#who should i draw... what should i draw....

[steddiealltheway]

1984 is not Steve Harrington’s year.

Not only does he find out that his girlfriend doesn’t actually love him, but somehow the creepy monster thing that united his now ex-girlfriend and her new boyfriend, came back in the form of some type of monster dog.

The highlight of his year might actually be befriending a nerdy middle schooler who introduced him to said monster dog - which he named Dart of all things... something to do with a candy bar.

He groans at the thought as the music from downstairs carries into his room. For some reason, Tommy Hagan decided to temporarily ignore the fact that he ditched Steve for the new keg king, Billy Hargrove, who managed to give Steve something else to worry about while literal Hell crawled its way into Hawkins, in favor of throwing a New Year's Eve party in the Harrington residence.

Typical for the year Steve's having. Why not end it horribly too?

He glances at the clock, relieved that it's already somewhat close to midnight. If it weren't for the noise, he would consider trying to sleep through this one. Instead, he lays back on his bed and hopes that no one tries to disturb him.

As if the universe can hear his thoughts, and then curse them, the door to his bedroom swings open.

Steve sits up with a huff and frowns at the person.

A guy with medium length curly hair and doe eyes stares back at him with a big smile that screams chaos.

"Sorry, dude," Steve says, "Bedroom is off limits. Go hookup, smoke, or whatever somewhere else."

Instead of leaving, the guy closes the door behind him and locks it.

Steve scoots back on the bed, hand reaching back to wrap around the nail bat he leaves behind his nightstand.

The dude raises his hands in mock surrender, silver rings glinting in the light streaming in from Steve's window - blinds open enough so he can make sure no one does anything weird in his pool. "Listen, man, I'm not here to hurt you or anything. Although you might hurt me when you hear why I'm here."

There's something about his voice that sounds familiar to Steve when it suddenly hits him - all the yelling and stomping around on tabletops. "You're Eddie Munson."

Eddie smiles and bows dramatically. "Guilty as charged."

Steve's frown deepens, and for a fleeting moment he thinks Dustin would really like the guy. "So, why would I hurt you if I hear you out?"

"Because, Steve," Eddie draws out his name as if it has a deeper meaning, "I was downstairs thinking about what a wonderful year I've had, and I decided that I might as well start the year with a little chaos."

Steve's grip tightens around the bat in case he's some sort of satanic serial killer or something, although his gut tells him that he shouldn't be scared of the man. "What do you mean by chaos?"

There's a strange glint in Eddie's eye when he shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks on the feet as if he wants to move closer to Steve but has decided to plant himself by his door. "I mean... I came to this party to sell my supply and after my whole lunchbox was cleaned out, I started thinking about who I should kiss at midnight. Or more precisely, who would be the worse option, or rather, the option that would bring the most-"

"Chaos. Yeah, I got that part," Steve cuts him off.

Eddie's smile changes to something genuine for a moment as he comments, "Wow, Steve Harrington is actually listening to me."

Steve rolls his eyes, grip loosening on the bat. "I'd rather you not stand on my desk to get my attention." To Steve's surprise, Eddie actually laughs in response and pulls a strand of hair in front of his face to hide his smile. And to Steve's much greater surprise, his heart starts beating a little faster and he finds it harder to not smile back at him. "So, chaos?" Steve prompts.

"Right," Eddie says, rocking on his feet again, "Chaos." He ducks his head for a moment as if hyping himself up for the next thing he's going to say, which is when Steve entirely releases his grip on the bat, realizing that Eddie is more scared of him. "So, I thought, to start the year off with the most chaos, I would choose someone to kiss that would bring the most chaos. And I thought, why not the host of this party?"

Steve frowns. "Tommy's downstairs."

Eddie mirrors his frown. "You're not hosting?"

"Why would I be in my room if I'm hosting?"

"Why would the party be in your house if you're not hosting?"

It suddenly hits Steve. "Wait, you want to kiss me?"

Eddie takes a step back, hovering even closer to the door than he was before. "Consensually, of course."

It takes a moment for Steve to fully process what is being asked. "You think I'm the worst option to kiss?"

"That's what you're asking?" Eddie asks, trailing off to mutter something like, "The fragile ego of athletes, I swear."

"I got dumped this year. Of course my ego is low."

Eddie smiles bashfully. "Sorry, my uncle always tells me I'm not as quiet as I think I am." And there's something about Eddie's cheeks that are slightly flushed, the strand of hair he starts tugging at again, and the way he can't stop bouncing as if he's buzzing with energy and nerves that makes him so...

"Yes," Steve blurts out suddenly. For a moment, he wonders if the mindf- mind fly? mind... whatever evil thing from a few weeks ago has possessed him.

"Yes what?" Eddie asks sounding genuinely confused. As Steve stands up to look out his blinds and shut them, Eddie rambles, "Yes, I'm not as quiet as I think I am? Or yes, you're about to punch me, and I'm going to finally figure out how it felt when you got your face bashed in a few weeks ago?"

Steve rolls his eyes before holding up both of his hands, mimicking Eddie's pose when he first came into the room. "Yes, I'll kiss you."

It's as if Eddie has forgotten he's asked the question the way his jaw drops, and he stares at Steve like he's said the most confusing thing he's ever heard. Which... to be fair... is highly likely.

"You want to kiss me?"

Steve takes a small step closer to Eddie. "I want to give you your chaos."' When Eddie doesn't look convinced, Steve takes a step closer to him, hand running through his hair as he continues, "Who knows, maybe it'll give me good luck or something for next year by cancelling out the chaos from this year."

Eddie nods. "Okay. You're giving me your chaos. Yeah. That makes sense."

"And you're taking my chaos away," Steve agrees, trying to tell himself that this is a rational decision. "This makes sense."

"You're not going to beat me up?" Eddie asks, risking a small step away from the door.

Steve shakes his head. "Seems like a bad way to start the year, don't you think?"

Eddie nods as Steve steps closer to him, slowly, as if not to startle him away. "You know, I thought just asking you would be chaotic enough as is and then I could run away and pretend you hallucinated or something when you tried to beat me up."

"Should've asked Hargrove then," Steve says, cocking his head to the side. "Does that mean you don't actually want to kiss me?"

Eddie swallows and shakes his head. "I didn't say that."

Just as Steve gets in front of Eddie, he hears people downstairs counting down from ten. "Good," Steve says, "Because there isn't enough time to find someone else."

Eddie scoffs, the countdown now at eight, "That's not true for you."

"Maybe, but I'm not really looking to find anyone else right now. Are you?" Five.

Eddie smiles and takes a step forward. "No." Three.

Steve reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind Eddie's ear. "Good." One.

Steve's not really sure who moves first or if they move together, but the yells of, "Happy New Year" are drowned out as Eddie's lips meet his in a kiss that feels more desperate than Steve expected. He's not sure why they're kissing as if the countdown was for the end of the world, but he really doesn't care.

It's only when Steve's gets a little carried away, Eddie's back slams against Steve's door with a thud that's loud enough to alert anyone that something's happening in Steve's room, that Steve breaks away with a gasp, seeking the air Eddie's stolen from him. He wonders if - hopes - it's the chaos he's taken.

"Happy New Year," Steve whispers, hands cupping Eddie's face while Eddie's are tangled in the mess he's made of Steve's hair. He's not sure when either of those things happened.

"Happy fucking New Year, Steve," Eddie mutters, hands slowly dropping from his hair.

Steve's hands hold onto Eddie's face a little tighter for a moment, and he sees the moment a bit of fear sparks in Eddie's eyes. Steve quickly shakes his head. "No, I'm not about to beat you up. It's just... I kind of slammed you against the door a little hard there, and if someone else is up here and they see you..."

"Chaos," Eddie fills in with a nod, "And not the good kind."

"Yeah," Steve sighs, "Not the good kind." He glances to his window where the blinds are firmly shut - thank you Jonathan for teaching him that lesson - and down at the locked doorknob before looking back at Eddie. He glances at his lips momentarily before blurting out, "Stay with me."

Eddie's jaw drops, mouth opening slightly in shock.

Steve steps back, hands reluctantly leaving Eddie's face. "Stay until everyone clears out at least. No ulterior motive."

Eddie shoves his hands into his pockets and moves back into Steve's space. "What if I want there to be an ulterior motive?" He tilts his head down and gives Steve a case of lethal puppy dog eyes. "Fully take your chaos away, remember?"

Steve is absolutely sure that this in no way will take away the chaos of his previous year and will likely only invite questions, confusion, and further chaos into 1985.

"Yeah, I remember," Steve says, pulling Eddie into another desperate kiss.

Maybe Eddie was onto something about starting the year with a little chaos. And maybe 1985 will be his year.

(i accidentally wrote a tiny epilogue later in the tags that i really like)

[ozzgin]

First unhinged thought of the year…😜

I was thinking about how monsters may not understand human culture and linguistics, and how many things may get lost in translation 🧐

For example…a rooster may be called a Cock, and shouts “cock-a-doodle-doo.” A monster learns that a “Cock” wakes up humans, and is also a name of male genitalia 🐓

And so to make the human more comfortable in their new home with monsters, the monster commissions a dancing genital alarm clock that moans “cock-a-doodle-doo” while ejaculating on the bedside table. It’ll stop till it’s spent and flaccid 🍆

If I had to imagine this, so do you now. I can’t be the only one to suffer this thought. I had to share it with the world. You should draw this to help our visual learners 😘

-👘

NSFW content!

Honestly, I immediately thought of the monster roommates who are convinced that what you need in order to wake up is a good dicking.

You slowly open your eyes to a bunch of genitals surrounding you, so you have to blink a few times and process the bizarre reality you've awoken to.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Isn't it a human custom? The morning cock?"

You consider their words. They stand before you, completely undisturbed and shameless, their raging erections glistening in the early sunlight.

"...It's about a rooster. The bird."

With an irritated yawn, you sit up, pushing one of the phallic behemoths away from your face.

"Ah. Perhaps it was just wishful thinking, after all," one of them confesses with visible disappointment.

Well...it'd be a pity to waste such a convenient setup, don't you agree?

[brigitoshaughnessy]

I am literally going to answer all of these? I have no secrets.

1. what's the best advice you've ever been given?

Don’t think about which option you should choose today. Think about what regrets you’ll have in the future based on each choice.

2. what is your preferred method of non-physical self destruction?

Spiraling anxiety

3. what is your favorite way to self care?

Sitting in a dark, quiet room by myself OR taking a vacation by myself.

4. tell me about your most vivid memory, good or bad.

Ehh, I don’t know that any are more vivid. I tend to live more in the present and for the future than in the past. I don’t like to dwell, probably because most of my vivid memories are traumatic. I.e., my parents deaths, my fiancées death, my brothers death… etc.

5. if anything, what would you change about your childhood?

I would have spent more time drawing.

6. what is something that you've always wanted to do but have never been able to do?

Sky diving

7. what is your fatal flaw?

Overthinking to the point of self-defeatism. Think of Marvin in Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy.

8. what is something that gets to you that you wish wouldn't?

Criticism

9. do you cry? why or why not?

Yes. When I disappoint those close to me.

10. tell me about an insecurity you overcame.

I am a non-technical person in a technical job. I’m faking it, but no one knows.

11. tell me about your last failed friendship.

My husband (no filter) told a friend of mine that I thought he was neglecting his dog. My friend was livid that I hadn’t told him directly.

12. who do you wish you could connect with but haven't been able to connect with?

