#this rant has been brewing for a while

[jacarandaaaas]

the misogyny of this fandom is disappointing but not surprising.

[bbnibini]

I find it so painfully heartbreaking that Solomon just...laughs off all the derision, the name-calling, and possibly even did "evil" things on purpose because it's expected of him at this point. (He had not always been like this as Thirteen pointed out before). There was a time when he was "innocent". When his soul sparkled. When it resembled the kind of soul everyone in these god forsaken (pun intended with spite) three realms seemed to associate with the ever loved MC. He's just...worryingly carefree. And because he's like that, he feels even more of a tragic character to me.

Sometimes it even seems that he himself would seemingly make up excuses on why he's hated. Oh, it's because I'm a sorcerer this. I might have won a war against Devildom single-handedly this. I have forgotten. But maybe, I did something bad, that. Hon, you were doing that to SURVIVE. You don't have to be a faultless person to deserve compassion. You don't have to be MC to deserve to be loved.

[tarisilmarwen]

"Thrawn only joined the Empire to help the Chiss!"

Okay sure but have any of you bothered to self-examine why Thrawn chose to join the Empire instead of, say, the Republic, when that was still around? Or why he didn't chose to throw in with the Rebellion, put his tactical mind to use helping them overthrow the Empire quicker?

Could it be... perhaps... that maybe he values the Empire's military strength... more than he cares about the authoritarian tyranny with which it oppresses its own people?

Is it possible that he thinks the Empire's main problem is that it isn't effective enough, too much politicking getting in the way of sound strategy, but if he's around (and in charge) he can guide things so that those annoying little wrinkles (AKA the pockets of discontent and rebellion and fully justified anger at their rights and freedoms being trampled on) are all smoothed out and the overall Imperial machine is better, more in control of its assets, a stronger more unified bulwark against the outergalactic threat of the Grysk or the Vong or whatever.

Is it perhaps just a bit self-centered of him to only care about the Empire's ability to service his own goals and desires and be apathetic (at best) to the way it makes people suffer daily under its inherent systems? The Twi'leks and Wookies being constantly kidnapped and sold into slavery? The careless industrialization of arboreal worlds? The socialization and absorption of all private industry, forcing everyone to work through and with the Empire if they want to work at all? The systematic persecution of anyone remotely Force Sensitive? Is it not the mark of some kind of soul rot to be aware of all of that and go, "Yeah, but I don't care, they have the bigger guns, which is what I need."?

Maybe... just maybe... Thrawn has some Machiavellian tendencies and opinions and maybe this just might... make him not entirely a good person?

And maybe y'all should think about that before you come back and whine about his portrayal as a villain, as if all he has to do is explain to people that he did everything for a good reason and he gets an automatic narrative pardon for all of the shit he did while Grand Admiral that still needs to be addressed and answered for.

[al-luviec]

Here is lady pics from when I was MIA

[ruskatuskapuskasapuska]

A lil mysta(-shitpost)-dump cuz wääääähhh (you can't just get me into vtube-hell and just leave me like that, what the fuck dude?? /j)

Also here's mystakes with mouths that I quickly drew on phone and sketch/lineart of that colored one:

[pollyanna-nana]

I usually don’t give a hoot abt petty ship drama but you try to put Huntlow on the same level as re/ylo I will personally remove one of the little balancing pads on every chair you sit on for the rest of your life

[marmolita]

My petty unpopular fandom opinion is that I hate fanon with a blinding passion. Seeing a random bit of info someone put in a fic or in a meta become the norm across all fandom is an interesting social experiment but IMO it makes fanfic and fanart dull and unimaginative! Which is not to say that any individual is dull and unimaginative for using some fanon in a work, but that across the broad spectrum of fanfic and fanart everything converges until it's more similar than not, and there's less room for (or encouragement for) other interpretations. It feels like the time I had an assignment in high school English class to talk about the symbolism of colors in The Masque of the Red Death and I had some elaborate and well put-together argument (which I no longer remember, it's been decades) about the purple room, and my teacher marked me off on that one and with "wrong, purple is royalty." Says who?? Were you inside Poe's head when he wrote the story??

And that's what it feels like when fanon pervades a fandom. Interpretations that deviate from the established fanon are seen as wrong or bad characterization or other various things depending on the situation, to the point where actually sticking to only canon as the source of truth is looked down upon. As a person who gets into fandoms because I love canon, this infuriates me to no end! Anyway I'm just ranting, don't take this as saying "you're bad for using fanon" because that's not what I mean at all. If you take something away from this it should be "be open to non-fanon interpretations and embrace them."

[yoslos]

i agree with this. KEEP THE SYNTHS OFF DEBUT. however; jack also produced dance fever by florence and the machine. amazing album, please listen to it, but the reason i mention this is because!! it is so different!! this album is not a synthy album!! and don’t forget that taylor also produces her songs and she has the final say on what they sound like. not every song that has jack’s name on it is just his production. he has range, and sometimes we forget that because his taylor songs sound so similar. but this man also produced melodrama! and has worked with lana del ray, teagan and sara, carly rae, troye sivan, etc. he uses similar elements in his songs but they are not the same.

*points a banjo at Taylor and Jack*: no synths on Debut

[loveraging]

𝐌𝐲 𝐂𝐮𝐩 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐞𝐚

𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘳 𝘙𝘦𝘪𝘥 𝘹 𝘍𝘦𝘮!𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

Summary: you always drink tea in the evenings. Spencer always watches you, admiring from a distance until he finds the courage to admit what he knows to be true. For now, though, he's content in the serenity you bring, in the shape of teacups and late-night reading. Warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, tea with milk (don't knock it..!), reference to a vaguely depressing book. W/C: 1.2K A/N: first fic, massively exciting! Even more nerve-wracking! Time to stop lurking though, and share a bit of my own work. :)

━━━━━━━━━･❪ 🥀 ❫ ･━━━━━━━━━

Spencer glances over the edge of his book, down the aisle of the jet, seeing you all the way in the back. You’re leaning against the wall beside the kitchenette, your arms crossed in front of your chest as you wait for the hot water, in which you’ve just put your teabag, to turn the right brown colour. He knows this dance, he’s watched it countless times. You always stare at the teacup with a crease on your forehead, watching the water like a hawk until it’s the right colour, after which you pull out the teabag. You let it rest against the edge of the cup, just above the hot water, letting it leak out most of its contents. Then you add a splash of milk, which is also done with meticulous focus. Morgan had once said you seemed like a scientist when you made your tea. Your reply had been simple: “Tea is to the body as music is to the soul, darling.”

At the end of the day, such as right now, it’s always Earl Grey, and you let the teabag steep for a while, allowing the tea to become so strong it’s nearly bitter. The milk balances it out, according to you. Spencer has never felt brave enough to try that particular brew, even though you always offer it. In the morning, however, as he now knows so well, it’s always chamomile. It soothes you, apparently, and helps you start your day. He remembers ranting on and on about the medicinal benefits chamomile has the first time he watched you make it in the kitchenette in the BAU, and you had listened to all of it, only to, by the end of his long rant, simply say: “Why d’you think I drink it?”

You’ve finally finished your brew, leisurely making your way over to where he is and sitting down in the chair beside him, the one by the window. That’s your spot, he knows now. His spot is beside wherever you sit, but he’d never admit to that out loud. You offer your cup to him, to which he shakes his head with a small smile, and you shrug as you bring it to your own lips—it’s what the two of you always do. You always offer, and he always declines. It’s a nice little ritual. The other part of that ritual is that you finish your tea in complete silence, and over the months, he’s learned to keep quiet during that. You’ve never outright told him to shut up, but you don’t really reply to him when he talks. You hum and nod, but it’s not a real conversation. Eventually, he learned that it was because, to you, that cup of Earl Grey at the end of the day was a moment of tranquillity—complete serenity, your whole body in restful repose. A moment to let the day wash away and to gather your thoughts. Now, he enjoys it with you, whenever he can.

When you’ve finished your cup, you put it down on the table, which is Spencer’s sign to shuffle in his seat until he’s in the perfect position for you to rest your head on his shoulder—it took him a while to perfect that one, but he’s got it down pat now. His elbow is on the armrest so that his shoulder is at a slope, and his legs are crossed so he doesn’t unconsciously bounce them up and down and accidentally disturb you.

Normally, when you rest your head on his shoulder, you cross your arms in front of your chest before closing your eyes. This time, however, you do something different. Slowly, your hand moves behind his elbow until your forearm is hooked around it as if you’re about to walk arm-in-arm. It stays like that for a moment as you ask, “What are you reading today, then?”, which is the question you always ask. It’s another part of this ritual: you ask what he’s reading, which is his sign to explain the book, to which you always tell him to read a bit to you, and as he does, you fall asleep. 

“East of Eden, by John Steinbeck,” he says, and you nod despite your head resting against his shoulder. He’s about to explain the plot of the book when you suddenly move your hand and start drawing small circles on his skin, languidly brushing your fingers on the inside of his forearm. He, quite phenomenally, instantly loses all train of thought and can only stare at the way your hand caresses his arm where his sleeves are rolled up.

“What’s it about?” You ask, quietly, which only adds to the intimacy of the situation.

“You’re making it a bit difficult to focus,” he murmurs and your hand pauses. He immediately regrets ever saying anything.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No. No, definitely not,” he says, before clearing his throat as he tries his best to summarise the book through the haze in his mind, while your hand resumes its dance. “It’s—it’s about this dangerous rivalry between two generations of brothers, similar to Abel and Cain from the bible. It’s mostly about the endless contest between good and evil.”

“Cheery,” you mumble, making him laugh softly. “Read it to me, would you, sweetheart?”

As if he’d ever say no. “The cemetery was deserted and the dark crooning of the wind bowed the heavy cypress trees…”

Your fingers keep drawing circles, slowly but decisively, as he reads from the admittedly depressing chapter. As the minutes drag on and Spencer realises he can’t remember a single thing he’s just read to you, your hand draws lower and lower, until your fingers are tracing the lines in his palm. He keeps glancing over as if he can barely believe what he’s seeing. And then, like the grand finale to a beautifully slow buildup, you push your fingers between his until your hands are fully intertwined.

