy….”

Gods be good, no one has ever told Aemond those words before. He does not know what to say, remaining silent and still.

Then, without warning, you stand on your tippy toes to kiss his cheek, your eyes shutting as your soft lips press against his skin.  

I love a maiden as beautiful as all the seasons.

“You are still handsome and strong and worthy, my prince,” you mumble, stroking his cheek, a smile flickering across your pink…plump…luscious lips and Aemond…

…Aemond pulls you flush against his chest, swathing an arm tight around your waist as the other tangles his fingers through your hair, his mouth slamming down on yours in a heavy and wet kiss that leaves your knees buckling beneath you. Kiss her. Take her. Make her yours. Your arms fly up to his neck as you sink into his grasp.

“She is yours. Your handmaid. Everything she does next is at your own will and mercy…but do treat her well, Aemond…it is through kindheartedness that you receive devotion.”

And he lays a kiss on your lips, and another, and another…and with them all, Aemond swears himself a man obsessed and blinded by love. He knows he will not survive this miserable, torturous life without you by his side. You, his precious handmaid- his maiden as beautiful as all the seasons.

By the time he lets you go, you’re breathless and dizzy and as giddy as a young girl. He gives you only a few more seconds before he kisses you again, flinging you onto his bed. “My prince…!” you cry out, bouncing as he begins to chuckle, swallowing the rest of your words in his mouth. “Oh, this is improper,” you gasp, toes curling as he pulls at your bottom lip, “it’s so….gods, it’s so wrong…I need to…I need…”

“Shhh,” he answers, kissing your nose and chin, and temple before your lips again. “You don’t leave this room unless I dismiss you, remember?”

tag list: @aemondsblog @dc-marvel-girl96 @neobanguniverse @missalycat21 @enchantingcupcakecollectionfan @padfooteyes @alexizodd @kravitzwhore

[filmmakerdreamst]

P.J.Hogan's 'Peter Pan' is still an underrated masterpiece 20 years later

Peter Pan is a live-action fantasy adventure film directed by P. J. Hogan that reimagines the classic story of Peter and Wendy. The screenplay was written by P. J. Hogan and Michael Goldenberg and was released in cinemas in December 2003. The screenplay is based on the 1904 play Peter Pan, or The Boy Who Wouldn’t Grow Upand the classic novel Peter Pan by J.M.Barrie, which was originally published under the title Peter and Wendy.

The film tells the story of a young Edwardian girl, Wendy Darling (Rachel Hurd-Wood) and her two younger brothers John and Michael. On the night she is told she must grow up, a wild, fairy-like boy called Peter Pan (Jeremy Sumpter) flies into her room with his high-maintenance fairy Tinkerbell. When he learns that she tells stories, he whisks Wendy and her two brothers away to a magical Island called Neverland — where you supposedly don’t “grow up” — so that she can mother his henchmen, the Lost Boys. There she fights pirates led by the evil Captain Hook (Jason Isaacs), meets mermaids, dances with fairies, falls in love and grows up.

I have strong family connections tied to Peter and Wendy and J.M.Barrie. My great, great uncle Nico was one of the sons of Sylvia Llewelyn Davies'. He and his other brothers "the Lost Boys" were adopted by J.M.Barrie; which ultimately inspired him to write Peter Pan. Nico’s daughter Laura — my cousin — who I met for the first time a few years ago, told me that she was flown to Australia for the filming of P.J. Hogan’s Peter Pan because she was J.M.Barrie’s goddaughter. She told me that she was thrilled with the cast, especially Jason Isaacs, who played Captain Hook and Mr Darling. She also mentioned that Jeremy Sumpter, who played Peter Pan, was a lovely boy. However, she said she was very surprised and sad that the film wasn’t a big success as she really liked what they did with the story. I have loved the fairytale of Peter Pan from a young age, and learning that I am literally part of the family that inspired the story was very exciting and I’ve only begun to internalise it more as I’ve grown older.

When I was in my mid-twenties, I was diagnosed with a high level of Autism. One of my main symptoms was labelled “ageless”, which in simple terms means that one half of me is still a child that I can’t mentally leave behind. I can’t do many things that most adults can do, such as pay bills, drive a car, look after my own well being etc. I flap my hands when I get excited. I bounce. I sometimes speak in a baby voice. I overcommit to things I enjoy. I admit that it was hard to come to terms with the diagnosis when I first received it. But over time, I’ve come to believe that the two can coexist in a healthy way. I believe that I am an adult who is able to develop and grow while still carrying the child within me, and that this is not seen as a bad thing. I think Peter and Wendy can be seen as a reflection of that.

I was first introduced to P.J. Hogan’s Peter Pan a few years after it was released (I was maybe nine or ten years old), and I absolutely loved it. It wasn’t only one of my favourite film adaptations, but one of my favourite movies of all time. What surprised me most about the film at that age was how dark and gruesome it was, and full of this underlying sexual tension that I hadn’t expected at all from Peter Pan. Even today, this film still has a special place in my heart. It is made with so much passion and love for the original text that I can automatically put myself back into the story. After watching the film again as an adult, I almost immediately opened my copy of Peter and Wendy and started reading. I would even go so far as to say that I prefer the film to the book. However, part of me wishes that the age rating had been set much higher, as the dark and gruesome moments were some of the strongest parts of the film adaptation. This is possibly why some critics and viewers had difficulty categorising the film at the time.

However, I often consider P.J.Hogan’s Peter Pan to be the same equivalent as Joe Wright’s Pride and Prejudice. (which came out a few years later in 2005, starring Keira Knightley and Matthew Macfadyen). The film moves at the same dreamlike pace. It is light, dark, colourful and deeply romantic.

I also often prefer P.J.Hogan’s Peter Pan to the 1953 Disney Animation of the same name, even though it’s the version I grew up with and liked. I find it much less straightforward and innocent. Also, the 2003 film is much closer to the original source material, which I loved reading as a teenager, and to J.M.Barrie’s original vision. The film manages to reflect the same intellectual subtext and depth of the novel while retaining the whimsy and magic.

Magical Realism

Peter Pan was a perfect blend of fantasy and realism. A lot of media these days focus too much on “realism” and make their sets and CGI look bland and washed out. It’s a common myth these days that no one likes whimsy anymore; it’s somehow seen as too childish. As a result, much of the magic of fantasy is lost. But in this Peter Pan, a lot of colour was used in the set design and cinematography. Everything was so brightly and colourfully lit. Most fantasy films these days, including the new live-action adaptation of Peter Pan and Wendy on Disney+, are all so gloomy and dark. You almost have to light up the screen to make out the actors’ facial expressions or what’s happening in the scene. But this film understands that a viewer who watches fantasy wants to be swept away, but also wants a certain amount of believability. Although the film contained a good amount of darkness, it did not shy away from being cartoonish either (which I think was partly inspired by the Disney animation), i.e. characters blushing or bouncing on the clouds.

The design of Neverland was breathtaking. I think the CGI, although criticised by some, made the island and creatures look more dreamy and fairytale-like. It was a good combination of CGI for the landscapes and real backdrops for the jungle, so there was enough magic and believability to transport the viewer into the story. A bright colour palette was used for the landscapes, while down-to-earth colours such as browns and greens were used on the ground, such as in “The Lost Boys Hide” under the tree, to give a sense of realism. The costume department also reflected this, from the majestic reds and blacks of the pirates, to the earthly colours of blue and red for the Native Americans, to the natural greens and browns of the Lost boys. I noticed that the colours in Neverland were used as a contrast to the Edwardian London back home, which is realistic but dull compared to the island.

One aspect I liked was that the lighting on Neverland always changed depending on the mood of the scene- unlike the naturalistic lighting on Earth. It was almost as if the island was a living being. For example, when there was a fight on the ship, the lighting was red. When Peter took Wendy to the mermaids, who were scary and frightening, the lighting was dark and blue. This created a surrealistic atmosphere, almost like a fever dream or a kind of nightmare.

Sometimes the environment changed depending on Peter Pan’s mood in the respective scene. I particularly liked how Peter Pan influenced the weather on Neverland. Just his mere presence when he flew to the island changed the entire atmosphere in an instant. His feelings also determined whether it was summer or winter. In other words, its suggested in the film that the longer he has been there, the more the island has become a part of him, so that he can no longer leave it. It’s almost as if the island has transformed him into a magical being.

The exuberant musical score by James Newton Howard: I’ll never forget that. I think that was one of the first movies I saw where I actively noticed the music because it was so brilliant. Even today, the “Flying” soundtrack still gives me goosebumps. It perfectly encapsulates the whimsy, joy and imagination of Peter and Wendy. I loved that there were always different variations. One of my favourite pieces from the movie is ‘Fairy Dance’, which starts off cheerfully and moves up and down depending on the characters’ conflict/what they’re saying in the scene.

Cast

The cast of this film adaptation was magnificent. The look of all the actors not only matched the book description, but also the mood, especially with the Darling family. One of the standouts was Olivia Williams as Mrs Darling. She captured the gentleness of the character perfectly. I also loved the new addition of Aunt Millicent, played by Lynn Redgrave. She fitted into the story so well that I was surprised not to find her in the novel. She had the perfect amount of ridiculousness and hilarity that suited J.M.Barrie’s style.

One particular member of the cast we can probably all agree on that was perfect, was Jason Isaacs, who played both Wendy’s father Mr Darling and Captain Hook. He was certainly a star in this film for sure. I just can not think of anyone who could play him better, especially in a live-action film adaptation. He was particularly good in the role of Captain Hook. When I first saw the film as a child, I did not know that Captain Hook and Mr Darling were played by the same person until my dad pointed it out to me because he was so good. I loved how they portrayed Wendy’s dad as shy and reserved, as opposed to Captain Hook who was flamboyant and sinister. Mirror versions of each other in different realities — that’s a common theme throughout the film. As Captain Hook, Jason Isaacs perfectly captured the essence of viciousness, deviousness and brutality that was necessary for the character. But also the deep loneliness and frustration behind it all. I have seen a quote that was supposedly cut from the film (and never should have been) that provides so much context for his hatred of Peter Pan:

“Imagine a lion in a cage and into that cage flies a butterfly. If the lion was free, it would pay no heed to such creature. But the lion is not free…and so the butterfly drives him slowly insane.” — Captain Hook

They did a really good job of showing how Peter Pan and Captain Hook are mirror images of each other. Peter Pan is a child who secretly wants to be an adult, while Captain Hook is an adult who secretly wants to be a child. Both fight each other for different reasons, but the goal is the same. For example, there is a great scene towards the end where Captain Hook uses his wits to defeat Peter in a fight. Here it becomes clear that there is deep symbolism for the inevitability of adulthood and the loss of childhood. Jason Isaacs really showed off his acting talent here. I liked that he wasn’t portrayed as a “dumb villain”, which he easily could have been.

There were also some great performances among the adults. Most notable was Richard Briers as the ‘pirate’’ Smee. But the child actors, especially the lost boys, really held the movie together. Their solid performances made it so believable that the island was ruled by children. I loved Theodore Chester as Slightly. He was very charming and funny in that role.

Another member of the cast I thought was brilliant was Carsen Grey, an indigenous actress of Haida descent, who played Princess Tiger Lily. I liked that they let her speak her ancestral language, Mohican, in this film. Although this film came out in the early 2000s, it is the only version of Peter and Wendy in which Native Americans are neither erased nor white-washed even though the representation is far from great. Considering how they’re treated in the novel, it’s perhaps for the best overall that they limited some of their scenes. However, I liked how firey she was in this adaptation and not the damsel in distress she was portrayed as in the Disney animation. I think it was a wise decision to cut the infatuation she had with Peter Pan, as it was really just one line in the book that would have added unnecessary drama, and all in all, it would have fallen short if all the female characters were jealous of each other.

They also downplayed Tinkerbell’s jealousy in this regard, portraying it more as her trying to protect Peter Pan’s youth from romantic advances, as hinted at in the novel, and also being sad that Wendy is attracting all of Peter Pan’s attention. Ludivine Sagnier has, in my opinion, succeeded well in making Tinkerbell equally repulsive and endearing, as befits the character.

Wendy Darling

Rachel Hurd-Wood was the perfect cast for the role of Wendy Darling.I was actually surprised to learn that this was her first film role ever, because she was a natural. She effortlessly possessed the same caring nature and charm that makes Wendy so endearing. She is exactly how I imagine the character when I read the story. When people talk about Peter and Wendy, they always mention Tinkerbell, Pan or Hook, but personally I am always drawn to Wendy. She is the real heroine of the story. After all, she was the main reason for Peter to bring her and her brothers to Neverland.

What always amazes me about Wendy’s role in the story is the fact that Wendy literally doesn’t spend much time being a “child” in the time she spends in Neverland. When she’s not escaping death at the hands of mermaids or pirates, she acts as a mother to the ‘lost boys’ and her brothers. She asks herself what she really wants from life. In comparison, she was allowed to behave more like a child at home in Edwardian London. Neverland is not a place where you never grow up. It’s the place where she chooses to grow up. Many people have described Neverland as a manifestation of Wendy’s subconscious as a result of trauma, and I’ve never found that to be more true in this adaptation.

One of the reasons why I think P.J. Hogan’s Peter Pan is the best adaptation of the novel is the fact that the film revolves around Wendy’s coming of age. I loved that they expanded on her love of storytelling and also gave her a tomboyish streak. Instead of just being on the sidelines, she’s able to get involved and fight pirates while retaining many of her feminine traits such as her maternal instincts and romantic feelings for Peter. She makes mistakes and sometimes gets dragged into things she knows she shouldn’t do. But in the end, she triumphs.

In many film adaptations of Peter and Wendy that I have seen, Wendy is either only present in passing or not at all. Characters like Peter Pan, Captain Hook and Tinkerbell always take centre stage, which I think is a strange decision as they are part of Wendy’s story and not the other way around. Peter Pan is meant to metaphorically represent the childhood she does not want to give up (which is why the character is always played by a woman in the original play, as he is a mirror image of Wendy). And Captain Hook (J.M.Barrie also wanted him to be played by the same actor as Mr Darling) represents the dark side of her father, or rather what she imagines adulthood to be. This is particularly emphasised in this film adaptation because he is an important factor in her being told to grow up. The father, the concept of adulthood, and Peter Pan, her childhood, are at constant war with each other.

“You’re not supposed to be like Peter, who kept every good and bad aspect of being a child and can’t tell right from wrong. You’re not supposed to be Hook, either. He let go of everything childish and loving about him and became bitter and evil..You’re supposed to fall in the middle, to hold onto the things about childhood that make it beautiful — the wonder, the imagination, the innocence — while still growing up and learning morality and responsibility. You’re not supposed to be Hook. You’re not supposed to be Peter Pan. You’re supposed to be Wendy Darling.” — @maybe-this-time

The 2023 film Peter Pan and Wendy took a different approach, by making Wendy a kind of powerhouse who always saved the day and outshone Peter Pan overall. In my opinion, the 2003 film adaptation emphasised very well that Wendy really is the yin and yang. She's allowed to be romantic, be rescued by others and at the same time determine her own destiny and stand up for herself. Because that’s what her journey in the adaptation is all about. She is pressured by all the adults in her life to grow up. She allows herself to be seduced with the prospect of an eternal childhood by Peter Pan. Then she realises that it is not self-fulfilling. She is tempted by Captain Hook with the concept of adulthood. And finally, she finds a balance between these two extremes on her own terms. By the end of the film, Wendy has made her peace with growing up while still remaining a child at heart. That requires a certain mental strength that we should all strive for.

Peter Pan and Wendy Darling

In most adaptations of Peter and Wendy, such as Hook and Syfy’s Neverland, the focus is on the title character Peter. In the more recent film adaptation Peter Pan and Wendy, the focus is on Wendy. This film adaptation of Peter and Wendy, on the other hand, sticks more closely to the original source material, as the story focuses on Peter and Wendy’s relationship. This is perhaps the reason why I always hesitate when I watch other adaptations, because these two characters are supposed to go together. It’s definitely a relationship that can be portrayed in all sorts of ways because they are symbolically the same person.

Although there is no romance between Peter and Wendy in either the original novel or the play, Wendy quickly develops romantic feelings for Peter which, as a prepubescent child, he does not consciously reciprocate as he has no concept of love other than that of a mother’s. Although Peter cares deeply for her, he ultimately only longs for her to be the maternal figure that is missing in his life. One could go into the symbolism that Peter and Wendy are one and the same, and that this is an expression of Wendy learning to love herself. But in a literal sense, J.M.Barrie had unintentionally created this very strong potential between the two characters. And I personally feel if your'e going to make an adaptation of Peter and Wendy that potential needs to be explored in some way, even if it’s not necessarily romantic.

Hogan recognised this potential and developed the romantic elements, e.g. ‘the “thimble” from the novel, into a very real and tangible plot. In other adaptations, Peter and Wendy’s relationship is rather one-sided. But in P.J. Hogan’s film adaptation, however, it is not at all. Over the course of the film, Peter and Wendy fall deeply in love with each other.

Rachel Hurd-Wood and Jeremy Sumpter had a remarkable on-screen chemistry for young actors, which helped give the adaptation its own identity. Whenever they interacted on screen as Peter and Wendy, it was — like the glittering pixie dust of Tinkerbell — simply magical. The off-screen chemistry between the two definitely helped make the romance so believable as well. When I was younger, I didn’t like romantic subplots in family films. I personally found that they clogged up the main plot because the “romance” tended to be very one-dimensional- but Peter and Wendy in the 2003 film version were simply enchanting.

In the original novel, J.M.Barrie alludes to the possibility of a romance between the two. In the film adaptation, they go all out. Their love story was written so beautifully and profoundly, while staying true to the original text and J.M.Barrie’s themes. This made the conflict hinted at in the novel of “staying in Neverland with Peter or growing up on Earth with Wendy” even more poignant and relevant, because in reality there was only ever one option. They couldn’t find a way to have both. That made the ending even more “heartbreaking” for me as a child, because even though they had the chance to be happy together, she couldn’t give up on growing up to stay. And he couldn’t give up being a child to leave, even though it was a natural progression for him.

Peter Pan

Jeremy Sumpter delivered a fantastic performance as Peter Pan. Not only did he perfectly match the illustrations, but he also managed to perfectly capture the essence of the charismatic, mischievous little boy from the novel. What’s more, of all the versions I have seen so far, he is by far the most accurate, right down to the clothes made of skeleton leaves, the dirty fingernails, the feral mannerisms, the traumatised soul behind the charm and the downright creepy insinuations. By today’s standards, you could almost take Peter Pan for a grown man who consciously decides not to behave like this.

However, when I watch the film again as an adult, I can now understand why he has reservations about growing up in Edwardian England and would rather remain a “child” in Neverland forever. As Peter says in the film, “Would they send me to school? And then to an office?” I feel like most of us today have so many choices as we get older, but back then it was much more limited. The choices were very restricted in that “heterosexist” environment. You could only be a certain thing, and it was much harder to hold on to the pleasures of life. I can now also understand the initial reactions of Michael and John to Peter: He must have seemed scandalous to people at the time. His bright colours, his inappropriate clothing and his behaviour are repulsive to the boys, but Wendy is immediately fascinated and attracted.  I think it was a deliberate choice that he is the only character with an American accent to set him apart from the rest of the cast; to emphasise the wildness of the character and his non-conformity to the people of Edwardian London.

Another small aspect I liked was the suggestion that the Lost Boys, although they lived with Peter and obeyed his commands, lived in constant fear of him and did not worship him as in other adaptations. (A fear that is justified as Peter tries to kill them more than once in the film). What the 2003 film adaptation captured perfectly about Peter's character was: how terrible of a person he really is. Peter Pan is a hero when he goes on adventures and fights pirates. You could argue — via the quote “Leave Hook to me” (which Peter says to her in the film) — that Peter is Wendy’s split self who can fight her father (Captain Hook) for her, just like antibodies do with germs when we can’t handle them ourselves.

However, when it comes to understanding emotions, caring about others, even his henchmen, the Lost Boys, and doing anything that inconveniences him, Peter Pan is possibly as bad as Captain Hook. This makes Wendy’s decision to leave him all the more powerful. Although she was initially seduced by his adventurous life, she soon realises that his “life” of joy and adventure is not fulfilling at all. Because in reality, there is no real joy. There is no real adventure. In reality, his life is empty because it is not earned. In addition, she realises that she is gradually losing her memory of the outside world, including her parents - a sign that she is “slowly awakening from the dream”. This leads Wendy to realise that she wants more than what he can give her in Neverland (e.g. romantic love) and decides to leave. Being alive means feeling, accepting and growing. However, as long as Peter remains a boy, he can never truly be alive. Peter Pan conveyed this important message, whereas earlier film adaptations, including the Disney animation, did not.

One of the reasons why good adaptations of Peter and Wendy are so hard to come by, especially in this day and age, is not only because they adapt a performative story that exists in layers of subtext. They also work with a protagonist who doesn’t change. Who doesn’t develop in any way, neither negatively nor positively. Not even just physically, but also mentally. (Even Eli from Let the Right One In, the child vampire, changes in the course of the story). At the end of day, Peter Pan is ultimately there to serve someone else’s story. It works in a fairy tale format. But it doesn’t usually translate very well to the screen because it often leads to one-dimensional storytelling. Even if it seems so natural, it doesn’t come naturally.

However, this adaptation allows Peter Pan to grow. The writers expanded on the small aspect from the book, which is the moment when Wendy enters Peter’s life; he begins to feel emotions. Not just love. But anger. Fear. Sadness. Pain. Disgust. And above all: self-awareness. Almost like a version of puberty in condensed time, as if the change suddenly caught up with his body. When Wendy brings this up, Peter immediately rejects it out of fear. I think most of us can all relate to this when we were in the midst of growing into a young adult. We experience feelings that are scary and new, that we can’t yet fully understand or even want to. For Peter Pan, falling in love is exactly what he is afraid of: growing up and no longer being a child. This adds to an interesting conflict that arises between the two when she asks him to leave with her.

“The thing about Peter Pan is, he’s a coward. Had the chance of a lifetime and he bottled it. Just fucked off back to Neverland. All alone, forever he was, by his own hand. Poor old Wendy, she had to grow old without him.” — Skins, 6x07 “Alo”

In the original novel, the reason Wendy can’t take Peter Pan with her (apart from the fact that he refuses to grow up) is the same reason Lyra in His Dark Materials can’t take Pan — the animal manifestation of her soul — on the boat to the land of the dead. She has to split in order to grow up and leave a part of herself behind. She can’t keep both in order to move on. But that does not mean I always agree with the ending either. In which Peter remains a child and takes Wendy’s future descendants to Neverland and back to look after him. It leaves an icky aftertaste, but at least it fits in with the story J.M. Barrie wanted to tell.