My last surviving immediate family member. We have never clicked.

13. what can make you excessively angry?

Injustice & memes that over simplify complex issues & the plebs that make the memes their life’s philosophy.

14. do you enjoy being lightheartedly teased? why or why not?

No. I’m very sensitive to criticism and having attention drawn to me. I get embarrassed very easily.

15. do you prefer to be numb or overly emotional? Why?

Numb. Excessive emotion has been negative emotion in my life experience.

16. what is a skill or talent you've completely lost or overlooked? why did that happen?

Guitar. I picked up writing fanfic again. Im a serial hobbyist.

17. what was your favorite color as a child and what is your favorite color now?

Purple… and I no longer have one.

18. what is something you can't bring yourself to get rid of?

My parents wedding rings.

19. tell me something you don't like telling the people you are close to.

That they could do better at something. I manage for work so it’s difficult to feel that I’m a manager of people personally.

20. tell me what you think others think about you.

Probably that I’m a know it all who thinks she’s too clever. But hopefully, also that I care about people, and can set aside my premonitions to be present when someone needs me.

Reblog with your answers (or just one or two) if you care to share. I love learning about all of you. :)

deep asks that get uncomfortably personal

what’s the best advice you’ve ever been given?

what is your preferred method of non-physical self destruction?

what is your favorite way to self care?

tell me about your most vivid memory, good or bad.

if anything, what would you change about your childhood?

what is something that you’ve always wanted to do but have never been able to do?

what is your fatal flaw?

what is something that gets to you that you wish wouldn’t?

do you cry? why or why not?

tell me about an insecurity you overcame.

tell me about your last failed friendship.

who do you wish you could connect with but haven’t been able to connect with?

what can make you excessively angry?

do you enjoy being lightheartedly teased? why or why not?

do you prefer to be numb or overly emotional? why?

what is a skill or talent you’ve completely lost or overlooked? why did that happen?

what was your favorite color as a child and what is your favorite color now?

what is something you can’t bring yourself to get rid of?

tell me something you don’t like telling the people you are close to.

tell me what you think others think about you.

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

do you have any new recs for sterek with size difference? (preferably with smaller stiles)

Sure.

The Hoodie by PersePhonesDreams

(1/1 I 1,988 I General)

Stiles didn’t mean to keep Derek’s hoodie—really, he didn’t. But the oversized, ridiculously soft thing quickly became his favorite comfort item, a piece of Derek he couldn’t quite let go of. It’s not like Derek would notice anyway... right?

When Derek unexpectedly shows up at Stiles’ window one quiet night, Stiles’ not-so-secret attachment to the hoodie is exposed, leading to a conversation that changes everything.

Cue awkward confessions, teasing smiles, and the realization that maybe Derek doesn’t mind Stiles keeping more than just his hoodie.

jacked and kind by LookWhatIHaveWaitingForMe

(4/4 I 3,288 I Mature)

Stiles forces Derek to participate in the "jacked and kind" TikTok trend and this time Derek doesn't need convincing.

Be Still, My (Beating) Heart by mznaughty01

(1/1 I 3,878 I Explicit)

The time for games was definitely over. Because now? Now it was time for Derek to breed Stiles’s sweet ass.

(K)Not Tonight by slimypaws

(1/1 I 4,961 I Explicit)

Stiles had the very clever idea to go to his favourite place while in heat and during a full moon on top of that, his brain clearly having melted into a useless puddle.

He had never picked up the scent of another person, werewolf or human, here after all, so why should he start to worry now? Until he did pick up another scent after all. Everything went downhill from there.

Teen Witch by AngieNoir

(2/? I 8086 I Explicit)

Derek knows that there's something strange about Stiles and that's stirring up trouble in Beacon Hills, drawing the attention of werewolf hunters. Driven to protect his own, he believes he must kill the young witch. Yet, as he watches him, Derek finds himself falling in love, torn between duty and desire. A werewolf. A witch. And a danger that’s impossible to resist.

Wrapped in a Dream by wolfcloaks

(8/8 I 34,577 I Explicit)

He finds him in the middle of the clearing, mouth grappling with a foreign tongue, alabaster skin damp with the remnants of prior rain.

He's absolutely beautiful, Derek thinks, this creature, this boy.

Matenapped by xcaellachx

(12/12 I 36,671 I Explicit)

Alpha Derek Hale has known Spark Stiles Stilinski was his mate for over six years. The traumatized Spark had killed the rogue alpha who tried to kill his friend so many years ago and was still scarred by the experience. Now, Stiles was settled in as a magic shop owner and Derek was ready to claim him for his own. The ritual of matenapping was an old but accepted tradition and Derek had his den ready to receive his mate. It was time.

Stiles Stilinski thought Lydia was insane for thinking the sexy alpha wanted to matenap him. He was damaged by his past and determined to stay single so he didn't harm anyone. He kept his magic tightly leashed and couldn't believe that anyone could want him. Not a murderer. Even when the wolf came to see him and touched him gently, winking at him and looking at him longingly, he just couldn't accept it.

Very soon, Stiles wouldn't have a choice but to believe it. Derek was taking his mate and bringing him to his mating den where he would court and woo him until he couldn't help but fall in love with him.

The Lighthouse Keeper by tugela54

(11/11 I 75,073 I Explicit)

On a rural island just off Alaska’s northern Inside Passage, stands a centuries old lighthouse - the perfect sanctuary for its keeper to hide when the moon is full, to burn and rage through its cycle with the townsfolk being none the wiser.

But then a new resident comes to Beacon Harbour – a bright-eyed young student chasing an elusive whale species – and all of a sudden those thick stone walls seem paper thin…

Delinquents for Hire, Won’t you Let us Conspire? by skayaks

(18/18 I 89.909 I Mature)

The Sheriff slams a gun on the dining table, “What are your intentions with my son?” Stiles violently spits his water out, coughing instantly from the sheer disbelief.

OR

The one where a reluctant Stiles Stilinski goes to a very intimidating delinquent Derek Hale for help when he’s finally fed up with being picked on by Jackson’s shitty gang of wannabe jocks.

Naturally, as things tend to go for Stiles, he doesn’t have much of a fun time.

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Price and Simon stand either side of the kitchen counter and stare at the bouquet of flowers between them. They're in identical poses; palms flat on the surface, spread wide as they lean forward.

"You panicked, didn't ya?" Price asks, eyebrow rising.

"Yeah," Simon responds. "Thought if I turned up wiv nothin', you'd be offended. S'the done thing, innit?"

"An' your go to was daisies?"

"They're chrysanthemums."

"Wot?"

"Chrysanthemums," Simon repeats. "Says it on the label."

"Huh. Right, yeah." Price's fingers tap on the countertop. "Guess I, uh... should put 'em in some water."

Simon watches his captain - and date for that evening - rummage through his kitchen cupboards, eventually coming up with a pint glass that he fills with water. He grabs the bouquet and slides it inside, tugging gingerly at the plastic wrapping.

"There," Price says, presenting the still-wrapped chrysanthemums with open palms. They stand in silence for a moment longer, both with an itching anxiety under their skin.

Eventually, Price sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. He looks at Simon, who appears to be paralysed by uncertainty. In the field, Simon's looming figure is suitably intimidating for his role; he understands every part of it, and holds himself confidently.

Surrounded by domesticity, he looks every bit the awkward, introverted man he actually is at heart, unsure how to navigate the social requirements of a damned date he wants so desperately to go well. This is difficult for him. He's doing his best.

"Hey Simon. What do you call a flower that runs on electricity?"

Simon looks up, blond eyebrows tilting up and out.

"A power plant."

Simon snorts and Price watches the corners of his eyes crinkle with a smile. "You're pollen my leg."

Price chuckles, resting his hand over the top of Simon's on the countertop. "C'mon, s'just a pint and a curry. We've done it a hundred times before."

"Yeah." Simon rises to his full height and follows Price to the door. "I'd... uh, appreciate it if ya didn' mention the flowers t' anyone." He meant Johnny.

"S'olrigh', I'll tell 'em you rose to the occasion."

"Fuckin' 'ell..." Price can hear the grin in Simon's tone, and brushes the backs of their fingers together as he locks his front door behind them.

Before Price can walk away, Simon hooks a forefinger around his and pulls him back, tugging down the scarf around his chin. He kisses Price tenderly, lingering against his lower lip and bumping their foreheads together before he draws back.

"Kiss is meant to be at the end of night as ya walk me t' my door, an' only if you woo me well enough," Price says, smiling softly.

Simon shrugs. "I'll woo ya. Reckon we should try it our way rather 'an anyone else's from now on."

"Reckon you might be right."

The date goes well. Price doesn't mention the flowers to anyone, but he keeps them watered 'til they die a few days later.

[daemaid]

The goat fleece is funny. I thought the Bishops would acknowledge a new crown bearing caprine randomly showing up in place of the lamb that killed them but nope, they never make any mention of the goat (as far as I'm aware). Those guys just go along with it lol.

[gsirvitor]

As MLK Jr once said, the weakness of violence as a means to an end, is that it is a spiral, begetting the very thing it seeks to destroy.

Instead of reducing evil, it multiplies it, for through violence you may murder a liar, but cannot stop the lie, nor establish the truth.

Through violence one may murder one who spouts hate, but one cannot end that hatred, violence merely increases hate.

Returning violence for violence multiplies violence, tit for tat, adds deeper darkness to a night devoid of stars.

Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that, hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.

And as Jesus once said, in Matthew 26:52.

"Put your sword back in its place, for all who draw the sword will die by the sword"

Man should not use violence to solve all problems, for violence is not a means to an end, but a deterrent, a manifestation of authority over oneself.

Just as pacifism is meaningless without the capacity for violence, violence is meaningless when used to end every issue, to pluck that cathartic primeval string at the back of your skull.

The ape within you screams out, its bestial nature tells you to strike out in anger, but the man within you must temper you, for a blade cannot remain sharp if dulled on a thousand targets.

God, I've a bad habit of speaking in metaphor, anyway, those of you who understand what I said here, this is for you.

And for others who don't, I'm asking you to not revel in wanton bloodshed, to not seek out death, violence is not just your tool.

Do try to be empathetic to those who lose a loved one, regardless of class, race, or anything else, they are only human, just like you.

[curlyfriesgalore]

headcanons of a

hibiscus-loving boy ♡

☆ requested by anon — my daisuke headcanons.

★ a long sfw & nsfw headcanons list with one-shot segments of solo! daisuke scenarios to start off the new year 🥳.

☆ gen tags: fem! reader but reader isn't in his life (yet). the sfw takes place on earth and the tulpar, while all the nsfw is on the tulpar. before the crash (except it is mentioned in one headcanon). daisuke & his relationship with his parents. daisuke is single but very much wishes he could mingle. bits of silly stuff because it is daisuke, after all. someone please date him already... swansea is so sick of listening to him rave about "hot babes."

★ nsfw tags MDNI: malesub. dry humping objects. semi-public masturbation. daisuke uses a vibrator & flesh-light individually. mommy kink (as expected) and puppy kink (only mentioned though). lots of yearning for his dream girl and fantasies of women in general. (could it be you? 🫣)

[anon, thank you so much and i hope you liked this! on another note, i'm working on a long fluffy daisuke x reader oneshot, so you guys will get that wholesome content eventually. also, i forgot that daisuke was probably canonically bunking with swansea but... for the sake of this and daisuke's dignity, he gets his own room lol. —iris🌠]

sfw.