He knows he stutters over a few words, he knows his breathing audibly hitched, but you don’t comment on any of it. You simply keep your hand where it is and wait for him to react: for him to reject or accept it. He accepts it wholeheartedly, he’s more excited about this than anything that’s ever happened to him, and the only way he knows how to tell you is to squeeze your hand as decisively as he can. 

You squeeze back, and he continues softly reading to you.

Fifteen minutes later, he knows you’re fast asleep. Your grip in his hand has gone a bit slack and your breathing is rhythmic and even. He’s not reading anymore, now just staring at your intertwined hands and marvelling at the fact that this is happening. Finally, finally, he’s getting somewhere with this. All that patience, all that waiting for you, that admiration that he had from the sidelines, it has finally cultivated in this. He only hopes that it will continue to grow. 

And if Emily tries to slyly take a picture and Morgan nudges JJ with a sly look, Spencer pretends not to notice any of it. He’s too busy staring at you anyway. 

[gemmahale]

Okay, I'm home, I've been on the road for the better part of 4 hours today due to a miscommunication and a cancelled event, and I've had this rant brewing.

Being Anti-Military and Pro-Veteran are stances that can mutually exist.

Games like CoD and whatever other FPS/Military Simulation game is out there is propaganda. It’s meant to make you want to sign up or support military action.

The military (I’m speaking specifically to the US, as I am most familiar with them by proxy) uses some incredibly underhanded techniques to ensure they have the warm bodies soldiers they need to keep the system working as intended.

This includes but is not limited to: promises of paying for education, aspirations of “seeing the world”, provision of job security, access to healthcare, a stable job and housing, etc. They use things like “patriotism” and “glory” and “security” to lure people in.

And then, when that person is wholly and completely reliant on the military - for a paycheck, housing, healthcare, you name it - they spit them back out into the world with a "thanks a lot and good fucking luck."

Into a world where:

Financial support for care has been axed and axed and axed again under "budget cuts"

Care is secured with red tape so thick you can tightrope walk across it

Care is denied for things the military caused (by saying "it didn't happen while you were serving".) *Yes, that's a direct quote from a doctor to one of Kallen's peers. When assessing a life-altering injury sustained while they were in country overseas, it was deemed as "non-service related injury”.

In comparison to civilians:

Veterans are ~40% more likely to be homeless.

Veterans are ~80% more likely to suffer from untreated mental and physical health issues - PTSD, hearing loss, nerve damage, etc.

Veterans are ~60% more likely to turn to addictive substances - alcohol, drugs, etc.

Veterans are ~70% more likely to commit suicide.

This isn’t limited to combat vets. Logistics specialists, administrative specialists, IT specialists all get screwed when they leave.

Ask just about any veteran that has served, they are incredibly likely to be staunchly anti-military.

The military causes a tremendous amount of damage to every person involved, even if they aren't aware of it at the time.

It’s a cult, it’s an abusive relationship, it’s predatory. Treat it as such.

Support veterans, advocate for their care. They made choices you may not agree with, but they made them because of what they thought the military was offering to them. Many thought they were doing the right thing for their country - that was the lie they were fed from 9/11 on (in the US). Then they were chewed up, spit out, and left for dead by the same people that made all those promises to them.

Here are some US-based, apolitical Veteran Support groups (many have International chapters/members):

22 Until None - 501-C3 that provides support to veterans by veterans. There are local chapters on Facebook that are all active and are listed on the website

Disabled American Veteran - Veteran help association; involved in legislation and local assistance, connections to VA advocates to help navigate the VA

Wounded Warrior Project - 501-C3 charity supporting disabled veterans.

Note: I am absolutely not doing the "not all servicemembers" thing here. I'm saying "veterans are living with their choices, and still deserve access to care."

[nanamineedstherapy]

Help! I'm a Woman & I got my two Male Boyfriends Pregnant

Summary: You got your boyfriends Gojo Satoru & Ryomen Sukuna Preganat; now they are spirling, thinking you are going to leave them. Send jesus!

Based on this.

The day started normal enough. Coffee brewed. Cursed spirits got obliterated. You avoided Gojo's pranks and Nanami’s disapproving stares. But nothing could’ve prepared you for this.

Absolutely nothing.

"EXPLAIN," Sukuna growled, pacing back and forth like a caged tiger, his crimson eyes flaring with murderous intensity. "HOW THIS HAPPENED."

Beside him, Gojo sat slumped on the couch, his head in his hands. For once, his usual smirk was nowhere to be seen. “She broke me,” he muttered, his voice muffled and full of existential despair.

You blinked, your hands raised defensively as you tried to process the sheer absurdity of what was happening. “Okay, let’s—let’s all calm down and start from the beginning. What exactly—”

“WE’RE PREGNANT!” Sukuna bellowed, his voice rattling the windows.

Your brain short-circuited. “What?”

“Both of us,” Gojo mumbled, finally lifting his head to glare at you with his piercing blue eyes. “We’re both pregnant. With your cursed energy, apparently.”

You stared at them, your jaw hanging open as your brain desperately tried to make sense of the words coming out of their mouths.

“Wait,” you said slowly, pointing at each of them. “You’re pregnant. And you’re pregnant. And… I’m the father?”

“Yes!” they both shouted in unison.

Gojo flopped back against the couch, throwing an arm over his face dramatically. “I can’t believe this. I’ve never been abandoned before. This is new for me.”

“Abandoned?” you snapped, your bewilderment turning to irritation. “I’m literally right here! No one’s abandoning anyone!”

Sukuna’s glare could’ve melted steel. “You better not be abandoning us. Do you have any idea what this is like? I’m a goddamn king, and now I’m carrying twins! Twins!”

You blinked again. “Twins?”

“Yeah, apparently cursed pregnancies are extra efficient,” Gojo muttered, rubbing his temples. “I’ve got triplets. Freaking triplets.”

Your knees nearly gave out. “Oh my god.”

“Oh your god, indeed,” Sukuna snarled, his pacing becoming more frantic. “Do you have any idea how much I’ve puked today? I’m the King of Curses, not the King of Ginger Ale!”

Gojo groaned dramatically, throwing himself across the couch. “And my ankles are swollen! I didn’t even know I had ankles that could swell!”

You stood there, frozen, as the two most powerful men you knew devolved into chaos before your eyes. Sukuna ranted about hormonal imbalances and cravings for spicy tuna rolls at three in the morning, while Gojo moaned about needing custom maternity uniforms for missions.

“Okay, okay!” you finally shouted, throwing up your hands. “Let’s take a step back and breathe for a second!”

Sukuna whirled on you, his crimson eyes blazing. “You breathe! I can’t breathe because your cursed energy apparently rewired my insides to incubate life!”

“That’s not even scientifically possible!” you argued, gesturing wildly.

Gojo raised a hand from the couch, his voice weak. “Apparently, science has no place in cursed pregnancies.”

“Obviously!” Sukuna snapped.

You groaned, running a hand through your hair. “Okay, look. I don’t know how this happened, but I’m not going anywhere. We’ll figure this out together, okay?”

Gojo perked up slightly, peeking at you from under his arm. “So, you’re saying you’re going to stick around? You’re not gonna leave us to fend for ourselves?”

“Of course not!” you said, exasperated. “Why would I abandon you?”

Sukuna snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. “Because that’s what all the terrible stories say. The cursed sorcerer fathers always leave. And yet, here I am, trying to keep it together while I grow two heads and three hearts inside me!”

“What?!” you shrieked.

“Apparently, cursed pregnancies come with… add-ons,” Gojo said, waving his hand vaguely. “It’s fine. We’ll manage. Just… don’t tell anyone.”

“Don’t tell anyone?!” you repeated, your voice climbing several octaves. “How am I supposed to explain why Sukuna is eating pickles and peanut butter out of the jar at 2 a.m.?”

“I’m literally creating life, you peasant!” Sukuna growled.

“And what about you?” you snapped at Gojo. “You’ve been crying for two hours! What even is that?”

Gojo sniffled, his bottom lip trembling. “I just feel so much right now, okay?”

You stared at them, completely overwhelmed, as the reality of the situation sank in. Two of the most powerful sorcerers in existence were pregnant. With your cursed energy. And somehow, it was your job to keep them alive and sane.

“Fine,” you said, throwing your hands up. “I’ll get the pickles and the peanut butter. And maybe a sedative for myself while I’m at it.”

“Don’t forget the chocolate!” Gojo called after you as you stormed out of the room.

“And ginger tea!” Sukuna shouted. “Or so help me, I’ll kill you!”

You groaned, your footsteps echoing down the hall. This was your life now.

A/N: Want more? I can give you more if you ask nicely (͠≖ ͜ʖ͠≖)👌 I will mark this series completed for now until I get any more inspo or ideas (feel free to send yours too). Please comment; it fuels my cheos ᕙ(`▿´)ᕗ Who would you like to get pregnant next?

[yoonkinii]

Argument with Sukuna

Warning(s): cursing, heated arguments, name calling, insults, mentions of being depressed, self doubt. (If I am missing any, let me know ASAP) Requested by this request Requests open! (only for this AU) Masterlist (check for more AU content) Note(s): I am so sorry it took me literally forever to upload this. I got slammed with midterms and my new job so it took me a while to get around to editing this part.

Doubt- a creeping, insidious emotion that sinks its claws into your chest, digging deeper with each passing moment. It’s the very thing that has wrapped itself around you now, slowly consuming you from the inside out as you spiral deeper into the sluggish pit of overthinking. It gnaws at your thoughts, festering in your mind, even as you stand before the familiar doorway, dressed in a white dress, the soft fabric contrasting with the roughness of the leather jacket draped over your shoulders- his leather jacket.

Your fingers tighten around your phone, the screen’s bright glow illuminating your face as you bite your bottom lip, the sensation a poor distraction from the unease bubbling within you. Your eyes scan the messages again and again, searching for clarity in the words that now feel heavy with doubt. 

Nothing. Hours had passed since his lunch break, and still, there was no reply. Each time you texted, a small hope flickered, only to be extinguished by the silence that followed. With each unanswered message, the doubt that had been simmering beneath the surface grew stronger, tightening its grip on you. You knew the risk of being annoying, yet the gnawing feeling inside pushed you to  reach out again, and again- only to be met with more nothingness. 