Even though the adaptation conveys the same message, that Peter Pan is the manifestation of Wendy’s youth, even to the end. In this version of Peter Pan, that is no longer the case. By the end of the film, the way he holds himself is different. The way he looks wistfully through the open window and solemnly says, “To live would be an awfully big adventure,” : a sign of self-awareness, while Wendy happily reunites with her family. So much so that Tinkerbell has to pull him by the hair to stop him from joining them and reconsidering his decision. Peter is now old enough to know that he loves Wendy. Maybe he’s also mature enough to know what he’s missing, but he knows he can’t have her the way he wants, so he does the most selfless thing he’s ever done in the whole film by letting her go.

There is no such conflict at the end of the 1953 Disney animated film. Peter Pan is described by Wendy as “wonderful”. In reality, everyone else gets their happy ending, except him, because he deliberately chooses not to. Peter Pan very much turns himself into a tragic figure because he is afraid of the most natural thing in the world. He is afraid of life. And I feel like this version of the story knew that and expressed it strongly, which makes me conflicted now as an adult. I’ve seen endings like this before, where two people fall in love but do not end up together because they grow apart or they are both interested in different things, and it’s very important to reach those points in different ways. It very much reflects real life and is also reminiscent of first love. How that love never really fades. It reminds you of simple times, even when you’ve grown up and moved on. That a part of you is still at that age when you look back on it. These endings happen because people grow — which Peter Pan does not.

“Peter in the books lives in oblivious tragedy. He may suspect that he’s not fully happy, but he tends to forget about it… yet this Peter doesn’t… Wendy leaving him and growing up to be a wife of another man is his unhappy thought…It’s the loss of innocence since Peter could not forget this…It’s the process of growing up…all but confirms that Peter’s character arc in the film is one of accepting the fact he too must grow up to be happy.” —  @rex-shadao

And I think that’s the real reason why his character is both the strongest and the weakest part of the adaptation. The writers didn’t make it clear enough that Peter Pan forgets in their version of the character. In the novel, Peter Pan forgets everything automatically, which is why he can exist in this limbo of childhood and not go mad. However, as mentioned earlier, this version of Peter Pan is old enough to remember and, more importantly, to feel. Even though he is the closest to J.M. Barrie’s original vision, unlike his counterpart in the book, he is capable of evolving. That’s why the ending sometimes feels strange to me as an adult.

It was hard to say why I had a strange feeling at first, but I realised that a lot of my mixed feelings stemmed from having seen the film adaptation fresh after reading the novel. Since Peter Pan fully reciprocates Wendy’s love in this version, he ends up being a different character than in the book, which is why I now disagree with them keeping the original ending instead of having him grow up with Wendy. It would symbolise that childhood can co-exist with adulthood, that you don’t have to leave a part of yourself behind. That you can be your true and complete self if you find the balance between the two extremes.

The original ending still works however, in all its bittersweetness. I know what it means and understand what it stands for. Wendy basically says goodbye to her childhood and promises never to forget it. There’s a reason it made such an impression on me when I was younger. It could just be because I’m trying to pick up all the pieces of my broken heart from the floor. But personally, as an adult, I just find it weaker compared to the novel. Sometimes I like to imagine an ending to this version of the story where Peter Pan comes back, having quickly realised that he has outgrown Neverland, but doesn’t meet Wendy again until they are both much older, at a time when Wendy is coming to terms with womanhood and the idea of marriage. Or she even meets his real earth counterpart (if we were to delve into the psychology of Neverland being Wendy’s dream). And their relationship is subjected to the natural test of time and growth.

Peter Pan is an almost perfect adaptation. It matches the humour, the tone and the vision of J.M.Barrie. But I can certainly understand why the film didn’t do so well at the box office. In the month it was released, there was an unfair amount of competition, namely the film Lord of the Rings — The Return of the King. And as an adult, I can now understand why it’s not the film people think of or remember when it comes to Peter Pan adaptations. And it’s not just because it doesn’t fit the elfish, jolly trickster persona that Disney has created.

The film adaptation suffers more from what it doesn’t do — such as maintaining a stable tone and consistent editing — than from what it does. It’s one of those films that would have benefited from being much longer. That way, the inconsistent tone and some of the rushed parts of the adaptation would be much more balanced. It feels like it was missing an extra twenty minutes. For example, the film is narrated by an older version of Wendy, but without the deleted ending where it becomes properly clear that it’s her telling the story to tie everything together, the ending feels a little abrupt. Say what you will about Tim Burton’s adaptation of the Series of Unfortunate Events, but the audience could see where the film’s narration was coming from the whole time. I think if they knew the alternate ending wasn’t going to work (that scene is a classic example of something working well in the novel but not in the film), they should have removed the narrator altogether with the deleted ending and adjusted the film accordingly. They should have extended some scenes so that parts of the film weren’t rushed, such as the introduction, and the story would have been left more up to interpretation as there was no voiceover throughout.

Despite its weaknesses, P.J.Hogan’s Peter Pan is still an underrated masterpiece 20 years later. It is an irresistible film that captivates and warms the heart. The film adaptation has certainly stood the test of time, staying true to the original while adding its own flavour to the story. It is full of magic, wonder and heart. It was clearly made by people who loved the origins of the story and explored where they came from, while also digging deep into the text to reshape the character arcs in a fresh and meaningful way. They succeed in capturing J.M.Barrie’s original message, which is that growing up is a natural progression of life, but that doesn’t mean leaving childhood behind entirely. That it is important to maintain a healthy balance between the two: Taking responsibility while appreciating the joys of life. From the vibrant colour palette to the goosebump-inducing music to the solid performances and gorgeous chemistry between Jeremy Sumpter and Rachel Hurd-Wood, my love for this adaptation will never end, no matter how old I am.

[epiphany-of-a-madwoman]

To Dream of Home | D. Targaryen

▹ Pairing: Daenerys Targaryen x Stark!Reader

▹ Genre: Fluff with mentioned Angst

▹ Words: ~2.5k

▹ Summary: A storm at Dragonstone brings you and Daenerys together and allows for confessions of love to slip.

▹ Note: I am very gay, that is all. My love for the Targaryen's has returned and y'all are gonna be sick of me.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

A storm raged on the island of Dragonstone. 

Charcoal skies were dappled with thick silver-black clouds that brought the heavy rains that shook the keep. Roaring thunder and electric blue lightning. Treacherous seas and a storm that could rival the vengeance of a god. The inhabitants of Dragonstone seemed acclimated to the severe weather.

You, however, were used to winter winds and thick snowfall. Not devastating rain and earth rattling thunder. Sleep eluded you which led you to where you were now. Locked away in a small room near your chambers, you made a makeshift altar upon your arrival to Dragonstone with your half-brother Jon.

“You spend an awful amount of time here.” 

The voice cut through the silence, an intrusion of your time of peace. Kneeled before the makeshift altar you’d created, a half dozen flickering candles illuminated the center of your face and carved shadows on the contours of it. Wordlessly, you finished the final verses of your prayer before lifting your lowered head and turning to face the intruder. 

At the doorway, not daring to cross into the room without permission, was Daenerys. Her hesitance to intrude was strange, seeing as Dragonstone was her keep you were a guest in.

Her hair was loose, waves cascading over her shoulder and down her back. The curls and creases left by her braids were the only reminders they’d been there. She wore dressing robes in hues of blue, embroidered flowers and designs following the curve of her body. She was beautiful in an ethereal kind of way. It was the type of beauty you half expected to be a facade, that one day you would wake to find Daenerys had only ever existed in your mind. 

“I find the prayer soothing,” you responded, slowly standing. Your legs were sore from kneeling on the hard stone too long. There was a crick in your neck that tinged painfully if you turned your head too far left or too far right. Yet you did your best to keep a grimace from your expression. The last thing you needed was Daenerys thinking it was her presence you found unpleasant and not the needling pain in your body. 

“Do you pray often?” She shifted her head, causing tendrils of silvery hair to move from over her shoulder to rest along her back. Violet eyes stared at you curiously, lips pursed in an almost grin. She hardly seemed to smile, the oppressive halls of Dragonstone mimicking the impending war for the Iron Throne. 

“I do, yet I do not believe the gods are listening,” you muttered the last part quietly, followed by a deep breath. 

You glanced towards the candles and the altar, recounting every moment you’d spent kneeling before ones just like it. The years had been unkind, the horrors only growing worse as the years passed. It had shaped you into the woman you were today, hardened by deaths you never should’ve witnessed. Yet there was a part of the ten-year-old girl that still lived within you, that believed the gods were listening and that if you prayed hard enough, they would grant your wishes. 

“I never did much praying as a child, my brother didn’t see the point.” Her eyes moved past you, staring at the makeshift altar. Lit by the dim light of the room, you could see a hint of melancholy that tinged her violet eyes blue. Your gaze lowered to the ground at the mention of her brother, her upbringing so different than yours had been.

Northerners were as harsh and cold as the winter winds they grew up in, but beneath all the cold, austere facades your family was as warm as the hearth in the great hall. You’d grown up with a family who loved and cared for you. Whispers of Viserys’ anger reached even the North, his grief twisted into madness. 

Both parties may have passed, but at least you had your family's love to hold onto during the darkest nights. Daenerys had no such thing. Nothing but the hope of reclaiming her family’s stolen valor as a light in the night. 

“If you want, we could pray together.” Her attention returned to you. “It may help you sleep through the storm.”

Daenerys pondered your offer for a moment before accepting with a single nod. She crossed the threshold into the room, her gown following her like a cloak. You returned to the kneeling position you were in before, Daenerys taking her place beside you. 

“Some people believe there are specific words you have to use, that then have to be said in a specific order or the gods won’t care. But I don’t believe that, I allow my feelings to guide my prayers. Perhaps that’s why the gods aren’t answering me, but I feel better that way.” 

Daenerys nodded, watching you with such attentive eyes you had to look away in fear of the flush that would appear on your face. “Do you say them out loud?”

“Sometimes, but mostly I just mentally recite them. It feels like it's my own secret that way.” There was a hint of coyness in your voice that made a smile appear on the corners of Daenerys’ lips. 

Silence fell over the room, only the roar of thunder and the patter of rain to be heard. The candles continued to burn, the wax melting and staining the stone flooring. There was a single window in the room, a flash of lightning filling it with pale blue light. Subconsciously, your eyes moved to Daenerys’ side profile. 

Her eyes were shut and her lips slightly parted. She looked so soft and innocent, and you wondered if this was who she could’ve stayed if not for the rebellion that harshened her worldview. What would she have become if she didn’t have to fight tooth and nail every moment of her life just to survive? The quiet of the room and the soft curves of her face allowed you to imagine just how different she may be in a different lifetime. 

Your eyes had lingered on her too long, you knew, but you couldn’t look away. Your heartbeat had sped up, butterflies fluttering in your stomach. She’d always made you feel giddy like a child, but now that there was no chaos to distract you. It was easier to hone in on the feelings she elicited from you. And perhaps you shouldn’t entertain them, but a small sliver of hope kept you holding on. 

The weight of your gaze must’ve been heavy because Daenerys lifted her closed eyes from the floor and met your gaze. Her expression was unreadable, but you could’ve sworn her eyes flickered to your lips before meeting your eyes. 

“What did you pray for?” The words fell from your tongue before you could consider how invasive they could be. But she didn’t seem offended, a small blossoming on her face as another streak of lightning filled the room. It made her skin glow, making her look even more otherworldly. 

“I prayed for home.”

Her answer sent a pang of sadness that was surely reflected in your eyes. She brought dragons back to the world and freed the slaves of Slaver’s Bay while uniting the Dothraki under one banner and making them cross the sea for the first time ever. So many fantastical acts were done because of her, it was easy to forget behind it all was just a scared girl. She could make herself of steel and ice, but underneath it all would always be flesh. 

“I pray for home as well,” you uttered. 

She raised a brow, non-verbally asking you to elaborate. Her expression was so attentive, like a sponge ready to soak up whatever information you may present to her.

How could you possibly ever deny her?

“I very much wish to return to the North. The short days and long nights, the air that was sharp with a bitter chill. Grey skies and white grounds. Snowflakes that fell into my mouth as Theon and Robb chased me to the edge of the woods. The sky was bleak and void of color, but the hearths in the Great Hall made light dance in the keep, mead keeping everyone warm and merry.”

The smile on your face was tinged with melancholia, the grief making your body lock up and freeze. Those days were long gone, and you could never return to them. That didn’t stop you from wishing for it, however.

To hope that one day you might wake up and find this had all been a terrible dream. Your mother and father were still alive, Robb was preparing to become Lord of Winterfell; Arya and Sansa would continue to bicker and Jon would join the Night’s Watch to make something of himself. Everything would be right and war wouldn’t cast a shadow far darker than that of the worst winter storms. 

But those were the wishes of a naive child, the life you were in is the life you’re stuck with. But perhaps in another lifetime, you got to live out every fantasy and forgotten dream.

“That sounds beautiful.”

Daenerys’ voice pulled you from your reminiscing, your eyes wandering back to hers.

“It was.” 

“And yet you left Winterfell to come here with your brother?” 

You swallowed thickly. Winterfell had become a bittersweet place. Walking the Great Hall felt as if you were in a haunted house. The ghosts of past memories lingered in every corner, the echoes of laughter you’d never hear again filling your head. The relief being home had brought you had been short-lived, the weight of the betrayal of Theon and the Bolton’s tainting it. 

Winterfell wasn’t home anymore. 

“I--” you stuttered, unsure of just how to put your feelings into words. How do you tell someone that your home doesn’t feel like home anymore? How do you explain everything you had fought for felt empty in the end? It didn’t lift your pain or mend the scars of the past years. Instead, it ripped over the scabs and left you bleeding in the snow. 

“I don’t know if Winterfell is my home anymore.”

Daenerys hummed, nodding her head. Her expression was solemn and in her eyes, you saw understanding. She knew all too well the conflicting sentiment of fighting for something you may not want in the end. 

“When I was a girl, Viserys and I lived in a house in Braavos with a red door and lemon tree outside my window. It was the closest thing to home I’d had.” 

Subtly, you scooted closer to Daenerys, eager to unravel more of her elusive past. She hardly spoke of her life with Viserys, most of the memories too painful to reminisce on. And maybe, just maybe, her vulnerability was a sign that your feelings weren’t so unrequited. 

“What was it like?” You prod for her to speak more on her time in Braavos, enraptured by the glimmer in her eyes. 

“It was a beautiful house and so large, at least it seemed large at the time. There was even a room with a wooden beam with animal faces carved in it. I had my own room and a window to peer outside. I’d sit there for hours, watching the sunrise and the sunset.”

Her hand rested on the floor, and tentatively, you reached over and placed your hand over hers. You half expected her to brush you off, but instead, she leaned closer to you. Shoulder to shoulder, you could smell the floral oils her hair had been washed with. 

“What happened to it?” 

She sighed, eyes wandering back to the altar. “Our patron passed and the servants sent us away. But even after all these years, I still long to return. To escape to the innocence of my youth.”

A beat of silence passed, Daenerys longing words hanging in the air. 

“We could always return.”

Daenerys turned, meeting your gaze. Inches separated your face from hers, and this close up, you could see the faint freckles that created constellations on her skin. 

“And if it’s no longer standing?” 

Your heart stuttered as you hesitated on your next words. It was now or never, the time to lay your cards on the table and learn if your hope was delusional. 

“We could build a new one with a lemon tree just outside the bedroom. I’m not much of a widdler, but I could try to carve new animal faces in the wooden beams in all the rooms.”

For a moment Daenerys doesn’t speak, doesn’t even seem to breathe. Her eyes are locked with yours, wide and unblinking. Nerves begin to create a thousand cuts in your mind, perhaps you’d been too forward in your confession. 

“And you would stay with me?”

She wanted to hear you say it, to verbalize you’d never leave her side, not willingly. 

“I’m not much for the heat, but I could learn to love it to never leave your side.”

She exhaled a small puff of air, a smile lighting up her face. The apples of her cheeks were rounded and rosy, violet eyes twinkling like the stars in the sky. The sudden impulse to run your fingers through her hair came over you. And you acted on it, gently carding your fingers through the silver-gold strands of hair. 

“Then perhaps we meet in the middle and build our house with the red door in a more temperate climate.” 

She leaned closer, the tips of your noses brushing. 

“We could make our home on the mountainside? It would leave plenty of room for the dragons,” you suggested. Daenerys smiled, the whisper of a laugh leaving her mouth. The sound was the sweetest melody you’d ever heard. You’d never wanted to stop hearing it. 

“And direwolves?” 

“Maybe one or two.” 

You cut off whatever Daenerys may have replied with, placing your lips against hers. The kiss was gentle as if to seal the promise you’d made. She smiled into it, her hands weaving themselves around your neck. You pulled her closer, practically pulling her into your lap; you’d wanted her as close as possible. To bask in the warmth radiating from her body and the softness of her skin under your fingertips. 

Perhaps things would’ve been different in another lifetime, where Daenerys got to be the princess she should’ve been and you the daughter of a very much alive Ned Stark. But perhaps in those lifetimes you and Daenerys would never be more than passing acquaintances. She'd be the princess of the kingdom and you the lady-daughter of the Warden of the North. 

This lifetime felt like trying to sail through a storm and Daenerys was the lighthouse guiding you to the shore. The death and loss had been painful, but it all led you to this moment with Daenerys. It nearly made the events of the past years worth it.

"Let's win this war so we can build our silly little house," you muttered against her lips, eliciting another laugh from Daenerys before she placed her lips on yours again.

You would give Daenerys her house with the red door and the lemon tree outside, no matter the cost.   

[betweengenesisfrogs]

A HOMESTUCK MANIFESTO

I want to think about what comes next after Homestuck.

That’s a challenge to the world as much as a personal mission statement.

I want to see writers and artists and creators making the next Homestuck, taking its themes and binding them into new fabrics, giving life to new creatures even more beautiful and uncanny than the original species.

I hunger to see new forms of story and image evolving with Homestuck in their DNA.

This process is already underway. Homestuck is a massive boulder dropped into the waters of culture, and the full wake of its ripples is still to be felt. But let’s call attention to this process and ask: what would happen if we engaged in it more consciously? If we sifted through our feelings about Homestuck to create something new, deliberately, with great and wonderful purpose?

The tools we need are within our grasp. Homestuck presents itself as magic, but it’s a work constructed in time out of specific storytelling choices. So let’s understand those choices. Let’s understand how Homestuck did what it did, and use Homestuck’s tools to build art that grips the soul of future generations as strongly as Homestuck did ours.

What follows is not a traditional literary analysis. It does not cite its sources; it does not seek to give us a comprehensive understanding of Homestuck. If it does, it does so only to the extent it suits its larger purpose.

Our goal here, our quest, if you will, is not to understand the Homestuck that exists, but the Homestuck that comes next.

Let's begin.

0. THE WILD GARDEN

Let’s lay the absolute groundwork here.

Homestuck is constructed as a re-appropriation of itself. Or to put it another way, it’s a big improvisational move, a process of “yes and”-ing so hard it develops a sprawling continuity.

Tiny details are constantly re-contextualized to become part of something else. A joke might turn tragic. A silly aside might turn into something profound.

But it didn’t have to be that way.

It’s crucial to understand that what we experience as continuities were in fact choices made at specific times. Homestuck is a garden where seeds were scattered in every direction, grown en masse, then weeded down to create patterns and forms.

The shape of the garden is designed to conceal the gardener’s hand. But the gardener’s choices are there, every step of the way.

If we are to follow in its footsteps, what choices should we make?

Let’s talk about themes.

1. THE MEANING CRISIS

Nobody in Homestuck knows what they’re doing.

And neither do we.

All the old idols have broken down. The values we were taught in our childhood fail to measure up to the problems of the world we live in. We grasp after careers and lives we were told would make us happy and wonder why we’re left empty. The selves that we were told were us now fit us about as well as clothing we’ve outgrown. Crises loom, political, economic and environmental, and everywhere it feels like the people who are supposed to guide and lead us aren’t doing enough.

It's widening gyres and slouching beasts all the way from here to Bethlehem, is what I’m saying.

The reason people go absolutely insane for Homestuck is that it depicts this crisis of meaning. It shows the questions we might want to ask, and attempts to provide some kind of answer.

The protagonists of Homestuck struggle with what I’ve called “received narrative.” That is, they’ve inherited stories from their families, from the world, that they try to use to define their lives, and it doesn’t work. But these stories are so familiar that it’s hard to think outside them. They have to develop new stories by which to live. Sometimes they succeed, but other times they can’t escape the gravity of the ones they were given.

With me so far?

Great. Now understand that all this was improvised and discovered largely accidentally over the course of ten years.

Here’s a seed that became quite an impressive tree:

The streets are empty. Wind skims the voids keeping neighbors apart, as if grazing the hollow of a cut reed, or say, a plundered mailbox. A familiar note is produced. It's the one Desolation plays to keep its instrument in tune.

It’s a joke. But it was never just a joke. There’s an idea here of dissatisfaction with the stereotypical idea of American suburban life. Egbert here is looking for something more, dissatisfied for reasons they can’t fully articulate. This is typical fantasy protagonist stuff, but there’s something more here, too.

Eventually it’s redirected towards the idea that there really is an unseen riddler. But let’s put that aside for now.

This page, in its moment, says: your life is not the full picture. There’s something else out there, waiting, that’s going to change everything.

That's a potential set-up for a very powerful payoff. It gives us the sense that Egbert and all their friends are going to have to rethink what they know. That this suburban life is not going to be enough for them, that somehow or other they’re going to encounter something they aren’t prepared for, and they’ll have to find a new way of acting and being. That, try as they might to avoid it, they’re going to change over the course of this journey.

But to understand how they change, we need to talk about SBURB.

2. THE PORTAL FANTASY OF IT ALL

A lot of people like to joke that Homestuck is an isekai. I think it might clarify things to use the term portal fantasy instead.

Portal fantasy is simply the fantasy subgenre of characters, usually kids, going to a magical other world. Maybe they make friends, maybe they learn lessons and stuff. You know the drill. I don’t have to to tell you more because the story structure is already so familiar. That’s what gives it power.

Portal fantasy differs from the related Japanese genre of isekai in that isekai in its current form is much more heavily based on video games such as MMORPGs. In the most pervasive isekai narratives, protagonists are rewarded not so much for achieving personal growth as being able to exploit the game mechanics of a game-like system. That’s pretty different from your typical Narnia scenario.

