#why are the children fighting to the death and getting cursed???

[chiarrara]

hey, naruto is kinda dark and scary...and these children are suffering so much trauma and torture...did anyone else know about this?? they're 12 you guys... did they tell you guys it was gonna be like this???

[what-is-it-to-be-pk-esque]

My partner finally finished BG3 but has no idea that his ending was actually bad cause he was a pro-Vlaakith githyanki who rode off with Lae'zel but got NO EPILOGUE where Withers points out y'all died im 😭😭😭

they have no idea what happened with Gale or anyone else (who was still alive) after flying away 🙃🙃🙃

[azure-enechelon]

I love you Acele: the organized crime refugee, survivor of violence, always on party drugs, the teenage girl hanging out with adult men because there's no better option, who makes weird conceptual sound art even after her boyfriend sells most of her equipment, who gets screamed at by a cop and decides to give him therapy, who somehow still thinks people are sweet.

I love you Cindy: the homeless artist squatting in the coalroom, who does massive street art challenging the occupation, belongs to a famously violent gang but likes people too much to go around stabbing most of them, and terrorizes the rich lady into leaving her block.

I love you Soona: the antisocial programmer, who loses her job and her dream and dedicates herself to finding out why, worries about the unemployed writers, moves her professional-grade computer into a busted-up old church to run science experiments, who lets the homeless ravers move into the church with her so she can use their sound equipment, who makes the ravers listen to her thoughts about elves.

I love you Billie: the working-class woman with an alcoholic husband, who shrugs off intrusive questions and accepts a hug for the sake of the working class, who tells the weird intrusive cop that he isn't a fuckupatoo after all, who sewed a blue lining into her husband's ratty old jacket to keep him warm.

I love you Lilienne: the single mom who survives selling fish to rich people she'll never see, who carries a sword around, who sees a cop that reminds her of her dead alcoholic husband and takes the time to be kind to him when she doesn't have to be.

I love you Isobel: the old washerwoman who has stayed when all her children and neighbors have left, who takes in the drifters and strays who pass through the village, who won't give them up to the cops even when they find a bullet in her spare room, who calls the cop a dark omen but also lets him stay for free.

I love you Elizabeth: the local girl who went off the law school and came back a firebreathing socialist, who can stop the head of the local gang in his tracks just by saying his name, who never concedes an inch to the cops, who will try to reason with armed mercenaries and put her life on the line to protect her people. Who will run the union one day if she lives.

I love you Neha: the dicemaker who bounced back from the death of her first dream, who makes dice into art objects (the cursed die!!!), who remembers all the failed businesses and weirdos, who knows how precarious the world can be, but moved into the most cursed building in Martenaise and made a corner of it into somewhere cozy, sunlight, and safe.

I love you women of Martenaise: you live in the ruins, one of the worst neighborhoods in an occupied city, the beachhead that no one ever bothered to rebuild. You live in grinding poverty, where every government and school of thought has failed even more than they have in the rest of the city. You refuse to let Harry intimidate you, but (some of) you help him anyway—not because he's a cop, but because he's a man who has hit rock bottom, and you all know what that's like. Some of you fight for causes and some of you make art and some of you care for your families, and all of you give what little you can spare to make your community just a little bit better.

[whosmariaaa]

— a little concept i saw on pinterest !

in which ryomen sukuna hates his life. with a burning passion. back in the heian era, he used to be strongest jujutsu sorcerer alive. he'd terrorize the innocents of japan, killing men, women and children without mercy. many jujutsu sorcerers tried stopping him from his inhuman doings, but in the end sukuna remained undefeated. well, that all turned around when he got reincarnated. sukuna'd thougt he'd reincarnate into a talented sorcerer, using their body as a vessel, as a pawn in his sick, cruel games. but no, of course not. all odds were against him, as always. and sometimes that'd come by to bite sukuna in the ass.

because as if now, he was stuck in a teenager's body. a teenage girl, no less. and to make matters even worse, this teenage girl was a normal human being who didn't have the slightest clue what jujutsu sorcerery was. and that teenage girl was you.