With a sigh, you slipped your phone into your purse and rapped your knuckles against the door. Silence greeted you. Just as you raised your hand to knock again, the door cracked open, revealing a pair of familiar brown eyes. 

“Y/n! I didn’t know you were coming over,” he says cheerfully, his voice carrying the usual warmth. 

A sharp pain of anxiety hit you at his innocent comment, the unease twisting in your gut. “You didn’t?” you muttered, brow furrowing as Yuji leads you into the kitchen. 

A pang of anxiety shot through you at his innocent comment. Your brows narrow as Yuji leads you into the kitchen. “You didn’t?”

He shakes his head casually, already reaching into the fridge and pulling out a gallon of milk. Without hesitation, he uncapped it and took a long drink, oblivious to your growing concern. 

“Where’s Sukuna?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady, though your mind was racing with a hundred different possibilities. The hope that Sukuna was just busy, still getting ready, lingered desperately. 

Yuji wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, waving off the question as he set the milk down. “He’s in his room, asleep. Came home all moody- said something about needing a nap and just shut himself in there. Hasn’t come out since,” he replied, nonchalant as he ranted about his uncle, completely unaware of the storm brewing in your chest. 

Your heart sank, a heavy weight settling in your chest as you swallowed hard. Offering Yuji a quiet thank you, you turned and followed the familiar path to Sukuna’s bedroom. Your mind was a whirlwind of disbelief and frustration, unable to comprehend that he’d actually do this- again. With each step, dread gnawed at you, but it was anger that simmered beneath the surface, flaring as you reached his door. 

You didn’t bother to be gentle. Swinging the door open, you flicked on the lights, flooding the room in a harsh, luminescent glow. Sukuna’s reaction was immediate.

“Fuckin’ hell, Yuji. I’m trying to sleep,” he groaned, his arm instinctively covering his eyes to block the sudden brightness. 

“Oh, I am so sorry to disturb your royal slumber, Lord Sukuna,” you snapped, sarcasm dripping from your words as your annoyance echoed in the room. 

Sukuna shifted, squinting past the light to get a look at you. The sight of you standing there, arms crossed and clearly fuming, made him sight deeply, frustration creeping into his voice. “Fuck,” he muttered, running a hand over his face.

“Are you kidding me, Sukuna?” you start, your voice rising with every word as you plant your hands firmly on your hips. “This is the third time you’ve blown me off. What is your deal?” You raised three fingers to punctuate your frustration, your tone sharp with irritation. 

He rolls his eyes, scoffing as he sits up. “It’s not a big deal, doll. We can hang out another time.”

“Not a big deal?” you repeat, your voice going up an octave as you stared at him in disbelief. “Not a big deal? Are you fucking serious? You’ve said that exact same thing the last three  times you’ve bailed.” You glare at him, anger radiating off of you. 

Sukuna met your glare with a harsher one, his expression hardening as if your anger was completely unjustified, as though you had no right to be upset.

“Oh my God, you are so damn needy,” he spat, his voice laced with venom. “Sorry that I can’t drop everything for you. I have a job that’s more important than going on dates all the time. Damn, you’re such a nuisance.” His words were sharp, slicing through the air with a brutal finality as he stared you down from where he lay. 

The world stops for you. His words replaying in your mind over and over again. It’s not just his words anymore. The dam inside your mind finally breaks, your mind filling with the comments you’ve ignored so far. 

For a moment, the world seems to stop. His words echo in your mind, replaying like a broken record, growing louder and more painful with each repetition. But it wasn’t just his words now. It was every cruel comment, every sneer, and every judgment you had ignored until now. 

“Look at her. She’s just after his money.”

“What is she wearing? Doesn’t she know the attire is supposed to be business classy, not-hang-your-tits out.”

“It’s cute how she thinks Ryomen actually cares about her.”

“What a whore, can’t she survive for two seconds without clinging to him?”

The dam inside your mind broke. Every ounce of doubt, sadness, and frustration you’d suppressed surged forth all at once, overwhelming you. Tears of anger and hurt welled up, spilling from your eyes as your fists clench at your sides. 

“Fuck you, Ryomen.”

His last name, spoken with such finality, snapped his attention back to you. His eyes widened briefly at the sight of your tears, but his frown only deepened. 

“Seriously, you’re crying?” he scoffs, the corner of his mouth curling in disbelief, as though your emotions were an inconvenience to him. He sits up in the bed, the blanket falling to his wasit, exposing his tattooed chest. With his arms crossed, he tilted his head at you, the condescension in his gaze unmistakable.

“God…you’re insufferable sometimes. It’s not the end of the world.”

“Oh? Well, I’m sorry for wanting to spend time with my own damn  boyfriend,” you snap, your voice trembling with emotion. A white-hot anger flared inside you, making your chest burn as you pointed a trembling finger at him. “You are such a dick, Sukuna! I understand you’re busy, but you’re not even trying to see me.”

“I don’t fucking want to,” he growls, nostrils flaring as his anger matches your own. His gaze bore into you like you were insignificant, something beneath him. “I don’t want to spend every second with you. It’s suffocating. Don’t you get that?”

Your face falls, the fire in your chest extinguished in an instant, leaving only a hollow ache behind. The room seemed to freeze, thick with an eerie silence as the harsh lights threw long, jagged shadows across the walls. Your hands drop to your sides, nails digging into your palms. Trembling slightly, your eyes fixed on the floor, unable to meet his gaze. 

Noticing the shift in your demeanor, Sukuna lets out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair through his hair in frustration, “Y/n-”

But he doesn’t get the chance to finish. You turn on your heel and walk out of his room, the movement quick, decisive. Something inside him snapps at the sight of you leaving, and his voice erupts after you, echoing through the halls. “Fuck you then!”

Grumbling under his breath, Sukuna stands from his bed, the sudden absence of your presence unnerving him more than he’d care to admit. He stomped towards the door, grabbing the edge to slam it shut. But as he moved to close it, he froze.

Yuji stood at the end of the hallway, staring at him with an unreadable expression. Gone was the boy’s usual bright smile, replaced by a cold, unwavering gaze. 

“You’re a dick,” Yuji said, his voice calm, yet heavy with disappointment. 

Three simple words, but they hit Sukuna harder than he’d expect, cutting through his defenses like a blade. His lips curled into a snarl, masking the sharp sting of Yuji’s comment. With a sharp flick of his wrists, he slams the door, the sound reverberating through the room. 

Sukuna leaned his forehead against the door, relishing the cool touch of the wood against his heated skin. 

She doesn’t understand him at all. 

-

He doesn’t understand at all. 

Time has dragged on painfully these past few days, each second stretching into an eternity. The world around him seems muted, painted in dull shades of gray and blue. Nothing shines the way it used to; everything irritates him. People, places- everything feels wrong, like clothes that don’t fit. And he’s left grasping at an explanation, yet understanding nothing. 

In the dark of his bedroom, the only light comes from the dim glow of his phone screen, casting eerie shadows on his face. Thunder rumbles in the distance, and flashes of lightning briefly illuminate the room, breaking through the oppressive gloom. His eyes scan the messages on his screen- dozen of texts sent to you, one after another, each more desperate than the last. 

A week.

An entire week without your smile, your laugh, your touch, or your kiss. Time has slowed to a crawl without you, every minute dragging him further into the suffocating void of your absence. At first, he didn’t care that you were ignoring him. It was your issue for getting upset- at least that’s what he told himself. But as the days beld together, something shifts. The weight of what he’d lost settled into his bones, and he began to understand the hollowness you must’ve felt- the same emptiness now consuming him. 

It’s unbearable. Each second stretched out in the silence, thick with a loneliness he never noticed before you came into his life. Now, it’s all he can feel- this aching void. And he knows, deep down, he messed up. He sees it in the way Yuji looks at him, the silent judgment behind those eyes every time they cross paths. It cuts deeper than Sukuna thought possible, slicing him in two with each glance. 

Another flash of lightning, and he’s up. Without thinking, without even grabbing his jacket, he’s out of his bed, storming out of the house before the rational part of his mind could stop him. He can’t take it anymore- this hollow, gnawing ache that’s been clawing at him. He needs to see you. Now. 

-

The relentless patter of rain against your window muffles the found from you TV, the show playing fading into a distant hum. You can’t even remember the name of the program or what it was about. Your half-lidded eyes stare blankly at the flickering screen, knees pulled close to your chest. The cool night air slips through the slightly open window, chilling your skin and raising goosebump across every inch of you. The hoodie- his hoodie- offers little warmth, but you don’t care. The cold is the furthest thing from your mind.

These past few days, you haven’t been able to focus on anything- school, work, even the most mundane tasks seem distant and irrelevant. Your thoughts drift aimlessly during class as lectures drag on and on, or while you mindlessly restock shelves. Even Shokok noticed something was off. She poked your side during class, slipping you a note with a simple, loaded question

‘Are you okay?’

A question you still don’t know how to answer.

Sukuna’s words left a deep scar, one that feels impossible to heal simply by ignoring him. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve cried, the sting of his voice and the cruel whispers of others replaying in your head like a vicious cycle. His name lights up your phone screen more than once, and every time you choose to ignore it. Call it petty, but you want him to feel some of the hurt you felt when he brushed you off like you didn’t matter. Yet as the days stretch on and your phone continues to vibrate, you begin to wonder if this silent war is worth it. 

Even now, your eyes sting from the tears you’ve shed. You know you shouldn’t be crying this much, that you should be stronger, more resilient like those girls who don’t care what others think. But you’re not like that- you care deeply, too much sometimes. Yes, you’re angry at Sukuna, but beneath that anger lies an overwhelming sadness you can’t seem to shake. 

The TV flashes as a commercial for some love-themed product plays, the word “love: glowing brightly on the screen. A bitter frown tugs at your lips- how ironic. You lean forward to grab the remote from the coffee table, ready to change the channel, when a knock echoes from the door. The student noise startles you, cutting through the rain and the murmur of the TV, sending a jolt of fear through your body. 

You freeze, eyes locked on the door, unsure if you’d actually heard anything. A second knock comes, more urgent this time, breaking the silence. Slowly, you make your way toward the door, hesitation pulling at every step. It’s late, the rain pounds against the windows, and you weren’t expecting anything. The thought of ignoring it crosses your mind, but the knock persists, louder, more frantic. 