★ earth.

this isn't a set headcanon of mine, but i like to think that daisuke is a japanese and filipino man who grew up in hawaii but doesn't go home to his respective countries often. when he does, it's always a long catch-up with his large extended family, whom he misses dearly.

he gives off the energy of a single child solely raised by his first-generation immigrant parents, both of whom want the best for daisuke's future but struggle to show that in a constructive manner.

he has a relatively solid relationship with them, and their arguments are still within the realm of what is expected of families. however, there's a degree of emotional distance between him and his parents, especially with his mom who's a bit firmer on daisuke's education than his dad, who still cares about it just as much, but he's more reserved compared to his wife—the outspoken of the two.

with how they both work full-time and how he grew up with a vastly different upbringing from them, daisuke doesn't feel as close to his parents as he thinks he should. sometimes, they don't understand him, like his incessant love for thrifting and doodle-drawing, and sometimes, he can't understand them, like their insistence on getting him into an ivy league college when a public university works just fine (according to him).

daisuke is much more fluent in tagalog than he is in japanese, which his mom pesters him to study more, fearing that he'll struggle to pass down his knowledge of her lineage to his future kids properly.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

"tch, and how will they know how to speak to their obaachan, hah? it's not that hard to practice every morning, dai-dai." his mom sighs, one hand clutching the strap of her kinkachu bag while the other held a bottle of olive oil.

daisuke withheld a groan, grumbling to himself before responding, "i knowww, ma, i know. i'm just busy, okay?" his forearms fold over the trolley's handle, bringing his chin to rest on top of them.

she glares, "busy playing with your gameboy? you call that busy?"

without consciously intending to, he rolls his eyes, then swiftly snaps them back in place. cringing at himself as he purses his lips, a pathetic whisper of sorry leaves his clenching teeth.

before he knows it, his mom is scoffing. she squints at him with her brows furrowed, her gaping mouth quirking to one corner, and shakes her head in disbelief, bee-lining to the next thing on their grocery list.

"eh?! mama, i didn't mean to!" daisuke quickly splurges a cacophony of apologies as he pushes the cart, trying to keep up with his mom.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

other than that, his parents genuinely love him, as much as they begrudgingly listen to his endless rambles which they barely understand because of how all over the place his retellings can be.

daisuke always finds ways to interject his current story with another story that relates to the initial story, which he must explain in excruciating detail, or else they won't get the references he'll make when he continues the first story! so they just sigh and nod their head. (it's even worse for his dad when daisuke starts using english slang that's far too modern for his head to translate in real-time).

his parents have considered a second child. however, the financial burden, emotional weight, and physical pain from vaginal burns or cesarean scars that they'd have to repeat were too much. one sugar-charged chatterbox of a kid was enough for their lifetime.

daisuke wasn't always sure about what he wanted to do in life. his mind had always been glued to his dreams of traveling beaches around the world, flirting with pretty girls with a piña colada in hand, sifting through vintage pieces, and finding a girlfriend who loves him enough to want to do the same! but even then, he didn't know how to get to that point. of course, the simple answer was money, but how he'll get that money was what spun at the forefront and lingered at the back of his mind.

though, this is daisuke we're talking about, he's sure this'll work out one way or another!

"girls like smart guys, right?" he'd ask himself as he browsed through a leaflet listing all the STEM subjects his mom had circled in neon red ink. daisuke's eyes drift to the arts and humanities page, wincing at the sheer lack of majors highlighted on that side—it was next to none. save for architecture, which his mom suggested he should try because of his drawing hobby, but, truth be told, it was just a hobby for him.

he loved the freedom of art, especially doodling. it was a space for him to explore whatever wacky design popped into his mind. he'd look at a simple object, darting his eyes to several others, and merge it all into a story of sorts. whether it be a turtle-pig fishing for sentient crackers on a wooden boat or an intergalactic wasteland where sweets colonized spices, it was his favorite pasttime. so, the possibility of having that be ruined by conforming to another person's rules and regulations wasn't for him.

he once suggested studying fashion. assorting clothing pieces, designing looks, and learning its history was a genuine passion of his, but one look at his parents' faces was enough for him to quickly drop it.

daisuke has fixed cars in the past—not fully, but he's helped his dad and a couple of neighbors for some extra dough, and has managed to learn a thing or two.

he was pretty good at math and physics, preferring the latter of the two because he actually got to apply that math into scenarios much more interesting than 'find the radius of a hemisphere of volume 80 cm^3.'

so, when daisuke's mom learns of pony express' last-minute aerospace mechanic internship, she's ecstatic, excitedly telling him to prepare his resume because her son is going to space! after all, her boy got the brains for it.

daisuke genuinely looked forward to this opportunity as well. however, funnily enough, he was terrified of outer space. though he was weirdly okay with the unknown depths of the ocean, the galaxy? that was a different story. at least, if he were drowning in the sea, there was a higher chance of him surviving than choking out in space. he shivered at the thought.

nonetheless, daisuke focused on the positives. "holy shit, what if there are alien beaches with hot ALIEN babes?!"

however, his cv wasn't all that impressive by pony express' standards. so, out of sheer desperation, his mom used a couple of her connections to secure that spot for him, but daisuke doesn't know about this. he thinks his smarts alone got him the job.

she's so adamant about his education because she fears for him, like any parent would. she doesn't want daisuke to suffer financially the same way her and her husband did growing up—it was her nightmare, actually. so, hopefully, with enough prayer and preparation, this will benefit him greatly. (oh... if only she knew).

before his space trip, daisuke's dad treated them all to a 5-day family holiday out in california, letting daisuke choose most of the activities, aka revel in his inner child via arcades and amusement parks. he actually made 2 friends, both in separate places, who'd accompany him whenever his parents got too tired from walking or couldn't bare the insane waiting lines (which was 90% of the time).

his dad had been secretly saving for this ever since daisuke was a kid, wanting to give his son the best birthday an 18-year-old could ever want.

while they've gotten richer over the years, his dad constantly struggled to feel secure in their wealth, feeling as though they could lose it at any time like his family had back then.

★ the tulpar.

upon arriving, daisuke didn't realize that he was a very late addition to the team. he noticed a slight hesitancy in everyone, which made him feel awkward, but in classic daisuke fashion, he shrugged it off and tried his best to get on everyone's good side.

(he definitely vomitted in his mouth soon after take-off).

daisuke quickly befriended everyone. the easiest was curly. he was the captain, after all, and the friendliest and handsomemest boss he'd ever met. even though it was pretty obvious that curly initially tensed at the lack of proper planning from pony express' end, he soon forgot it when daisuke eased into the crew just fine, impressed with how optimistic he'd been.

then, it was anya, who was a little quiet at first, but when she got used to his chipper nature, she had no trouble giggling with daisuke. she's glad to have someone other than curly to have fun with during their game nights, and even curly wasn't the easiest to play with because of how frequently he'd doze off in between turns, drool already dripping down his light beard. so, daisuke was a massively fresh change. he was energized and dramatic, passionately involving himself in the game and sneakily cheating whenever anya was getting a little too close to winning.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

curly called out for anya, asking where she had put his sleeping medication. anya lifted her view off of the board, her finger still holding her chin, and turned to curly, whom she gave instructions to.

daisuke and anya sat on the ground in front of the lounge couch, which swansea sprawled himself on—arms folded over his belly—as he dozed to sleep, his quiet snore growing louder by the minute. daisuke looked at anya, who was now bantering back and forth with their captain, and a mischievous grin inched up his cheeks.

with a very "inconspicuous" whistle, daisuke swiftly switched the positions of her queen and his bishop, shifting his eyes everywhere to ensure no one had seen the evil he'd done.

as anya's laugh died down and brought her focus back to the game, she moved her knight to somewhere on the board, not noticing the changes. then, as ego fueled his chest, daisuke took out her king.

"check and mate, anya." he proudly smiled, flipping his hair. he flicked open his fingers and spread his arms away from the table, figuratively dropping an explosive as he mouthed a boom.

"WHAT?!" anya exclaimed, her brows knit up her forehead as she scrutinized the chess pieces.

swansea snorted awake, startled by the sudden noise. "hah?! oh, what...? wh-what happened, where were we?"

bemusement painted her face when she realized what had happened. she pursed her lips, narrowing her eyes at the cheater and pointed at daisuke, wagging her finger, "you did something, didn't you?"

daisuke stifled his laugh, remaining nonchalant and poker-faced as he shrugged. "i have no idea what you're talking about."

anya and daisuke just "argued." anya flailed her arms at the monochrome pieces, while daisuke found it increasingly hard not to burst into chuckles.

swansea lifted his back off the sofa, his spine resounding with a loud pop. in his neutral grumble, he said, "looks like daisuke won fair and square to me." then he went back to napping, flopping his neck onto the headrest.

anya was gagged, feeling like she'd gone crazy, so, daisuke finally cracked and cackled, falling to his side as he smacked the floor with tears in his eyes.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

surprisingly enough, it was jimmy with whom he got on good terms with next. well, good enough terms with. they rarely ever talked. their conversations were limited to offhand encounters if they were the only ones near each other, where daisuke asked simple things about his life, followed by jimmy's cold hum.

so, as to not make things awkward, majority of what they discussed related to the tulpar and its workings. (jimmy secretly enjoyed it, though, feeling like he was more important than curly because daisuke would go to him for these types of questions, besides swansea. even though, the reality was that daisuke liked curly way more for how much he could joke around and still found room for professionalism.)

then, there was swansea. daisuke's favorite person, and his one and only mentor!

it felt nice for him to hang out with someone like his parents, except he was more wrinkly, irritable, and meaner than them. sometimes swansea's jabs can sting, but daisuke knows he means well. (then again, daisuke feels that way about everyone, and he's not sure whether that's a good or bad thing.)

despite his clumsiness and how often his mind drifts off to fantasies of breathing in tropical air with bikini-clad ladies surrounding him, he's learned so much from swansea.

it's not just about mechanics, but about life, his experiences and what all the good, bad, and ugly mean to him. without giving too much away about what he's been through, daisuke still managed to infer a couple of things.

albeit, he can be hard to understand. while swansea's advice is straightforward, he is in a descriptively convoulted way. so daisuke could only fully process it when he's lounging on the couch with swansea, taking in every word and, for once in his life, shutting up—which has only happened a couple of times, but hey, who says daisuke can't maneuver his way for more?

he hopes swansea will write him an extensive letter of recommendation and not mention all the times he's given him the wrong wrench, that one foam incident, or his ramblings of how he lowkey highkey wants to be a model, to which swansea would slowly blink at him for.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

"you want to be a model? for what?" swansea inquires, standing with crossed arms as he watches over daisuke adjusting a screw.

"well, you know, for fashion! getting all dressed up n' stuff, my picture being taken as i pose for the camera." daisuke momentarily stopped twisting the bolt and posed for swansea, smoldering as he folded his arms, definitely not imitating the old man.

swansea just rolled his eyes and told him to get back to work, putting his hands in his pockets instead. "so why'd you pick fixing metal junk instead?"

daisuke paused, ruminating on his following words. "i dunno, my parents want me to be an engineer, which is, like, super cool and all! and i do want to be one... it's just, it'd be nice to try other things i'm good at and see where they'll go, you know? you get me, right, swansea?" he went back to fidgeting with the pipe.

swansea stood there, softly nodding to himself. "i mean, they have a point—torx, kid, not hex," swansea pointed at the other screwdriver in the toolbox next to daisuke, "they don't want you risking unstable work and have no means of supporting yourself."

daisuke ate his lips, and swansea could see him grow smaller by the second. he sighed, "but, i'm not saying that you can't pursue that. you should, at some point, but my daughter's done it before, and she says it's not an easy world—"

"she's done whAT?!" daisuke brightened, nearly dropping the screw in his hand.