The influence of portal fantasy is everywhere in Homestuck, especially in the beginning. We have nods to the fantasy films of the 1980s that gave us our contemporary idea of this story structure, such as The Neverending Story (itself, in its original book incarnation, a phenomenal commentary on the genre). Our protagonists are genre savvy; they recognize what’s happening here.

But it doesn’t fit quite right. The odd note is first sounded when Egbert asks Nanasprite if what they’re doing is going to save the world. They’re bit unsettled to learn the answer’s no, that something else is going on here. Next we have the fantasy worlds: the planetary lands each present a veneer of exciting adventure. But their inhabitants, the consorts, aren’t fully-realized people, they’re largely cute animals going through the motions, not really understanding the story they’re telling. The carapacians are a little better, but they’re still trapped in a fatalism that feels uncomfortable.

As things rev up in Act 4, we learn about doomed timelines from alt-timeline Dave and Rose, how your entire existence in this setting may be fodder for something other than you. When we learn the true purpose of SBURB and its froggy details in Act 5, we see that SBURB is more like a biological creature, mainly interested in its own reproductive desires. It was never really about the portal fantasy at all. The kids are just along for the ride.

So when we see that Rose wants to tear through SBURB, find out a way to escape fate, and snatch meaning from the jaws of futility, it makes sense. We’ve been given hints already that this is the conflict at hand: the characters vs the story that’s telling them. 

(Note: it’s certainly possible to have a reading that SBURB is not evil so much as empty, that it reflects what you bring into it, that its will for you is your will for you. But that’s also a difficult thing, right? If you lack self-understanding, it’s a struggle to bring about your ideal reality.)

What we haven’t mentioned yet is that this is all mediated through the lens of video games. Which makes perfect sense. Because where do we seek meaning, especially as kids? In imaginary worlds that make more sense to us than real life, that give us achievements to take pride in and clear objectives to pursue.

SBURB evokes mechanics from games like Final Fantasy. We see its players complete objectives, cast magic spells, gain power-ups with colorful costume changes. But unlike the narratives implied by traditional video game progressions, leveling up doesn’t mean you grow as a person or process your trauma. Later, in Act 6, when we meet a player who has made his life about winning the game (Caliborn), it’s horrific to behold. 

Homestuck is a portal fantasy, but it’s fundamentally a portal fantasy about games. It’s a portal fantasy that shows us how characters seek meaning in being the best at arbitrary game mechanics, but ultimately fail to find it.

So I guess…it actually is an isekai? Huh. Wild.

(But seriously, Homestuck is actually fairly prescient in predicting the ideas that come out of isekai and LitRPG. It’s engaging consciously and deconstructively with the weird ideas of self-fulfillment these genres are drowning in.)

So what might a Homestuckian work look like? It will almost certainly critique a false narrative we live by. It may comment on portal fantasy, or our personal satisfaction that comes as easily as playing a video game. But it doesn’t have to be limited to these things. It might talk about our popular TV shows and movies. It may take apart what’s flawed in Marvel, the latest triple-A game, or the modern dark fantasy novel. 

Among its tools will be discomfort. Showing a disconnect early on between our character’s expectations and their happiness can serve as foundation to build on, so that when the flaws of the genre narrative are revealed, it feels like the truth. We may see characters who accept their narratives passively, or rebels like Rose Lalonde, who chose to rip everything apart in search of something better.

These are only some of the possibilities.

When I tell you the stories we live by mislead us, what is your relationship to that? If you were to tear these received narratives apart, what would you focus on, what would you try to say? The art that comes out of this question will be deeply personal to the soul who makes it.

But here’s another question:

Just who is giving us all these narratives, anyway?

3. THE PARENT FLIP

The world we live in was not made by us. It was shaped by forces that predate us, over which we have no control and are born into the grasp of without the knowledge of how to escape.

For instance, our parents.

The guardians who raise us provide our template for how to interpret life. We spend a large part of our lives immersed in the world they built, believing as they believe, living by the values that they instruct us in, so that we might carry their goals forward to the future.

This is an effort that is certain to fail.

Because the problems of today aren’t the problems of twenty or thirty years ago.  At best, their messages can only to help in a limited way with the crises we go through as we live our lives. At worst, they actively hinder us from dealing with them productively.

If we are to escape the broken patterns of our world, then we need break out of the stories an earlier generation gave us.

How are parents discussed in Homestuck?

Initially? As jokes.

If we take our “future knowledge” goggles off for a moment, we can see that the early depictions of the kids’ parents are a goofy parody of standard parental tropes. Mom and Dad are nameless, faceless, exaggerated cartoon stereotypes, and conflict between them and their children is initially expressed through a silly video game fight.

There’s a seed of something real here, though. What we’re parodying is a familiar trope of tension between parents and children in kids’ fiction and YA fiction. But that trope exists for a reason. This conflict is rich with potential for any story about growing up. And Homestuck has smuggled the idea of it in as a silly RPG parody.

So we can extrapolate, for instance, that there’s tension between Egbert and their father in part because Egbert doesn’t know yet who they want to be, and that Rose and Mom’s relationship is awkward and contentious, with alcohol involved. We see that there’s something profoundly uncomfortable going on between Dave and his Bro, and Jade’s life in the shadow of a dead Grandpa suggests a psychology that’s not entirely a healthy one.

Understand that I’m not saying that all this was there from the start. Rather, a choice was made to develop these interesting possibilities out of the jokes, to tell a story about how parents that act like these ones might have affected their children.

A major turning point in this regard is when Egbert learns their father’s seeming clown obsession was the result of a failed attempt to connect with them. It’s quite silly, but it plays around with the idea of a gap in perception between parent and child. It’s also a sign the story’s starting to take more of an interest in character psychology, suggesting that what Egbert processes consciously is not the same as their deeper unconscious feelings. This in turn can become a setup for a portrait of Egbert as someone who represses things they don’t want to think about. From this moment, in the long term, comes June Egbert.

When the psychology machine revs up for all the characters in Act 4 and Act 5, it’s able to do so because this foundation was laid.

We also, as early as Act 3, get hints that the parents have intentions and personalities outside of how the kids perceive them. The original purpose is to hint at a larger conspiracy around SBURB, with Mom building a secret lab, Dad trying to investigate the mystery, and Grandpa jumping in and out of time. But what this suggests is that the psychology of the parents might at some point come into play.

But the most exciting development in the relationship between parents and children is Act 6.

The great role reversal. The parent and child flip.

How do you make your faceless parent figures into characters?

By making them kids.

We’re so used to this concept now t that it’s hard to remember how wild it is that Roxy is a teen version of a main character's mom. But the concept is genius. Meeting these characters on the same level forces our protagonists to understand them as people and reflect on their fallibility.

For us as readers, it adds detail and nuance to the cartoonish portraits we got in the beginning. Conversely, we also see what our protagonists might have been like as parents themselves—and turns it from a story of “parents just don’t understand” to a story of how people, despite their best intentions, can wound each other.

(The Homestuck Epilogues are a difficult text to evaluate, but one of the best things within them is Egbert’s arc in Candy, where we see how Egbert might have done as a parent, how their struggles with finding purpose in the world might lead them to embrace a narrative of parenthood yet struggle to have a good relationship their kid. It’s brilliant, and the culmination of everything we’ve talked about here.)

Thus the Homestuckian work of art will be concerned with themes of parents and children. It will play with the boundary between what children understand about their parents and what they don’t. It will show parents as people—fallible people, who make mistakes with severe costs, whose stories fail their children and themselves. It may build from a simple base of what children understand, or it may weave parent and child perspectives together. It may even show us how children fail when they become parents themselves.  It will show us the cycles we are trapped in, how we wound and are wounded by our context.

And it will force us to look for a way out.

4. CLASSPECTS AS SIGNPOSTS

Hey. You want to know a secret?

Come closer, and I’ll whisper it to you.

Classpects aren’t actually all that complicated. Ultimately, they boil down to one thing:

Symbols we can use to construct a self.

If Homestuck is about a crisis of meaning, then classpects are part of its answer.

What do we do, when the world gives us no story we can live by?

We make one. We make one out of whatever symbols and messages we can find and put together from the stories we’ve read, from the people who teach and inspire us. Such collages are powerful things. They give us a way out of the dark, they give us a sense of something we are and can be, where there was nothing before.

They give us, in short, a personal mythology.

Classes and Aspects have often been read as codes to be unpacked and solved. It might be more productive to see them as creative tools, signposts designed not to narrow down meaning, but to allow us to explore it.

For instance, the portrayal of Light in Homestuck is unique. As a symbol, it combines notions of brightness, knowledge, future, luck, wealth, and narrative focus. These things aren’t inherently linked out in the world, but they are here, and that’s a choice, and an interesting one. It encourages us to imagine connections between these concepts, and to see if they have any relevance to ourselves. Identifying with the concept of Light, in other words choosing to value clarity, luck, and importance, might be a powerful tool for finding one’s way in the world.

Classes play with signposts at an even more basic level. Sure, we can talk about what a Knight does in the context of the story.

But a knight is already a powerful symbol. We bring so much cultural context to it. The word conjures up images and narratives of devotion, duty, violence, the slaying of dragons, armoring oneself against the world, and the rescuing of princesses. If we put that together with a concept like Time, we get a distinct character. If we put that together with our own experience of the world, we can create powerful concepts for who we want to be.

Interestingly, this complicates what we said about SBURB. As much as our protagonists struggle to find meaning within it, there’s still something there that they can latch onto. Classes, aspects, denizens, even consorts and lands—these things don’t have to be devoid of meaning. We can choose to affirm them; we can build something out of them, and say, yes, this is me, this is myself.

But it’s a double-edged sword.

We are responsible for the narratives we choose to live by. And we may find ourselves falling into a narrative that hinders us more than helps us, that creates a self-destructive self.

What does it mean to believe deeply that you are a thief, that taking from others to benefit yourself is the best way or comes to you the most naturally? What does it mean to tell yourself over and over that you’re a prince, with all the attendant baggage of power and grim responsibility that comes with that concept? Or, to follow the path further, what does it mean to tell yourself over and over that you are a destroyer or must be destroyed?

If we are to escape the story we’re trapped in, we must take care, lest we trap ourselves in a story of our own making.

Homestuck never quite resolves the ambiguity around these symbols of self, around whether SBURB hurts or helps, whether classpects are things you create or things that create you. But this ambiguity is a productive one. It gives us symbolic tools we can use in the creation of meaning, and it shows us the side of them that should make us wary.

The work that is to come after Homestuck will be about symbols. It may show us how we seek them in popular culture, or the people around us. It may use some of the clusters of meaning that that we see in Homestuck, but it will not be limited to them. It will write its own language of symbols, joining Light and Time to notions like Memory, Need, Rupture, and War, and be filled not just with knights and princes but brigadiers, lancers, healers, druids, taxidermists, sentries and waifs.  It will build with tarot cards, enneagram types, and Babylonian gods. It will place all the signposts we’ve created in millennia of existence into new contexts and meanings.  

By such means will it show us a way forward.

There’s one kind of symbol we haven’t talked about yet, however.

The kind that holds a mirror up to the world.

5. THE POWER OF ALTERNIA

There’s a reason dystopias have been so popular in young adult fiction. Sure, they’re cliché now, but they speak to something raw and visceral.

When you’re growing up into a world that doesn’t make sense, it’s natural to find refuge in emotional extremes. Stories of blood and violence, fates worse than death, and governments that demand horrific things of their citizens speak to the anxieties of the adolescent mind. They validate the feeling that something is wrong—that the world we’ve inherited is broken and unfair and has no place for us. And they’re right.

Alternia taps into these dystopian feelings perfectly. What makes it so fun is that it’s an inversion of a teenage fantasy. It’s a world where there are no parents, where kids can have access to power and violence, where you can sit around and play video games and design your own house. It almost feels like a response to the “parents don’t understand” themes of the early acts.

But the dystopia’s there, and it’s sneaky. A land of lost boys and girls isn’t actually all that great to live in. It’s lawless, survival of the fittest, with children killing each other left and right. And the future adult roles most of the troll kids aspire to are a glamorous veneer over competition for slots in a fascist military hierarchy. Which is to say nothing of the blood caste system as a way in which the kids are taught by their world to abuse and exploit each other. Crushes, personal slights, competition for status, group dynamics, attempts to define identity – all these familiar teenage dynamics play out on a backdrop of maiming and murder.

Which is perfect. Because when you’re young, all those social interactions genuinely do feel like life or death, and adulthood a regime of exploitation and horror bearing down on you. Alternia is a heightened, exaggerated version of reality. It expresses an emotional truth, not a literal one, validating our most intense feelings and giving us a road map to understanding them.

No wonder so many people wanted to skip to Act 5 and get to the trolls.

(See also Hiveswap Friendsim and Pesterquest, which explore these themes really really well.)

And Alternia, for a world where parents aren’t really a thing, tells us a surprising amount about the parental generation. In mid Act 5-2, Ancestors are added to Alternia’s wordbuilding, and we learn that as much as the trolls skipped having traditional parental figures, they were never devoid of role models. The deeds and exploits of notable figures throughout ancient Alternia gave them models to think about each other and themselves—even when those models were toxic ones. In a way, this isn’t so far from the human kids at all.

Furthermore, as time goes on, we acquire an origin for Alternia’s fascist worldview. Doc Scratch, manipulator of society, stands in for all those aspects of the world that work to create the false narratives we are born into, a true evil father figure – or uncle, if you prefer. And he's an extension of the ultimate evil father figure, Lord English, who controls not just Alternia but the timelines of the human children as well, whose belligerence and apathy give us aeons of toxic narratives and abuse. We see that story played out in Alternia in every interaction, in every moment, the beliefs its architects live by.

This is the power of dystopia—it can hold a broken mirror up to the world we live in.

Therefore the Homestuck that will come after Homestuck will worldbuild gardens of horror. It will not pull its punches but show us insidious societal systems and the effect they have on the people who live under them. It may depict fascism, authoritarianism, feudalistic tyranny, or all three. It will be unafraid to evoke blood and guts but use them to paint a picture of what we want, what we fear, and how we break under our false horizons.

As it depicts the path out, so, too, will it have its reverse side—it will show us all the hells and purgatories we’re trapped in.

6. SAILS TO THE WIND

Much has been written (including by this very author) about Homestuck’s metafictional aspects – the way it comes to foreground a more direct clash between character and narrative.

But the point I want to make here is that the metafictional angle wouldn’t work without these earlier choices. They allow the comic to talk about these concerns long before any notion of canon rears its head.

There are many ways of approaching these themes, and we don’t have to be limited to notions of Ultimate Selves and Beyond Canon to explore them. Such things are valuable, but they are only one retelling of the myth. If we are to make the next Homestuck, we must make our own.

I want to illustrate the space of possibility by offering some examples of works that explore similar themes. Note that I’m not saying these works were influenced by Homestuck in any way, but rather that they use some of the same tools to speak to the same questions, anxieties and concerns.

In trying to make what comes after Homestuck, we might consider:

Revolutionary Girl Utena, which foregrounds the archetype of the Prince as duelist, tyrant, and hero and dares its characters to break free from the false reality that shapes even these aspirations and dreams.

The Familiar by Mark Z. Danielewski, author of Houseof Leaves, whose core narrative concerns an twelve-year-old girl in thrall to an entity whose intentions are unclear but may be shaping the fabric of reality itself; which depicts the inner lives and uncertainties of her parents with just as much detail as they struggle, and sometimes fail, to make the right choices to help her; a story which, even in its incomplete form, explores a notion of a greater S.E.L.F that is not just you but also those who share something with you, where characters from other realities blur into transcendent archetypes in this one.

Digimon, perhaps the quintessential work of portal fantasy, not only Digimon Tamers, which steers the genre into a place of trauma, cosmic horror, and adults horrified by children saving the world, but also Digimon Adventure, which creates strong character arcs for eight very different children as they try to navigate a strange alien world, and shows us their struggle to reconcile with their parents as part of the process of understanding themselves.

The Neverending Story by Michael Ende,foundational text for Homestuck, which tells us not only about the rich possibilities inherent in reading oneself into fantasy worlds, but also the terrible potential for harm in making oneself an emperor over them.

Pale, by Wildbow, author of Worm, an urban fantasy story about three teenagers thrust into a world of magic and murder, a world where symbols literally create reality, where concepts like Carmine and Aurum have a powerful pull, where the Self is something that can be nourished or taken apart and put back together, a story where the parents are not just supporting cast but fully realized people forced to reckon with the ways in which they have deeply failed their children, and which contains perhaps the most thorough investigation of the question of “is it good for children to go on magical adventures?” ever committed to the page.

Heaven Will Be Mine, by Aevee Bee,in which the giant robots we pilot through space become the symbolic manifestation of our inner selves and our way of bringing about our ideal reality, and, relatedly, We Know the Devil, in which the repression of those selves causes them to burst out from us in terrifying and glorious new forms.

Crow Cillers, by Cate Wurtz, an often trauma-filled horror comic in which a group of kids and, eventually, adults, tries to fight back against an ever-present death cult that has its grips on every corner, all the while encountering Psyforms, beings made of pure mind, while characters from television and cartoons dance in the margins and all the while the line blurs between audience and art until it becomes difficult to tell who created who—a story that asks what it means to find meaning in stories when the corporate entities that own them are trying to devour us.

It's a tragically short list, I know. But perhaps it conveys some of the angles we might take.

We can also look at works that are known to have inspired by Homestuck. There aren’t many yet, but there are a few.

Undertale is famous for its Homestuck influences, with parallel timelines, an idea of agency that persists across them, and a contentious relationship between player and character, but for my part, I’m just as interested if not more so in Deltarune, which seems to be slowly building a grand thesis about portal fantasy, where the kids' adventures in the Dark Worlds seems to be offering them an escape and helping them become their best selves—but hints at a coming challenge to that simple worldview in the question of who’s really experiencing that escape.

The Locked Tomb, by Tamsin Muir – This is the big one, that really shows what building on Homestuckian themes can achieve. It turns out there really is an audience for weird aggro formalism in scifi publishing if you make it sufficiently gay. But smartly, like Homestuck, the Locked Tomb builds its weird mysteries gradually, adding on layer after layer on the solid foundation of characters we can follow and get invested in. There’s so much to notice – there’s the highly categorized teenagers involved in a murder feud, there’s the constant whiplash of humor and tragedy, there’s the endlessly open spaces in the story to interpret and project on to.

But to me, what stands out the most is the portrait of God and his court as every bit as emotionally chaotic as the sniping teenagers. You go to heaven, and God’s making out in the corner with his friend group, and you look for the adult in the room but the adults in the room don’t know what they’re doing and they never really did. It’s a portrait of the parents, it’s a portrait of the Ancestors, it’s a portrait of the gods of the new world, and it’s exquisite.

The Locked Tomb gives us a world at war with its own mythological narrative, rich with angst and irony. It’s a worthy successor to everything Homestuck was doing. It shows us how much these themes can say to us, and it gives us a hint at how powerful Homestuck's legacy might be.

7. THE APOTHEOSIS OF HOMESTUCK

There’s a lot of discussion about how to continue Homestuck. How to do it justice. What post-canon might look like, and what it might not. What fan comics, what fan fics, what semi-official works truly live up to the spirit of its characters and its multiverse.

To be clear, those discussions are awesome. I’m so glad those things exist, and it’s wonderful to see them unfolding.

But I don’t want the process to stop there. I'd be disappointed if it was only about adding to and re-articulating Homestuck itself.

I want this—

—This multifaceted, complicated, emotionally laden thing that is the experience of engaging with and creating with and interpreting Homestuck—

To go out into the world and to be infused into the world, to become waves spreading further and further. I want to experience the Homestuck artistic movement, the Homestuck school of thought. I want it to be an influence on the fiction of the coming generation of authors, and the next, and the next.

I want Homestuck to be one of those albums that's too obscure to be known by the general public, but everyone who listened to it went on to start an enormously successful band.

Homestuck can appear like a thing that was conjured out of the ether, but it isn’t. It’s a product of a particular time.

But that in itself is profound. When you create art, you reach back to all the things that have shaped you, and you listen to what the world around you needs, and you try to say what needs to be said. Which means you're a part of a history and culture that needs to say those things, which will be different from the things that needed to be told yesterday, and different from the stories that will be needed tomorrow.

There’s no otherworldliness to it, no platonic other reality. But for all I've talked about art being made of choices, there's still something transcendent here.

To make Homestuck—and to make art inspired by Homestuck—means being a node in a web formed of millions of people, where a light passes down the chain to you, and for the briefest of moments, you get to be filled with its presence, before it moves on to the next person in the chain.

That light isn't yours. Not really.

But at the same time, you do get to choose how that light manifests.

And to engage with that process consciously—to think deliberately about what we want to create—that gives us power and agency over that process, our sense of the world, and ourselves.

So let’s do this. Let’s make the thing that Homestuck is telling us can exist, the thing it’s paving the way for, the thing we know in our soul can come to be.

Let’s make the next Homestuck happen.

—Ari

POSTSCRIPT

“To put out a manifesto you must want: ABC

to fulminate against 1, 2, 3

to fly into a rage and sharpen your wings to conquer and disseminate little abcs and big abcs, to sign, shout, swear, to organize prose into a form of absolute and irrefutable evidence, to prove your non plus ultra and maintain that novelty resembles life… I write a manifesto and I want nothing, yet I say certain things, and in principle I am against manifestoes, as I am also against principles… I write this manifesto to show that people can perform contrary actions together while taking one fresh gulp of air…”

— Tristan Tzara, “Dada Manifesto 1918”

"The cyborg is resolutely committed to partiality, irony, intimacy, and perversity. It is oppositional, utopian, and completely without innocence....the cyborg would not recognize the Garden of Eden; it is not made of mud and cannot dream of re-turning to dust...This is a dream not of a common language, but of a powerful infidel heteroglossia. It means both building and destroying machines, identities, categories, relationships, space stories...I would rather be a cyborg than a goddess."

— Donna Haraway, "A Cyborg Manifesto"

“What we need is works that are strong straight precise and forever beyond understanding... let each man proclaim: there is a great negative work of destruction to be accomplished. We must sweep and clean…to divest one's church of every useless cumbersome accessory; to spit out disagreeable or amorous ideas like a luminous waterfall, or coddle them—with the extreme satisfaction that it doesn't matter in the least…freedom: Dada Dada Dada, a roaring of tense colors, and interlacing of opposites and of all contradictions, grotesques, inconsistencies: LIFE.”