it wasn't even necessarily your fault! you were discovering an abandoned building with a couple of friends, and then you found a disgusting, rotten looking... finger? on the ground. and well, your friends bet that if you ate the finger, you'd get the money all of them had combined. which only turned out to be ¥7,000 since your friends turned out to be brokies, but oh well.

and now you were stuck with sukuna. at first, when you heard a deep voice in your head you thought you might've gotten a parasite from eating the finger. "you.. ate one of my fingers? as bet? what the fuck is wrong with children these days?" the voice scowled. you were sitting on your bed, scratching your head. you were probably going insane.

"that was your finger? dude, why was your finger wrinkly and purple? and it lowkey tasted like soap too," you replied in disgust.

"maybe because those fingers are decades old? the hell were you expecting them to taste like? cake?" he retorted with clear annoyance. "once i figure this shit out, killing you'll be the first thing i do," he added.

"man, shut up. you're not the one stuck with a parasite in their head," you huffed. why were you even arguing with him? he's probably not even real. you were probably going crazy since you're hearing a literal voice in your head that was definitely not yours.

"a parasite? watch your damn mouth, brat. and i am as real as it gets," sukuna countered. you only responded with a groan and your two hands massaging your temples.

you didn't ask your parent/ guardian to take you to the doctor for two reasons. after a few hours you were still in very good physical health, your body wasn't acting weirdly. and secondly, if you told them you were hearing this deep ass voice in your head 24/7, they'd probably send you to the nearest psych ward instead of the doctor.

on the other hand, you were certainly losing your mind. because you were starting to accept that this ryomen sukuna figure might actually be real, and using your body as some sort of vessel.

and sukuna wasn't any better. for some reason, he couldn't get out of your body or even take control of it. he was genuinely stuck. the king of curses was stuck in a teenage girl's body. and now he was forced to watch you "girlblog" all day on tumblr, watch movies, text your friends, go to high school. what kind of brutal punishment was this?

and since he was literally incapable of leaving you alone, he didn't. sukuna was constantly pestering you. ridiculing you, mocking you. he really, really hated you.

"what the fuck are you even doing for hours on this... tumblr thing? don't you have a life?" sukuna asked, annoyance seeping through his tone. he found it especially irritating when all you did was "girlblog" in your room. to him, you were doing practically nothing with your life. back then, he was traveling across japan, killing people, fighting with other sorcerers to the death, making history. he was actually having fun in life. sukuna didn't get how you found this tumblr app this entertaining.

"bro, i've literally been on tumblr since three hours ago, shouldn't you know how it works by now? are you slow?" you sighed. you heard a little huff come from inside your head.

"i am a thousand years old, you brainless little brat. you expect me to know of this kind of useless shit?" sukuna snapped back.

"blah, blah, blah. we know, you're old and ancient, and you also miss the heian era where everything was simple, cry me a river," you bickered. you already knew all the things sukuna was going to complain about, since all he did was complain about the same things. "because it was simple back then, you insufferable little shit. at your age i was conquering japan. and now look at you, sitting on your ass staring at this... photography device for hours. you're pathetic," he grimaced.

you laughed. "dude, i'm a teenage girl. let me do my teenage girl stuff without you nagging me all the time," you argued.

"when i get out of this body, you'll be the first one i'll kill," sukuna threathened without missing a beat.

"yeah, i know. you never shut up about it. maybe now's a good time to start," you quipped. sukuna only scoffed, returning another few insults you decided to tune out.

sure, he was agitated, but maybe, he was growing a little fond of you for your attitude and clear lack of fear. you were no match for him in combat, or in anything really, but he still... appreciated how you held your ground. perhaps one could even say sukuna tolerated you. but just a tiny bit, because the rest of him pretty much wanted you dead since the two the of you met.

and for now, sukuna was there in your head annoying and mocking you 24/7. he thought it was pitiful that he was actually interacting with a teenage girl at all, but he had nothing better to do other than to make your life miserable.

and maybe, you didn't mind sukuna as much as before. but you would never tell him that, or dare even think of it, since he could literally read your mind. your life was definitely something now. on the positive side, at least you weren't ever lonely anymore... for the better or worse, really.