With a sigh, you unlock the door and crack it open, only to swing it wide in shock at the sight before you. 

Sukuna stood there, drenched from head to toe. His soaked hair clung to his forehead, water dripping down his face as his chest heaves, clearly out of breath, like he had run all the way here. Judging by his disheveled appearance, he probably did. He was dressed in nothing but pajama pants and a white tank top, both utterly soaked, the thin fabric of his shirt sticking to his muscular frame like a second skin. 

Your heart stutters in your chest, wide eyes scanning him up and down, trying to comprehend why he was here- why now- when he was the one so furious with you. His presence felt surreal. Sukuna, your sharp-tongued, blunt boyfriend, looked utterly defeated. The usual fire in his eyes had dimmed, replaced with something distant and heavy. His brows were drawn together, casting faint lines across his forehead, and his mouth- so often curved in a smirk or scowl- was set in a hard, straight line, lips pressed tightly. His whole expression was steeped in sorrow, a quiet, aching weight that made him look so unlike himself. 

“Y/n…” He whispered your name as if it were the only thing holding him together, his voice laced with disbelief. 

You swallowed hard, biting the inside of your cheek as your mind raced. Before you could react, Sukuna moved, stepping inside and pulling you into a fierce embrace. His arms wrapped tightly around you, and though your body instinctively tensed at his touch, the warmth of his closeness stirred a whirlwind of emotions. 

“Please,” he murmured into the crook of your neck, his breath warm and desperate against your skin. “Be angry with me, hate me if you have to- but don’t stay away. I can’t do this anymore.” his voice cracked, raw with emotions, his large frame curling into you as though he could make himself smaller, more vulnerable. 

Shock ripples through you, his words shaking you to your core. Sukuna has never been like this. Harsh, yes. Guarded, certainly. But this? This openness, this need- this was something you’d never seen in him before. The façade he always wore, that untouchable exterior, had finally cracked, and you could see the raw, unguarded person beneath it. 

Slowly, almost hesitantly, your hands found their way around his torso, returning the embrace. “You’re getting my floors all wet,” you teased softly, the tension easing so slightly from your chest as you spoke. 

He let out a low hum, tightening his hold on you. “Sorry,” he whispers, his voice low and rough. “I’m so sorry…for everything.” his words were muffled against your hair, but the weight of them hung heavily in the air. The sincerity in his apology palpable, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt the tightness in your chest beginning to lift, if only just a little. 

-

Tendrils of steam drift from the bathroom as Sukuna emerges, a towel draped loosely over his shoulder, catching the last few drops of water from his damp hair. He grunts as he drops onto the couch, his presence immediately filling the room. 

From the kitchen, you eye him, raising a brow at his casual appearance. “You do know I gave you a shirt to wear, right?” you say, stepping closer and handing him a steaming cup of tea. His hands cradle the cup, his eyes fixating on the liquid inside as if it might hold the answers to his thoughts. 

“And you know I don’t like wearing shirts to bed,” he counters, a lopsided smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

Humming, you lean your cheek on the back of the couch- your legs tucking themselves close to your chest again. 

You hum softly in response, resting your cheek against the back of the couch, your legs instinctively curling up to your chest. The silence between you grows heavy, and though his smile remains, you can’t shake the lingering weight of what had happened. 

“I’m still angry at you,” you say, your voice softer but firm. 

Sukuna’s eyes remain on the mug for a moment longer before he speaks, his voice low. “I know.”

“What you did,” you begin, your gaze fixed on him, “was really messed up, I can’t believe you spoke to me like that.”

He finally lifts his gaze, meeting yours. His lips pressed into a thin line, and there’s something in his eyes- something softer, almost regretful. “I know,” he repeats, the words filled with quiet acknowledgment. 

Your frown deepens, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “Is that all you’re going to say?” you ask, irritation, creeping into your tone at his lack of explanation. 

Sukuna watches you for a moment, his expression unreadable. “There’s nothing I can say to undo what happened,” he begins, voice steady but laced with a rare vulnerability. “What I did- it was bad. Really bad. I didn’t understand why you were so upset.”

Your teeth clench at his choice of words, and you shoot him a sharp glare. “You’re terrible at apologizing,” you mutter through gritted teeth. 

He lets out a small, rueful laugh. “I know,” he admits, his fingers brushing softly against your cheek, the gesture almost tender. “I got angry because I didn’t understand. And I can’t say anything to excuse what I did. But I am…truly sorry.”

His voice softens at the end, the weight of his apology hanging in the air between you both. It isn’t perfect, but it’s honest, and for someone like Sukuna, that means more than words ever could. 

With a soft sigh, you inch closer to him. He tenses, casting you a wary glance as you lift his arm, guiding it over your shoulder. For a moment, his arm hovers in the air, unsure, before he slowly lowers it, wrapping it around you in a gesture that feels both hesitant and protective. 

“I appreciate the apology,” you murmur, your cheek suppressed against the warmth of his bare chest. His skin, always radiating heat, feels more like a personal heater. “But I don’t know if I can forgive you just yet.”

Without a word, he places the mug on the coffee table and shifts his position, pulling you down with him until you’re both lying on the couch, your body draped over his. He lets out a deep, content sigh, his arms tightening around you as if afraid you might slip away. On instinct, your legs entwine with his, the closeness both familiar and comforting. His voice, a low rumble, vibrates through his chest as he speaks. 

“That’s alright. I didn’t expect you to forgive me right away,” he says quietly, his breath stirring your hair. “But I’m going to do everything I can to earn it”

Propping your chin on his chest, your eyes meet his as a playful smile tugs at the corners of your lips. “I’m going to make you work like a dog to get it back.”

A deep chuckle escapes him, the sound reverberating through his body. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you,” he replies, his eyes softening with affection. 

Bonus:

“Damn, my back’s killing me,” Sukuna grumbled as he dropped into one of the dining chairs, his face twisting with discomfort. 

Rolling your eyes, you set a plate of breakfast down in front of him. “That’s what you get for sleeping on the couch… and for being old.” 

He shoots a glare in your direction, stabbing his fork into the eggs with more force than necessary. “Ha-ha, hilarious.” 

You settle across from him, your own plate in hand, watching as he eats. The room was quiet except for the sound of clinking cutlery and his occasional grunt when a movement aggravated his back. You simply observed, a content silence falling over you as you ate your meal. 

He had hurt you, deeply, with his words. They’d cut through you like a blade, but right now, in this moment, it didn’t feel as heavy. You could set aside the hurtful comments whispered behind your back and deal with them later. What mattered was now- this quiet morning,watching your boyfriend clear his plate, his eyes occasionally flicking up to meet yours. 

“What?” His piercings caught the morning light, glinting as he gave you a curious look. 

“Sure,” he says with a suspicious glance, getting up and taking his plate to the sink. He rinses it off, the sound of running water filling the small space. “I’ll need to head back to my place soon.”

A pang of disappointment hits you, but you mask it with a short nod. “Okay. Your shirt should be dry now.”

“He glances over his shoulder. “Be ready when I come back later.”

You blink, caught off guard your fork pausing mid-bite. “Wait, why?”

His lips tug into a small smirk. “Didn’t you want to go to that stupid musical in town?”

Before you could stop yourself, you’re standing, hands pressed flat against the table. Excitement surging through you. “The one I mentioned weeks ago? About Odysseus? That musical?!”

Question after question tumbles from your mouth, your heart racing. Sukuna looks at you, brow arches, clearly confused by your outburst. “Yeah,” he drew out the word, eyes narrowing slightly, “that one. Why are you so worked up?”

With a squeal, you dart over to him, grabbing his cheeks between your hands and squishing them together. He scowls, his lips puckering in protest. “Thank you, Kuna!you exclaim, leaning in to press a sloppy kiss against his squished lips. He grunts but returns the kiss as soon as your lips meet his. 

Pulling away, he peels your hands off his face. “It’s the least I could do. You did say you wanted to go.”

You smile up at him, your heart still fluttering with excitement as he pulls you closer, his hands finding their place on your waist. “Yes, but I only mentioned it in passing. I didn’t think you’d remember.”

He shrugs, squeezing your hips lightly. “I listen sometimes.”

You hum, your arms lopping around his neck. “Yeah, sometimes.”

-

Taglist (open): @kalulakunundrum , @fushipurro , @sad-darksoul , @cupcaketeddybehr

[spidernuggets]

Jason Todd x Reader

"And who are you to judge him? It's not like you've tried to get to know him. You guys just don't know him like I do,"

"I don't get it" Rachel says to herself, staring at the couple. You're sitting on the island while Jason's head is buried in the fridge looking for another brew.

"Get what?" Gar chimes in, following where Rachel's gaze was at. "Jason and Y/N? What about them?", he quietly asks, not wanting the lovebirds to overhear their conversation.

"Yeah, I think I'm improving, but I still can't get the landing right," you say to Jason as he pops the cap off of the beer he finally finds. He replies with a simple hum of acknowledgement while taking a swig.

"He's so..." Rachel starts, trying to look for the right words to describe him. "Rude? Self-absorbed? He's not even listening to what Y/n's saying," she whispers back to Gar, finally turning away from the two.

Gar tilts his head to the side. "I don't know... They've been together for a good few months now, right? We don't see them together that often, we don't know how they're like," he tries to reason.

Rachel scoff, sitting on the couch. "That's another reason why he's a bad boyfriend. We never see them around. Does he not like showing off that they're together? Jason being a cocky-ass person, he's the kind of person to flaunt around his partner."

Rachel turns back to where you and Jason were standing just to see the two of you were gone as she scoffs once more.

Gar opens his mouth to speak once more as Kori and Dawn enters the room.

"What are we talking about?" Kori asks.

"Jason being an asshole of a boyfriend," Rachel almost laughs.

"How so?" Dawn questions.

"How could you not see?" Kori says. "Jason's always brushing Y/n off, blunt, short replies, puts missions before them, he's hardly ever acknowledging their presence," She laughs, listing all of Jason's flaws as a partner.

"I guess I've never really notice..." Dawn says, unsure.

~Meanwhile~

"Jesus, you drive me crazy," Jason says, his voice low, grinning at you like a school girl with her crush.