— Tristan Tzara, “Dada Manifesto 1918”

“These are really the thoughts of all men in all ages and lands, they are not original with me,

If they are not yours as much as mine they are nothing, or next to nothing,

If they are not the riddle and the untying of the riddle they are nothing,

If they are not just as close as they are distant they are nothing.”

—Walt Whitman, Song of Myself

𖤓

[homeofthelonelywriter]

Mister Riley | Pt. 1

(A/N) Here it is, the 15 page masterpiece (not really). But I still hope you enjoy it. The two other parts will be posted within the next few days.

Pairing: dbf!Simon x Reader (no Y/N)

Warning: suggestive themes (smut in part 2 and 3), cursing

Synopsis: It's the summer holidays and you decide to visit your parents. While on your way, your mom lets you know that Simon, your dad's best friend and your crush since you know what crushes are, is going to pick you up at the train station. This is going to end well...right?

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

“Ladies and Gentlemen, we will soon arrive at our final destination. Please make sure you take all your belongings with you when you leave the train. Thank you for choosing us today.”

You barely registered the announcement as you stared at your phone. Two stops ago you had texted your mom that you would soon arrive, so she’d know when to pick you up from the train station. It was planned all along that she’d do so, but now the plans had changed. Staring back at you was a text from her, letting you know that your dad’s best friend, Simon, would be picking you up. Apparently, he was going past the train station anyway and since he was on his way to your parent’s house, he offered to pick you up.

Now, if it had been any other friend of your dad, you wouldn’t really have minded. But this was Simon, the man you’ve had a constant crush on, since you were old enough to understand what kind of god of a man he is. Of course, your crush never went anywhere, but a girl could dream, you know?

You hadn’t seen him since you’d left for college two years ago. Sure, you knew that you would see him again at your parent’s party this weekend, but you thought you still had time before that. The way it was looking now, you had about ten minutes.

With renewed determination, you jumped to your feet and grabbed your duffle bag, locking yourself in the toilet. Originally, you had planned to safe your shortest pair of hot pants - which left nothing to the imagination - for the actually barbecue, but now you had a good reason to wear them earlier.

You paired them with a forest green, corset like, tight crop top. You didn’t bring another pair of shoes, so you put your heeled ankle boots back on and left the toilet, but only after refreshing your make up.

Soon after, the train stopped and you followed the other passengers out and onto the platform.

You spotted Simon as soon as your eyes adjusted to the bright sun. A cigarette between his fingers and leaning against his truck, he looked like a god on earth. And of course you weren’t the only one noticing that. It felt like every woman close to him couldn’t take her eyes off of him. You even saw a few whispering with their friends.

But…his eyes were on you.

You picked up your duffel bag and started walking to him. And maybe you were swaying your hips a bit more then necessary, but it was working, as you noticed his eyes racking over your form before they landed on yours.

“Hi Mister Riley.”

You dropped your duffle bag and stretched, letting your crop top ride up a bit further. Again, his eyes, which were looking into your eyes before, raked over your body and stopped at your chest. You couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at your lips. Simon quickly cleared his throat, before turning to his truck.

“Kiddo.”

He nodded in greeting and you rolled your eyes.

“Will you stop calling me that? I’m a grown woman now.” His eyes flicked from yours, to your chest, to your lips and back to your eyes. Then he turned away.

“Let’s go.”

Once again, you rolled your eyes before you obeyed and threw your bag in the back of the trunk before getting in on the passenger side. As soon as you were buckled up, Simon drove off.

The drive to your parent’s house was uneventful. Well, at least for you. But for Simon it was a battle not to crash the truck. The sight of your bare thighs, squished against his car seat did something to him. Multiple times, he had to rearrange the way he was sitting as his cock grew stiffer by the second.

As soon as he had seen you at the train station he knew that he was in trouble. The little girl he had babysitted from time to time had grown into a beautiful woman. A woman that caused him to drool if he wasn’t careful. He knew it was wrong, but the way your tits jiggled whenever the truck passed a bump, didn’t help the growing bulge.

A sigh left his lips as he parked in front of your parent’s house, his best friend’s house. A wave of guilt overcame him as he watched you jump out of the truck, your ass jiggled at the motion. He almost groaned at the sight, as his cock twitched in his pants. He had to have you, no matter what.

Simon took a deep breath, got out of the car and quickly checked if his bulge was visible. As soon as he was sure that it wasn’t, he followed you to the front door.

“Mom! Dad! I’m home!”

Squeals sounded from within the house and both you and Simon could hear your mom running through the house to get to the front door. As soon as she saw you, she enveloped you in a big hug. She spoke as she pulled back to look at you.

“I’ve missed you so much, my dear.”

She smiled at you, unshed tears in her eyes and you almost started crying.

“I missed you too mom.”

You hugged her again, squeezing her extra tight.

“There she is!”

Your dad came walking towards you and your mom and you immediately threw your arms around him. You hadn’t seen your parents in over a year, so this was long overdue. As you pulled away from the hug with your dad, his eyes immediately found the hulk of a man behind you.

“Simon! It’s been too long!”

They immediately fell into a hug, patting each other’s back on a brotherly fashion, while my dad led his friend inside the house. Your mom picked up your duffle bag and gestured you to follow her.

“I cleaned your old room, so you can stay in there while you’re here. Also got you some new bedsheets and threw out the old Barbie ones, I’m sure you don’t mind.”

As your mom was talking about your bedsheets, especially the old ones, you noticed Simon glancing at you, a smirk on his lips. You just glared at him, mouthing a quick ‘fuck off’, making him chuckle.

“Also, I hope you brought a bathing suit or something like that. All the ones that you left here would be way too small on you now, we gave them to your cousins.”

“Don’t worry, ma. I brought a bikini.”

She turned around and smiled at you as she lead you to the stairs.

“If you want, go and change, the pool’s got a great temperature. Dad will fire up the grill in an hour, when the rest of the guests are here.”

You nodded and thanked your mom, before making your way upstairs. Once in your room, you dropped your duffle bag on your bad and started rummaging through it, fishing out your red bikini.

You had just undressed down to your underwear when the door to your bedroom suddenly opened and quickly closed again. Startled, you turned around, just to see Simon, his back against the door and a hunger in his eyes.

“Wha-”

Before you could get the entire word out of your mouth, he was up against you, his hands squeezing the flesh at your hips and his forehead pressed against yours. A groan escaped him and he cursed under his breath.

“You’re gonna make me loose it.”

With another groan and a squeeze of his fingers, he crushed his lips against yours, swallowing the moan that immediately left your lips. He continued to work his lips against yours, pushing his body onto yours, trying to get you as close as possible.

A sudden nip at your lower lip caused you to squeak in surprise, making Simon pull back and look towards the door.

“Honey, are you okay?”

You were breathing hard, your chest rising and falling with each intake of air. How could you answer her in that state? Simon chuckled, his lips moving to your neck as he started to nibble on the soft flesh.

“Answer her, love. Or should I?”

That thought got you going.

“I-I’m okay. Ju…Just though I saw a spider.”

You heard your mom chuckling downstairs, while she walked away from the landing.

“Good girl.”

A whimper passed through your lips, as you squeezed your eyes shut, his words moving straight to your core. You rubbed your thighs together, desperate for some friction, but Simon wasn’t ready to give that to you yet.

“So someone likes to be praised.”

He tugged on your earlobe, making you moan.

“That is so good to know.”

With those words he suddenly straightened back up and took a few steps back. Your eyes followed him as he moved to the door, winked at you and left the room.

It took you a minute or so to calm down. You couldn’t believe that all of that had just happened. The things you’d been fantasising about since you were a teenager just came true. You quickly moved to the mirror, hanging on your wall, to check if that make out session had left some traces, and indeed it did.

Aside from the fact that your face was a bright red, that fucker had given you hickeys. You groaned, annoyed. How were you going to explain this to your parents?

With heavy steps, you went back to your duffle bag and rummaged through it until you found your make up bag. Thankfully you had brought some water proof concealer, as well as a color correction palette.

For ten minutes, you tried your best to hide the bruises, and you were surprisingly satisfied with the end result. So you decided to put on your bikini, throw on a towel and make your way downstairs. As you passed the kitchen, your mom asked you about the spider, but you just assured her that it was just some dust that had gathered in a corner.

As you made your way outside to the backyard, you noticed that most of the people your parents had invited had arrived. The yard was filled with adult men and women, drinking, chatting and laughing.

Your eyes immediately landed on Simon, who was sitting close to the grill, with a woman on his lap. Her long flowing hair was hanging down her back, while she ran her hands up and down Simon’s naked chest, his own hand on her waist.

You watched her mouth move, but noticed that Simon’s eyes were on you the whole time. Of course he noticed the jealousy in your eyes and a smirk quickly formed on his face as he pulled the woman closer to him. You scoffed. Seeing him like this minutes after he kissed you hurt, but there was already a plan forming in your head. You just had to find your victim. And that was easier than you’d expected.

Of course some of the adults had brought their kids with them. And one of them you knew really well. You’d grown up with Benjamin, he was maybe one year older. And you knew that he’s had a crush on you for approximately as long as you had a crush on Simon. Your eyes quickly found him in the crowd and you made your way over to him, swaying your hips. You felt Simon’s eyes on you the entire time.

As you got closer you had to admit that he’d grown into a fine man. If your crush on Simon wasn’t that bad, you would have probably flirted with him the entire day. But now, he was the means to an end. And that end, was Simon all over you.

Continue here.

Please consider reblogging and following me! It helps a lot!

Call of Duty - Masterlist

Master-Masterlist

[lilkumquat27]

Another snippet! But this time of my Ten Years Later AU when the crew mysteriously return after ten years. Caz is at this moment being question by Commander Brantley after they Beira is seized upon by military and they’re brought back to base. This is from Chapter 2: Lost in Confessions

"I need to see my wife… my girls. I…” Caz staggered his words and started to pull at the handcuffs.


“No… Cameron – “


“I canny be here! I need to go. My family… I… if what you say is true, they’ll be well moved on by now! My girls will be… fuckin’ teenagers! My wife… god’s sake, Suze. I can’t have her thinking I’m deid! I’m not! I need to go hame!”


Brantley stood off his chair and leaned over the table, “Cameron, you need to calm down. I don’t want to have the nurse come in with a sedative again. I can understand your shock, but you need to take it one minute at a time, right?”


“Understand? You don’t fucking understand. I don’t even understand! What the fuck is happenin? You saying I’ve been gone for ten fucking years? How… how is that possible? I woke up this morning on the oil rig I’ve been at for four months! This has to be some kind of fucking conspiracy. Aye, this isn’t real!”


“I showed you the newsletters. I’ve used every available resource within the base to prove to you it is 1985. If you still don’t believe me there’s not much I can do to prove it.”


“Let me go to my girls! If what you say is true they’ll be grown now. My wife will be forty four. Surely things out there have changed. You want me to believe it, then let me go!”


“You know I can’t do that, Cameron. You’ll see your family again soon. First, we need to figure out what happened on that rig. How you’ve come back. We’re gonna need to run some tests, I’m sorry. It won’t be just you, everyone on the Beira will need to go through the same process. We need to ensure it’s safe for you all to return home.”


“Tests? What kind of tests?”


“Bloodwork, scans, check ups, we just need to make sure everything is alright with you all.”


Caz stuttered and his glare went vacant, “You… you think this was something bad? Like… like the Bermuda Triangle or some shit? You know, ships and planes go missing without a trace? You think… maybe aliens or something?”


Brantley had a hearty scoff and shook his head. Caz battled, “Well, I don’t fucking know, mate! You’re the one who should have the answers!”


“It’s easy to take flight of fancy, I get it. You need an explanation, and we do, too. For now, let’s just stick with the facts. That sector of the North Sea had been vacant a day ago. Then not even a second after midnight our alarms start blaring. We see that an unauthorized ship has entered the UK’s coast. Upon further investigation we realize it’s not even a ship, at all. It’s a damn oil rig that seemed to materialize out of the white. By materialize, I mean within moments, Cameron. This could be something otherworldly, it could not. My experience, there’s always a logical explanation. Even if it’s buried underneath mounds of nonsense. Could be your rig was seized upon by terrorist motives and they put you back there.”


“You still think I’m lying to you?!”


“Maybe they did something to your memories.”


“Jesus Christ. That’s your logical explanation? Take a look at Rennick. Cunt should be 68 if it’s been ten years. Pretty spritely for a seventy year old, don’t you think? I should be forty-five, but gotta say, mate, still feel like not a day over thirty six. We haven’t aged! What has the ability to just stop time like that? And just regarding the Beira?! You think that’s not otherworldly? This whole thing is fucked!”


Brantley interrupted sternly, “That’s why we’ll be running the tests. Not just to confirm your ages, but to confirm blood types, health concerns, toxin history, all that jazz. I’m not going to address anything supernatural until we have that information from all of you and decide accordingly. Until then, you gotta stay here. No contact to the outside world until we have the information we need, right?”

[luna-writes-stuff]

Promises, Ahsoka Tano

Song link

Fanfic, fem! reader

Reunion fic, resolved angst.

Word count: 3291

Tw: This is inaccurate because the sapphics would never be so oblivious and patient. So much pining and heartbreak. Slow burn but make it one fic. Mentions/descriptions of injuries, battle and the aftermath of a war. Probably inaccurate timelines even though I’ve been a Star Wars fan for over a decade. All these series are messing with me.

Summary: You and Ahsoka knew each other since you were both younglings and traveled with each other for a long time after order 66. But when something happens one night, you part suddenly. Now, a small amount of years later, she comes to seek you out.

Buy me a coffee/force me to write more

“Two hearts that shouldn't talk to each other become close In a town much like a prison cell.”

When one thinks about the aftermath of war, they’ll often recount the lives lost. Who won and who lost, and what was won and what was lost? How will the new society function? One thing that often gets forgotten are the survivors, more specifically those who cannot partake in whatever role the world has to offer them yet.

After the Empire was destroyed, thousands of children lost their families, lost their reputation- lost everything, but they weren’t old enough to help restore anything. They were left behind, forced to pick up their broken pieces together.

With the old rebellion, you had established a camp on Coruscant, giving shelter to those who had lost everything. You gave them a roof, food and schooling. Something to help them when they were old enough to go out on their own.

Coruscant had been the centre planet of the Empire, and there were many out there who believed everyone kept alive there were Empire sympathisers, when in fact the opposite was true.

“People speak our names on the street in hushed tones. Oh, the stories they'd tell if anyone would listen. If anyone would listen.”

The camp had been built in the old Jedi temple, where none really dared to enter again. It offered enough space and enough freedom for the children, regardless of the bad memories it might have brought you. Though the emperor had turned the temple into his own palace, there were hidden places still intact. You would come there often to simply sit and think.

You hadn’t even been a full adult when order 66 was issued, still serving as a padawan under your Jedi master. After the fall, you had left everything you had learned there - in the desolate Jedi temple where you had once swore to keep the peace and maintain the balance of the force.

Every time you sat there, you recounted your action, your memories. Everyone you knew and everything you had learned. Your saber had been long buried. Your aid in the rebellion laid within the medics, helping those who had already fallen. It was a good alternative for you. You saved lives of those already deemed dead, and helped the rebellion remain strong. That had been your strength. And once peace was restored, you knew your job was far from over yet. There were still many out there who needed your help.

“You come from a town where people don't bother saying "Hello" Unless somebody's born or dies.”

It had been ten weeks since you set up camp here, and the bond between you, those you worked with, and the children had grown incredibly strong over time. Regardless of the number of people in the temple, you knew all their names and got along with all of them. When you weren’t teaching the children, you occupied yourself in the med bay, though most injuries now extended to scraped knees and bruised skin. In your free hours, you’d run outside with the children, even offering some a handful of defence classes to keep their guard up.

At the end of the day, you’d always find yourself back in that small hall that had remained untouched by the empire. The walls still their marbled gold with white floors, though they were long from polished and shining now.

A month ago a young boy had been practising with a stick, claiming he wanted to one day wield a lightsaber. You knew he had been force-sensitive, but you were reluctant to teach him. Sure, you kept up with your abilities from time to time, but you hadn’t held a saber in years. You couldn’t teach him what you knew, because you simply knew too little. But he was adamant - and surprisingly skilled as well. Thus, you decided to practise your wielding skills again. But now, with a steel pole, roughly the size of a regular blade. It was heavier than usual, but it would work for you.

“And I come from a place where they drag your hopes through the mud. Because their own dreams are all dying.”

You had been practising for weeks, but it was hard when there was no teacher. You were struggling with your footwork when you were suddenly highly aware that you were being watched. You spun around gently, suspecting a child had followed you here, but you were proved the opposite when a familiar voice sounded: “Your footwork is sloppy.”

Turning around the corner, you were faced with a figure that caused your breath to simply remain stuck in your throat for a second.

“Ahsoka,” you breathed, dropping the pile immediately before running up to her, wrapping her in a hug. She was keen to return the gesture, a happy chuckle leaving her as her arms wrapped around your body. “Maker, it’s been so long.”

When you parted, she looked at you with a smile. She had aged, but so had you. She looked more mature, yet that childlike glint was still so visible in her eyes. She looked good.

“And when we walk down the street The wind sings our names in rebel songs.”

“I’ve heard of what you’ve done,” she hummed. “You did good.” You sighed at her words, somewhat grateful for her words, even though you didn’t need them. In your head, you were just happy she was standing in front of you, fully alive. You hadn’t heard from her since the two of you parted, and the silence had been killing you every single day.

“I was worried you had been lost in the war.” You voiced aloud, a remark that caused her smile to broaden just a little bit. “I’m fine,” She assured, nodding her head slightly. “You look good, too.”

Though the words brought just a little heat to your cheeks, you tried to shake it off, teasing her as you twirled your hair. “No grey hairs yet?” You asked rhetorically. “You’d think they’d begun to grow now, considering the stress these children bring me.” Ahsoka laughed at that, crossing her arms before gesturing towards the door she had just came from.

“It’s an admirable thing, taking care of those who are forgotten.” She mused, her face falling slightly. She knew how difficult it had been for children after the war. “Yes, well…” you trailed off. “We used to be a part of them.”

“The sounds of the night should make us anxious. But it's much too late when the fear is gone.”

Silence struck the pair of you as your words laid heavy on your mind. After order 66, you and Ahsoka had been alone, still children, though older. Everything had relied on those around you, but with the gone, the universe had seemed bigger than ever. Where you and Ahsoka still had each other, these children didn’t have anyone. You weren’t going to let them wallow in their own misery, and you - luckily - hadn’t been the only one who refused to let that happen.

“Don’t misunderstand,” you began, breaking the silence. “I am happy you are here, but why?” The togruta seemed to think about that for a short second, though the answer came quickly: “I came here to seek you out.”

Deep dread immediately settled into your system. Usually, when someone would come along, claiming to ‘seek you out’, something had been terribly wrong, or your help was needed for something of grave importance. You couldn’t help but feel slightly panicked at the revelation: “Is something wrong?”

“No,” she quickly denied, as if sensing your stress. “No; I feared there might be, but there isn’t.” The small amount of new adenine in your body slowly died down, confusion now settling in: “What do you mean?”

“I will meet you in the Next Life, I promise you. Where we can be together, I promise you.”

“A few rotations before the falling of the empire, I lost contact with the rebellion.” Ahsoka confessed, rubbing her upper arm in discomfort. “I didn’t know if you were safe.”

Part of you was flattered - happy that she was checking up on you. Even after you went your separate ways, she still wanted to make sure you were safe. However, you never realised she had been doing this, which left part of you even more confused: “You checked on me?” She merely shrugged at your words, even though her facial expression showed slight sympathy. “We went different paths, but it doesn’t mean I shouldn’t care.”

A heavy sigh came from you, trying to repress the memory of how you two left. That was something you didn’t wish to discuss. But the disappointment was still very clear in your words: “You could have called me.” You mumbled, your voice hurt, but not accusing.

Ahsoka formed her lips in a thin line at your words, lost sentiment lingering on them. “I was being hunted,” she defended with a gently voice. “I didn’t want to risk dragging you down with me.”

“I will wait till then in Heaven, I promise you. I promise, I promise.”

When you didn’t respond to it, other than the empathic smile on your lips, she continued: “I heard about this place only days ago. Figured it was worth a look.”

You didn’t have it in you to get mad at her. You had been concerned about her for months now - arguing be damned. It was pointless anyway. If there was anything you had been feeling, it was relief. Anger would be forced, and not only did you refuse to show it as an obvious consequence of your training, it simply wasn’t worth the energy now.

“Well, I am glad you were worried about me.” You confessed. “I’ve been worried about you too. Only, I had no way of checking up on you.” She hissed slightly at the words, humour laced within her tone: “I’m sorry.” “No, it’s okay,” you deny, even though the words kind of hurt. “I understand.” Considering the way we split.

You didn’t say those last words. They were just painful reminders in your head. “I’m just glad you’re still alive.” “Yes…” Ahsoka lightly trailed off, somehow knowing the words that had been going on in your mind. You didn’t linger on it.

“Will you stay here? At least for the night?” The sun had already begun to set, and dinner had long been served. In truth, you were ready to turn to bed after your ‘training’.

She seemed to hesitate to answer, but gave in after seeing your pleading face, another gentle smile tugging on her lips.

“For the night.”

“There's so many fighting to get past the Pearly Gates, But nobody ever wants to die or get saved.”

The last time you saw her must have been a little over a year ago. Since order 66, you had been travelling together, taking comfort in the mere company of each other. Growing up in the Jedi temple and groaning together had strengthened your bond significantly, but it was after the empire had risen that either of you began to realise that there might have been more than friendship there.

None of you ever dared to act on it, still convinced of the Jedi ways. It took years for that to fade, and even after that, the reluctance had been clear between the both of you. It didn’t help that neither of you dared to show it. It made the impression of unrequited feelings much stronger than they needed to be.

The last time you saw her was after you had gotten ambushed by a group of bounty hunters. Ahsoka would have usually handled them themselves, after you had gotten around with the blaster and medical supplies, but they had been too great in number. In the end, you had them cornered, and managed to get away, but this was not without a scratch.

“Their intentions aren't that good and I can smell the asphalt. That's their personal road to Hell being paved.”

“Next time I tell you to go left, you go left.” You scolded, kneeling beside the bench Ahsoka had been laying on. You had returned to your makeshift camp shortly after the attack, tending to Ahsoka’s injuries before you’d relocate. The smell of burning flesh penetrated the small tent, and the angry red mark on her side seemed to scream for attention.