──★˙🍓̟!! pls pls pls don't take this seriously at all, it's just a funny cute little drabble since i have no idea what to write anymore. i saw this pinterest post with this concept and the comments were asking for someone to write a fic about it and i took my chance cuz the idea is js so silly n cute🙏 this is btw in no shape or form meant to be a romantic sukuna x reader, since the reader obviously is underaged

— taglist ! @imlikeacoffeeconnoisseur @stars4you777 @totallygyomeiswife @sukubusss @seizecherry @xlilycoco @v1x3n @go-go-gadget-autism @elizabeth-von-winken-universe @paradisestarfishh @13-09-01 @misticsilver @whosmarjj @seellove @aquariusscollection @satorushousewife @rwirxles @anonnieghost @bitchpleaseeeeeeeeee-blog @iminloveweveryone @fictionalmen4eva @poopooindamouf @phisen @ryomku @erintaro @clp-84 @mastermasterlist1p1 @katsukiseyebrows @happy2delivur @jup1tersuccubus @nxcxllxsevens @realalpacorn @kxgumi @crankyarchives @itsjustisa @junitries @kodzukensworld @bnbaochauuu @tomsxslvt @flwerie @bwlol7 @szuuyl @grignardsreagent @yourangel04 @blueyesuguru @adriennepoison 🍓

[thewritetofreespeech]

Tender Loving Care

pairing: Aemond x Reader

summary: after a training accident, Aemond's wife takes care of him. In more ways than one.

tags: heterosexual sex, cowgirl, massage, hand job, cum eating, cranky Aemond is a good boy for his wife, mentions of the other members of the Green but not present.

-------------------------------⚔️--------------------------------

Training accidents were as common as breathing if one wanted to master the sword.

If one wanted to hold a blade, then one must also be prepared to suffer its bite. Aemond was well aware of this. Even though it was just training, play fighting for the knights & instructors brought in from all over Westeros to teach the prince, he had been cut before. Nothing serious. Nothing like his eye. He wishes it had been. It would make this latest injury less wounding than the others.

A simple misstep, that was all. His own clumsiness was what put him in this bed. His leg wasn’t broken or maimed, but twisted in his fall, to the point that he could put no weight on it. Or at least that was what the maesters said.

2 weeks. That was the punishment for his own mistake. He was not to leave this bed save to relieve himself and the few moments a day he was granted to stand & test his legs progress. Each day was a new torment. Not for the pain, Aemond could handle that, but the failure of trying his leg and only have it betray him again & again. He wondered how his father did it all those years trapped in his bed. Aemond would have begged for death sooner.

“Husband,” the prince looked up from his window and thoughts of limping over to throw himself out of it, when his wife’s voice came into the room.

One of his few constant visitors during his confinement. Helaena came to visit him but was busy with her children. Aegon only came once, to taunt him about his trip more than anything before he left and a back handed ‘get better Aemond the Fierce!’. His mother came as well but flapped between concern and scolding for his ‘recklessness’. She was the only one who seemed genuinely concerned for him, though her concern was not needed. Aemond did not wish to feel more like an invalid than he already did. “What is it?”

“It is time to change the bandage on her leg.” To keep it straight. To keep him bound, he thought with a spat, although Aemond arched a brow at the comment.

“Where is the maester?” His wife was many things, but she was no practitioner of medicine nor magic.

She sighed. “Did you really expect them to come back willingly after last time?” Aemond pursed his lips.