You're on his lap, hands cradling his face, his hands on your ass with a firm grip. You're placing soft kisses all over his face, a quick break from the hungry make-out session you both were so busy with.

Your soft kisses trail away from his face, down his jaw and onto his neck, kisses and nibbling all over. Biting a certain spot, Jason lets out a quiet gasp along with a held back whimper.

You let out a light chuckle while continuing to pepper kisses on his neck.

"I liked that," You softly say, kissing against the same spot. "Do it again," you teased.

Jason groaned. "You're trying to kill me, babe," he complains as he captured your lips against his once more.

You sighed in content, breaking the kiss and leaving another lingering kiss on his forhead.

"Don't let them get to your head, love," You tell him quietly. The both of you are well aware that the other Titans (maybe except Gar) don't see why you would date Jason. You're kind and considerate while Jason is... Jason. Jason has told you many times that he wants to be taken seriously by the other members, hence his cold demeanour. And along with those explanations, came affectionate apologies of him spending all his free time alone with you in either his or your room, cuddling, kissing, properly listening to your rants and more.

"They're right though," his reply is delivered rough and raspy, a change of voice that indicates to you that he's upset.

You sigh, arms wrapping around his neck, burying your face in his meck, breathing in his distinct scent of faint alcohol and strong cologne.

"No they're not," you say, just above a whisper. "I get it, Jay. You want to prove yourself. But you don't have to prove yourself to me. Okay? You're more than enough for me," One of your hands move down, grabbing hold of his own hand, bringing it up to your lips for another gentle kiss as your other hands cup his cheek.

Jason sighs, leaning into, your touch. "I love you, okay, Jay?" He nods in reply.

"I..." He tries to say it too, but fails as his gaze shifts to the ceiling in guilt.

"Hey, hey. I told you. Only say it when you're ready, you don't have to force yourself to say it, Jay," I assure him. "Now," You move yourself off of him, bringing him down to lie with you as you rest your head on his chest. "You're supposed to tell me about this book you were reading," You remind him. He smiles once more, his arms wrapping around you happily as he starts ranting about his new book.

~

"You guys got it?" Dick confirms with the rest of the group, finishing up a debrief with the other Titans. Everyone nod and murmur 'yes's and 'yep's.

"Alright, everyone get to training," He says as he departs.

You turn to Jason excitingly. "You wanna train together, Jay? You can help me with the new move I was telling you about!"

"Not today. I'm gonna train with Gar," Jason replies.

"Ah, okay! Have fun, teach me some new stuff you learn, later, kay?" You reach up to his cheek, giving him a quick peck and a short "Love ya!"

He responds with a grunt and a nod and leaves you with a quick caress on ur cheek as he goes to one of the training rooms with Gar. Oh how much he wants to just pick you up and kiss you and hug you and hold you for all eternity.

Hank scoffs at Jason's reaction as he walks off. Donna shakes her head in disapproval as she followed along too. The other women in the room have their eyebrows furrowed, judging looks towards your boyfriend and crossed arms as they looked at you with a lovesick grin and heart eyes, watching your love walk away til he disappeared.

You quickly turn around, smiling at the rest of the members. "Any of you guys wanna train with me- what? What's with the looks?" You ask, confused.

"What's with your boyfriend?" Rachel hisses.

Your face scrunches in slight offence. "What about him?"

"Honey, he's..." Dawn starts to say though her words trail off.

"You can do better," Kori states, her hands landing on her hips.

You lightly scoff "Why's that," You say lowly, eyes narrowing, ready to defend Jason.

"Y/n..." Dawn speaks up. "We're just looking out for you. We just think you and Jason... Aren't the best match."

"We think Jason is selfish, rude and annoying, is what she was meant to say," Rachel said quietly, but loud enough for all of you to hear.

You roll your eyes. "And who are you to judge him? It's not like you've tried to get to know him. You guys just don't know him like I do," you barked, almost wanting to cry for Jason.

"Y/n, we just-" you cut Kori off by putting a hand uo, refraining her from continuing.

"No. No, no. You can talk to me when you find some respect for Jason." You coldly say as you walked away to train.

The girls looked at each other with disappointed and worried looks.

~

The team was on a mission that involved Deathstroke. It was wild and messy to the point where everyone was split up, and only some of the Titans returned back to the tower.

Jason is pacing around, alone in his room. He's covered in blood and bruises, but those don't matter to him right now. The only thing in his mind was

Where the fuck were you?

It's been two hours since he came back with Dick, Gar, Rachel and Donna but there were no signs of you coming back. Or of the others coming back he guesses. You're comms weren't working and you weren't answering his messages.

To piss him off more, Dick forbade him from going back out, knowing that Jason's impulsiveness would bring further damage.

"He's not even worried," Rachel says, sitting in the couch cleaning the blood of herself, noticing Jason's absence of worry.

"He could be?" Gar shouts from the kitchen, trying to reason again.

"Why are you even trying to defend him, we know how he is."

"He's our teammate, Rachel. We can't go off judging him if we don't know him that well," He says softly, trying not to get a rise out of the purple haired girl.

She scoffs and reply with whatever.

Dick and Donna walk into the room. "We got a message from Kori," Dick says. "The comms were breaking up but they're all safe."

Rachel and Gar sigh in relief.

Around half an hour later, you, Dawn, Hank and Kori finally return.

You're cracking your back and stretching your arms. Parts of your hero outfit is ripped and some of your blood that escaped your skin was dried and dirty and bruises littered your face, but you were always in a bright mood.

"She's finally back and bird brain isn't even running out," Rachel whispers to Gar as his shoulders sink.

"Oh my god, I'm gonna need a lie down for the rest of my life," You groan, cracking your neck.

Even from his room, Jason heard your voice as he rushed out and saw you there all battered up.

He heavily sighed in relief, running up to you, lifting you up. You lightly shriek at his sudden appearance, wrapping your legs around his waist, hands on his shoulders.

"You're okay... you scared me..thought you weren't coming back," he admits quietly, but as the other Titans stare silently in shock, especially Rachel, they heard him loud and clear.

Jason lets you down slowly and litters your face with kisses before pulling you in closer, attaching his lips to yours, finally not caring about the presence of the other members.

"Hello to you too," you giggle, leaving a kiss on his nose.

"You're hurt," he says, looking at your scrapped body.

"I'm okay, Jay," You reassure him. But he shakes his head, carries you bridal style.

"I need to patch you up," He says, giving you another kiss on the cheek before heading to his room.

"Okay, that just happened," Kori said in amusement.

"They're cuties, aren't they, Hank?" Dawn asks, looking up at the lover of her own.

Hank rolls his eyes and answers with an "I guess so" before they leave the room.

"So?..." Gar grins in success and amusement as he looks at Rachels shocked reaction.

She sighs and leans back against the couch.

"Yeah, yeah you're right, I was wrong. They are good for each other," She admits.

~

"In front of them too?" You question, sitting on Jason's bed as he wipes away any dried blood before patching you up.

"I don't care," He says, keaving you surprised. Jason patches up your last wound, giving it a kiss before getting up and cradling your face.  "Your safety is more important to me"

You lean into his touch, your hand coming up to hold his. He leans into you for a deep, passionate and long lasting kiss.

Breaking it, he leans his forhead against yours.

"I love you," He quietly but confidently say.

Your eyes brighten and you couldnt helo but break into a wide smile, feeling giddy like a kid receiving a oresent from Santa.

"I love you too"

[kinichval]

game's over, you exist now, to my doom.

level one.

"we'll get one breakfast clubhouse, two chicken fillets, one bacon croissant, one slice of chocolate cake, and four brewed coffee please." xilonen relays the group's order in which the waiter repeats for confirmation, exchanges of gratitude take place before all eyes shoot and fixate at you.

the presence of drowsiness still linger in your body, the slight rush of adrenaline from when you were dashing back and forth in your apartment while getting ready has already expired, now you're fighting for your life not to drop your head and doze off on the cloud nine-like chair.

"did studying for finals screw you up hard or were you playing minecraft the whole night?" lumine interrogates, her brow slightly raised, mualani and xilonen had a similar look plastered on their faces. their stares were heavy on your shoulder, a pressuring weight that wants to force an admission out of you.

"kind of, a couple of subjects are a pain in the ass to deal with." you reason out hoping that their girl instincts would allow this to slide, whatever happened last night was something you don't want to think about.

it's complicated — you convinced yourself it is when in truth; it shouldn't have been that deep. if anything, it was just measly school glue that binded the almost relationship you and kaito had. no commitment happened, just a confession, now empty promises, and a prayer that it'll be the greatest love story of all time.

finally taking the hints of your hesitation, mualani changes the subject to which lumine and xilonen politely listens to, laughing at the hilarious parts and sharing side comments in between.

this gives you an open door to shut out the world, a few seconds of breathing should be enough to get you back in shape even just for this moment, right? you didn't want them to worry about your mental being, moreover you didn't want to open up (and most likely breakdown) just yet.

you remain silent, defending your quiet behavior with the fact that you only have one mouth and it's occupied with eating that you'd rather not speak until you're done. this wasn't your typical self, but they collectively understood that pushing you to the edge will only ruin your composure.

still, they manage to make you feel included and in return, you respond and try your best to just be present.

time check, classes are about to start. after settling the bill and getting ready to face the wrath of uni; lumine and xilonen bid their goodbyes upon the realization that there's exactly five minutes before their afternoon classes. thankfully, there's still around thirty minutes to spare for you and mualani, so she stays beside you, a maternal expression of concern veils on her pretty face. "you alright?" she knows for sure you'll say yes, and you did.

mualani, known for her outgoing persona, stays still in this moment — like a calm beach shore. she has this aura that somehow feels like water washing over your toes and bringing in oddly but prettily shaped seashells along, so you take a deep breath.

"kaito—"

you were cut short when mualani tugs on your arm right after the door opens and the bell chimes as a new customer comes in. oh, maybe the grim reaper couldn't get his hands on you so he sends your ex-almost-boyfriend hand-in-hand with that girl to kill you the second time in less than twenty-four hours.