"did you even hear a thing i said?" swansea frowned, instinctively crouching down to cup his hand under where the bolt almost slipped.

daisuke nodded, "yeah, yeah, i know, but that is so cool! omg, can she hook me onto some agencies? does she know any? please, swan—!"

"slow down, kid..." swansea unintentionally chuckled, pulling the tool in the daisuke's hand back to the pipe. he shook his head and actually smiled, albeit small. it nearly made daisuke even more happy than he was about the news.

"look, like she said, it's not all fun and games but it is possible to be successful. you've just got to be serious, like you should be..." he taps on the metal, "...here."

"okayyyy..." daisuke heaved, defeated by the present realities.

there was a beat of silence. swansea stretched his neck from shoulder to shoulder and spoke, "...but when we get back to earth, i'll try talking to her, 'kay? now, finish up; you've already been taking long as it is."

daisuke excitedly bobbed his head, saluted him, and returned to his task.

★ extras.

daisuke secretly holds 'runway shows' in his room, walking from one end to the other as he stuns his imaginary audience with all of his hawaiian tees.

no one knows this, but he often draws himself with his dream girl (aka you, heehee). there are so, so many pretty portraits of her. you can truly see the effort he's put in these with every graphite stroke and his smudged fingerprint dented into the paper.

brought so many rings and earrings on board, only to wear the same ones every day 💀.

he enjoys a lot of music genres but predominantly loves pop. i like to think that the game takes place in the retrofuturistic 1990s, so daisuke listens to a lot of sir mix-a-lot and backstreet boys. he probably plays 'livin' la vida loca' on repeat when he's cleaning up foam with swansea.

would not be surprised if he has played every pokemon game on his gameboy.

his sleeping quarters are near swansea's, so... you can imagine how quiet he needs to be when he "relieves" himself (which makes the nsfw section even more embarrassing for daisuke, lmfao).

nsfw.

when daisuke finally realized that he would be alone.. in a room... in a spaceship... for a year... with no parents there to barge in, he tried so fucking hard to hold back the devilish smile crawling up his mouth (think knee surgery grinch). oooof course, he was going to abuse the living shit out of this freedom.

as told by swansea, daisuke "only thinks with his downstairs longnose." so, it's safe to say that he frequently masturbates, to no one's surprise 💀.

however, he needs the physical visual of something to really get off. he can still cum without it. but, as much as daisuke enjoys his fantasies of paradise, it takes an excruciatingly long time, and it never feels as good when he orgasms.

(if mouthwashing took place in our year, he definitely gets super turned on by nsfw audios. stuff like 'F4M gentle mommy praises you' would absolutely be his go-to genre.)

so he brought a portable tv and vhs player, secretly stashing all his favorite porn mags and cassette tapes, along with some new ones he's been dying to watch. the majority are vanilla, with a few bordering on bdsm, a couple of threesomes (it didn't really matter to him if they were FFM or MMF), and solo girls touching themselves as they tell him to follow their instructions, but a lot of them had an overt femdom feel, save for a few.

he tends to jerk off really fast and struggles to pace himself in a way where he doesn't greedily let himself reach his high, so closing his eyes as he listens to porn helps him extend that to a little close to 20 minutes. otherwise, this guy is done in maybe under 4—7 if he's lucky.

(unsurprisingly, he once came in less than 30 seconds from just teasing his tip. he got so embarrassed that he hid himself under the covers, shoving his face into the pillow, for being so pathetically easy).

even then, he can go so many rounds. when there's nothing much to do on the ship, and everyone was too involved in their own business to pay attention to him, he's had a few times where he used 3 of his 5 resting hours just jerking off back-to-back.

no matter how he toys with his dick, he'd always end up an adorable whimpering mess. he was naturally sensitive; pools of pre-cum would easily drip out of his tip after a few strokes, and his thighs would involuntarily shudder with each pump. however, that meant his moans would become so unbelievably loud that his whines could carry through the thickest of walls—unsurprisingly, very in-character for daisuke.

so he's grown used to muffling his mouth moments before he cums. either his palm pressed over his panting parted lips, or he'd resort to smushing his face into his pillows whenever it overwhelmed every inch of his body.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

daisuke lay on his side. with one hand tucked under his cheek, gripping strands of his hair, and the other vigorously milking his cock from base to tip, his half-naked body trembled on his bed. the patterned covers sprawled away from the beaded sweat rolling off his inner thighs, and all that filled the air were daisuke's desperate, high-pitched gasps.

a rising heat inched within his abdomen, and his wrist spasmed as every jerk reached speeds unbeknownst to him. daisuke pathetically attempted to smother whatever incoherent mewls escaped his throat, biting down on the skin of his lightly chapped lips, but it was futile. he was starting to lose it.

so, he rolls. he rolls his face into his pillow and props his knees on the mattress, brandishing his ass in the air with his back arched towards the tulpar's metal ceiling.

hoping he's suppressed himself enough, daisuke began whimpering out loud, cushioning his cries as he touched himself as fast as his slippery penis would let him. a list of curses fled his lips as he tried visualizing someone hover over him, grabbing hold of his drenched dick, pinning his head further into the pillow, and whisper sweet nothings into his ear.

after a couple of twists of his tip, he finally spilled all over the bed, his drool following suit. his cock twitched upwards, lathering bits of his cum all over his stomach, and with one final huff, daisuke dropped himself onto the mattress, sighing into its warmth—too dazed to notice the subdued thumping of footsteps beyond his door.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

he hasn't gotten the opportunity to have sex yet, nor has he charmed anyone enough to get his dick sucked or touched, but he was very close to it!

once, at a party, daisuke got to make out with a girl from his last year in high school, but this guy would not stop talking after each kiss. all that came out of his mouth were the awkwardest of one-liners and rambles full of compliments. while he thought it was cute, the girl quickly got annoyed. after a few more heated swaps of spit, she left the closet they were in, and daisuke just stood there, embarrassed, stuffing his face in some random person's sweater.

though it was only one failed (but he likes to think it was successful) make-out sesh, he loves the act of it so much. the feeling of a girl pressing him up against the wall, no matter how tall or short she was, clutching onto his shirt as their tongues deepened. the thought of their crotches sliding against one another got him all hot and bothered.

but, admittedly, daisuke wished she stayed (not necessarily the same girl in particular) because he loved the idea of him yapping continuously about something as she touched him more and more, latching her teeth onto his neck as her fingers rubbed circles on his bulge. he'd falter, his words blending into an incoherent whimpery mush as she lifted up his shirt and made her way down his collarbone.

oh, how he fantasizes about receiving and giving hickeys. he'll abide by how his dream girl would want to be bitten down, but he wanted to be marked.

daisuke's always been super into teethy indentations on his stomach and darkened spots scattered all over his chest. so he's practiced on his forearm, watching his saliva coat his bite, imagining how prickly it'd feel on his neck. but what he loves most is its meaning, how it symbolizes that he belonged to a girl and she belonged to him. it always made him feel warm and gushy inside.

lowkey feel like he enjoys dry-humping objects. if he sees a soft enough edge with ridges all over or a pillow that's looking softer than it should, he's rutting his clothed dick against it. but because of that, he gets incredibly horny when he starts focusing a little too much on the corner of any table.

anya once had to snap him back into reality after he intently watched jimmy put his back against a particular part of the kitchen counter. daisuke's face flushed, remembering last night.

he had to take his time thrusting his wet bulge against it. standing on his tip-toes, swaying his hips like a seesaw, as he grips the bottom of the counter for stability, for he was losing it. the way his cum would build up was so different from jerking off. it felt like rushing water pushing against a dam, but it was slow, like waves on a shore inching closer to his feet. this would make him cry, and he'd constantly moan in hiccups, short bursts of suppressed whimpers because of how much effort this took. however, he makes sure his mess stays in his pants. so, when he does cum, it would only paint a large stroke over his boxers as his semen dripped all the way down to his knee.

daisuke brought a vibrator and fleshlight on board, which he bought using some of his earnings from the cars he fixed back on earth.

he fucks his fleshlight like a rabbit when topping, depriving himself from all thought as he picks up the pace. but when he's bottoming, he starts lifting his legs off the ground and spreads them in the air, sending his brain over the moon.

when he tried the vibrator for the first time, it's like he entered a whole new realm. he fantasizes being on his stomach, arching his back with his ass in the air, his dick dangling in between his thighs as a girl mercilessly presses a vibrator up against his parts—cumming a messy puddle into his sheets. even though he could still do it on his own, the thought of anyone on laundry duty questioning the large wet stain was too embarrassing to bear.

it's ironic, considering how much he's into risky semi-public quickies. when he gets so pent up in the middle of organizing tool boxes and listening to swansea's rants, he will excuse himself to go to the bathroom. swansea would just roll his eyes and go, "yeah, yeah. do whatever you want, kid. just don't take forever." whether or not swansea actually knew what he was really doing, daisuke will never know—and, frankly, he'd much rather not.

he'd play with himself, alone. running to the tools closet with his back against the door, hand shoved into his boxers, his slick coating his palm as he clutched his shirt, using it as a fabric muffle for his shakey moans, revealing his heaving chest and hardened nipples. his eyes squeeze shut as his eyebrows knit in ecstasy.

(when the crash happens and he's forced to sleep in the lounge, he often scurries away to empty areas around the tulpar when swansea is too drunk out of his mind to notice daisuke's random disappearances.)

while he's not exactly sure where his mommy thing came from (don't look into that too deeply), he really indulges himself in it. he likes to re-enact his sexual scenarios when he touches himself, saying his lines out loud as if the person he was imagining were with him. he'd whine for mommy to let him cum, and when he got real close, he'd call himself a good boy like it were a mantra.

do you guys think he might like being called 'puppy'? i think it's very likely. he reads as the type of person who thrives off praise and massively enjoys any petname a person could give him.

i think he fantasizes about a bunch of women using him instead of him using women, which is what horny guys his age probably think of more often. but no, daisuke finds it so fucking hot to be used like a toy by more than one person, not knowing what pleasure he'll feel next.

but he's unsure if he would actually like that to happen in real life. sure, it gets his gears going, but he knows he'd be good with his one and only (hypothetical and future) girlfriend doing whatever she wants to him.

[i'm not sure if anyone could tell, but i got pretty lazy towards the end 🫠 if there are any scenarios that you want me to expand into single one-shots then feel free to request! so far, i have two other reqs and 3 original works, so it might take a while, especially because i have irl things to work on. —iris🌠]

[crazy-pages]

So this is a bit of a weird tangent away from funny pelican story, but the comment about park rangers having to warn people not to put their babies on the ground next to alligators says something interesting and subtle about what intelligence is and how it works.

So first off, obviously, some people just will not use their brain even if you draw them a map to it. But I think a lot of the time what we interpret as egregious stupidity is just people not having their "new situation" thinking caps on. Because while we humans like to think of our thought processes as deciding to do something and then doing it, neurological research shows that's actually rarely how we operate. With the vast majority of our actions, we do something on autopilot, even fairly complicated behaviors, and then we decide why we did it after the fact. (Even when it feels like the decision making came first.)