Under the best of circumstances, Aemond was aware that he was not the most agreeable person in the realm. Could anyone really blame him? His existence had taught him over & over that it was better to lash out and cut first, lest you be the one who is sliced. Metaphorically, of course. He wasn’t a mad man like some of his ancestors. And attached to this bed the only weapon at his disposal was his words. He had cursed, jeered, and ranted, honestly uncharacteristic of himself, at the maester who had attended to his leg the day before and had the nerve to tell him his progress was splendid. If it was so splendid then why was he still in this bed? If he was such a great man of knowledge and skill, why hadn’t he healed him yet?! He should go back to whatever dung heap he crawled out of and beg alms for to the gods for wasting a fine Citadel education on an incompetent!!

The prince said a few more unkind things before he forbade any of them from touching him again. He did not think they would take him seriously.

“So, they sent you to do the work of a common barrio healer since they do not wish to do their jobs?”

“I think it was more that they thought you wouldn’t scratch at me. More fool they then, hn?”

Aemond sunk further into his pillows, sulking. He doesn’t mean to scratch at her. He doesn’t mean to scratch at any of them, honestly. He just wanted to get out of his bed and go on with his life. To have the world move on around him, to grow weak and irrelevant in this bed, was the real punishment. “I’m sorry.” He apologized. “…thank you…for helping me…”

“You’re welcome Aemond.”

How quick she was to accept his apology. How quick she was to help him, already coming to his side despite his scratching, when he needed her. No wonder he was always alone….

The prince did what he could for her as he raised his leg from the pillow propping it up and held it there while she unwrapped the old dressing. “Are you sure you know what you are doing?” It was not meant as a slight. Just a genuine curiosity on if she knew the proper way to wrap his injury.

His wife just chuckled. “Yes, Aemond. Despite not wanting to come in here on their own, the maesters did instruct me on how to do it properly.” Cowards, he thought. “There! All done.”

Aemond looked at his leg with his good eye and tried to flex at his foot. His nostrils flared at the persistent pain, but it was wrapped correctly. He was impressed. “Thank you.”

“Of course. I want you healed as soon as possible as well.” Her hand reached for his on the bed and clasped it. “In fact…I was told of another treatment….one that might help with the…circulation in your leg.”

“Oh?” Aemond was curious about that. Trapped in this bed, his legs were not getting the work out that they normally would. Training aside, the walk around the castle was enough exercise for most lords. He hadn’t been able to go more than a few steps for days. His legs teetered between weightlessness and the sharp pricks of falling asleep all the time. “Will it improve my condition?”

“It….could…” She seemed unconvinced. Avoiding, even. But perhaps that was because the last person who made remarks about the improvement of his condition was threatened to be fed to Vhagar. “Will you let me try it?”

What was there to lose, he thought, and Aemond nodded before he helped her take off his lower bed linens so both his legs were bare. A small vial appeared out from her pocket, and she poured some of its contents onto her hands before rubbing them together and placing them on his leg. “Just…try to relax for me.”

A hefty ask, but he does try. All he could do recently was ‘try to relax’. ‘Rest, my prince’, ‘you need time to heal’. It was all he had heard for the past days, to the point that any word close to ‘relax’ had almost the opposite effect on him. But for her, he does try. For her it worked a little. His shoulders finally untensing. Looking at her in the candlelight. Soft feelings swelling at the touch of her soft hands. “Does it feel good?”

“Yes.” He answered, almost without thinking. It did feel good. He didn’t realize how stiff his leg was until this moment.

Aemond let out a deep exhale. Not really a sigh, just the release of all the air in his lungs and tension built in his body. His eye closed as he laid back and let his wife work. They aren’t strong, but persistent. He continued to enjoy until he felt her hands shift up higher. Up his calf where his injury was to above his knee. “What are you doing?”

“What??” Her shocked face was particularly adorable in the soft light. Wide, wild eyes. Body frozen save for a soft tremble in her shoulders. “I..I’m rubbing your leg. I told you.”

“My injury is not there though.” He told her logically. Gaze still fixed on her for any kind of reveal.

“I…I know…” Her hands shift to seem to want to move away from him, but she willed them to stay still. “I just thought…maybe there was some other tension I could help you with….”