"let's get ice cream."

previous | home | level up

when yn's gaming hobby fluctuated after (stupidly) getting disappointed with a gamer she fell in love with, she's out there on valorant rage-gaming her heartbreak and ranting out to strangers who try to mock her d-level aiming skills; and kinich, who was just trying a newly released agent, got wired up in her incessant rambling and the unwanted responsibility to teach her how to play.

⚡︎ @animelover100 @fandomfan-102 @bvtterflyyy @viannasthings @mang0515 @aries-afk @xiaomainlmao @usagiarchive @marivaudages @lalalaloveallmydays @jiminscarmex @aetherialcrafter @yelleloww @rattyrattyratty (bold can not be tagged)

[j-k-writes]

The Bronze Targaryen - 11

Summary - War is brewing in Westeros, but Rhaenyra is determined to avoid it for as long as possible (to the frustration of her husband).

Warnings - General HOTD warnings, canon character death, minor violence between family members ((Y/N) and Daemon)

The end of season one! I'm putting this series on a bit of a hiatus while I figure out my plans for season two (thank you, Ryan Condal, for making my life miserable) but do not fret I have stories to hold y'all over in the mean time.

“What is our standing?” 

“We have thirty knights, a hundred crossbowmen, and three hundred men at arms.” Daemon spoke, “Dragonstone is relatively easy to defend but as an instrument of conquest, our army leaves much to be desired. We have sent word to my loyal men in the City Watch. I’ll have some support there but I cannot speak to the numbers.” 

“We already have declarations from Celtigar and Staunton, Massey, Darklyn, Bar Emmon.” 

“As well as Coldwater, Sheet, and Tollett.” (Y/N) turned to Rhaenyra, “Runestone stands behind you. I have no doubt Lady Arryn will as well, the Vale will not turn cloak against their own kin.” 

He watched as Rhaenyra gave him a grateful smile and placed a marker on the table. 

“Riverrun was always a close friend to your father, your grace. With Prince Daemon’s acquiescence, I’ve already sent raven to Lord Grover.” 

Both (Y/N) and Rhaenyra paused at Maester Gerardys’ words, they both looked up at the Prince. (Y/N) narrowed his eyes at his father, who did not look the least apologetic as Rhaenyra spoke, “Lord Grover is fickle and easily swayed. He will need to be convinced of the strength of our position and that we will support him should it come to war.” 

“I am going to treat with him myself.” (Y/N) raised an eyebrow at his father’s boldness, watching as he and Rhaenyra glared at each other from across the room. His father had been falling into tendencies (Y/N) had hoped he’d grown out of these past days, and the new Consort was unsure how to feel about it. 

“What of Storm’s End and Winterfell?” 

“There has never lived a Stark who forgot an oath. And with House Stark the North will follow.” 

“Lord Borros Baratheon will need to be reminded of his father’s promises.” Rhaenyra said, voice tight. More markers were placed around the table, the promise of war becoming stronger and stronger with each clang against the wooden table. “What news from Driftmark?” 

“Lord Corlys sails for Dragonstone.” Rhaenys said. 

“To declare for his Queen?” (Y/N) asked. 

“The Velayron fleet is in my husband’s yoke.” (Y/N) frowned, unable to stop the hot flash of anger in his chest at her words. “He decides where they sail.” 

“We shall pray for both you and your husband's support. Just as we prayed nightly for the Sea Snake’s return to good health. There’s no port on the Narrow Sea that would dare to make an enemy of the Velaryon fleet.” Rhaenyra spoke before (Y/N) could open his mouth to speak his offense at Rhaenys’ answer. “And our enemies?” 

“We have no friends among the Lannisters. Tyland has served the hand too long to turn against him. And Otto Hightower needs the Lannister fleet.” 

“Without the Lannisters we are not like to find any allies west of the Golden Tooth.” Both (Y/N) and Rhaenyra frowned. 

“The Riverlands are essential, your Grace.” Daemon spoke. (Y/N) cringed inwardly at the knowledge that Daemon was making good points for all of his boldness and made eye contact with Rhaenyra from across the table.

“Pray forgive my bluntness, your Grace. But talk of men is moot. Your cause owns a power that not has not been seen in this world since the days of Old Valyria. Dragons.” 

“The Greens have dragons as well.” Rhaenyra responded. 

“They have three adults, by my count. We have Syrax, Vermithor-” (Y/N) winced at his father’s words, taking in a deep breath as his father continued on his rant. “-Caraxes, and Meleys. Your sons have Vermax, Arrax, and Tyraxes. Baela has Moondancer.” 

“Daemon none of our dragons have been to war.” 

(Y/N) grabbed his father’s arm, bringing him in close so that his words did not go any further than their small shared bubble. “And need I remind you, we do not have Vermithor until I am recovered.” He bit out, face hot as he spoke. 

Daemon ignored him, causing (Y/N) to throw his head back and sigh, “There are also unclaimed dragons. Seasmoke still resides on Driftmark. Silverwing dwells on the Dragonmont, still riderless. Then there are the three wild dragons, all of whom nest here.” 

“And who is to ride them?” Rhaenyra sounded as exasperated with Daemon as (Y/N) felt. 

“Dragonstone has 13 to their 4. I also have a score of eggs incubating in the Dragonmont. Now…we need a place to gather, a toehold large enough to house a sizable host. Here, at Harrenhal.” Daemon spoke, ignoring his Queen’s question. “We cut off the west, surround Kingslanding with the Dragons and we could have every Green head mounted on spikes before the fucking moon turns.” 

“Your Grace.” Ser Erryk spoke up, and (Y/N) relaxed, grateful for the interruption. “A ship has been sighted offshore. A lone galleon flying a banner of a three-headed green dragon.” 

(Y/N) straightened in his seat, grabbing his cane as his father shouted out commands to the men around them. He stood making his way toward his wife, she was frowning as Daemon exited the room flanked by guards and lords. 

“Follow him.” Rhaenyra said, “Make sure he doesn’t do anything rash.” 

“And you?” 

The smile she gave him did not reach her eyes, “Just go.”

(Y/N) kept one hand on his cane and the other on his sword as he watched Otto Hightower and his posse of Knights approach. Otto looked between (Y/N) and Daemon, chin up in the air and posture straight as the oak branch up his ass. 

“I come at the behest of the Dowager Queen Alicent, mother of King Aegon, Second of His Name, Lord and Protector of the Seven Kingdoms.” He spoke. “I’ve been directed to deliver her message only to Princess Rhaenyra. Where is the Princess?” 

Otto and his men were startled at the sound of Syrax’s screech overhead, causing (Y/N)’s lips to curve up in a smile. Syrax’s landing caused stones of the bridge to crack and fall off the side, and the she-dragon continued to growl and screech at the men as Rhaenyra dismounted and walked through the crowd. She took her place between (Y/N) and Daemon, turning to face Otto. 

“Princess Rhaenyra.” 

“I’m Queen Rhaenyra now. And you all are traitors to the realm.” Rhaenyra spat. 

Otto took her statement in stride, continuing on as if she’d never spoken. “King Aegon Targaryen, Second of His Name in his wisdom and desire for peace-” (Y/N) scoffed, but yet again Otto continued on. “-is offering terms. Acknowledge Aegon as king and swear obeisance before the Iron Throne. In exchange, His Grace will confirm your possession of Dragonstone. It will pass to your trueborn son, Jacaerys, upon your death. Lucerys will be confirmed as the legitimate heir to Runestone-” 

“He is my legitimate heir.” (Y/N) stepped forward, but Rhaenyra shot her arm out, blocking his path. 

“-and all the lands and holdings of House Royce.” Otto looked smug as (Y/N) begrudgingly heeded his wife and stepped back. “Your sons Aegon and Viserys will also be given places of high honor at court: Aegon the Younger as the King’s squire, Viserys as his cupbearer. Finally, the King, in his good grace, will pardon any knight or lord who conspired against his ascent.” 

“I would rather feed my sons to the dragons than have them carry shields and cups for your drunken usurper cunt of a king.” (Y/N) said, hand flexing around his sword. 

“Aegon Targaryen sits the Iron Throne. He wears the Conqueror’s crown, wields the Conqueror’s sword, has the Conqueror’s name. He was anointed by a septon of the faith in the eyes of thousands. Every symbol of legitimacy belongs to him. And then there is Stark, Tully, Baratheon. Houses that have already received and are at present, considering generous terms from their king.” Otto spoke, causing (Y/N) to laugh. 

“Generous? You have offered us things we already have.” 

“Stark, Tully, Baratheon all swore to me when King Viserys named me his heir.” Rhaenyra said, and (Y/N) could see the anger deep inside her bubbling to the surface. 

“Stale oaths will not put you on the Iron Throne, Princess. The succession changed the day your father sired a son. I only regret that you and he were the last to see the truth of it.” 

“You are no more Hand than Aegon is king.” Rhaenyra moved toward the man before (Y/N) could have time to respond. She rushed the man, seething, grabbing the silver hand pinned on his chest. She ripped the pendant off, tossing it over the side of the bridge. “Fucking traitor.” 

Once again Otto was undisturbed by the show of anger, “Grand Maester.” 

“What the fuck is this?” He heard his father ask as Otto grabbed a folded-up piece of parchment from the Grand Maester, handing it to Rhaenyra. (Y/N) could not see Rhaenyra’s reaction from where he was standing, but his stomach turned at the sight of her angry posture softening ever so slightly as she looked at the paper. 

“Queen Alicent has not forgotten the love you once had for each other. No blood need be spilled, so the realm can carry on in peace.” Otto said softly to Rhaenyra. “Queen Alicent eagerly awaits your answer.” 

“She can have her answer now, stuffed in her father’s mouth along with his withered cock. Let’s end this mummer’s farce.” Daemon and the knights around him drew their swords, and (Y/N) smiled as Otto’s knights tensed. (Y/N) took a step forward, not bothering to draw his sword. (The scabbard was really only by his side for show, for he was practically useless with it until he could manage to bring his arm above his head without aggravating the wound in his shoulder.) “Ser Erryk, bring me Lord Hightower so I may take the pleasure myself.” 

Syrax roared, causing the stones they were standing on to shake and the men behind Otto drew their weapons in retaliation. Before anyone could make a move Rhaenyra turned on them. 

“No.” She said, and the men around him stood down. (Y/N) raised an eyebrow at her, but she did not look at him as she continued. “Kingslanding will have my answer on the morrow.” 