“They would have killed you if it wasn’t for me.” She hissed through her teeth as you began to clean the wound, doing your best to remain gentle. “Yes,” you argued. “But now I am completely fine and you have a blaster wound in your side. The third one since we left Tattooine, might I add.”

Even though her side had been burning, the togruta still seemed to choke out a laugh, grinning at you in assurance. “That was the point.” When you didn’t return her smile, she looked at you more careful, her voice immediately taking a more concerned tone: “You’re fine, right?” “Yes.” You sighed, stopping the cleaning to look at her face. You pointed at her accusingly. “But I’m still mad at you.”

She nodded: “I deserve that.”

“And when we walk down the street The wind sings our names in rebel songs. And it's much too late when the fear is gone.”

Something within you sparked at her words, but you pushed the feeling down. You knew better than to make the best of this. If she really meant anything with it, she would have acted on it by now.

Thus, you turned back to your work, replacing the cleaning supplies with a bacta patch, gently tearing the plaster layer off of the bandage. “You make my stress levels fly out of the roof.” You muttered, not noticing the way Ahsoka’s expression softened as she read the worry on your face. She ignored the tug on her heartstrings.

“Sounds like me.” She merely hummed, squeezing her lips together as you applied the bacta patch. You rested your arms on the cot, checking for any more injuries on her body. When you found none, you shifted lightly to level with her face.

“Just… be careful next time?” You spoke, though it sounded more like a question. “And maybe listen to me for once?”

“I will meet you in the Next life, I promise you. Where we can be together, I promise you.”

“I’m sorry,” she apologised genuinely. You should have left it at that. In hindsight you never should have said anything. But something in her eyes made you want to. There was something vulnerable there and you would have been blind if you hadn’t seen it.

“Ahsoka,” you sighed. “We have lost so many things already. Don’t make me lose you too.”

She had noticed it too, that same softness. Not in her eyes, but in yours. Doubt clouded her mind. If there was a time, it was now. You were so close, so genuine, so beautiful. Her heart was beating wildly in her chest as she was praying to everything out there that you hadn’t heard it. But Anakin did everything for love, and it ended him up some place she never wanted to go. She had to push it down.

“You won’t,” she joked, but went on afterwards in a more serious tone. “I’ll be more careful.”

That was all you needed to hear. You wanted to hear more - of course. But the change in her features was so apparent. She was shutting you out again. Each time you came close, this would happen. You had learned to make peace with it.

“Thank you.”

“I will wait till then in Heaven, I promise you. I promise, I promise.”

“But I might fall sometimes, you know?” She teased. “So, you still gotta patch me up.”

And just like that, that look was back. As if it had never left. It seemed more genuine now, more meaningful. You hated how hesitant you were. Maybe if you hadn’t been, you would have actually gotten somewhere. But when she shifted slightly, you could have sworn she did that just to get closer to you.

And when you leaned in, she made no effort to lean back. In fact, she seemed to come even closer. Heat was flushing towards your face as your stomach suddenly felt very light. If you wouldn’t now, when would you?

Your hand inched closer to her as your lips finally connected. It was hesitant, light - almost not there if you hadn’t seen it. But when your hand found her shoulder, she reached to clutch to it, before returning your kiss with a little more pressure, assuring you that this hadn’t been a dream. The moment you tried to turn your hand to intertwine it with hers, she suddenly pulled back, sitting up as she swallowed harshly.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I shouldn’t have.” Ahsoka shook her head, confliction swirling through her mind. “Why did you do that?” “I’m sorry.” You apologised again, cursing yourself for the wrong social cue. “Forget it happened. Impulsive action.”

You didn’t notice the way her face fell upon those words, nor the way her lip trembled lightly. You just continued to rant: “Adrenaline rush. Makes people do crazy things they usually wouldn’t do.” And that was what broke her. Of course; It makes you do crazy things you wouldn’t usually do. Why would you?

She got up from the cot, making her way towards the exit of the tent. “Ahsoka?” You called after her. “I need to get some air.” She managed to get out. “Yeah, no, of course.” You stuttered, now crestfallen on the floor as you watched her leave. “I’ll- uh, I’ll be right here.”

That was the last time you had seen her. You had heard her take off, leaving you at your camp with just a speeder to get you to the nearest village. You lost all contact afterwards.

“I will meet you in the Next Life, I promise you. Where we can be together, I promise you. I will wait till then in Heaven, I promise you.”

The walk to her room seemed somewhat comfortable, even though the memories now came flashing back more evident than ever. You wanted to get rid of them. She seemed fine now - surely it wasn’t worth getting worked up about.

“I’ll be down the hall if you need anything.” You spoke as you opened her door. She seemed to have notice the sudden shift while the two of you were walking, and turned to face you as she stood in her door opening: “I’m sorry if I make you nervous.” “No, it’s fine,” You shook off. “It’s been some time.”

She just nodded at that, shooting a quick glance in the room. “Thank you.” She said as she looked back at you. “For allowing me to stay here.” “Of course.” You smiled. “You don’t need to ask.”

When she didn’t respond, you turned slightly, pointing towards a door at the left end of the hall. “If there is anything, and I mean anything, that door is mine.” Then, you turned to leave, offering her a small wave. “Goodnight, Ahsoka.” “I am sorry I left.” She interrupted before you could set a step. “I shouldn’t have.”

One look was cast over your shoulder, though it wasn’t in sadness or frustration; it was a strange combination of remorse and peace: “You don’t need to justify your actions. Not to me.” “You deserve to know why.” She countered, seemingly adamant on making her point.

“Tell me about it tomorrow.” You smiled, an offer she seemed to be okay with. And with that, you continued your path.

“Goodnight, Ahsoka.”

“Goodnight.”

“I promise, I promise.”

[epigstolary]

Hi! 1) I love all your stories 2) I'm super happy to see that your asks are open because I've been thinking of a scenario lately

Someone who likes gaining but promised themselves they'd only gain a few pounds, just to try it out, see how they like it. Turns out they love it even more than they anticipated.

But as fun as rapid gaining is, it's starting to scare them how quickly the weight is piling on when they hit 100lbs gained after just a year. They promise themselves to slow down a bit now, but they no longer seem to be able to control their hunger.

If anything their gain speeds up.

Itchy, red stretch marks cover their ever larger belly. And if they weren't already in enough trouble, their mobility is starting to take a nose dive.

At first they'd just get out of breath a bit easier and maybe they'd find their legs were a bit stiff after a day lots of walking. The distances that would happen at got shorter and shorter. Within a scarily short time going up just one flight of stairs left them panting. Then needing to take a break just half-way up.

Other things got more difficult too. Finding clothes that fit, replacing furniture that didn't stand a chance against their increasing weight. 'The couch was ten years old,' they tell themselves, 'the frame had to crack eventually.'

Embarrassingly even masturbating has gotten harder. Not only has their belly grown so much as to cover their thighs, no there's also a thick fat pad, that's buried the very parts they're trying to reach.

And worst of all? It turns them on more and more with every passing day.

Love’s not really love unless it scares you a little, right? That’s been my experience in relationships, anyway. And the same goes for hobbies too. I love food. And… I even love getting fatter. But I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t getting a little scary.

I’m probably being silly, though. There’s no reason to be scared just because you’re the fattest person in your friend group, right? Even if it’s by a lot? No reason to be worried that you’ve outgrown all your clothes, twice over now. In about a year. It’s really common to not be able to exercise like you used to, too — nothing to be worried about. Even when you can’t make it upstairs all in one go. Or to the fridge and back without breathing heavily. Everyone’s broken a chair or a couch sometime, right? Isn’t that a silly thing to be concerned about?

It’d be different if I were one of those really fat people — then I’d need to be worried. If I had such a big belly I couldn’t reach the bottom of it. But I still can, if I bend this way and reach… see? Even if there is more fat in the way than there used to be. Or if I needed something to help me carry my weight around. But I don’t; and I’ve only fallen and needed help getting up once or twice. When I look at those really overweight people now, though… they don’t seem to look that much bigger anymore for some reason.

But I’m sure my gains will level off before I get that size. Won’t they? What am I saying, of course they will. Even if I can’t get over how afraid I am they won’t stop.

…or how much I love what I’m afraid of.

[complexparadox1]

My Love, My Light, My Angel

Anotha one! Kazutora x Fem!Reader. This is set in the Black Dragon timeline, around a year after Chifuyu was killed by Kisaki. You and Kazutora are old childhood friends. He's been avoiding you since he got locked up but fate has other plans! Smut OBVIOUSLY, Fem!reader, reader is a florist who majored in art and literature cuz I felt like it idk. Enjoy!

When you had walked out of your apartment that sunny fall afternoon you hadn't expected much from the day. But walking down the street you spotted a familiar head of black and blonde hair that stopped you in your tracks almost immediately. It couldn't be. "Kazutora?" You called out, heart thudding in your chest wildly.

Kazutora froze in his tracks, his heart skipping a beat as he heard his name being called. He turned his head slowly, his honey-colored eyes meeting yours. For a moment, he couldn't find the words to respond, his mind swirling with conflicting emotions. "It's... been a while." he finally whispered, his voice tinged with a mix of surprise and hesitation. He took a step closer, peering at you with a hint of longing in his eyes.

His gaze lingered on you, taking in your features, the way you had grown and changed over the years. Memories flashed before his eyes, the shared moments of laughter and friendship, but also the pain and guilt that lay buried deep within him. He knew he shouldn't let himself get too close to you again, but the pull was undeniable.

Just to hear his voice once again sent your head to spinning and your heart thundering in your chest. thirteen years, thirteen years since you'd last seen him. Ten years he'd been in jail and three years after that where you simply hadn't been able to find him. "How have you been? I've missed you." The last part was said softly, and it was true. You had missed him terribly. For all that had happened, with Valhalla, with Baji, it had not changed your feelings towards him at all.

Kazutora felt a pang of sorrow at your words. He had missed you too, more than he cared to admit. The weight of guilt and regret settled heavily within him, but he couldn't help but crave your presence. "I... I've been surviving," he replied, his voice filled with a mix of pain and longing. "It hasn't been easy, but... I've been trying." He looked down for a moment, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his face. "And yeah... I've missed you too. More than you know." His gaze lifted to meet yours again, his honey-colored eyes searching for any sign of forgiveness in your expression. Deep down, he wondered if he even deserved it after everything he had done. Chifuyu had forgiven him, Baji had used his final breaths to absolve him of his murder. But you were different. He couldn't be sure you would forgive him. But he still couldn't deny the warmth that washed over him at the sight of you standing there.

In nearly the same moment he said he'd missed you, before you could really even process what you were doing, you found yourself hugging him. As if afraid he would vanish once more from your life if you didn't hold onto him with as much strength as you could muster. Kazutora's breath caught in his throat as you wrapped your arms around him, holding him tightly. It was a bittersweet sensation, feeling your warmth after such a long time. His body stiffened for a moment, unsure of how to respond, before he finally relaxed into the embrace, his arms hesitantly finding their way around you. "Where have you been? I...I tried to look for you after you got out..." You managed to stammer, you had tried diligently to find him after he'd gotten out of prison to no avail. When you had tried to visit each and every time he had declined your visit. "I'm sorry," he whispered softly, his voice filled with a mix of guilt and regret. "After... after what happened with Baji, I... I needed to distance myself. I thought…I thought I was toxic, that being around me would only bring you pain." He tightened his grip, his voice trembling. "But I never stopped thinking about you. I wanted to reach out, but...I was afraid. Afraid you wouldn't want anything to do with me anymore." He pulled back slightly, his honey-colored eyes locked with yours. "I'm here now, and I want to make things right, if you'll let me." You had practically melted into his touch while he spoke. His familiar smell making you practically dizzy and your heart thrummed happily within your chest despite the heavy words he spoke. "You don't need to apologize Kazutora. You aren't toxic, you were a kid, we both were...what happened with Baji was horrible, but I never stopped wanting to be a part of your life Tora." His old childhood nickname slipped off your tongue with ease despite it having been so long since you had last called him that. Your heart clenched up near painfully in your chest. "I don't wanna lose you again... you're my best friend."

The weight of guilt that Kazutora had carried for so long began to lift ever so slightly as he heard your words of understanding and acceptance. A faint smile formed on his lips, tinged with a mix of relief and affection. "You still remember the nickname," he murmured, his voice filled with a touch of nostalgia. "I promise you, this time, I won't let go. You won't lose me again." In that moment, Kazutora felt a surge of hope, a glimmer of light in the darkness that had consumed him for far too long. He reached out to wipe away the tears that had gathered in the corners of your eyes, his touch gentle and tender. "Hey, don't cry," he whispered, his voice filled with sincerity. "I'm here now, and I'm not going anywhere. Okay?" As he spoke those words, a flicker of warmth filled his heart. He knew the road ahead would be filled with challenges and dangers, especially with his current mission to dismantle the corrupt Black Dragon gang. But having you by his side, he felt a newfound strength, an unwavering determination to protect you and cherish the bond that had been rekindled between you. You nodded your head and were quick to bury your face in his chest trying to hide the tears that flowed down your face. The emotions of the moment overwhelming you entirely. "I'm holding you to that promise, Tora. Whatever happens I don't wanna ever lose you again." You sniffled softly, arms squeezing him just a bit tighter. Kazutora had been, and would always be, a large part of your world. The last thirteen years had been hard without him, painful to the point of being nearly unbearable. To have him back at your side felt perfect. "So you wanna come to my place for lunch? We can catch up?" I asked once I'd pulled my face from where I buried it on his chest, my tears having dampened his shirt slightly.

He had gone for so long without a shred of warmth or comfort in his life. Having you standing here now, your arms still embracing him, it felt as if he'd been wrapped in a warm fuzzy blanket and he couldn't help but to fall into the comfort of you. Even though you were crying, your tears dampening the fabric of his shirt, you still provided the same comfort you had always given him even as young children. He held you close, his arms providing a comforting shelter as your tears wet his shirt. He gently rubbed your back, offering silent support and reassurance as he listened to your words. "You won't lose me again, I swear." he whispered, his voice laced with determination.

As you suggested going to your place for lunch, a small smile graced his lips. The idea of spending more time with you, catching up on the years that had been lost, felt like a lifeline amidst the chaos surrounding his life."Yeah, that sounds good," he replied softly, his eyes meeting yours. "I'd love to catch up, to have some time together away from all the chaos. Just...being with you." With a final squeeze, Kazutora released his hold on you, his hand lingering on your cheek for a moment before he slowly withdrew it. Stepping back, he began to walk alongside you, his heart brimming with a mix of anticipation and nervousness.

As you both made your way to your place, Kazutora couldn't help but let himself believe, even if only for a moment, that perhaps love and redemption were not so far out of reach as he had thought for so long. Once you'd arrived to your apartment you were quick to order lunch from a local Chinese place. Waiting for the food you and Kazutora settled into the couch. Now that he was sitting here you couldn't help but stare at him, it almost felt like this was all just some crazy dream.

Kazutora settled comfortably on the couch as you ordered lunch, his eyes occasionally glancing over to steal glances at you. The warmth and familiarity of your home enveloped him, offering a sense of peace he hadn't felt in a long time.

Everything about Kazutora had changed in thirteen years time. Corded muscle stretched taut along his arms, his once rounded cheeks sunken in to make his jawline more pronounced now than it had ever been in childhood, his voice lower and had a smoother quality to it now too. Kazutora was no longer a teenaged boy; and your brain struggled to process this fact. It didn't take long to realize you were staring at him too much and your cheeks flushed a bit with embarrassment. "So, what have you been up to, where have you been?" There's so much lost time to catch up on, so many things that have probably happened in his life and your own that the other wasn't aware of. He noticed the blush that tinted your cheeks as you caught yourself staring at him, and a small, gentle smile curved his lips. The silence lingered for a moment before you finally spoke, breaking the spell. "I've been... on the move, mostly," he replied, his voice carrying a touch of weariness. "After getting out of prison, I found myself caught up in some dangerous business. I couldn't stand by and watch as my friends were consumed by the corruption of the Black Dragon gang. So, I've been doing everything I can to dismantle them from the inside."

He paused for a moment, his gaze focused on his hands, his tone tinged with a mix of determination and regret. "It's been a rough ride, dangerous, but I couldn't let them destroy what we had, what we shared in the Tokyo Manji Gang…. it's…they're not what Baji would have ever wanted them to be." His eyes flickered up to meet yours, the weight of his mission evident in their depths. "But enough about that. I want to know everything about you. What have you been up to all these years? How did life treat you?" His voice softened, a genuine curiosity shining through his words. You nodded your head quietly. The Tokyo Manji Gang had been in the news a lot. Prostitution, Gambling, Murder, they had gotten a lot darker than you had remembered them being when Kazutora had once been a part of the gang. The fact that he was trying to help his friends, more than that the people that had once been family to him, was noble. But it also made a knot of worry form in your stomach. "That's a lot to try and take on all on your own Kazutora." You murmured the words softly your gaze meeting his. It was a dangerous path to walk but one you knew that if anyone could traverse with any level of safety it would be Kazutora. He had always been smart, quick thinking. "Uh, well graduated highschool after you left." You didn't want to say locked up because it feels wrong, you had both been so young back then. "Went to college, ended up majoring in arts and literature. Got a job working as a florist now so life's been ok I guess." It's been lonely too, unbearably lonely, but you don't say that. You have a few friends, sure, but no one ever even came close to the closeness that you and Kazutora had once shared. You smile at him softly, heart feeling at ease for the first time in too many years. "It's good to have you back though...life just hasn't been the same without you" your voice sounded sad, almost wistful, you couldn't help but to wonder how things would have been if he hadn't been locked up. If he hadn't joined Valhalla, if all the horrible events that followed had been avoided.

Kazutora listened intently as you shared your journey over the past decade, a mix of pride and melancholy tugging at his heart. His eyes traced the lines on your face, still as beautiful as ever, and he couldn't help but feel a pang of regret for the years of loneliness you had endured. "I wish I could have been there for you, to support you through all those years." He murmured, his voice laced with genuine remorse. His fingers ran through his blonde-highlighted hair, a nervous habit he had developed over the years. "But I'm glad you found something you're passionate about, something that brings you joy." Your heart thuds heavily in your chest. This moment feels so right, so perfect. To have him back here even after all this time just felt right. "You don't need to apologize." You said the words with a gentle tone. "Look at you, you're so much different, better." There was no more derangement in his eyes, no more delusion, instead his gaze was gentle, kind, and filled with nothing but affection. "I'm happy you got better, that's all that I ever wanted." Too many times you had tried to pull Kazutora from the darkness that had taken over his mind and too many times you had failed. To see him doing better now felt like a weight off of your chest. A soft smile formed on his lips as he met your gaze, the weight of his turbulent past momentarily forgotten with your words.

His fingers reached out, brushing against your hand, seeking connection and reassurance. His voice grew softer, tinged with vulnerability. "I've missed you, more than words can express." When his hand brushed against your own your fingers were quick to move to interlace with his. "Your hands are still always cold huh?" You asked him with a grin, Kazutora had always had cold hands, a bit rough and calloused from all his fighting while being in the gang. There had been a time where you had known every knick and scar that lined his knuckles. The familiar teasing about his perpetually cold hands had brought a chuckle to his lips, breaking the tension in the room, and he squeezed your hand gently."Yeah, I guess some things never change," he replied, his voice filled with a mix of fondness and playfulness. "I'll never have those warm, gentle hands like someone who works with flowers all day." His honey-colored eyes sparkled, his gaze locked with yours. You could feel your heart skip a beat at his words and you gave a small smile. "Suppose we are a perfect contrast to each other then hm?" You both were in more ways than just the temperature of your hands, you had always been two sides of the same coin. "I'm glad you're here with me now. It feels like coming home." He said the words softly: The scent of the flowers in your home mingled with the comfort of your touch, creating a sanctuary where both his mind and body found solace. "There's so much we can do together, so many possibilities," he continued, his voice growing softer but filled with an unyielding determination. "We can build a future that's different from anything we've known. A future carved out of our own choices, our own happiness."

As he spoke those words, conviction radiated from him. Kazutora knew that the path ahead wouldn't be easy, that challenges and dangers awaited him in his mission to dismantle Black Dragon. But with you by his side, he felt a newfound strength, a renewed purpose to protect, to love, and to find redemption not just for himself, but for the two of you. "I can't wait to see it all come together." You murmured, feeling as if you were practically on cloud nine just thinking about it.

Leaning in closer, Kazutora planted a gentle kiss on your forehead, his lips lingering for a moment before he pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours. "I'm grateful to have this chance with you. And I promise, I won't let go this time." With those words and the feeling of his lips pressed against your forehead, almost feather light, you felt your whole being practically stop. Looking up at him, those same amber eyes you had always so adored you felt years worth of feelings flood back all at once. The absolute enamorment you had once felt with him hitting like a train. Kazutora was not the boy you had once known for certain. But he was still the person you had been in love with all those years ago, and those feelings bubbled up to the surface once more. "I definitely won't let you let me go. You're stuck with me now, I'd probably die if you just disappeared again." The words came out hushed and quiet but they were spoken with a certain conviction and mixture of tenderness and vulnerability filled Kazutora's honey-colored eyes. The weight of your affection and unyielding dedication bore down on him, gently sweeping away the remnants of his self-doubt and fears. A soft smile played on his lips as he reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "I won't disappear again," he reassured you, his voice filled with a newfound determination. "I've learned my lesson, and this time, I won't let anything or anyone pull us apart. We'll face the challenges together, find strength in each other." His gaze locked with yours, his voice dropping to a hushed tone, resonating with sincerity and love. "You mean everything to me. The thought of losing you again, it's unbearable. I'll fight for us, for our future, no matter what stands in our way."

As the emotions sparked between the two of you, the chemistry that had always been present in your past encounters blazed to life once more. The room seemed to shrink, the world outside fading away, leaving only you and Kazutora, locked in an intimate connection that transcended time. Unable to resist any longer, Kazutora leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a passionate, lingering kiss. In that moment, the weight of the past slipped away, leaving behind only the promise of a future filled with love, redemption, and the unbreakable bond that had endured through the years.