It was Aemond’s turn to be shocked, but he doesn’t show it on his face like she does. His wife was a lady. A demure, kind, noble one at that. Though she wasn’t nearly as boring & cow eyed as the other noble ladies on offer to him at the time of his betrothal, or so Aemond assumed as he didn’t pay much attention to any of them, boldness like this was not heard of in their marriage. She never denied him. Seemed fond of when they were together; or at least made all the right noises like she did. But it was always he who initiated such acts in their bedroom. To see her offer, and on offer, as he finally took in her appearance and the thin robe she had come to him in, Aemond would not deny that it was quite arousing.

Without another word, Aemond parted his legs further to give her room. If this was her intention, he would not deny her. There was a flush on her cheeks that bleed down her neck towards the V of her robe when he did this. Her resolve seeming to waiver, and disappointment started to drip into his chest at the prospect he may have ruined this too with his terrible attitude, but she continued.

The prince sighed. Gladdened to feel her hands on him again and closed his eye with a newfound desire for his treatment, now that he knew what was going on. “Higher.”

“Here?”

Her coquettish tone was a tonic to his ears. She was enjoying this. She was enjoying touching him and playing with him. His cock jumped as it filled fuller. More aroused by the fact that his wife truly did want him than her hands close, but not close enough, to his member. “Higher.”

“Here?”

Aemond opened his eye and genuinely growled at his wife. Though this game was amusing, enticing, it had been days since he’d found release. Being stuck in this bed did not really spur a person on towards desire. And though she laid with him at night like a good wife she had been spared from her ‘wifely duties’ for some time as Aemond was either still in too much pain from his leg, or unable to move it to perform the act, or in too bad of a mood to make the effort. Having her close. Feeling her touch. It was like the flood gates opened on a dam he had long since locked up and threw away the key on. “Please….”

His kind, noble, demure wife took pity on him, and also took his cock in her hand. Aemond’s head tilted back as he moaned. Her soft hands stroking his member from under his night shirt slowly, deliberately. She had touched him before, so she knew how he liked it, but honestly she could have touched him anyway she liked. Like a clumsy novice that first night they were together, and he still would have melted in her hands.

“Does it feel good?”

“Yes.” Again, without thought. But headier this time. More needy. He opened his eye to look upon his wife and found her staring at him. Those bright eyes darkened with desire. He’d never seen it before; mostly because when they were together her face was either buried in his chest, or shoulder, or in the pillows. Aemond bit his bottom lip hard. Trying not to cum at just the sight of her.

“It’s ok.” She told him in a whisper. Like it was a secret between the two of them. “You can let go husband. Will you let go for me?”

It was the softest command that Aemond had ever heard, and yet it forced him to obey more than any other. His back pressed further back into the pillows as his head tilted back again. His cock spasming in her hand as his seed leapt out from the tip. Covering her hand and perhaps getting some on her pretty robe by her knee. He would have to get her another one.

He opened his eye again after coming down from his high. Just in time to see her lick his seed off the palm of her hand. “What are you doing?”

“Well, the royal seed is sacred, is it not?” Her grin was soft, but mischievous. “We should not waste it.”

Aemond’s hand darted out to grab hold of her arm and drag her down to him in a deep, needy kiss. Apparently the flood gates he thought were released earlier were in truth just a leak in the levees. This was when the dam broke now. The need he had for her burning so hot that he could almost taste blood at the back of his tongue, his blood was boiling so hot.

He tried to spread his legs wider to make more room for his wife, but when he moved, he was reminded (painfully) of his injury. “Damnit!” The prince hissed against his wife’s lips. The throbbing in his leg almost in tandem with his cock.

“Sssh…it’s ok Aemond.” He wanted to bite at her soft words.

It was not ok! None of this was ok! He was injured, in pain, stuck in this bed, and now he couldn’t even fuck his wife! He felt useless. He felt angry. He felt humiliated not being able to do things as a man should, and he just wanted to get back to normal!