(Y/N) gaped as Otto Hightower and his crowd of traitors walked away completely whole. Daemon huffed and puffed in frustration the whole way up to the keep, but (Y/N) paid his grumblings no mind. His shock was aimed wholly on Rhaenyra. Rhaenyra would not look at him as they walked, or limped in (Y/N)’s case, and (Y/N) feared the worst. He bit his tongue as the council resumed, sorting through his scattered thoughts before he said something rash in front of the council. 

He’d only wished his father could have the same sort of self control. 

“It’s no easy thing for a man to be a dragonslayer. But dragons can kill dragons. And have.” Daemon spoke. “The simple truth is this: we have more dragons than Aegon, even with (Y/N) recovering.” 

“Viserys spoke often of the Valyrian histories. I know them well. When dragons flew to war-” Rhaenyra sighed, “Everything burned.” 

“War has its casualties whether dragons are involved or not.” He mumbled from his seat. His voice was merely a whisper but Rhaenyra heard him anyway and shot him a subtle glare. 

“I do not wish to rule over a kingdom of ash and bone.” She said it to the room, but it was clear the words were directed to her husband and uncle. 

“Are you considering the Hightowers’ terms, your Grace?” (Y/N) straightened to attention as Lord Bartimos asked the question at the forefront of his mind, on everyone's mind, apparently. 

“As Queen, what is my true duty to the realm, Lord Bartimos? Ensuring peace and unity? Or that I sit the Iron Throne, no matter the cost?” (Y/N) sighed at her words, frustration building as Daemon responded. 

“That’s your father talking.” 

“My father’s dead. And he chose me as his successor. To defend the realm, not cast it headlong into war.” 

“They have already declared war, Rhaenrya.” (Y/N) could not help the bite in his words. His frustration and exhaustion finally boiling over despite his attempts at holding it down until he and Rhaenyra were in private. 

“Clear the room.” The lords looked between the two warily but they left without complaints. As soon as the door shut behind the last lord Rhaenyra rounded on (Y/N), practically sneering. “Does the promise of war excite you?” 

“I just ended one war, Rhaenyra. My last wish is to start another, but you cannot bend the knee to the Hightowers.” (Y/N) sighed, collapsing into his chair. The action brought attention to the wound in his shoulder, and he swallowed a groan of pain. He was dreading this war, but he was not going to sit in denial. Unless they were to take the Hightower’s terms, and (Y/N) would die before he let that happen, war was inevitable. 

“If you could take the Iron Throne without putting Otto Hightower’s head on a spike, would you?” (Y/N) could not help but scoff at her question. 

“Are you not angry?” 

“I should declare war because I’m angry?” 

“No.” (Y/N) said between gritted teeth, “Because it’s your duty as Queen to crush rebellion.” 

“My oath reaches beyond our personal ambitions.” Did she not understand? How could she not understand what this slight meant for their family? 

“Personal ambitions? Rhaenyra this is your birthright and they have stolen it from you the same way they tried to steal it from Luke. To bend the knee now-” 

“Shut up and listen to me. You are acting like your father.” (Y/N)’s mouth shut with a click, his words dying on his tongue. Rhaenyra continued on, ignoring the rising anger in her husband. “My father told me something when he named me heir, The Conqueror’s Dream.” 

“A dream?” (Y/N) scoffed, but Rhaenyra ignored him. 

“A Song of Ice and Fire, a coming war against the darkness in the North. The realm must be united if it is to survive, so you must understand why I am so reluctant to plunge it into war.” She spoke with such certainty that (Y/N) almost wanted to concede to her. 

Almost. “You are in denial, Rhaenyra.” He said, forcing his voice level. He was not his father and he would not take his frustration out on his wife, even if she was part of its origin. “There is to be a war over this. I do not want it, but I have accepted it and so should you.”

(Y/N) felt himself drifting off in his chair as the lords argued around him, barely letting Rhaenyra get a word in. His body throbbed, a few new bruises added onto them courtesy of his father’s drunken anger. 

He’d sought the man out last night, too keyed up from his argument with Rhaenyra to go to their bedroom. He’d knocked on Daemon’s door hoping to drown in the wine his father no doubt had already brought up from the kitchens. Instead he’d found himself thrown into the wall after a particularly nasty screaming match that had multiple guards running into the room.  

One snide comment about Rhaenyra's choices was all it had taken for (Y/N)’s already simmering anger to rise to the surface. Rhaenyra could frustrate them both to the grave, but she was still their Queen, and Daemon needed to give her his respect, especially in the presence of the other lords.

His father had not seen it that way. 

“The Lord of the Tides, Lord Corlys Velaryon, and his wife, the Princess Rhaenys Targaryen.” (Y/N) snapped to attention at the sound of Ser Eyrrk’s voice. 

“My lords.” Lord Corlys nodded to the lords around them as he limped down the steps and toward Rhaenyra. He looked well despite his injuries although the grimace he gave with every step betrayed just how healed he truly was. 

“Lord Corlys. It brings much relief to see you hale and healthy again. I extend my deepest condolences for the loss of your son, and heir.” Rhaenyra said. 

“I’m very sorry about your father, Princess. He was a good man.” Corlys looked around the room, gaze falling on (Y/N) for a moment before he spoke again. “Where is Daemon?” 

“There were other concerns which demanded my father’s attention.” (Y/N) responded, and Rhaenyra pursed her lips, having heard about these other concerns from a concerned guard the night before. She had not been happy at his father’s regressions in anger management, even less so with his decision to take his frustrations out on his already injured son. 

Corlys hummed, obviously too familiar with Daemon’s temper. “Your declared allies?” 

“Yes.” 

“Too few to win a war for the throne.” 

“Well, we would also hope to have the support of Houses Arryn, Baratheon, and Stark.” 

“Hope is the fool’s ally.” (Y/N) frowned at the Sea Snake’s words, the lord of the tides was correct in his statement but that did not mean (Y/N) had to appreciate the sentiment. 

“House Arryn shares blood with my house, but all of them swore oaths to me.” Rhaenyra was losing her patience. 

“As did House Hightower, if I remember.” 

“As did you, Lord Corlys.” 

The room went silent at Rhaenyra’s statement, but (Y/N) simply smiled. He hid his soft laugh behind his hand turning in his chair to get a better view of Lord Corlys as the Lord seemed to ponder her unspoken question. 

‘To who are you loyal to?’ 

“Your father’s realm was one of justice and honor. Our houses are bound by common blood and common cause. This Hightower treason cannot stand. You have the full support of our fleet and House, your Grace.” Lord Corlys bowed his head to Rhaenyra who sputtered. She recovered quickly, turning to look at Rhaenys who simply nodded with a smile. 

“You honor me, Lord Corlys, Princess Rhaenys.” She straightened, letting her demeanor shift back to that of Queen. “But, as I said to my bannermen, I made a promise to my father to hold the realm strong and united. If war’s first stroke is to fall, it will not be by my hand.” 

“You do not mean to act?” 

“Taking caution does not mean standing fast.” Rhaenyra shot him a subtle yet harsh look as she spoke. “I wish to know who my allies are before I send them to war.” 

“The consequence of Laenor’s sacrifice and my near-demise in the Stepstones is that we now control them. I took care to fully garrison the territory this time. A total blockade of the shipping lanes will be in place in days, if not already. The Triarchy have been routed. The Narrow Sea is ours. If we further seal the gullet we can cut off all seaborne travel and trade to Kingslanding.” The mood of the room immediately brightened at Corlys’ words. 

“I shall take Meleys and patrol the Gullet myself.” 

“When we drain the Narrow Sea, we can surround Kingslanding, lay siege to the Red Keep, and force the Greens’ surrender.” 

(Y/N) smiled at the sudden mood change amongst the lords of their council. Rhaenyra herself was not immune to the feeling and (Y/N) watched as her mouth curved up in a small smile as she watched the room. “If we are to have enough swords to surround Kingslanding, we must first secure the support of Winterfell, the Eyrie, and Storm’s End.” 

“I’ll prepare the ravens, your Grace.” Maester Gerardys moved to leave the room but Jace interrupted before he could. 

“We should bear those messages.” Everyone turned to look at the young prince. “Dragons can fly faster than ravens and they’re more convincing. Send us.” 

(Y/N) smiled at his son, “He’s right.” 

“Very well.” Rhaenyra caught his eye from across the table and smiled. “Prince Jacaerys will fly north. First to the Eyrie, to see my mother’s cousin and his father’s liege Lady, the Lady Jeyne Arryn, and then to Winterfell to treat with Lord Cregan Stark for the support of the North. Prince Lucerys will fly south to Storm’s End and treat with Lord Borros Baratheon. We must remind these lords of the oaths they swore. And the cost of breaking them.”

The gods, old and new, gave him no warning that day. There was no warning, no omen, for him to heed as they said their goodbyes. As he looks back on that day he wonders what he would have done differently if there had been. 

“It's been said that as Targaryens, we are closer to gods than to men. And the Iron Throne puts us a touch closer, perhaps. But, if we are to serve the Seven Kingdoms we must answer to their gods.” Rhaenyra spoke. “If you take this errand, you go as messenger not as warriors. You must take no part in any fighting. Swear it to me now.” 

“Under the eyes of the old and new gods.” (Y/N) added as the book was presented to his sons, and Jace smiled at the obvious disdain in which (Y/N) regarded The Seven. (Y/N) looked over his boys as they swore, locking eyes with their mother as they did so. Jace was as confident as (Y/N) had expected a boy of his age to be. He was still green and eager to prove himself to the realm. 

“Thank you.” Rhaenyra turned to Jace. “Cregan Stark is closer to your age than to mine. I would hope, that as men, you can find some common interest.” 

“The North follows the Old Gods as House Royce does, Jace.” (Y/N) added, smiling. “Do with that what you will.” 

Jace smiled back at him, head held high. “Yes, your Grace.” 

Luke was less confident, which brought a small frown to (Y/N)’s face. He did not comment on it, remembering himself when he first began to fall under the pressure and critique of the court. Luke was younger than he was when Rhea died, and Daemon brought him to Kingslanding, and he no doubt felt more pressure than (Y/N) could have imagined at his age. 