Now this doesn't mean we're all secretly automatons who only think we're in control of our actions. Rationalizing or rejecting our behaviors after the fact is a source of a great deal of growth and development and informs the next actions we take. And we can, when we have reason to, pause and really take our time and think through stuff before we do it. It's just not our default state, nor frankly should it be, the human brain takes the shortcuts it does for a reason.

But that means that "when we have reason to" part is doing an enormous amount of heavy lifting. Because if you don't clock that a situation is unfamiliar to you in a way that means your default behavior can be dangerous, or if you don't realize the scope of behaviors which are normally safe that might now be dangerous, you can do some really dangerous and obviously stupid stuff on autopilot. Like putting your baby down next to the gators.

If you've lived your whole life in a city and you have never before encountered wildlife that is innately hazardous to babies, you may simply not have an autopilot feature about checking for living hazards near where you set your baby down. And what this means is that people doing that stuff aren't looking at the entire situation, taking in the hazards, and then making an incredibly stupid call based on that. They're just ... on autopilot. They don't have the experience or education around dangerous wildlife to know that their very presence is a red flag which should trigger all of their thoughtfulness skills all of the time while they are in range. That you just don't get to do anything on autopilot while you are in range of a gator.

It's stupidity of a kind, sure, but it's also stupidity which I think is easy to laugh at and easy to miss just how close you might be to behaving in the same way, in the right hazardous situation which doesn't happen to trigger your highly specific lived experience warning bells.

And on the flip side sometimes very novel situations turn off our sensible autopilot warning bells! Like when a talking pelican asks you to put baby in their mouth and you are so taken with the existence of a talking animal and its humorous dialect and you're trying to understand why it can talk and why it talks like that that you stopped thinking of it as a flesh eating predator which swallows small creatures whole and stuck your baby in its mouth. 😅

Oops.

One of my favorite things about Put Baby In Pelican Mouth is that not only does the pelican have the intelligence necessary to speak human language but also knows how to lie, suggesting it has a theory of mind, yet not enough to understand that no one is going to put baby in pelican mouth.

[kit-screams-into-the-future]

assorted weredoc doodles for @bttfjanaury! seeing as i’m the one who submitted it i might as well do it also hahaha.

bonus weremarty (au of au lmao):

[smallpwbbles]

Hi Pebs! So I've been off social media for awhile trying to avoid spoilers for the Sonic movie and a couple of other things. I saw something about a studio Ghibli inspired au? What's it about? (Chronic Miyazaki movie enjoyer)

Literally came up with it on New years when I was watching totoro with nephew, legit I only wanted to draw Maria and Shadow in a ghibli style but my brain kept going with plot stuff

Takes place in the 90s, Gerald is a mad scientist of sorts that lives outside of station square in a smaller town with Maria, she’s got her NIDs in this but it’s not so aggressive that she needs to live in space.

Abraham is her age in this and he’s basically like a big bro/friend/neighbour who watches out for her but he’s very weird about it cuz his dads got old fashioned military attitude about how men should be about showing affection.

Shadow is made by pure accident here as Gerald does work for the government but he also works to cure Maria’s disease. Legit while he was working at home Shadow exploded into existence in an experiment gone wrong (which also leads to him being unstable so he actually control when he goes into the big monstrous form).

Maria and Gerald try to keep him away from being discovered by the government and people in general and shenanigans ensue

[honey-tongued-devil]

I’m not posting, just venting, because I’m honestly tired of pretending that drawings and fanfictions aren’t created by people but are somehow generated by God.

Every single time, in every fandom, I come across the same complaints for at least three male characters: “There’s too much content with girls, where’s the content with men??” Go make it yourself.

No, seriously, I’m done staying silent and ignoring you. Just make it yourselves.

I’m a hyper-feminine lesbian, and I write everything neutral because I’m happy when as many people as possible can relate. This means that every morning, I wake up, turn on my damn computer, and spend at least four hours hunched over writing, and another four hunched over drawing. If you want more content with fewer female readers, self-inserts, or OCs, then instead of whining and bothering us, make it yourself.

I learned to draw because the content I wanted didn’t exist, and I learned to write—in a language that isn’t even my own—so I could create content that satisfied me.

“But I don’t know how to do it.” Then learn. I didn’t know how either.

Every time I see “There’s too much content with girls” about fan-made, free content, I get this insane urge to say, “You know what? Fine. From now on, I’ll write everything for hyper-fem AFAB girlypop readers, since instead of having a constructive hobby, your hobby is shitting on people who make content for themselves and, out of divine charity, decide to share it with the world.”

You want me to write Silco x male reader stuff (not you, sweetheart, who asked nicely—I love you, I swear I’m not talking about you)? Then pay me. You want me to draw Silco with a man? Starting price: €90, payment via PayPal.

If you want to make demands about what artists should create, you’d better have your wallet ready and commission them instead of breaking our backs because apparently, women care more than you do about creating content.

Either commission or spend less time writing borderline misogynistic rants on social media and start producing content yourselves.

Love,

-A "girl" who makes free content for herself and writes and draws more than everyone who’s complaining.

[anachronismstellar]

Hear me out;

For your SQH with tattoos post, what if he implemented tattoo spells or smthn into PIDW bcs he was a fan of FMA or smthn. It is a vry Airplane thing to do, trust.

Anon I'm listening loud and clear and I need this ASAP because I bet he did exactly that, he slapped some poor wanna be villain with talismans tattoos or some shit to make the villain look edgy and I bet the villain got his tattoo from a demon clan in the south or something, the point- THE POINT IS.

(oh God this is becoming a filet God save me-)

Mu Qingfang is the only one who knows about the tattoos and he doesn't approve not because he doesn't like the vibe (he kinda thinks is hot as fuck) he doesn't approve because "Heavens knows what they put in the ink and which needle they used, Shixiong!"

But with the amount of layers a peak lord has to wear, no one finds our for a long loooooong time.

Hell, Mobei that has walked into Shang Qinghua doing the weirdest shit didn't know about the damn tattoos.

Until. UNTIL.

Wife plot 397.

What is wife plot 397? No idea, Airplane doesn't know either, but the think is that it ends up with him soaked to the bone and the water has poison because of course it does so he has to strip all his robes and he has to do it fast or he can say bye bye to his skin and bones which makes him naked in front of Mobei with only Cucumber's fan (that is going to be burned later urgh Airplane you will pay for this!) saving the last dignity that he might have-

Uh. It should be more yelling. Why is everyone so quiet?

"What?"

"What?! What happened to your arms?!" Because of course Cucumber is the one who snaps out faster, but without his fan to cover his face his blush is there to anyone to see. "Are those tattoos?! Airplane what did you do- what are they for?!"

Binghe is drinking vinegar and doesn't know if he will have to kill his shishu because he had to dirty Shizun's eyes with by being shamelessly naked like that or if he should stare at Shizun's face and see if he likes the tattoos- should he get tattoos? WHAT IF HE GOT SHIZUN'S NAME IT WOULD BE SO ROMANTIC-

Meanwhile Mobei. Oh poor Mobei.

Mobei-Jun's brain has left the building, struggling between wanting to hide Qinghua's body from everyone's eyes but also wanting to take him and pin him down and lick all the drawings and bite them until Qinghua begged for mercy or-

"Oh, yea, I forgot about these uh. They are to help me with strength? Also they help to circulation of qi, and another things" and he won't anything else because if Cucumber finds out he got a FMA Scar wanna be tattoo he will be dead, he will be murdered by Cucumber-bro fan somehow.

..... and that's what I have for now because is almost 4 am DJSBAKDBSKDJSK

But feel free to take the idea and run with it!! I just want more BAMF!SQH fics in the world ;; he deserves it poor little meow meow

Thank you for the ask anon <3

[icarusredwings]

Yall ever see someone say something like "I would stop reading a fic if *insert character* has *insert eye color*" and think

GOOD. You don't deserve my art anyway if something simple like canon eye color bothers you to the point of disliking a creator simply because of EYE color of all things.

(This does not apply to Remy LeBeau who's charater background depends on him having "demon like" eyes)

Like how are yall gonna be mad at comic enjoyers because *You* havent read the comics?

This is the downside to popualrized movies. They will fight you tooth and nail over something that has been canon since the 80s because one particular actors eyes aren't the same color.

"It's not accurate."

What's not accurate is that you think that actors should HAVE to wear contact lenses in order to fit the comic version or else you can willingly degrade people who draw them differently.

And news flash? If you stop watching a movie cause of someones damn eye color you do NOT deserve Ryan's blood sweat and tears that hes put into this franchise..

At ALL.

[suudbe]

hi! i hope you don’t mind me asking but what happened with Akatsuki? im very out of the enstars loop so i feel a bit lost in understanding what all is going on 😅 feel free to ignore me if you don’t want to explain!

No problem at all! I'll explain to the best of my ability.

Recently, Enstars added 5 new idols. One of the new idols is Taki Ibuki and he is from Okinawa and is Ryukyuan. When Japan colonized the Ryukyu Kingdom, they forced the people to assimilate into Japanese culture. This process is called Japanization.

So, when rumors came out about the Ryukyuan character Ibuki possibly joining Akatsuki, a unit focused on Traditional Japanese aesthetics, people who know that history immediately called out the implications of writing such a thing. The head writer is known to write indigenous characters disrespectfully, but surely he wouldn't go this far?

It's been stated in several Akatsuki stories that Keito, Kuro, and Souma want it to only be them. There is a heavy emphasis on them having a bond stronger than blood. This is gonna be a one-off collab that leads to something bigger maybe Ibuki will go solo! Literally anything else BUT this please.

What followed was a story that mischaracterized every Akatsuki member. It was like all character development was reversed, for Keito, it seemed like he was a completely different dude.

The Enstars official twitter released a message to "Please not spoil the last few chapters for at least 4 days 🥺" they've never done this to my knowledge. It was blatant damage control for the shitstorm they had created themselves. Ibuki was brought into Akatsuki. What followed the next few hours were QRTs in all different languages absolutely GOING IN on Happyele, as they should. I saw so many people mourning the future of the franchise, many more leaving altogether, so much sadness and anger.

People connected the dots of releasing a Rei along with the event, since he's very very popular, and also announcing the PJSK collab. These would build up hype so maybe people would overlook it or it would draw them back in or some shit.

If I'm to sum it up in one sentence I'd say that Akatsuki was blatantly mischaracterized so they could fit their racist narrative of Indigenous people being "primitive" or "fixable" and needing to assimilate into Japanese culture.

Hopefully I explained the gist of it, I have a hard time phrasing and I've been told I explain things a bit unorganized. Here's a link to a twitter thread that most certainly explains way better than I could and two Wikipedia links that helped me learn.

A thread by @/gitsunegal on twitter written Oct. 10th when the rumors started. The last tweet in the thread is after the announcement, Jan 3rd.

A Wikipedia article on Japanization, contains summaries of not only Okinawa but also other areas that experienced Japan's colonization.

A Wikipedia article on the History of the Ryukyu Islands, I'd like to specifically point out the section Okinawa Prefecture, 1879–1937. Starting at the section Battle of Okinawa, the article discusses heavy topics such as rape, violence, and death.

If I missed anything or if any information is inaccurate please feel free to correct me or add on.

[novaursa]

The Second Daughter (by his side)

- Summary: You were born as a second daughter under the watchful eye of a full moon. And just like the moon you were beautiful—and cursed to exist only in the dark.