Both of your mouths moved against the others with a gentle desperation, tenderness, desire, years of pent up love you had felt for each other pouring out in an instant through the touch. You were drowning in all things Kazutora as the kiss deepened. Gently your arms moved to slip around his shoulders pulling closer to him, needing that connectedness with him like air in your lungs. Caught in the passionate embrace, Kazutora felt his heart race, matching the rhythm set by the fervent exchange of your lips. The taste and feel of you after all these years left him intoxicated, a wave of desire crashing against the shores of his being. His hands moved instinctively, caressing the small of your back, holding you closer, as if he could merge his existence with yours. The world around the both of you faded away completely, as if there were only the two of you, entwined in a dance of affection and longing. Every touch, every movement was laden with emotion, and as the kiss deepened, Kazutora couldn't help but feel a healing balm spread through his wounded soul. His mind, which had once been plagued by the darkness from his past, now found solace in the warmth of your touch, the shared passion and mutual understanding. In this moment, there was only the present, the intensity of your love threading together the broken pieces of his spirit, infusing him with renewed vitality.

The room seemed to pulsate with the raw desire and yearning of your entangled bodies as you clung to him, lost in the depths of your shared connection. Kazutora's breath mingled with yours, his touch tender yet possessive, as he savored every stolen moment, desperately wanting to etch this memory into his very being. The moment felt like a dream, warm and comfortable. Wrapped snuggly in the other's embrace felt like home, a home neither of you had ever known anywhere except for in the other's arms.

As the kiss broke, a thin sheen of sweat coated Kazutora's brow, his chest heaving with the weight of emotion and arousal. His honey-colored eyes bore into yours, filled with a mixture of tenderness and hunger. "I need you. I've always needed you." he whispered, his voice rough with desire. Looking into his eyes which smoldered with such deep emotion your heart swelled with love and desire for him. The warmth of arousal pooling in your stomach. "Need you too Tora, Love you so much." You spoke in a breathless whimper words that had been left unspoken for far too long. He was all you had ever wanted and you were putty in his hands malleable and waiting to be shaped into whatever he desired. As the words spilled from your lips, their breathless vulnerability rang in Kazutora's ears, intertwining with the rhythm of his racing heart. Your declaration of love ignited a flame within him, fierce and unyielding, setting his entire being ablaze with desire. His hands, calloused and strong, cupped your face gently as he looked into your eyes, his gaze filled with a mixture of adoration and need. The weight of his past mistakes, the pain he had carried for far too long, dissolved in this moment of raw connection and vulnerability. "My love," he whispered, his voice filled with a profound tenderness that mirrored the intensity of his emotions. "I've longed to hear those words from you. To know that you're all mine, as I am all yours. To feel the depth of your love and desire." With a gentle, yet possessive hold, he brought his lips back to yours, a hunger laced within the kiss. His touch radiated with reverence, as he explored the soft contours of your mouth, mapping every inch of your being that he had missed for so long. The world outside ceased to exist, reduced to nothing but the dance of your entwined bodies.

Every caress, every whispered breath against your lips carried the weight of a promise. A promise to cherish, protect, and love you unconditionally. Kazutora's fingers glided along your skin, tracing the outlines of your body with a reverence born of both desire and worship. Lost in the frenzy of passion, the room became a sanctuary where time ceased to hold meaning. Each movement, each touch and shared breath, deepened the connection between you. The years of longing and unanswered desire melted away, replaced by the intoxicating presence of the person who had always held your heart. In this shared intimacy, Kazutora found solace and redemption. In your embrace, he discovered a love that could heal wounds and shield his fragile soul from the torment of his past. And as your bodies entwined, the flames of desire consumed them both, Your hands moved to feel every single inch of him you could reach, his neck, his shoulders, his arms. Fingertips that were feather light mapped every curve and plane of his body you could touch just as his did. As if trying to commit every single inch of him to memory. Were you blind and he mute you would know him by the feel of his very soul alone as it had always been between you two.

Nothing could, or ever would, hold a candle to him. Not when Kazutora was as bright as the sun itself. For all his past darkness he had always been your light, your comfort. It felt as if each graze of his hands set you ablaze in only the most pleasurable of ways. The fire of desire burned brightly within Kazutora as he reciprocated your fervent caresses, his body humming with anticipation and hunger. The intensity of your touch, swift and deliberate, sent shivers cascading down his spine, causing his pulse to quicken with fervor.

It didn't take long for you to crave more of him, to long for him like water, the desperate need to slake your thirst for him which had built up to a crescendo. Your fingers found the hem of his shirt moving to tug it off of him, his shirt slipped off his frame, pulled away by your eager hands, and the brief moment of separation only heightened the ache of longing between you. As your lips found his once more, the connection reignited, casting you both into a realm where time was irrelevant. "Love you s'much Tora." You murmured sweetly between your interlocked lips as small huffs and whines forced their way past your teeth and into your interconnected mouths

A symphony of sighs and whispers danced between your intertwined mouths, the subtle vibrations of your voice sending ripples of pleasure coursing through Kazutora. His skin tingled beneath your delicate fingertips, every inch of contact fostering a new depth of intimacy. With every brush against his chest, his breath hitched. The amalgamation of love, desire, and sheer need welled up within him, as if he were a vessel overflowing with the elixir of passion. In this electrifying moment, it felt as though he could not get close enough to you, his every sense consumed by the taste, scent, and sensation of your being. "Mmm, my love, my angel" he murmured against your lips, the words muffled by the shared heat of your mouths. His hands roamed your body with increasing urgency, seeking to memorize every curve and dip, just as you had done to him. The smoldering heat of his honey-colored eyes reflected the depths of his affection, staring into the windows of your soul.

The symphony of desire between you intensified, a chorus of sighs and moans woven into the fabric of your shared passion. Each fleeting moment of separation only served to fuel the hunger for more. Kazutora's chest rose and fell with each ragged breath, his body aching, yearning for the culmination of your desires. The two of you became entangled within a universe of love and raw sensuality. Lost in the shared ecstasy, you found solace and salvation in each other's arms.

Kazutora's body trembled under the trail of your hands, responding to your every touch with a mix of exhilaration and vulnerability. The need that radiated from you fueled the passion between you, rendering the room electric with desire. His skin tingled as your fingertips traced lines of fire across his form, igniting a wildfire of sensations and ardent longing. A soft growl of pleasure escaped him as your lips broke apart for a brief moment, only to reunite in a passionate collision. The taste of your breath, the sound of your murmured words seeped into his very core, eliciting a symphony of desire to reverberate through every inch of his being. He reciprocated with fervor, his lips molding against yours in a dance of overwhelming longing. Beneath your fingertips, the warmth of his bare chest welcomed you, a canvas on which the stories of your affection were etched. The connection between you grew with an intensity that defied explanation, a language that needed no translation. The room, now charged with anticipation, seemed to pulse with the rhythm of your intertwined bodies. As a chorus of soft whimpers and small huffs spilled from your lips, mingling with his own desperate sighs of pleasure, Kazutora's hands explored the expanse of your body with an unrestrained hunger. His fingers caressed the curves of your back, electrifying each inch of skin they trailed, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. "My angel." he murmured against your lips, his voice threaded with a mix of adoration and longing. "I ache for you, yearn for the taste of your skin against mine." He said softly as clothes were shed, barriers falling away one by one, Kazutora succumbed to the intoxicating bliss of your touch, abandoning himself to the waves of pleasure that crashed upon the shores of his ravaged soul. Each breath, each movement, became an act of worship, a testament to the love that had endured against all odds. In the sizzling heat of your joined bodies, all doubts, insecurities, and the burdens of their past dissolved, replaced by a union born of profound affection and desire.

It didn't take long for you to find yourself with your back pressed into the cushions of the couch, with Kazutora tapping the tip of his hardened cock against your core which dripped with slick arousal that had built up from feverish touches. Your core aches, almost as painfully as your chest does because having him hovered over you like this is divine beyond imagination. All of the things you had never dared even dream coming to fruition in a single moment. “You'll take care of me, Tora?” You managed to practically whisper between soft breaths, his touch burned through you like a raging inferno. The walls of your slick wet heat flutter and tense seeking what he's yet to give as he once more runs the tip of his cock through your slick covered folds, testingly, savoring this moment. The room felt sweltering, the air heavy with anticipation and unspoken promises. Kazutora's honey-colored eyes bore into yours, filled with a mixture of intensity and tenderness as he positioned himself over you, his hardened length teasing your slick entrance. Every nerve in your body pulsed with desire, your core aching for him, craving the consummation of this union.

The weight of your question, laced with vulnerability and trust, hung in the air between you. Kazutora's gaze softened, the fire in his eyes mingling with a tenderness that could move mountains. He brushed a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his touch gentle yet possessive. "I'll take care of you, my angel." he whispered, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "I'll protect you, cherish you, and ensure that every moment we spend together is filled with ecstasy and adoration." With those words hanging in the air, he pressed forward, the tip of his throbbing member parting your slick folds, the sweet friction causing a sharp gasp of pleasure to escape from both of you. He paused, savoring the exquisite tension, allowing you to accommodate him, to feel every inch of him as he gradually delved deeper into your wet, pulsating heat. Your bodies intertwined, Kazutora's movements slow and deliberate, as he relished in the sensation of being one with you, his body merging with yours in a symphony of pleasure. Building with each rhythmic thrust, deepening the connection between you.

The room became a sanctuary, a haven where nothing else mattered but the two of you, bound in a vortex of passion and love. The sensations overwhelmed your senses, the slick heat of your core gripping him tightly, driving both of you to the brink of ecstasy. As your bodies moved in a synchronized rhythm, the symphony of moans and gasps filled the air, a testament to the fervor that consumed you. Each thrust was a declaration of your shared desire, passionate, loving, and hungry.

The world outside stayed momentarily suspended, allowing you to revel in the intoxication of this shared desire. In the heat of the moment, the flames of bliss burned brightly.

The feeling of him pushing in, bottoming out your cunt almost torturously slow has your hands flying to cling to his shoulders. Moans, mewls, and soft whimpers of his name escaping from between your parted lips. The stretch feels overwhelming in the best possible way, because his thick member brushes along every single soft, spongey, pleasurable spot that lines the inside of your dripping wet core. You're drunk on him before he even truly begins thrusting. His leaking tip pressing practically into your womb over and over. "Tora love you, love you Tora. My Tora." The words were babbeled and soft between heated moans and whines each time his tip hit deep yet again. Kazutora's movements were measured, each thrust deliberate and exquisitely slow as he delved deeper into the depths of your throbbing cunt. The air became heavy with the sounds of your moans and mewls intermingling with the soft whimpers that spilled from his own lips.

Your grip tightened on his shoulders, fingers sinking into the muscles, as if anchoring yourself to him amidst the swirling sea of sensation. The depth and stretch enveloped you, he filled you to the brim with a pleasurable ache that bordered on euphoria. Each brush of the thick, pulsating member inside you sent sparks of ecstasy dancing along your nerves.Between heated moans and whimpers, the words of love and adoration tumbled from your lips, your voice a melody laced with devotion. They merged with the panting breaths and gasps that escaped Kazutora's mouth, their delicious intertwining creating a symphony of raw passion.

"my love," he whispered hoarsely, his voice blending with the rhythm of your shared desire. "You…you feel so right, so perfect. You were made for me." He practically growled the words as his thrusts began to grow more urgent, deeper, and faster, building a crescendo of pleasure that threatened to consume you both. The room spun and spun with the heady intoxication of your union, and you surrendered yourself to the wave of ecstasy on the horizon.As Kazutora's movements became a blur of pleasure. Every thrust was infused with a powerful intent, pushing you closer to the edge, to the release that awaited you both. Together, you danced on the precipice of passion, on the cusp of that would wash away all earthly worries all the years spent apart.

With each shuddering breath, your moans and cries danced through the air, an offering to the higher power that was Kazutora. His name slipped off your lips like a fervent prayer, a testament to the profound connection that existed between you. In this moment, he was everything, your love, your light, your universe.

As you came around his length the world around you blurred and faded into insignificance. Stars exploded behind your closed eyelids, shimmering fragments of ecstasy that illuminated your vision. Your body awash with waves of delight. Tremors wracked your form, your core convulsing with the aftershocks of your release. Your slick heat clung to him, embracing Kazutora's cock snuggly as he continued the steady rhythm of his thrusts, pushing you higher still. Far past your peak and bordering on overstimulation. Your skin glistened with a thin sheen of sweat, evidence of the intensity that had consumed your bodies. His movements became effortless, gliding in and out of your trembling heat with a fluidity that spoke of deep familiarity and undeniable connection. Every tap against your tender cervix sent sparks of overstimulation and renewed pleasure shooting through your veins, amplifying your cries of his name, along with babbles of love and devotion.

As Kazutora neared his own peak, his movements became more frenzied, his thrusts deep and urgent. Whines and whimpers and a few spat curses flowing from trembling lips. With a final sharp growl of pleasure, his rhythm faltered as he came pumping you full of his hot sticky seed. Small whimpers fell from his throat as his cock twitched out its release inside of your plush walls.

In the aftermath of your climactic release, you lay entwined, panting and sated, the air around you heavy with the scent of passion and the profound connection that bound you together. With each blissful breath, you reveled in the aftermath of your shared desires, knowing that you had found a love that was unparalleled, a love that would endure through the tumultuous storms of life. Bathed in an ethereal glow that matched the euphoria coursing through both of your veins. Your bodies both trembling and weak from your post orgasmic haze but still clinging onto each other tightly. "Love you Tora." You managed to murmur in a half dazed voice, feeling entirely overstimulated and your mind a bit cloudy. Kazutora had laid his larger form against yours pressing soft kisses into the soft sensitive skin of your neck. "I love you my angel." You were his light, his love, and he would never let you go again.

[itsgameofthronesimagines]

Would you be able to do another Alicent Hightower x fem reader headcanon/imagine? Maybe where the reader is a targaryen/velaryon but enjoys fighting/hunter instead of normal “lady” things?? I’m not great at coming up with prompts so srry if it’s bad, but there’s a lack of Alicent content and I really need some. Thanks!

-🐢

Title: Green With Envy

Fandom: House of the Dragon

Pairing: Alicent Hightower x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1,482

Summary: Y/n Velaryon is the best of both of her siblings. She’s a cunning warrior and skilled in fighting like Ser Laenor, and is one of the best dragon riders in all the Seven Kingdoms, like Lady Laena. Alicent would be a fool not to notice this.

Warnings: Anxiety, mostly. Alicent’s riddled with it.

Author’s Note: It’s a short one but I loved the idea of it, nonetheless. I hope you enjoy!

(I do not consent my works to be reposted/copied)

“Cousin Y/n. Walk with me. I wish to hear about the years we’ve been apart.”

Alicent could feel her face twist momentarily into a frown against her will as she watched Y/n and a pregnant Rhaenyra leave the room, arm-in-arm, behind her wine cup.

Between the chaos of Vemond Velaryon’s death and the King’s wish for a family dinner, Alicent hasn’t had her usual warrior to stand by her side. Y/n had been reuniting with her nieces and nephews and allowing her mother to dote on her. Alicent couldn’t feel envy from this. Princess Rhaenys lost two of her children in a short span of time, and she would no doubt want to spend her days in King’s Landing beside her last living child.

No, what truly thrusted envy into Alicent’s heart was Rhaenyra, once again taking whatever she wanted without ever facing the consequences. Surely, the princess wasn’t stupid enough to take Y/n away from Alicent as well as everything else. Nothing will take the Queen’s sword shield from her. Nothing.

Y/n has done the impossible. She fought all odds and survived her birth. She claimed the Bronze Fury, Vermithor when she was only ten years old. She rose to the ranks of knighthood even though she was a woman. She put herself in the King’s court and swore fealty to the Queen... She even stole that queen’s heart.

Ser Y/n Velaryon is a perfect mixture of both her brother and sister, therefore a storm, not even her father could tame. And like any storm her family avoids, she swallows up and takes what she wants without mercy. But like many storms, Y/n is also forgiving and gentle, proving the fruits of her labor is well worth her knighthood. She believes in faith and justice, much like a true knight often portrayed in a little girl’s fantasy.

If Alicent was still a little girl, she would have considered Y/n the knight of her fantasy. Now a woman grown, she looks at Y/n and sees so much more. Y/n is more than just the Maiden or the Father. She is the Warrior as well, all of them reincarnated into this woman to tempt the Queen Consort.

Y/n was a powerful ally to the Greens, which made Alicent all the more concerned at the thought of Rhaenyra stealing her away. Should the Blacks want to take her sworn shield, Alicent would be sure to make their efforts a living hell.

These thoughts kept her awake for most of the night, waiting anxiously for her sworn shield’s return. A knock suppresses her door, and the Queen bids whoever was there to enter. Ser Y/n marches in, her helmet under her arm as she dutifully bows her head to Alicent, “Your Grace.”

“What did Princess Rhaenyra want from you?” Was the first thing Alicent could find within herself to ask, standing from her chair by the hearth.

Y/n smiled slightly as she raised her head, “She wanted to know how my days in court have been. She congratulated me when I told her how I was your sworn shield.”

Suspicious and on edge, Alicent clasped her hands together so as not to pick her nails, “That’s all you spoke of?”

“We talked about the baby for the most part. She’s very confident it’s a girl.”

The Queen forces herself to relax, unwinding her hands to lean on the back of the chair. Alicent takes a deep breath, watching the flames dance in the hearth, “I see.”

She hears Y/n’s armor as the female knight takes slow steps forward, and with each step comes the beating of Alicent’s heart, pounding in her ears, “Your Grace, I fear I have news from my mother that may concern you if you mind me telling.”

Her heart sinks before Alicent forces herself to remain undeterred, briefly nodding her head in her shield’s direction, “Please do.”

“She spoke of my father and his health and then mentioned a letter he had sent to her before he sustained his injury. As you well know, with Laenor and Laena dead... Lord Corlys no longer has an heir to Driftmark until Prince Lucerys comes of age. His legacy is dwindling... and so he wishes me to go home and marry the son of a Sealord of Braavos.”

The crackling of the fire fills the room and drowns out the silence. Alicent’s eyes finally move to meet Y/n’s gaze as her stomach drops with dread, “... What?”

Y/n’s sigh was heavy, internal mourning shadowing her features as her eyes dance over Alicent’s, “I am Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys’ last living child... and I am unwed and childless.”

“But you’re a knight!”

A scowl takes its place on the knight’s lips as she spoke ill of her father, “Not even Lord Corlys believes that my vows ring true because of my sex.”

Alicent scoffs in disbelief, turning around and drawing closer to the fire as her nails finally rise to her mouth. Her fingers shake against her lips, her teeth desperately wanting to tear at the skin around her nails, desperate to feel the familiar sting to relieve the stress of her troubles. It was as she feared. The Blacks wanted Y/n, as powerful as she is, with her dragon and her lust for battle. Rhaenyra, yet again, wants to take everything as hers knowing that there is no one able to tell her ‘no’. The princess wants nothing but to cause Alicent pain, as she always has. Even when they were girls, lovesick and innocent of the world, Rhaenyra did as she pleased and gave Alicent grief for worrying so much about her public figure. Either Rhaenyra was blind to life’s expectations of her as a woman, or she just didn’t care and wanted to fly her dragon with Alicent at her back. It was stupid, wishful thinking at the time, and even after all these years, Rhaenyra seems determined to prove her point by taking whoever she wants whenever she wants.

And yet, Alicent also couldn’t help but think of this small betrayal as a political move. House Velaryon was, by all accounts, loyal to Rhaenyra and her succession to the Iron Throne, through her marriage to Laenor and Corlys’ ambition for power. If the Sea Snake felt threatened by the Greens in any way, he would want his daughter removed from her service to Queen Alicent. Rhaenyra might have been aware of this prior to her arrival at the Capitol and could have wanted to persuade her cousin Y/n to the Blacks.

This hardens Alicent’s heart, her back straightening until she’s the regal queen the public believes her to be, her fingers falling from her lips to draw to her sides. Remembering her station and place in this world, Alicent’s persona becomes stern and confident, unlike the young lady she once was, full of crippling anxiety. Turning away from the hearth, Alicent points her gaze back to Y/n.

The change in her posture must have been obvious as Y/n slowly straightens to attention, watching her carefully as Alicent stepped closer. The Queen took several steps until she was close enough to feel Y/n’s breath on her forehead, then proceeded to lift a hand to rest on her sworn shield’s chest plate. With determination and authority, Alicent spoke as clearly as possible, “You are sworn to me. You made your vows to me. As your Queen, I forbid it. I forbid you from leaving King’s Landing. I pray for your father’s recovery... only so that I can tell him this myself.”

Her hand trails further up until it rests on the side of Y/n’s face, and finally, the knight relaxes against Alicent’s touch, shoulders slouching in relief as if she was worried the Queen would obey her father’s wishes. In a small whisper, Y/n nods to Alicent, “Thank you, Your Grace.”

Alicent nods sternly despite the hammering of her heart and her wish to smile. Instead, she pulls away, immediately missing the feel of Y/n’s flesh against her skin, but refused to show it. Clasping her hands together to keep them from touching Y/n again, Alicent lifts her chin high, “Tomorrow, I wish to meet Vermithor officially. You must introduce me.”

Y/n’s eyes widen in shock and Alicent can’t entirely blame her for the surprise. She didn’t know what came over her, but Alicent didn’t dare take it back. She was always wary about dragons, even as a girl. She always refused a ride when Rhaenyra offered to take her on Syrax, yet to Alicent, this felt entirely different. Y/n is not Rhaenyra, and Alicent always feels the need to be a part of Y/n’s life, in every way she can be. Knowing her sworn shield to be a dragon rider didn’t bother Alicent like she thought it would, and perhaps that’s how she knew she was in love with Y/n.

Her sworn knight smiled widely, her eyes gleaming against the flames of the hearth, cheeks warm as she bowed, “As you command, My Queen.”

~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Please leave your support and if you want a request, send a raven and leave it in the ask box!

[ataraxiaspainting]

May I please request Yandere Machi, Pakunoda, and Shizuku? (separate)

Here's the scenario: They haven't seen their s/o in a decade, ever since they got put in prison. The rest of Troupe managed to break them out, and they go on the search for their s/o.

However, they encounter their son/daughter—who was eight the last time they saw them—now an adult and full-pledged hunter. Their child tells them that they'll defeat them and put them back into prison in the name of justice, which is sad because before they were captured and put into prison, they used to be very close.

Yan Machi + Yan Shizuku + Yan Pakunoda / Having a Hunter Child.

Warnings: The reader uses she/her pronouns respectfully, implied dub-con, manipulation, unhealthy relationships, and threats/mentions of violence.

Word Count: 900.