“Storm’s End is a short flight from here. Lord Borros is an eternally proud man. He will be honored to host a prince of the realm and his dragon. I expect you will receive a very warm welcome.” 

“Yes, Mother- your Grace.” Luke stumbled, and (Y/N) gave him a reassuring smile. 

He touched his shoulder gently, bringing his voice to a whisper so that only Luke could hear him. “Do not worry, tresy. You are simply going to remind Lord Borros of his oath, if you cannot convince him he is already lost to us.” 

Luke nodded, and (Y/N) kissed his head. He grabbed Jace next, who only gave a small protest as his father laughed and kissed his cheek. All three Royce’s turned to look at their Queen who nodded. 

“Go to it then.” 

(Y/N) had not thought to be worried as he watched his eldest sons fly off. It was only a few days later, when they received a raven assuring them of Jace’s safe arrival in the Vale, that (Y/N) began to worry about his younger son, and even then, he brushed it off. He told himself that perhaps Luke had just forgotten to write, and he did not know Lord Borros, but he would not put it past the man to not bother sending a raven. Rhaenyra began to worry immediately, watching the sky at every opportunity as if Luke would suddenly appear on Arrax to assure his mother of his safety. She would not hear (Y/N)'s excuses, and months later, in his grief, (Y/N) realized he was simply doing what he had yelled at Rhaenyra for doing not days before. 

Living in denial. 

They were in a council meeting when Daemon received the news. (Y/N) was immediately on edge at the look on his father’s face as he took both he and Rhaenyra aside. Rhaenyra and (Y/N) watched as his father struggled to find the words, turning his body so that he did not have to look at them as he spoke. 

(Y/N) did not need Daemon to speak to know what the raven had said. 

He vaguely remembers Rhaenyra’s gasp as Daemon finally got the words out. She turned away from both men as she processed the words, doubling over and clutching her stomach, sobs began to rack her body. (Y/N) stumbled as the voices in the room faded from him and his vision tunneled, Daemon reached to steady him but (Y/N) pushed his father away. He threw his cane across the room with a shout as the tears began to fall. His hands met the council table with a loud slam and he swept the nearest items off the table. The clatter of the items meeting the stone floor was not loud enough to drown out his curses and pleading words. 

His father approached him when his body finally gave up on him, his legs unable to support his weight without his cane to steady him. He held him up, pulling him close to his chest. As (Y/N) sobbed, fists pounding against his father’s chest, Daemon leaned in close. 

“An eye for an eye, a son for a son.” Daemon cupped his cheeks, forcing (Y/N) to look at him through his tears. “Your son will be avenged.”

---

Translations -

Tresy - son

[murder-cookie-dust393]

Ok, ok you don't need to write anything for this if you don't wanna, BUT I don't have anyone to talk yandere stuff with so imma rant about one of my favs here quickly.

So caramel arrow right? Her whole life as been working hard to be the best dark cacao warrior, even when she was younger or her dough would crack, she would train and when she was banished her loyalty never wavered. Not once.

Untill, she meets reader cookies during her banishment, let's say you left a little after she was banished bc you could see how bad things were getting there. So middle, middle you become friends and travel together protecting the villages and what-not.

But after a while carrow finds herself looking to the reader for emotional support and guidance during this time, so she ends up being just as [if not more] loyal to reader cookie than dark cacao cookie. [I mean, if dark cacao dosent want her back then why should she go?]

Because of that she has this big dilemma about her loyalty to the king vs to the reader, personally I imagine she would try to run away or force the reader to leave with her because her obsession would win against her loyalty to the dark cacao kingdom.

Anyway wall of text done ^^u I don't really write, so sorry if it's not verry readable.

Don't forget to drink water btw ^^

A Grip Too Strong

So initially I was confused when you mentioned like middle and stuff but I realized that I think you meant like- MC is a citizen of the Dark Cacao Kingdom. So I hope I'm getting that right, I'm just mentioning it just in case.

This is my first request in a while, so I kinda just randomly typed out whatever. So if the like point of view or just the general writing style isn't very story-like, that's on me. I literally just blabbered lmao

Another point I want to make is that Caramel Arrow isn't filling in her canonical role of the story. I just wanted to point that out because it'll make sense towards the end.

Tw: kidnapping, overly clingy (but also not??)

Caramel Arrow was extremely saddened and frustrated by her king's willingness to banish her under Affogato's untruthful tongue. She felt so alone without her comrades by her side and her job, which she had trained so vigorously for. Yet she carried on, her determination still brewing within her heart.

She was expecting to be alone for who knows how long. To her surprise, she finds one of her people while her usual patrol on a blizzard day. She had spotted the cookie every now and then in the citadel, but she didn't know them at all. She approached them, confused as to why they were leaving; after all, she is the most loyal to his majesty.

"May I question why you are leaving the kingdom?" Caramel Arrow puts away her bow, tapping the toe of her boots to get the extra snow off.

"Oh. You are Caramel Arrow Cookie, I assume? I'm not sure if you know this, but the Kingdom has been crumbling the last few months.." The cookie responds, shifting the pack on their back slightly.

"Oh no. It's probably under the hands of that sickening Affogato. Is it really that terrible?" Caramel Arrow makes a concerned face, wondering just how bad the kingdom's state is.

"The food is scarce, and the soldiers are slaving away trying to reinforce the wall. It's definitely taking a toll on every cookie within the citadel." They answered, glancing back at the wall that defended the citadel from the Licorice Sea.

"I see. What is your name?" Caramel Arrow changes the topic, not wanting to wallow in the negativity any longer.

"MC Cookie." They respond, making a small smile.

—————————————————————————

Since then, MC and Caramel Arrow have travelled together. On the patrols, Caramel Arrow hunted the beasts, while MC gathered supplies or helped the villagers recover from the attacks. The two worked diligently as a team, surviving in the cold snowy lands outside the citadel.

After a few months, the two became good friends. They were each other's comfort during times of struggle. They opened up about each other's childhood stories or embarrassing moments. At night, they would stay up later than usual chattering about lots of topics. Although Caramel Arrow had been separated from her comrades, she found herself enjoying MC's presence a lot.

As their relationship with each other gets closer, Caramel Arrow continues to indulge in MC's presence. Soon, she confides in their comfort. She tells them her worries for the kingdom, and the sadness she feels for her king abandoning her; especially when she had been so loyal to him from a young age.

MC patted her shoulder, responding, "You have every right to feel sad and betrayed. The king might be meddling in problems he sees most important, like the wall. I'm sure the advisor doesn't help either. Your banishment is not your fault at all. It's a misjudgment on the king's end." MC makes proper eye contact with her, trying to properly communicate their thoughts to her.

The archer sighs, her posture a little deflated. She mumbles back, "Yeah, I suppose you're right. I would be lying if I said it doesn't hurt though."

MC notices she was still a ball of sadness. They glance around in thought, trying to find something that could make her happy.

Snow.

"Can I ask..." MC hesitates, pausing for a single second. They continue, "Did you do snow fights when you were a kid?" They make a smile, kicking some of the thick snow.

Caramel Arrow was a little caught off guard but managed a grin. "Of course! What citizen of the Dark Cacao Kingdom has never played a snowfight?"

Within minutes, the two cookies had two snow forts built and hurling snowballs at each other as fast they could. Perhaps childish, but the nostalgia was definitely there. Poor MC has to dodge as many snowballs as they can, Caramel Arrow has such an excellent aim. They laugh and banter at each other, a friendly competition rising.

Soon, they tire from the play, laughing at each other as they're both covered in snow. They're sat next to each other on a nearby log, still poking fun at each other.

"My fort was prettier than yours!" MC challenges, smiling so much they're mouth is getting tired.

"Well, mine was more practical for the actual thing! Decorations don't matter in the play of war!" Caramel Arrow laughs, slinging an arm around MC's shoulders.

"Still, at least mine was nice to look at!" They lean closer from the arm weighing down on their body. Their posture was slightly bent.

"Funny." She pauses, looking over at their face. "I'm glad you suggested the idea. It really reminds me of home..." She smiles, slightly sadly.

MC pats her back. "Don't get all mopey now, we're still at home. There's still a bunch of snow everywhere and the black sea full of ugly monsters." They try to comfort her with some humor.

She chuckles, "Yeah, you're right. We're still at home."

—————————————————————————

As the Cookies of Darkness and Affogato were overthrown by Gingerbrave and his companions. Caramel Arrow was given an invitation to return to the kingdom once more as a Watcher. MC was overjoyed for her, knowing she could finally be happy again. They themselves were ready to return back to the kingdom since the overall state was much better than prior.

But to everyone's surprise, Caramel Arrow refuses to go back inside the citadel. She refuses to let MC move back within the citadel. She wanted to explore the world and spend her days having with them.

"Caramel Arrow, this is our home. We can't just leave it. Everything's okay now. You can get your job back!" MC pleaded, trying to convince Caramel Arrow that they should return.

"Why? That place no longer feels like home. The betrayal, has affected me in ways I've never felt before." She explains, shaking her head. The frown on her face only supplemented her disappointment.

"I know that but- but you can start anew! Your comrades miss you! You protect the kingdom greatly. They need you, Caramel Arrow." MC tries to reason, taking her hand with their gloved one.

"MC, that's not what I want in life anymore. This isn't home for me. You're my home. I want to explore the world, and have fun with you. Only you. If I have to suffer, I want to suffer with you." She firmly states, pulling them closer to her.

"...But I don't want to leave! I'm not meant to travel the world. I like home." MC grows a bit panicked, finding her behaviour abnormal. Didn't she love her homeland? Wasn't her loyalty to the king?

"Don't worry, you are. I'm always with you. I'll protect you." She picks up MC swiftly, putting them over her shoulder. She immediately starts to trudge away from the citadel. The Sun's gleam beating down on the two.

"H-Hey! Let me down! Caramel Arrow! Listen to me!" MC struggles against her, but her grip is too strong.

Just like her loyalty to them. Too strong.

—————————————————————————

Idc how buff you are, that girl is a buff kween and will absolutely pick you up.

This kept expanding and expanding as I wrote help- I didn't expect it to be this long. I have homework to do lmao.

But I really liked this one! The chronological order helped me adjust to writing again.

Comments and thoughts, you may blabber all you want.

- Celina