- Paring: targ!reader/Jason Lannsiter

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: hope

- Next part: what we were

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @l3thal-l0lita @ninihrtss @barnes70stark

The vast halls of Casterly Rock hummed with activity. Servants rushed to and fro, polishing every surface until it gleamed and arranging tapestries that had been freshly cleaned to ensure not a speck of dust lingered. The smell of roasted meats and freshly baked bread wafted from the kitchens, and the air buzzed with anticipation as the Lannister household prepared to host the King and his family.

Jason Lannister stood in the great hall, his green eyes scanning every detail with a critical gaze. He ran a hand over the edge of the grand table, ensuring it was free of imperfections. The arrangements were nearly perfect, yet he felt the need to double-check every corner of his domain.

Behind him, the familiar sound of Tyland’s boots echoed against the stone floor. “Brother,” Tyland said, his tone light with amusement, “you’re pacing like a caged lion. I’ve never seen you so intent on perfection. Though I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”

Jason straightened, turning to face his younger twin with a raised brow. “If the King is to visit Casterly Rock, then everything must be as it should be.”

Tyland smirked, crossing his arms as he leaned casually against a pillar. “Ah, yes, the King,” he said, drawing out the words with a teasing lilt. “And, of course, his daughter. Don’t tell me all this fuss has nothing to do with her.”

Jason’s expression tightened, though he refused to rise to the bait. “This visit is an honor for our house,” he replied evenly. “I would ensure it reflects that.”

Tyland chuckled, clearly unconvinced. “Come now, Jason. You’re overseeing every detail as if your life depends on it. You and I both know she won’t see the tapestries or the polished floors, no matter how much effort you put into them.”

Jason’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, he said nothing. Finally, he turned to face his brother fully, his voice low but steady. “You don’t understand what this means, Tyland. She may not see the hall or the gold we polish, but she will feel the care that went into it. She’ll know it was done with intention, for her family and for her.”

Tyland’s smirk faded slightly, replaced by something more thoughtful. “You’ve truly fallen for her, haven’t you?” he asked, his tone quieter now.

Jason exhaled sharply, his green eyes narrowing as he turned back to inspect the hall. “What I feel doesn’t matter,” he said finally. “Not in the way you think. This is about respect. About showing her, and her family, that Casterly Rock is more than stone and gold.”

Tyland’s brow furrowed as he studied his brother. “You speak as if she’s already agreed to something.”

“She hasn’t,” Jason admitted, his voice carrying a hint of frustration. “And perhaps she never will. But if she sets foot in this hall, she’ll know that I care. That I see her for who she is, not for what others might dismiss.”

Tyland was silent for a moment, his gaze lingering on Jason’s face. Finally, he sighed, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You’ve always been the stubborn one, Jason,” he said. “But I suppose that’s why you’ve always been the better twin.”

Jason allowed himself a faint smile, though he didn’t look at his brother. “Flattery doesn’t suit you, Tyland.”

“No, but truth does,” Tyland replied, pushing off the pillar. “If you’re going to win more of her favor, then at least make sure the wine is good. It’s the one thing the King and his daughter will both appreciate.”

Jason chuckled softly, shaking his head as Tyland walked away. For all his brother’s teasing, there was a kernel of truth in his words. This visit wasn’t just about hospitality—it was about showing you the depth of his feelings in a way words could not.

He turned his attention back to the preparations, his resolve firm. The great hall would be ready. The feast would be flawless. And when you arrived, Jason vowed, you would know that Casterly Rock had been made ready not just for the King, but for you.

The light of late afternoon bathed the towering walls of Casterly Rock as a faint horn sounded from the outer gate. The sound was quickly followed by the rapid approach of hoofbeats echoing through the vast courtyards. Servants paused in their duties, their heads turning toward the commotion, while Jason Lannister, standing on the balcony overlooking the main courtyard, narrowed his eyes at the approaching rider.

The gates swung open, revealing a single horseman clad in the royal colors of House Targaryen—black and red. The messenger’s tunic bore the unmistakable three-headed dragon, and the rider sat tall and proud in his saddle. Dust kicked up from the well-trodden path as the man slowed his steed and came to a stop at the center of the courtyard.

Jason descended the stone steps with purposeful strides, his crimson-and-gold cloak billowing behind him. Tyland followed at a more leisurely pace, his smirk ever-present as he observed the unfolding scene.

The messenger dismounted swiftly, bowing deeply as Jason approached. “Lord Jason Lannister,” the man said, his voice clear and formal. “I bring word from His Grace, King Viserys I Targaryen.”

Jason inclined his head, his expression calm but attentive. “Speak,” he commanded, his voice carrying the authority of the Lord of Casterly Rock.

The messenger straightened, producing a scroll sealed with the royal crest. “His Grace wishes to inform you that the royal procession will arrive at Casterly Rock within three days’ time. The King, along with his family and retinue, eagerly anticipates your hospitality.”

Jason took the scroll, breaking the seal with a deliberate motion. His green eyes studied the neatly written script, though his features betrayed no emotion. When he finished, he nodded and handed the parchment to one of his attendants.

“You have ridden far,” Jason said, his tone even. “See that this man is provided with food and rest,” he instructed his steward. Turning back to the messenger, he added, “Convey to His Grace that Casterly Rock stands ready to receive him.”

The messenger bowed again. “I shall return to the royal party with your reply, my lord.”

Before the rider had his horse taken by a servant, Tyland stepped forward, his ever-present grin widening. “Three days,” he said, addressing his brother. “That leaves just enough time to polish the gold one more time, doesn’t it?”

Jason shot him a sidelong glance. “If you have nothing useful to say, Tyland, I suggest you make yourself scarce.”

Tyland laughed, clapping his brother on the shoulder. “Oh, come now, Jason. Don’t tell me you’re not excited. The King himself, under your roof. And of course… her.”

Jason’s gaze sharpened, but he chose not to rise to the bait. Instead, he turned back toward the Keep, his mind already racing through the final preparations.

“Ensure that every detail is seen to,” Jason ordered the steward at his side. “The feast, the accommodations, the stables—everything must be perfect.”

The steward nodded, hastening to relay the orders to the household staff. Tyland watched with a bemused expression, his arms crossed as he leaned casually against a pillar.

“You’re relentless,” Tyland said, his tone teasing. “But I’ll admit, I’ve never seen you like this before. Perhaps the Targaryens truly have worked some magic on you.”

Jason ignored him, his focus unwavering. “The King and his family deserve nothing less than our finest.”

“And the Princess?” Tyland pressed, his voice dropping slightly. “What does she deserve?”

Jason paused for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly as he turned to face his brother. “She deserves to see—no, to feel—that this is a place where she could belong.”

Tyland’s smirk softened, though his tone remained light. “Well, let’s hope she feels it, then. Otherwise, all this effort will be wasted.”

Jason said nothing, his gaze drifting toward the horizon as the sun began to set. The arrival of the royal procession was imminent, and with it, the chance to prove that Casterly Rock could be more than just a fortress. It could be a home. For her.

Jason lingered for a moment longer, the weight of his own hopes pressing against his chest. Three days. That was all the time he had to ensure that everything was perfect.

The royal carriage swayed gently as it rolled along the winding road toward Casterly Rock. Inside, the air was filled with the hushed giggles of your ladies-in-waiting, who sat in pairs along the cushioned benches, their excitement palpable. Beside you, Rhaenyra sat stiffly, her arms crossed over her chest, her gaze fixed firmly on the passing landscape. The stiffness in her posture was unmistakable, an obvious contrast to the lighthearted chatter that filled the space.

Across from you, Septa Rhaedis sat with her hands folded in her lap, her expression serene but watchful. Every so often, she cast a glance toward Rhaenyra, her brow furrowing slightly at the Princess of Dragonstone’s obvious displeasure.

One of your ladies leaned closer to her companion, whispering with an eagerness that was impossible to ignore. “I’ve heard the Rock’s great hall is so vast it could fit an entire dragon,” she said, her voice barely containing her excitement.

“And they say the gold mines are endless,” another chimed in. “The wealth of House Lannister is unmatched.”

Their whispers turned into quiet laughter, but Rhaenyra’s mood did not lighten. You turned your face slightly toward her, sensing the storm that had been brewing within her since the trip began.

“Sister,” you said softly, your voice gentle but firm enough to catch her attention. “You’ve been brooding since we left the capital. What troubles you so?”

Rhaenyra glanced at you, her violet eyes narrowing slightly. “It’s nothing,” she replied curtly, though her tone suggested otherwise.

You tilted your head, a small smile playing on your lips. “You forget, Rhaenyra, that I know you better than most. ‘Nothing’ does not sit so heavily on your shoulders.”

Septa Rhaedis looked between the two of you, her expression unreadable, while your ladies fell silent, their curiosity piqued by the exchange.

Rhaenyra sighed, uncrossing her arms and leaning back against the cushioned seat. “It’s this whole trip,” she admitted finally, her voice laced with frustration. “Father’s insistence on visiting Casterly Rock—what purpose does it serve? He panders to Jason Lannister as if his attention is some great prize.”

You frowned slightly, your tone calm as you replied, “The King’s visit is a gesture of goodwill, Rhaenyra. Strengthening alliances benefits us all.”

Rhaenyra’s gaze sharpened, her lips pressing into a thin line. “And yet it seems less about alliances and more about… other intentions.”

You hesitated, sensing the weight of her unspoken words. “You mean Jason,” you said quietly.

Her jaw tightened, and she looked away, the tension in her posture returning. “He has no interest in alliances,” she muttered. “His ambitions are clear. He failed with me, so now he turns his attention to you.”

A soft murmur rippled through your ladies, but you silenced them with a slight raise of your hand. “And if he does?” you asked, your tone measured. “If his attentions are genuine, does that offend you so deeply?”

Rhaenyra’s eyes snapped back to yours, a mixture of disbelief and irritation flashing across her face. “You’re too trusting, Y/N,” she said, her voice sharper now. “Jason Lannister is a man of ambition, not sincerity. He sees you as a way to regain favor, nothing more.”

You felt a flicker of irritation at her words but kept your composure. “And you believe I cannot discern that for myself?” you asked, your voice calm but firm. “I may not see the way you do, Rhaenyra, but I am not blind to people’s intentions.”

Rhaenyra exhaled sharply, her frustration spilling over. “You’re too kind, too gentle. It’s easy for men like Jason to take advantage of that.”

Your smile was faint but unwavering as you replied, “Perhaps. But it is my choice to make, not yours.”

The tension between you lingered for a moment before Septa Rhaedis cleared her throat softly, drawing both your attentions. “Your Grace, Princess Y/N,” she said, her tone even. “Might I remind you that unity within the family is paramount, especially on such a journey as this?”

Rhaenyra glanced at the Septa, her expression softening slightly. “You’re right,” she said reluctantly, though her tone still carried a note of irritation. She turned back to you, her gaze steady but less sharp. “I only worry for you, Y/N. You’re my sister. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

You nodded slightly, your voice gentle. “And I appreciate that, Rhaenyra. But please, trust me to navigate this in my own way.”

Rhaenyra sighed again, leaning her head back against the seat as the carriage swayed gently beneath you. “You’ve always had a way of calming storms,” she muttered, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Even when I don’t want you to.”

Your ladies giggled softly at her words, the anxiety in the carriage easing slightly as the conversation shifted. Outside, the rolling hills of the Westerlands gave way to the towering cliffs that marked the approach to Casterly Rock. Despite Rhaenyra’s reservations, the grandeur of the Rock loomed ahead, a symbol of the strength and wealth that awaited your family’s arrival.