*~*~*~*

Machi

Eyes the color of a cloudless sky meet those dissimilar to them yet all too familiar at the same time for as many reasons as there are stars during the time of midnight. The young man’s eyes share the same hue as yours, yet have the same type of glare Machi used to always use on you to keep you in line, to prevent you from doing anything stupid. 

“Komacine. I shall strike you down if it is the last thing I ever do.”

Machi is not scared, just disappointed, in both her son and you. 

“Oh?” But she is also happy because, for the first time in nearly ten years, she can see the image of her son and you, both within her grasp where you both belong. “You don’t mean that, do you?”

Her words made the young man’s sword be held up even higher, but she was still not afraid.

“I shall, Spider, that is a promise.” But deep within those eyes, there is regret and sorrow, Machi thinks.

“Is that any way to talk to your mother?”

Her son merely snarls like a wild animal, still having his weapon raised high. “You aren’t my mother. You’re just yet another piece of evidence of all the wrongs there are to be righted in this world.”

From the corner of her eye, Machi sees you wearing a pink apron through the window, seeming to be humming to something while peeling some potatoes, carrots, and onions. She would have made her way into your home by now, if your son hadn’t at that exact moment opened the front door, which had immediately set off his Nen detection.

“Am I not? You look just like the little boy I used to take to the playground all the time, all those years ago. The games we used to play, your favorite one being… hmm…” She put her thumb and pointer finger under her chin, pinching it lightly.

“That was then and this is now, Komacine. I will kill you for what you did, all the people you hurt and murdered in cold blood.” 

Choosing not to pay any clear attention to the threat, Machi simply thinks back to all the past moments, so bittersweet like her favorite tea blend.

“Ah… it was hide and seek, wasn’t it?” From the sound of silence, she knows she is right. “Shall we play that one now? …Would you like that?”

No answer is to be heard.

Shizuku

Shizuku turns her head to the side, confused. 

“Why are you attacking me?” Did she do something wrong? “Why do you think? I know you have a bad memory, but try to use that brain of yours, Spider. For your good.” This man looks familiar, but from where?

Then she realizes, as the moonlight shines on the tops of both of their heads, showing the eerily similar hues of ink black. She smiles, and the moonlight also shows how wide it is, much to the horror of the young man.

“Ah! You’re my son, all grown up! Gosh… the years have flown by, haven’t they?”

She chuckles as she reminisces about old times, full of sentimentality.

“We should have a game night, just like those times! Oh, to see your mother again as she plays with us… it would feel like a dream, wouldn’t it?” To see how you have matured too, just like your son, both from the inside and outside, is a sight that would make Shizuku’s heart burst with love. Even though you are all ten years older, she is sure that you are still as beautiful as ever.

It feels and sounds like a threat, but is it? Shizuku does not lie, and her threats are always nonexistent, anyway.

He prepares to run just in case it is and is real, though.

Pakunoda

In an instant, she gets closer than he can blink and puts a finger to his lips.

“Shush. Calm down, please. I love you both, and I always will.”

Little by little, the sword lowers, as small as the change is.

But she notices. She has always been observant, which only proves to be more amplified during her ten-year-long search for you.

“You’re a Spider, you hurt us, you hurt more than us. Why would I-” Another interruption.

“I missed you plenty, you know. You and your mother were the lights of my world all those years ago. You both still are. Did you miss me too? Either of you?” It is not an odd question, but without physical touch, it may as well be. Her Nen can only work when she has her hand or arm on someone, after all. However, even without using it, she can still detect when someone is lying. The slight quiver of the corner of the lips.

He can’t move. He can feel his soul sinking, far beneath the ground.

“No.” There is only one word, but the lie is still apparent.

“Shall we go in? We have a lot to discuss, your mother and I. We can also chat about old times if you want to.” She smiles as she walks up the steps, slowly with her hands raised. Her son lets her.

[bunniekittiee]

stranglehold- johnny slaughter x fem. reader

Yes, I know none of this is date accurate to Ted Nugent’s release of his album but ykw just go with it, just pretend it’s not something I changed. Based off my headcanon that Johnny would be a sucker for Ted Nugent. Also, you can't tell me that this song isn’t his theme song?!

Curtesy to my bf who showed me Ted Nugent when we first started dating. He is the man, the myth, the legend, my world (referring to my bf not old man Nugent lol). My dad is also a Ted Nugent fan, but I found this out way after I started dating my bf but yk shout out to my dad.

I lowkey suck at endings so I apologize if it isn’t the best. Also, I wanted to change this and give the reader more fight in her. I always write them submissive to Johnny, and I wanted this one to give him a fight.

I’ve had this sitting in my drafts for a couple of months and I knew I needed to finish it.

Content warning: Blood, gore, description of wounds, Johnny being a little sexual and pushy, and not proofread.

December 25th, 1963

The Slaughter boy was a fan of Ted Nugent the minute he unwrapped one of his last few gifts from Chop Top. Hazel eyes scanning the cover, they were caught by the man himself. Ted Nugent, standing there with his guitar and his hair a crazed mess. The outline of him was slightly hazy, but it was still him.

“Heard ’im playing on the radio in the shop.” Chop Top said as Johnny ran his fingers over the cover. “After finding out who it was, I got it for ya’. I have a feelin’ ya’ gonna’ like it.”

Antsy for the rest of unwrapping gifts, Johnny eyed the album that he held carefully in his lap. He was itching to play it, he wanted to hear what Mr. Nugent sounded like. The messy hair, the glistening of sweat on his skin, the blur of his body, this was extremely impressionable on the young Slaughter boy whom was only fifteen.

Presents were done being unwrapped and Johnny immediately dashed off to his room. Chop Top chuckled at the boy’s excitement and elbowed Nubbins. “I am the best gift giver to that kid.” And Johnny would agree with him, he truly was.

Johnny took the record out of its plastic covering and slid the disc itself out of the cardboard holder. Carefully, he placed it on his record player and let the needle drop.

The guitar started echoing in his room, Johnny watching with his mouth slightly agape at the record spinning. He started nodding his head to the drum beat when it came in.

“Here I come again now baby, like a dog in heat. You can tell it’s me by the clamor now baby, I like to tear up the streets.”

Listening intently to every sound that played back to his ears, he felt his blood rush and goosebumps raise on his flesh. Something in this song captivated him. Whether it was the vocals or the haunting howl of Ted Nugent’s guitar, Johnny knew one thing for sure. This song would follow him for the rest of his life.

August 12th, 1973

Nine years had passed, almost ten since that fateful day of Chop Top’s incredible gift. Johnny went from a shy, reserved young boy to a flirty, rough, man. He was not the kid he once was, his muscles and height being very physically telling of that. He once had grown his hair out long, but he chopped it off. A dire mistake had almost cost him his life, so it was not worth the risk anymore. However, he did not want it completely short, so he cut it to where it could not be tugged on or get caught on objects. He hated when his hair was touched, it enraged him.

Finishing his cigarette, he began to get into his truck when Sissy waved at him to stop. He sighed.

“What is it now that ya’ want?” he asked with annoyance traced within his words

She hummed. “When are ya’ gonna’ bring your little girlfriend around? I’ve been wantin’ a new friend.” She smiled and Johnny rolled his eyes.

“I don’t know. But ya’ ain’t comin’ around her.”

“Why not?” She pouted.

“I don’t trust ya.”

“That’s real funny comin’ from ya’. She shouldn’t trust ya’ yet she does.” Sissy said while crossing her arms. “She has less of a risk getting killed by me than she does ya’, and I ain’t even datin’ her.”

Johnny chuckled. “Ya’ right, I’ll give you that.”

“Just think about it, don’t shoot the idea down now.” Sissy said as she tapped the truck and began to walk back to the house.

Johnny shrugged and started to turn the truck around to leave. He was going to see Y/N, and he was excited, but not in the way you think. He was excited to get his hands on her body and rip her apart, but she had barely let him touch her, let alone kiss. It was still a fresh relationship, but the Slaughter boy never took anything slow. It was always fast and rough. Like many attributes of Johnny that you would come to know. He wanted to take her now. But she always insisted on waiting. He would play the waiting game, but there was no doubt that he was going to devour her.

He was tired of her being around other people. Her friends, her family, her coworkers, anyone. He wanted her to be around him and him only. He hated the hot white jealousy that licked away at his lower belly when he saw her interact with people other than him. It made him want to bash her fucking skull in for being so damn insensitive to his feelings. But he played nice, he played the perfect, goody-two shoes Southern boy role with disgust. No one ever noticed how his eyes were empty of all emotion when he smiled or how his face darkened at the talk of the murders that he had dabbled in. He felt like James Dean in a movie role that he was made for.

Putting a tape into the radio, he felt the goosebumps he felt on that life-changing day of December 25th, 1963. He was a very big fan of Ted Nugent, and he had many records and tapes to prove that. He learned how to play “Stranglehold” on guitar and many other Nugent classics that he held near and dear to his heart. To say he was a fan was an understatement, he moreso worshipped the musician.

But “Stranglehold” was something special. Despite the fact that it was his first song he had listened to from the music idol he favorited, he related to it on a primitive level. He and Ted had something in common, they wanted to both devour the girl in their life and let her know that she had nowhere else to go. Johnny wanted full control of her, he wanted her to know that she had absolutely no safety when she was around him. She would stay with him forever, she had nowhere else to run to.

Adrenaline pumping, his fists tightened around the wheel as he drove. He wanted to teach that bitch a lesson for making him wait so damn long for some pussy. He wanted to keep her all for himself. He wanted her now. He wanted her to go with him and never return home. She would be in his presence 24/7, and he would not feel the jealousy he felt when she talked to others but him. He chewed on his lip as his pupils began to expand. This song dug into some other part of Johnny that he did not know he had.

He did not understand why she was so special to him. Why he felt jealousy towards the people around her. Why he felt the need to keep her in his home. Why he felt the desire to even keep her alive. But here he was, listening to his favorite song and wondering about how her head would look like impaled on a fence pick.

They were supposed to hang out today at her house as her parents were gone on a trip. He wore his dark blue flares with a black shirt, a little reminiscent of his hunting outfit. He slicked his hair back to perfection and wore some bone jewelry Nubbins made him. It was easy for him to look good no matter what. That’s what brought in dinner, and dinner made the family happy. Family comes first, right?

Pulling into the driveway, Johnny sighed and glanced in the mirror one last time before getting out of his truck. He did not want to keep putting up his sweet country boy persona but he knew he had to. As annoying as it was, it lured everyone in. Made them believe the lies he spoke.

Knuckles rapping the door, he waited for her to come to his calling. He held no expression, his face at its natural state. As much as he tried to hide it, his natural face was very telling of who he was and what he was feeling. It was void of many attributes of what made a human being. It looked like it was an lifeless portrait.

As soon as she answered the door, his facial expression immediately changed. One that was grinning. “Hey sweet pea.”

She returned his smile. “Hey Johnny. Come in!”

Welcoming inside of her home, Johnny glanced around. He had been inside her home before, and he had the layout of it inside of his head. While she slept in her bed, he would wander around the house like a silent leopard. He was able to memorize all exit points.

He knew it was worth the trouble.

“So what’s the plan, babydoll?” He asked with a small smirk. He pulled her body flush to his as she blushed.

“I was thinking I make us some lunch and we can watch a movie. I got some tapes from the video store.” She said as Johnny peppered kisses on her face.

“How about no lunch and we get into the movie?” He lowered his hand to her ass, grabbing a handful. “Come on.”

She shook her head giggling. “No, Johnny. You already know the answer to that.”

His irritation had risen but he hid it well. “What’s the real reason, doll face? Ya’ been holdin’ out on me for months now.”

“I’m waiting until marriage. You know this.” She replied as Johnny sighed into her neck. She bit her lip, feeling a little guilty that she was holding out on Johnny, making him wait. He was a respectful and loving boyfriend, why should she make him wait?

But it was her choice. No one else’s.

“Guess I gotta’ marry ya’.” Johnny said with a small smile. “Keep ya’ away from everyone else too.”

She chuckled, not understanding what he was hinting at. This only made him smile wider. “Is someone jealous?”

His eye twitched, but she did not see. “Just don’t like other people around ya’.” Johnny said as he rested his hands on her waist. “That’s all.”

“Like who?” She asked jokingly.

“Everyone, doll face.” He replied back.

Still thinking he was joking, she giggled. “Why would you be jealous of everyone around me? You’re still my number one, Johnny.”

His eyes were now darkening and his facial expression was a little off-putting. Almost as if it was not Johnny, it was something else. “I want ya’ ta’ forever stay by my side. I don’t want anyone around ya’ but me.”

“Awww, you’re quite the romantic type.” She said as she burrowed her head into his shoulder.

He scoffed. “I don’t think yer’ understandin’ what I’m sayin’, I want to keep ya’ locked away. Be mine forever.”

The uneasiness began to settle in the pit of her stomach as she pulled away from Johnny for a moment. It was like looking at a stranger. His eyes were not inviting and warm like they once were, they were cold and void. His face was hardened, no smile or any emotion showing. “What do you mean by that?”

“Yer’ a smart girl.” He said lowly. “Piece it together, sunflower.”

Locked away forever? Away from everyone around her? She stepped back from him and he inched closer to her. His murderous aura was beginning to tense the room up. “You want me to be kept away from my friends and family?” She questioned, her fear being exposed through her words.

“Exactly. I hate everyone yer’ around. I want ya’ for myself, and only me.” Johnny now looked much scarier and bigger, his size increasing from what it seemed like to his girlfriend. “I want ta’ kill yer’ parents. Yer’ friends. I hate when they’re around ya’. Ya’ only need me.”

Breathing quickening, she continued to step back as her eyes were wide. Like a rabbit face-to-face with the wolf. Johnny flashed a smile, but it did not hold the same comfort it once did. “Johnny, I need you to leave.”

“Ain’t goin’ anywhere, doll.” He said back as he lunged for her. He narrowly missed her as she dodged his attack, barreling her way to the front door to leave her home. Her adrenaline pumped as Johnny trailed not so far behind her. “Ya’ better get back here ya’ bitch! If ya’ know what’s good for ya’!”

She picked up her pace faster, sprinting down the dirt road and screaming like a banshee for help. But to her dismay, not many people came down that road. It was her and Johnny.

Johnny hopped in his truck and quickly pulled out of her driveway. Pushing his foot as far as he could on the gas pedal, he sped after her. He smiled manically to himself. She was heading right into the direction of the Devil’s lair. The Sawyer home was not too far from hers, so this was going to be easy for him.

Panting and her sides in excruciating pain, she whipped her head back and forth to see how far Johnny was from her. He was pretty damn close to her, and she felt that it was quite unfair that he had the ability to chase her in his truck. Human legs were not always a match for a vehicle.

In the distance, she saw a sunflower field and a two-story home that brought her great relief. She could get help there. That was her way to safety. She quickly rerouted herself to go into the sunflower field making Johnny’s grin wider as he slammed his foot on the break. She was now in his territory. He knew those sunflower fields very well, unbeknownst to her.

The wolf lurched out of his truck and chased after his rabbit who had hopped into the maze of sunflowers. Breathing heavily and moving away the large stems out of her way, she hoped that she was able to escape Johnny this way, or at least throw him off of her path.

That was, until she didn’t hear any footsteps or scurrying behind her. She whipped her head around, attempting to catch her breath as well as look for Johnny, but she did not hear anything.

Just the birds chirping and the soft wind.

“Hey there!” Johnny laughed as he lunged at her from his position. She screeched, running in the opposite direction as he continued his chase once again.

It was not long as a sudden pain surged through her leg as she tumbled to the ground. Her yowling echoed in the field as Johnny smirked at her injured state. “Well well well, look at what the cat dragged in.”

She was caught in Nubbins’ trap. Tears streamed down her face from the amount of pain she was in. Her foot was mangled in the trap. She tried to back away from Johnny who inched closer to her, but it only made her pain worse.

“Sorry doll, it just had to be this way.” He said disappointingly as he kneeled down. “Don’t worry, when you wake up, you will feel better.”

Confused at his words, Johnny immediately slammed her head into the ground to knock her out. She was weak, it was too easy. Undoing the trap and setting it up once again, he picked up her limp body and carried her to his shed that the Sawyers kept on their property for his ‘guests’. As much as Drayton hated it, he did not want it in his home, so he made sure that Johnny kept them out. He made his way into his shack and wrapped her foot up hastily. He did not want to spend much time on her, he needed to prepare for his night.

‘You ran the night that you left me, put me in my place. Got you in a stranglehold baby, you better trust your faith.’

The ache chewed away at her, worsening when she awoke from her drowsy state. Her foot felt like it was searing, and it was extremely uncomfortable. Shifting around, she glanced around her surroundings and her heart dropped. It came flooding back to her where she was at.

Johnny had taken her hostage. Her limbs were tied up and she was laying on a dirty mattress with questionable stains. It was cold and dark. There were no signs of Johnny or anyone else for that matter. The structure she was in was small, almost like it was made to be a shed of some sort. A shed with hardly any light filtering in from the moon and with freezing temperatures.

She shivered while she looked around for an exit point. The door was locked shut and there was one small window. Not that she could fit through it. Attempting to stand up, she gritted her teeth in pain as she tried to walk on her bad foot. She landed right on her butt. It was too painful to get around. Her head throbbed from him slamming it into the ground.

Her thoughts went to her parents, her friends. She did not want to die here. Not from the hands of him. Someone who she trusted, loved. Someone she thought she had a future with. Her eyes watered at the fact that he had betrayed her.

But she could not weep for long as the door began to jiggle, and there was a sound of a key entering the key hole. Wipe her tears away, she looked as the Slaughter boy opened the door. He had a smirk on his face as he approached his piece of meat.

“I see yer’ awake, doll. Ya’ ready to meet the family?” He asked her as kneeled down in front of her. She glared at him, her eyes swimming with anger. “Awwe, don’t give me that look, pretty girl.” He held the back of his hand to her face and she moved her head away. How dare he touch her.

“Come on, let’s get ya’ up.” He said as he cut the rope around her ankles and pulled her up, making her practically scream at the weight she put on her injured foot.

“I can’t walk.” She said aggressively as she moved away from Johnny.

He rolled his eyes. “Figure it out, doll. I ain’t carryin’ ya.”

Limping and fighting back tears, she attempted to walk beside him. It was so painful. Blood oozed out of her wound, and the corners of her vision began to blacken. Johnny pulled her along faster, grumbling about her taking her sweet time, and the pain increased. She felt dizzy. She could not run from Johnny now, not in this condition.

He pulled her inside the house, leading her to the dining room where his family sat. Sissy whistled when her brought her to the table, forcing her to sit as he tied her to the chair.

“Ya’ really did pick a purty’ one, Johnny.” She purred as she eyed his girlfriend. “Ma’ names Sissy. I’ve never had a sister before.”

“Oh stop it, Sissy.” Johnny said flatly. “Now yer’ just kissin’ ass.”

Sissy frowned. “Rather it be that way than for me ta’ try cuttin’ her up.” The woman’s heart rate increased and her eyes began to dart around.

“Ya’ wouldn’t try nothin’.” said the Slaughter boy with a glare. “Not on my watch.”

“Be quiet both of ya’! Sit down and eat dinner.” Cook yelled at the two ‘siblings’. “This girl is more trouble than she’s worth.”

“Oh keep it quiet, old man.” Johnny snapped. “Ya’ couldn’t get it up if ya’ even wanted to. Don’t stick yer’ nose in my business.”

Nubbins doubled over in laughter while Bubba wrung his hands anxiously. Drayton’s face turned red as he narrowed his eyes at the young man. “Wait until yer’ mother finds out about yer’ foolishness! Ya’ created a mess for yerself’ Johnny!”

“It ain’t any of yer’ business.” Johnny stabbed into the unknown meat on his plate with a knife. “Don’t fuck with me and piss me off before dinner, old man.”

Drayton shut up and stared at his dinner plate angrily. The tension in the room was suffocating. She felt awkward. Johnny nudged her plate towards her while he chewed on a piece of meat. “Don’t be shy.”

Nausea twisted in her stomach as she grimaced. “I can’t.”

“Yes ya’ can. Try it.” He said encouragingly.

“What is it?” She asked, almost not wanting to know.

Nubbins giggled while Sissy grinned, exchanging a look with the twin. “Just try it sweetheart.”

Johnny stabbed in a chunk and held it to her lips. “Open wide, doll face.”

Not wanting to upset them this early, she bit into a small piece of it. She chewed slowly, tasting the seasonings and flavor.

Johnny couldn’t help his wide, sadistic smile on his face. “It’s good, isn’t it sweetheart?”

She nodded, swallowing it completely. “What is it?”

If his grin could get wider, then it definitely did. “Nothin’ much, just someone’s liver.”

Her face paled. Bile had risen up in her throat and she threw up on the table. Sissy recoiled back and Drayton looked at the girl like she was disgusting. “Now ya’ threw up all over dinner!”

She coughed and held her head down. Johnny t’sked as he shook his head. “Way to go. Now yer’ just bein’ ungrateful.”

Sissy approached her with a napkin, attempting to wipe away the bile from her face until Johnny grabbed her wrist harshly. “Now what do ya’ think yer’ doin’?”

“Cleanin’ her up since ya’ ain’t bein’ a gentleman.” Sissy replied with a roll of her eyes. “Why? Is that a problem?”

“Get yer’ filthy hands off of her. Ya’ ain’t allowed to touch her.” Johnny smacked at Sissy’s hands while she pulled away.

Sissy crossed her arms. “What are ya’ afraid of, Johnny? It’s not like I’m hurtin’ her.”

“Don’t act like yer’ sunshine and rainbows. Yer’ just as fucked up as the rest of us, Sissy. Cut the act.” Johnny was now angry.

Her eyebrows furrowed, and she clenched her jaw. “How about ya’ stop keepin’ her to yerself’ and start sharin’ the meat ya’ bring! She ain’t nothin’ else to ya’ but somethin’ to fuck.”

“Are ya’ jealous or just being bitchy?” Johnny asked with a huff. “It ain’t yer’ business what I’m doin’.”

They began to bicker back and forth. She felt herself spin as their voices got louder and louder. There was a piece of wood sticking out behind the chair that she began to rub the rope back and forth across. If it could cut through the rope, she would be free. All she had to do was bolt out the front door. If she could find it.

'Some people think they gonna die someday. I got news you never got to go.'

Their yells ensued to screams, ones that caused Bubba to rock back and forth while crying and Drayton to scream at them to shut up. Her ears rung, and the rope gave way. Waiting for the right moment, she pushed Sissy harshly out of the way, making her land on the ground.