The great courtyard of Casterly Rock bustled with life as the royal procession arrived, the sound of horses’ hooves and the clatter of wheels echoing off the high stone walls. Banners bearing the sigils of House Targaryen and House Lannister fluttered in the brisk wind, and a sea of retainers, guards, and servants stood in perfect formation, awaiting the arrival of their esteemed guests.

At the head of the welcoming party stood Jason Lannister, resplendent in Lannister colors, the sun catching on the gilded lion embroidered on his doublet. His eyes were focused on the procession intently, though his face remained calm and composed. Behind him stood his family and bannermen, their presence as commanding as the Rock itself. Lady Leonella Lannister was there, her posture regal, her gaze sharp as she watched the carriages approach. Tyland stood beside her, his expression unreadable but his eyes betraying his amusement at his brother’s unusually focused demeanor.

The first carriage, ornately adorned in black and red, rolled to a halt, and a steward rushed to open the door. From within emerged King Viserys I Targaryen, his presence as commanding as ever despite the slight weariness in his frame. Queen Alicent followed, her elegance unmarred by the long journey, with the young Princes Aegon and Aemond and Princess Helaena trailing behind them. The King’s gaze swept over the assembled Lannisters, a warm smile breaking across his face.

“Lord Jason,” Viserys said, his voice booming despite the years weighing on him. “It is good to see Casterly Rock as grand as I remember it.”

Jason stepped forward, bowing deeply. “Your Grace,” he said smoothly, “the honor is ours to host you and your family. Casterly Rock stands ready to serve the crown.”

Viserys inclined his head in acknowledgment, stepping aside as the second carriage arrived. Jason’s composure wavered slightly, though he quickly steadied himself as the door to the second carriage opened.

Rhaenyra was the first to step out, her eyes scanning the crowd with practiced ease. Her expression was carefully neutral, though those who knew her could sense the strain beneath her poised exterior. Behind her, the ladies-in-waiting descended gracefully, their whispers and giggles hushed in the grandeur of the moment.

Finally, Septa Rhaedis emerged, her hand extended to assist the last occupant. You stepped out slowly, your movements measured as you adjusted to the firm stone beneath your feet. Your pale hair was intricately braided, and your silver-and-black gown seemed to shimmer as the sunlight caught its threads. The quiet murmur of the gathered crowd grew softer, a ripple of curiosity and admiration passing through them as Ser Lorent Marbrand stepped forward to guide you.

Jason’s eyes softened as they fell upon you, his earlier composure replaced by something warmer, more personal. As you were led forward, it was clear to all that his attention was entirely on you.

When you reached him, Jason inclined his head deeply, his voice softer than before. “Your Grace,” he said, his tone carrying an edge of reverence. “Welcome to Casterly Rock.”

You offered a faint smile, your voice calm but kind. “Thank you, Lord Jason. It is a pleasure to be here.”

Jason hesitated for a moment before speaking again. “If it pleases you, Your Grace,” he said carefully, “may I have the honor of escorting you inside?”

The question caused a stir among the onlookers, but Jason paid them no mind. His eyes remained fixed on you, awaiting your response.

You tilted your head slightly, your expression thoughtful. After a moment, you nodded, extending your hand toward him. “That would please me greatly, my lord.”

Jason stepped forward, gently taking your hand and tucking it into the crook of his arm. The warmth of his presence was steadying, and as he guided you toward the entrance, his movements were careful and deliberate, ensuring each step was smooth and unhurried.

Behind you, Ser Lorent followed at a respectful distance, his ever-watchful gaze taking in every detail. The procession of Lannisters and Targaryens moved toward the grand doors of the Rock, the weight of tradition and expectation heavy in the air.

As Jason led you up the wide stone steps, he glanced down at you, his voice barely above a whisper. “I hope the journey was not too arduous, Your Grace.”

“It was long,” you admitted, your tone light, “but it has brought me here. That is all that matters.”

Jason smiled faintly, his grip on your hand tightening ever so slightly. “Then I shall do everything in my power to ensure your stay is worth the journey.”

The weight of his words lingered as you entered the great hall, the grandeur of Casterly Rock spreading out before you. Though the eyes of the court were still upon you, the quiet connection between you and Jason was undeniable, a thread woven amidst the stone of the Rock.

Jason’s arm was steady beneath your hand, his stride deliberate as he guided you through the towering entrance of Casterly Rock. The air inside was cooler, carrying the faint scent of polished wood, stone, and the unmistakable trace of sandalwood—an aroma you now associated solely with him. It lingered softly, comforting yet distinct, and you found yourself unconsciously relaxing as he led you forward.

His grip on your hand, resting lightly on his arm, was firm yet gentle. As the procession moved into the great hall, you noticed a subtle motion—his fingers brushing against yours in a deliberate yet discreet gesture. It was as if he was grounding you, a silent reassurance in the midst of the grandeur and noise.

“You’ve brought us into a magnificent place,” you said softly, breaking the quiet between you. The gentle hum of conversations behind you—the King and Queen’s voices mingling with their children’s laughter—barely reached your ears. “The halls feel as though they carry centuries of strength.”

Jason’s green eyes flickered toward you, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he replied, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “It is magnificent,” he admitted. “But today, it feels even more so for having you within its walls.”

Your cheeks warmed at his words, though you maintained your composure. “You flatter me, Lord Jason,” you said, though your tone was light, almost teasing.

“Not nearly enough,” he countered without hesitation, his voice carrying a sincerity that startled you. “When the King agreed to this visit, I feared it might never come to pass. Yet here you are. I cannot tell you how much it means to me.”

You tilted your head slightly, sensing the weight of his words. “You have wanted this moment for some time, then?”

“Longer than I care to admit,” Jason confessed, his tone softer now. “Hosting your family—hosting you—has been a hope of mine since… well, since our first meeting.” His hand shifted slightly beneath yours, his fingers brushing over yours once more. “I wanted to show you this place. To make you feel welcome here.”

You considered his words carefully, your voice steady as you replied. “You’ve done much already, Lord Jason. The care and preparation are clear. My father speaks highly of your house, and I… I can feel its grandeur in every step we take.”

Jason’s lips quirked into a small smile, his gaze flicking toward the high arches of the great hall as he guided you further inside. “I wanted this place to feel as though it could belong to you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Even if only for a time.”

The subtle shift in his tone did not escape you, and though the gravity of his words lingered, you chose to focus on the present. “It already feels welcoming, Lord Jason,” you said gently. “You’ve succeeded in that much.”

As you spoke, the procession came to a halt, the King’s voice rising jovially as he greeted members of House Lannister who had gathered to receive him. Jason paused, his attention momentarily pulled toward his family, but his focus quickly returned to you.

“Shall I guide you further, or would you prefer to rest for now?” he asked, his tone thoughtful.

You smiled faintly, tilting your head toward him. “You’ve been a most gracious escort, Lord Jason. But I believe I should join my family for now. There will be time to explore later.”

Jason inclined his head, though his grip on your hand lingered for a moment longer before he released you. “Of course, Your Grace,” he said, his tone warm. “But know that if you ever need a guide, I am at your service.”

You nodded, your voice soft as you replied, “Thank you, Lord Jason. Your kindness does not go unnoticed.”

As he stepped back, allowing Ser Lorent to return to your side, you couldn’t help but notice the faint brush of his fingers against yours one last time—a gesture that spoke of connection, even as he returned to his duties. The scent of sandalwood lingered as he moved away, a reminder of his presence even amidst the grandeur of Casterly Rock.

The grand hall of Casterly Rock was filled with the sounds of courtiers mingling and retainers bustling to accommodate their royal guests. The King, seated with Queen Alicent at a prominent table near the hall’s center, appeared jubilant, his laughter echoing against the high stone walls. He clutched a goblet of wine, already half-emptied, as Lady Leonella Lannister stood nearby, engaging him in a conversation marked by her poised elegance.

Jason approached his mother and the King with measured strides, his green eyes flickering briefly toward you across the hall. You had rejoined Rhaenyra, her sharp features softening slightly as you exchanged quiet words. Even from a distance, Jason’s gaze lingered, tracing the gentle movements of your hands as you spoke. His mother noticed, of course, though she kept her expression neutral as he joined her side.

“Ah, Lord Jason!” King Viserys called warmly, raising his goblet in greeting. “It is good to see you here among us. Casterly Rock is as grand as ever, and your hospitality does House Lannister great credit.”

Jason bowed slightly, his expression respectful but relaxed. “Your Grace honors me,” he replied smoothly. “We are delighted to host you and your family. It is a privilege to welcome the King and his kin.”

Viserys waved a hand dismissively, though his grin remained wide. “Nonsense, nonsense. It is we who are privileged to enjoy such a fine reception. My daughters seem especially pleased.” His gaze flicked toward you and Rhaenyra, his eyes gleaming with warmth as he observed your quiet interaction. “Y/N looks at ease here.”

Jason followed the King’s gaze, his expression softening as he watched you smile faintly at something Rhaenyra said. His mother, ever perceptive, noted the way her son’s attention lingered and arched a delicate brow, though she said nothing.

Viserys turned back to Jason, his jovial tone continuing. “You seem to be looking her way quite often, Lord Jason. Something on your mind?”

Jason hesitated for the briefest moment before speaking, his voice even but laced with sincerity. “Your Grace, if I may—do I still have your permission to court your daughter?”

The question, though carefully worded, carried a weight that silenced the surrounding conversations for a moment. Queen Alicent’s gaze snapped to Jason, her expression betraying surprise, while Lady Leonella’s lips curved into a small but knowing smile. Viserys, meanwhile, regarded Jason with an unreadable expression, his goblet lowering slightly as he considered the request.

“You are bold, Lord Jason,” Viserys said finally, his tone less jovial but not unkind. “It is no secret that you have shown interest in my younger daughter.”

Jason inclined his head respectfully. “I have, Your Grace. And that interest has only grown since I’ve had the honor of knowing her. Princess Y/N is… extraordinary. I would like the chance to show her the sincerity of my intentions.”

Viserys leaned back slightly in his chair, his gaze turning thoughtful as he stroked his beard. “She is indeed extraordinary,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. After a moment, he glanced toward Alicent, whose expression remained carefully neutral, though there was a flicker of concern in her eyes.

“Your Grace,” Jason continued, his tone steady, “I understand the delicacy of this matter, and I assure you, my intentions are honorable. If the Princess will have me, I would be honored to court her.”

Viserys studied him for a moment longer before his expression softened. “You’ve not wavered in your pursuit, Lord Jason,” he said with a faint smile. “And I cannot fault you for admiring Y/N. She deserves to be admired—and cherished.”

The King’s gaze shifted toward you once more, his expression tinged with fondness as he watched you speak to Rhaenyra, your gestures measured and graceful. “If my daughter is willing, then I will continue not stand in your way. But know this, Lord Jason,” he added, his tone firm, “Y/N’s happiness is paramount. If I sense any less than the utmost sincerity, this will end.”

Jason nodded solemnly, his voice steady as he replied, “You have my word, Your Grace. Her happiness is my highest priority.”

Viserys chuckled, though his eyes remained sharp. “We shall see, Lord Jason. We shall see.” With that, he raised his goblet once more, the moment of gravity dissipating into the warmth of his earlier mood.