“Get back ’ere!” Sissy screeched as she quickly got up from the floor to chase Johnny’s girlfriend. Johnny trailed after her, telling Sissy to leave it to him. She limped to the front door and unlocked it quickly, swinging it open and hitting Sissy and Johnny in the face. They both hit the floor, stunned and staring up at the ceiling as Drayton screamed at Bubba to get his chainsaw and Nubbins to chase her.

She ran, well, what she could only describe as running. Her ankle hurt terribly, blood coating the cloth Johnny had wrapped around it. Every step shot pain up her leg, but she was running on adrenaline. She screamed as loud as she could for help, but all she heard back was her own echoes and the revving of Bubba’s chainsaw. She continued to wail as Johnny started to catch up to her.

"Gotcha!" he yelled as he pulled her close to him and started to fight with her. She wrestled him as much as she good, putting all of her weight on her injured ankle despite how much distress the injury was in. More blood seeped out and stained the dirt road. Bubba's revving got closer and closer the more they continued to fight. Johnny grinned manically at her, grunting and taunting her while she wrestled him off. She was able to push him to the ground, sprinting off right before Sissy could slash her with her knife. Sissy yelled at Johnny to get his lazy ass up off the ground and continued the chase that Johnny couldn't seem to catch up with.

As much as he liked to play games, this one had more fight in her than he thought. She had never showed this side of her when they were dating. At least, not to this extent. Recovering from yet another stun, Johnny got to his feet and narrowed his eyes. He needed to put an end to it now. This was beginning to only piss him off more since Drayton decided to ruin their dinner with his two cents.

He started the chase again, sprinting as fast as he could and breathing heavily. He had to catch up with his prey and Sissy, and he hoped that Sissy wouldn't take his kill. She was his, not hers.

"That'll teach ya' ta' fuckin' push me!" Sissy said with a laugh as she slashed her knife at the girl, making her adrenaline peak more and more. Her wounds oozed red liquid that trailed behind her, and she felt the edges of her vision darken. She did not want to die here; she did not want to die at the hands of her captors. She had almost reached the edge of the property, and she had the entire family chasing her down. Even Drayton was in it, he was just last compared to his family, and he was screeching like a banshee to kill her.

Sissy grabbed her, but she turned around quickly to fight off the woman. Wrestling her like she did Johnny, she launched Sissy to the ground before taking off again. Sissy stared up at the night sky for a second before recollecting herself. Johnny passed her and teased her. "Guess ya' gettin' lazy too." She wanted to punch the Slaughter boy in the face for creating a huge mess.

She had now crossed over the edge of the Sawyer property. Lungs heavy and the pain hitting her, she felt weakened. But she was not out of the radar yet. She continued to run, as well as scream for help, as Johnny trailed behind her. The rest of the family did not follow him off the property. They knew that whatever took place outside of the property was something they did not need to witness. He was never nice with his punishments.

Suddenly, she was rolling on the ground with Johnny, dirt flying everywhere as he tackled her. He sat on top of her and held her arms down. She felt so angry. She was so close to escaping, yet here she was now. Underneath Johnny who stared down at her like a hungry wolf.

"You and your entire family are crazy! Let me go, Johnny!" She fought against his grip on her arms.

"Can't do that, sunshine." He said back, his facial features almost consumed in darkness. But she could still see those eyes. "Ya' caused a lot of trouble tonight. Too much. I thought ya' would be different."

Her heart dropped at his words. "There were more before me?"

"Did ya' really think I was some sort of virgin boy? Of course, there were more before ya', there was plenty." He smiled at her, but it was empty. "I just thought ya'd be different. I wished ya' were different."

"I would never stay with you. I would rather die than to be held captive by you! You are crazy!" She retorted back while her face scrunched up. Disgust filled her body. To think this was the man she wanted to marry one day, have a future with. And this is what he did to her.

His eyes darkened and he frowned. He grabbed her by the hair and held his hunting knife up to her throat. "Watch yer' mouth, girl. Ya' suddenly forget that I can easily kill ya'." Johnny did have a good point, and she whimpered quietly when he pressed the knife deeper to her throat. Her wide eyes locked with his, fear swimming in them. He felt goosebumps rise on his skin from seeing the fear. It was something he liked to see on his victims.

Johnny moved the knife away from her throat and smiled again. "There girl, don'tcha worry now." His gloved hand caressed the side of her face. "You'll come around; I promise ya' that. But I can't promise ya' that my family won't try to kill ya'. Ya' gave them a headache."

'You created it yourself,' she thought to herself when Johnny got to his feet and pulled her up. Her ankle yowled in pain. She did not want to go back to the Devil's Lair. She could not. Not when she got so far. Johnny did not make an effort to help her along, and she took another opportunity. Elbow ready, she rammed it straight into his crotch, making Johnny double over in pain. "God-fuckin' dammit!"

She took off again in the opposite direction, still screaming for help as she limped along. She wanted to get away no matter what. Despite how much agony her body was in and how much blood dripped from her wounds, she could not let them win. Johnny was in pain, but he was now aggravated. He had given her many chances to play nice, but she took advantage of his kindness. All because she wanted to control the situation. He did not like that.

He stumbled towards her direction to ease the pain that did not seem to let up. He knew he would have to tough this one out. He could not let his prey escape. Starting to jog, he trailed after her. He would catch up to her one way or another.

And he did. He tackled her once more to the ground, his hands wrapping around her throat and squeezing. He had a snarl on his lips as he tightened his grip. Choking out, she clawed at Johnny's hands and face to try to loosen his grip. But he only made it worse.

"This will be the last time ya' try to two-time me." Johnny muttered as he stared her down. "I wish it was different. I really do. But ya' made me do this."

Her eyes fluttered as she felt all the air escape her lungs. She could never escape him. Why did she think she could? Johnny Slaughter hardly let his prey get away.

Choking again, her arms splayed out next to her and her vision and hearing fading in and out, she was defeated.

With a crunch, Johnny snapped her neck. He breathed hard as he looked at his beautiful creation. He was an artist himself. He knew deep down inside she was worth all the trouble. But it was time to feed the family. He knew he owed it to them.

Picking up her limp body, he lifted her over his shoulder and began to walk back to the Sawyer house. There was never a chase he didn’t end up enjoying. No matter how much trouble they caused.

‘I got you in a stranglehold baby. That night I crushed your face.’

[eleanor-bradstreet]

The Field: Lavender Forever (Benedict Bridgerton x Reader)

Benedict Bridgerton x fem!Reader Modern AU Rated: 18+ - explicit sexual content, drug use Word count: 2.4k

Part 1: Dandelions Part 3: In a Week Masterpost

Summary: Two years into your relationship, you and Benedict share pleasures on a summer day.

Author's Note: The second in a four-part series based on songs about fields/nature that I associate with Benedict. This part is based on the song Lavender Forever by Jake Wesley Rogers. Thank you to the talented @bridgertontess who made me oodles of photo edits for the header image! 💙

Two years later

You were on your back with Benedict’s head between your legs when the tea took hold. Sprawled on his bed with your dress bunched around your waist, you surrendered your body to the sensations he and his favorite elixir could stir within you. You had been wary the first time he offered you the mysterious purple powder his brother Colin had brought back from some remote corner of the world. But after learning to mask the taste in a cup of tea and having several exhilarating trips where every nerve hummed with heightened sensation, you now shared his fondness for it, particularly when paired with sex. 

You knew you were being irresponsible, rude even, to be getting high and getting off like a teenager visiting her boyfriend and sneaking around his parents’ house. But while he was your boyfriend and this was his family home, you were old enough to know better and Benedict was not the reason you were at Aubrey Hall. It was the company outing, now an annual tradition after its initial runaway success. It had grown from a dinner into an entire weekend and you had arrived early to help Anthony coordinate. Everything was in hand but you still would have made yourself available to your boss were it not for his brother who kept spiriting you away like some hedonistic pied piper. 

It was the day before the employees arrived and you and Benedict were making the most out of your time together by indulging in every pleasure. It was something you had been working on perfecting, timing your dosage of the powder with your climb to orgasm so that both of the highs he offered hit you simultaneously. It was damn close this time, the weightless calm of the tea flooding in just moments before you felt the first flutters of ascent. You gripped into Benedict’s hair and pulled him closer against your body. He responded with a moan and sped up the fingers that were rocking inside you.

Then someone called both your names. It was Anthony. He was looking for you. You knew the door was locked but in that moment you wouldn’t have cared if it wasn’t. Soaring on the tea and the rising wave of release, all you could focus on was reaching your pinnacle. Breathing hard, you tugged at Benedict’s dark locks and began to grind against his tongue, building friction as he sucked your clit hard and wantonly. 

Each of your names was shouted again, growing closer, more agitated. You were nearly there…

You panted to keep yourself from squealing and with a final swirl of his tongue, Benedict brought you over the edge. You rasped his name at the same moment Anthony barked it which caused him to laugh, releasing you from his mouth but keeping his hand in place as you writhed.

“Coming!” He called as you clenched around his fingers. You couldn’t even acknowledge his cheek. You were too numb, your entire body tingling as euphoria muted out the world. But then he was pulling you to stand, the two of you laughing as you straightened each other’s hair and somehow you wandered to the foyer below where Anthony was waiting. The powder had the strange effect of making time slow but also leaving you unable to remember one moment to the next. It rooted you firmly in the present with every sense notched to ten.

“Anthony?” You smiled and tried your best to sound sober. “What do you need?”

“Ah, there you are. What have you been up to?” He raised a curious eyebrow but when Benedict burst into a fit of giggles it lowered into a glare. “Actually…don’t answer that. I need to ask you, is the agenda finalized for the weekend?”

You could feel the stress pouring off of him though it was a foreign concept to you in your current state. “Yes, the coordinators have it.”

“Alright. And we’re good to announce the rollout of the new branding for the charity hospital?”

“Yes, it’s all taken care of.” Despite your current immature behavior, you really had completed all your tasks and were happy to report as much. As you watched the tension easing out of Anthony’s stance, you felt arms wrap around you from behind and the warm breath of someone nuzzling into your neck.

“Benedict, do you mind?!” Anthony growled. “Can we have one minute of peace to discuss some business?”

You bit your tongue to keep from bursting into laughter as Benedict pulled away, hands raised in defeat.

“Sorry, sorry.”  

You turned to see him saunter over to a flower arrangement and begin stroking the petals.

Anthony’s eyes rolled so hard you swore you could hear them. “And the uh…the hampers. For the picnic.”

You nodded. The weekend was going to kick off with a relaxed reception. Each guest being gifted a hamper of local treats to sprawl with on the grounds as they settled in. “Daphne and your mother are putting them together in the back garden. I can go and check on them now.”

He sighed in relief. “Thank you. You’ve taken care of everything.”

“I always do.”

He matched your grin and you basked in the warmth of his favor. Then Benedict suddenly appeared beside him and booped him on the nose with an orange daisy, sound effect and all. The two of you couldn’t contain your hysterics as the viscount clenched his jaw and stormed off to escape you.

You were slightly more apprehensive about hiding your condition from Benedict’s mother and sister but thanks to his antics you hardly needed to. You found them both in the kitchen garden, hampers arrayed before them as they inspected the contents. Benedict swooped in, gave each a kiss on the cheek, complimented how Daphne was tying bunches of Clyvedon lavender to the handles, slipped a hamper onto his arm ‘for a test run’ and pulled you away. It was not what you had intended by checking on their progress but you were so giddy you didn’t protest. As you scampered along the back of the house where staff were bustling with deliveries and laundry, he pilfered a quilt that had been hung to dry with other linens. 

Then you were out on the grounds and far from any onlookers, weaving your way around out buildings and trees, taking a familiar route that made your destination obvious. But the effects of the powder lent the well-worn path a new magic. Your journey seemed to take a day, you and Benedict both falling into a slow, wandering gait with your eyes casting about at the nature that surrounded you. He would sling an arm across your shoulders and marvel as he pointed out dragonflies and rabbits through the sun-dappled shadows. You felt like Alice, swirling in a strange and beautiful wonderland.

Then you reached the field, overgrown and verdant, the grass rippling with the warm breeze. There were no dandelions to be found, not only because the season had passed but because the Bridgertons had actually taken your suggestion and harvested the blooms to try their hand at wine making. Benedict had insisted on it that day when you shared your first kiss and the product of the first harvest was tucked into the hampers for everyone to sample.

You spread the quilt and began to rifle through your spoils like a couple of wily scavengers. Inside you found the bottle of wine bearing the label you designed, a jar of honey, a wedge of cheese, a small bit of bread and fruit from the orangery among other little delights. You loosened the bunch of lavender and breathed deep, feeling its calm sweetness waft over you. You began to twist at the stems, an old hobby from childhood, and within minutes had fashioned a fragrant crown.

You popped it onto Benedict’s head with a giggle. “I hereby proclaim you Lord of Summer.” He rolled his eyes but left it on, too distracted by the food. 

You began to sample everything on offer. The scents were mouthwatering, the colors overwhelming. Benedict promptly began eating the honey with his hands. When he caught you watching him he held a sticky finger to your lips and moaned as you sucked it clean, never breaking eye contact. It tasted like sunshine. 

There was a small knife in the hamper and you attempted to slice the cheese but with half your mind floating somewhere else altogether, you slipped and cut your finger instead. You hissed as you held it aloft, watching a crimson drop swell on your fingertip, captivated by the way it sparkled in the light. Benedict lightly took your wrist, equally mesmerized.

“This passed through your heart,” he murmured. “And you live in mine.” Then with the gentlest swipe of his tongue he lathed your wound and sealed it with a soft kiss. The act felt so profound, so intimate, that you could feel your heart tugging to get closer to him. Within seconds your tongues were entwined, as were your limbs, and you both shed your clothing until you could feel the heat of the sun on every inch of your skin. 

You rolled to straddle him, never failing to marvel at the planes of his toned body. You found him aggravatingly attractive when sober and now with the heady haze of the powder he seemed like the male ideal; Adam waiting for you in the Eden of the field, a perfected creature born and bred in flowers. Planting your hands on his chest you lowered onto him, both of you groaning in ecstasy, and then began to move. You were somehow drowning in the sensations of your body and floating high above them simultaneously. It was almost as if you could picture yourselves from a distance, the two of you entirely nude, clothed in nothing but sunlight and writhing rhythmically against one another. Surrounded by nature and the dusky perfume of lavender it felt primal, pagan, an ancestral ritual you were reviving. Benedict trailed his hands up to cup your breasts, watching you, enthralled as you rode him. 

As always with this elixir time seemed to bend, leaving you no measure for how long you chased pleasure together. All you knew was that you reached a crescendo when pixelated rainbows burst behind your eyelids. Your heart felt as rapid as a hummingbird’s and was joined by the throb of Benedict between your hips, pulsing something electric into your every nerve. You both panted and laughed, content to stay joined together.

“Marry me.” Benedict looked up at you with eager eyes, all smiles beneath his lavender crown. 

You paused. “Ben…you need to stop asking me that.” 

His request didn’t bowl you over because it was the third time you had heard it. The first was far too early in your relationship to take seriously. The second had been what he requested as a gift for his most recent birthday and you were convinced he was joking. But now it seemed he wouldn’t relent.

“You need to give me a straight answer.” He frowned.

“It’s not fair when we’re high and you’re inside me.” 

Benedict smirked, running his thumbs gently over your hipbones. “An altered man’s words are a sober man’s thoughts. I want your honest answer.”

Your heart thudded double time. You knew your honest answer. You had known it from your first kiss. But there was always some anxiety that stopped you from speaking freely, some logical argument that your brain lobbed to overrule your heart. You had wanted to wait until a respectable amount of time had passed in your relationship. You had worried what it would look like if you married into your boss’s family. Mostly you couldn’t quite allow yourself to believe you could be so lucky. 

“I honestly think your timing is terrible.” You deflected.

“The timing is perfect.” He studied you, pupils wide. “I can see your soul shimmering around you. The blues… the greens… iridescent.” He ran his fingers feather-light up the sides of your body and down your arms, tracing your outline. “It changes color when you’re laughing. When we’re making love. I want to see what color it is when you say yes.”

Your breath caught, stunned and a bit jealous that you had not received the same superpower from the tea. You didn’t know if you could see his soul but he did look ethereal, glowing like a stray stream of light. Then again, he always looked like that to you. He was sun-kissed even in the darkest of hours, possessing some innate source of joy. 

“Bit presumptuous to think I’m going to say yes.” You teased.

“Then tell me why you would say no.”

“We’re already mucking up this weekend enough as it is. If we get engaged Anthony may kill us both.”

“That’s why you don’t want to announce an engagement, not why you don’t want to marry me.”

“Ben…” you breathed, knowing he had you cornered. 

He continued. “Because if the rest of my life could be like the last two years, I know it will be a good one. I love everything we do together. I love picking you up from work. I love reading next to you and feeding you and fucking you and buying you toothpaste and painting you and cherishing you.”

He laced his hands with yours and held them tight to his chest, speaking softly. “I was born to love you and I want to die that way. That’s why I want to marry you. Why don’t you want to marry me?”

Tears pricked at your eyes as love and excitement swelled within you. If this had all been a ploy to make you emotional and vulnerable to his advances, it had worked. But you couldn’t be mad at him. Perhaps he had understood exactly what you needed to overcome your defenses. You couldn’t think of any reasons to resist anymore but still knew you couldn’t topple the plans for the weekend.

“Ask me again on Monday.”

His pale eyes sparkled as a crooked grin overtook his features. “Is that a yes?”

You beamed, nodding, praying that you weren’t hallucinating. Benedict gasped, gazing up at you in awe.

“Purple,” he whispered. “It’s purple. Lavender.” Then he lifted the crown from his head and reverently placed it on yours.

The two of you stayed in the field for the rest of the day, lounging half-clothed in each other’s arms and watching the clouds float by until the sky grew ombre and the grass grew dewy. You polished off the picnic and opened the wine as you descended back to earth. It was sweet with a kiss of grassy bitterness. Exactly as you remembered from childhood. A resounding success. A memento of your first fateful meeting in the field returning to celebrate this one. 

Tagging: @angels17324 @bridgertontess @broooookiecrisp @secretagentbucky

[alluralater]

okay okay so i ran into one of my little sister’s old friends from high school when i was out on saturday night. and i was sending my little sister this voice note when i went outside to hit my vape and i sent it to her being like “we walked to a pizza place next to this bar we’re at and i pointed out this gorgeous girl in the window. i said ‘corner window. brunette, pink heart sunglasses.’ and im outside now and she’s out here and i think it’s this girl i knew in high school but im not sure. i think she was in our mentor peer group. but she’s fucking gorgeous and i honestly don’t know but- oh wait i just saw her from the side and she’s coming over here. it’s definitely her.” i was a little drunk so i accidentally left the voice note rolling.

she comes up to me and im like, “did we—” she finishes my sentence and then continues “go to school together? yeah i thought i recognized you. i was watching you the whole time inside with your friends by the counter ordering and i thought it was you but sometimes you can’t tell because we’ve grown up a lot since then. it’s been what like 4 years?” and we’re laughing and talking and i’m telling her it’s been probably like 5 years. and she’s complimenting my costume and how i look even better now and i am nearly melting onto the sidewalk. it’s like 40 degrees out. im in a bodysuit, a cloak, and fucking fishnets. i should be freezing but she’s smiling at me with those pretty lips and laughing. and we’re just talking for like ten minutes? (hard to tell when drunk) and she’s in a group costume with her two friends, one of whom is still inside. she’s telling me their group costume is fuck, marry, kill. and of course, she’s fuck. and she’s wearing this white lingerie with hearts all over it, red eyeliner, striking red lipstick, etc. the whole thing. like fuck me actually because she looks amazing. and anyways okay so here’s the thing.

i was so worried that she might not be gay. i know you’re probably thinking, “allura, she was hitting on you, clearly she’s something.” but you HAVE to understand. i went to an arts high school and we had these mentor peer groups which is like you and 15 other students + your mpg parent (a teacher). and we had those groups for the entirety of our school time. she and i talked like on occasion but i specifically NEVER talked to her for very long even though she tried to start up conversations with me because i was kind of attracted to her and dating within your mpg is totally not cool. though i have impeccable gaydar and i did get some sapphic vibes from her in high school, i was not even going to THINK about her that way because i was known as such a slut and i didn’t want to have anyone thinking i would fuck her because i would but i WOULDN’T if you know what i mean.

anyway so we’re talking and im still not totally sure because it REALLY seems like she’s flirting with me but im just being really fun and casual and trying not to be too gay about the whole thing. so at some point i look down at my phone and i send the voice note to my little sister. oh i should mention, this guy walks by us and he’s nice, not annoying or weird which is great. and he’s talking to us here and there and of course one of my best friends is tearing into him because he touched me for like one whole fraction of a second. but while he’s talking and joking, she’s like completely ignoring him and looking at me and wanting to talk more with me. like she almost seems to give a vibe like he’s intruding if that makes sense. i noticed that for fucking sure. we hang out with (fuck it let’s just give her a name for the sake of this because there are so many hers) valentine for awhile longer and then we end up taking the table she had with her friends inside when they leave and i say my goodbyes to her and she tells me it was really great getting to see me again after all this time. and she does this little look thing up and down my body and i almost want to ask for her number but i don’t because i’m fucking stupid. but i’m smiling like an idiot for the next hour just thinking of how gorgeous she is and how her smile is absolutely beyond. like seriously… when i tell you that valentine is drop dead gorgeous you need to believe me because she seriously is that good looking and yummy to the eyes.

so it’s the next day (tonight) and my sister texts me being like “oh my god you ran into valentine??!” and i was like yeah! she goes on to tell me how they were super close in high school which honestly, i had completely forgotten about. and she’s like (i’ll paraphrase), “wait is valentine gay?? i can HEAR the smile in that bitch’s voice talking to you. you’re being really casual and she sounds like she’s all over you. i never thought that girl was gay but tell me why she sounds like she was ready to risk it all. i don’t even have to see her to know she was eyeing you. and i know her so i know it’s true” and i was like FUCK. so i really should’ve asked for her number then. and my sister is trying to give me her snap or her number and i’m like NO WAY i don’t do that, i have to get it from her if i see her around again sometime.

seeing valentine for 25 minutes had me absolutely fucked up and remembering what it was like to try not to ever look at her for too long. what in the hell. i could’ve been so smooth!! FUCKKK!!! anyways, i hope i see her again sometime and if i don’t then i’ll have to just go fucking die about it <3

btw i asked my sister to save the voice note and she didn’t because she is basically an old man when it comes to technology so that’s tragic but at least it was HEARD