Lady Leonella’s gaze lingered on her son, her expression a mixture of pride and intrigue. “Well,” she said softly, her voice just for Jason, “it seems your persistence has paid off—for now.”

Jason allowed himself a faint smile, his green eyes returning to you across the hall. “It’s not persistence, Mother,” he murmured. “It’s purpose.”

As the King turned his attention back to his wine and conversation, Jason stood quietly beside his mother, his mind already planning how to make the most of the opportunity he had been granted.

The vast great hall of Casterly Rock was alive with activity, a tapestry of motion and sound as lords and ladies mingled beneath the towering arches of polished stone. Golden sconces lined the walls, casting a warm glow that reflected off the intricate tapestries and the Lannister sigils woven into the rugs. The scent of roasted meats and fragrant herbs wafted from the kitchens, mingling with the faint tang of wine that filled the air.

You sat beside Rhaenyra at one of the long tables, your posture serene as you listened to the hushed giggles of your ladies-in-waiting. Their excitement over the grandeur of the Rock was evident, their chatter weaving a melody of admiration and awe. Despite the noise around her, Rhaenyra sat stiffly, her eyes darting across the hall with a mixture of irritation and wariness.

“He thinks himself clever,” Rhaenyra muttered under her breath, her tone bitting as she glanced toward Jason Lannister. “Stealing glances as if no one notices. It’s pathetic, really.”

You tilted your head slightly, sensing her frustration even without seeing the direction of her gaze. “Who, Rhaenyra?” you asked softly.

“Who else?” she replied, her voice low but biting. “Lord Jason. He can’t seem to tear his eyes away from you.”

Your lips curved into a faint smile, your tone calm as you replied, “Perhaps he’s simply ensuring we are comfortable. It is his home, after all.”

Rhaenyra scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re too kind, sister. He’s not just looking—he’s plotting. Men like him always are.”

You considered her words but chose not to respond immediately. Instead, you turned your face slightly toward her, your expression thoughtful. “Tell me, Rhaenyra,” you said gently, “what does this hall look like? It must be grand to gaze upon.”

The question softened Rhaenyra’s features, her irritation momentarily giving way to contemplation. She leaned back slightly, her gaze sweeping the hall as she answered.

“It is vast,” she began, her voice steady. “The walls are carved from golden stone, polished smooth so they gleam in the torchlight. The banners of House Lannister hang high, each one bearing the golden lion on a field of crimson. Chandeliers hang above, their candles casting a soft, flickering glow that dances on the polished floors. And the table where the King sits…” She paused, her tone tinged with reluctant admiration. “It’s carved from a single piece of wood, massive and intricate, with lions etched along its edges.”

You smiled faintly, your hands resting lightly in your lap. “It sounds magnificent,” you said softly. “A place steeped in history and power.”

Rhaenyra nodded, though her gaze flicked back toward Jason, her irritation resurfacing. “And ambition,” she added. “Men like Jason thrive in places like this. Every word, every glance—it’s all calculated.”

The ladies around you continued to chat and giggle, their whispers carrying fragments of admiration for the Lannisters and their legendary wealth. One of them leaned closer to you, her tone conspiratorial. “Your Grace,” she said, her voice hushed but excited, “did you notice how Lord Jason looked at you when you entered? It was as if he couldn’t believe his eyes.”

Rhaenyra rolled her eyes, her tone cutting as she replied before you could. “Of course he did. It’s the same way he looked at me before Father rejected him. He’s simply shifted his focus.”

You sighed softly, your voice calm but firm. “Enough, Rhaenyra. Let us not judge him so harshly without cause.”

Your sister regarded you for a moment, her expression softening slightly as she sighed. “I only worry for you, Y/N. You trust too easily.”

“And you trust too little,” you replied gently, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “Perhaps we balance each other in that way.”

Rhaenyra huffed a quiet laugh despite herself, shaking her head. “Perhaps we do.”

As the conversation settled, you leaned slightly toward her, your tone softer now. “Thank you for describing the hall to me, Rhaenyra. It helps me see it in my own way.”

Rhaenyra’s lips curved into a faint smile, her earlier irritation fading as she replied, “Of course, sister. I’ll always help you see.”

The bond between you both, though tested by the pressures of court and family, remained steadfast, even amidst the gilded halls of Casterly Rock.

Jason Lannister crossed the grand hall with deliberate strides, his cloak trailing lightly behind him. His eyes flicked briefly toward Rhaenyra, who sat beside you, her posture stiff as she watched his approach. But it was you who held his attention, your serene presence drawing him in despite the whispers and glances that trailed in his wake.

Jason inclined his head respectfully as he reached your table. “Princess Rhaenyra,” he greeted, his tone polite but lacking the warmth that followed. “Princess Y/N.” His gaze softened as it settled on you, his earlier conversation with your father emboldening him.

Rhaenyra’s violet eyes narrowed slightly, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Lord Jason,” she replied, her voice cool.

Jason, unfazed, turned his focus to you. “May I join you?” he asked, his tone gentle, though his confidence was evident.

You tilted your head slightly, sensing the tension emanating from Rhaenyra but choosing to address him directly. “Of course, Lord Jason,” you said softly, gesturing to the empty seat beside you. “It would be a pleasure.”

As Jason sat down, the ladies-in-waiting around you fell into a hushed whispering spree, their giggles barely concealed. Jason glanced their way briefly, a flicker of amusement crossing his face before he returned his attention to you.

“I hope the journey here was not too tiring,” he began, his voice warm.

“It was long, but smooth,” you replied, a faint smile gracing your lips. “And the destination has made it worthwhile.”

Jason chuckled softly. “I’m glad to hear that. Casterly Rock is a place of many stories and secrets, though most of them are locked away in its stones.”

“Were you one of those secrets as a boy?” you asked lightly, your curiosity genuine.

He grinned, the expression boyish and charming. “I might have been,” he admitted. “I spent most of my childhood trying to outrun my tutors. Tyland was always the clever one, but I had the speed to escape punishment more often than not.”

You smiled at his words, your voice soft with amusement. “It seems some things have not changed.”

Jason laughed, the sound rich and genuine. “Perhaps not. And you, Princess? Were you a mischief-maker as a child?”

Your expression turned thoughtful as you considered his question. “Not mischief, I think,” you replied. “But I did have a habit of sneaking into the Dragonpit to sit with other dragons, before Silverwing was mine. The keepers were forever scolding me, though I suspect they were more amused than angry.”

Jason’s gaze softened, his admiration evident. “A habit of seeking out for dragons, then,” he said quietly. “Fitting for a Targaryen.”

You tilted your head slightly, your smile faint but warm. “Perhaps.”

As the conversation flowed, Jason allowed his hand to drift slightly closer to yours, his movements subtle yet deliberate. When his fingers brushed against yours, he paused, his touch light and unassuming. Then, slowly, he covered your hand with his, his warmth steady against your skin.

The whispering among your ladies-in-waiting grew louder, and Rhaenyra’s sharp gaze snapped to where Jason’s hand rested atop yours. Her lips parted as if to speak, but Jason, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, turned to address you directly.

“Your Grace,” he said softly, his voice carrying a sincerity that silenced the murmurs around you. “I spoke with your father earlier. He has given his approval for me to court you.”

You blinked, your expression momentarily surprised before it softened. “He has?” you asked, your tone calm but curious.

Jason nodded, his gaze unwavering. “He has. And more than that, I already have yours,” he added, his voice quieter but no less firm. “You gave it to me before I left King’s Landing.”

A faint blush rose to your cheeks, though you did not withdraw your hand from his. “I did,” you admitted softly, your voice steady. “But only if your intentions remain as they were.”

Jason’s grip on your hand tightened slightly, his expression resolute. “They have not wavered,” he said firmly. “And they will not.”

Rhaenyra, still watching the exchange, exhaled sharply, her tension radiating. “You are bold, Lord Jason,” she said finally, her tone edged with disapproval.

Jason turned to her, his expression polite but unyielding. “Boldness is often necessary when pursuing something—someone—of great value,” he said. “And your sister is more than worthy of such efforts.”

The animosity between them lingered, but you interceded, your voice calm. “Rhaenyra,” you said gently, “Lord Jason has done nothing to warrant your ire.”

Rhaenyra’s gaze softened slightly at your words, though her frustration remained evident. “I only wish to ensure you are not misled,” she said, her voice quieter now.

Jason inclined his head respectfully. “Your concern for your sister is admirable, Princess,” he said. “I only hope to prove myself worthy of the trust she has already placed in me.”

The quiet resolve in his tone left little room for argument, and though Rhaenyra said no more, her gaze lingered on the two of you, watchful and wary. Meanwhile, Jason’s attention returned fully to you, his hand remaining over yours as the whispers around you swirled like the faintest breeze.

The soft murmur of waves echoed faintly in the distance as you stood on the balcony of your chambers, the cool sea breeze brushing against your skin and teasing the edges of your braided hair. The night air carried the faint scent of salt and stone, mingling with the stillness of the hour. Your hands rested lightly on the carved stone railing, its texture smooth beneath your fingertips.

Ser Lorent stood a respectful distance behind you, his armor catching the moonlight. Ever watchful, he remained as steady as the cliffs that cradled Casterly Rock. The silence between you was companionable, broken only by the gentle rustling of your gown as you shifted your weight slightly.

“It’s quieter here,” you said softly, your voice barely rising above the whisper of the wind. “Quieter than the Red Keep, even quieter than Dragonstone.”

Ser Lorent’s voice, low and steady, answered you. “The Rock has its own kind of stillness, Princess. The walls are thick, the sea muffles much of the noise. It can be… soothing, for some.”

You smiled faintly, tilting your head upward as if to face the sky. “And the stars tonight?” you asked, your tone carrying a note of curiosity. “What do they look like?”

Ser Lorent took a step closer, his boots barely audible against the stone floor. “Clear and bright,” he said. “The sky is dark, without a cloud to obscure them. There’s a cluster directly above us, a scattering like a handful of diamonds on black velvet. The moon is nearly full, casting a soft glow over the sea.”

Your fingers brushed against the stone railing as you imagined the scene he described, the vastness of the sky stretching endlessly above you. “It sounds beautiful,” you murmured. “The stars always seemed closer at Dragonstone, but here… perhaps they feel more patient.”

“They are constant, Princess,” Ser Lorent replied. “No matter where you stand.”

You turned your face slightly toward him, your expression thoughtful. “Do you ever wonder, Ser Lorent, what it is they watch for? What they see that we cannot?”

He hesitated, as if considering the question carefully. “Perhaps they watch to remind us of our place,” he said finally. “Small and fleeting, but part of something greater.”

You nodded, your lips curving into a faint smile. “That’s a comforting thought.”

The two of you stood in silence for a moment, the breeze tugging at the edges of your cloak. The distant crash of waves against the cliffs was a steady rhythm, a reminder of the world’s immensity and your small place within it.

“I think I like it here,” you said suddenly, your voice quiet but resolute. “It’s peaceful. A different kind of peace than I’ve known before.”

Ser Lorent inclined his head slightly, his gaze steady. “It suits you, Princess. This place… it seems to bring you calm.”

You smiled again, your fingers tracing the smooth stone beneath your hand. “Perhaps it does,” you said softly. “Or perhaps it’s simply the quiet. It gives one space to think.”

Ser Lorent said nothing more, his presence a reassuring constant as the breeze carried your words away. The stars above shone brightly, unseen by your eyes but no less present, a reminder of the vastness of the world and the quiet moments that made it beautiful.