Before he could tell her any of this, however, his wife pulled back and removed her robe from her body. Mesmerizing in the fire light. No Valyrian alabaster, but still just as dazzling to Aemond. Shift discarded, his wife raised her hips and inched closer to hover them over his own. “The maester said not to move unless absolutely necessarily.” He wanted to argue that laying with his wife was absolutely necessarily, particularly in this moment, but all his words left him on a moan as she lowered herself onto him. “So you just stay there. L-Let me take care of you.” The little stammer in her voice as she started rolling her hips almost sent Aemond into a frenzy, but he endured.

He genuinely couldn’t move with her on top of him like this and his position on the bed. Though why would be want to? For the first time since his accident, Aemond was actually ecstatic to be stuck here in this bed. His wife lovingly impaling herself on his member. Riding him with skill just short of a dragon rider. If he had the wits still about him, he would have chuckled at his own joke. ‘Dragon rider’. As it was though he was stupid with lust. Dumb, witless, helpless at her mercy as she took from him everything and gave him back so much. He still had brains at least to return the favor.

His wife cried out when he reached up to cup her breast. The weight of them in his hands something he missed. Aemond does not get a lot of time to enjoy them, however, as his wife suddenly fell forward. Covering his body with her own. Hips still moving but at a much snappier pace with the depleted gap between them. He didn’t care though. His hands just repositioned themselves on her other mounds at her backside and pressed her to move faster.

“A-Aemond!” Her cries were his music. The tempo in which he set a new rhythm.

The wet sound of their sexes kissing along with their actual kissing fill the room, until it all stopped in one bright, shining moment of his wife shaking on top of him while her fists tried to fight his pillows and he spilled inside her this time.

He wished he could hold her like this for longer. Her weight a comfort, like a blanket, in his arms. But she rolled over onto his non-injured side to lay beside him. It was good enough. “Do you feel better now?”

Aemond looked down at her, having to turn his head completely as to not just look at her with the sapphire in his eye, realizing at last what this was about. Her idea of a good will effort. To lift his spirits and relieve his tension. Maybe keep him from trying to execute more of the maesters in the castle. “Yes. I’m feeling better.”

She smiled, then placed a soft kiss on his shoulder. “Good.”

The fingers from the hand around her own shoulders played with her hair as he stared at the ceiling. “Was this all just for me though?”

His wife looked at him with a perplexed look, but then realized what he was asking and blushed. She was smart enough to figure it out. “Not…all of it. I did want you to be in better spirits but…I have missed you.”

The corner of Aemond’s lips ticked up. Pleased, and pleased with himself. He did not think his sexual prowess was worth much compared to his prowess with a sword or strategy. But to hear that his wife wanted him, truly wanted him, was all the praise he would ever need. “So, you came up with this idea to satisfy both of us, ābrazyrys.”

“It wasn’t….all my idea…” Aemond arched a brow at his wife’s words. Curious now where she had got the idea from, as it had clearly come from somewhere. “Aegon commented on your bad mood and how someone should ‘cheer you up’. He gave me the idea, but the rest of it was all my doing.”

Aemond wasn’t sure which comment he was more shocked about. The fact that his brother knew how he was faring in his recovery, or the fact that he made lewd comments to his wife. He was battering between feelings of an odd sense of touched and white hot furry, but he decided to just let it go for now and enjoy his wife. “Well, thank you, regardless. In future I will try not to scratch at you while I am still confined to this bed. Lest you ask.”

She giggled when he kissed the top of her forehead. “And the maesters?”

“They are on their own.” Idiots. “I make no promises on their safety, but I will…endeavor to be of better character in the future.” At least not threaten to feed them to Vhagar. That seemed a reasonable adjustment.

[ink-stainedkiss]

Husband Sukuna Ryomen Headcannons

Husband!Sukuna who is completely wrapped around your finger, but would never make it known. He has slaughtered thousands, is feared by his own village, and is a horror story to children. Yet, he enjoys resting his head in your lap and falls asleep peacefully as you play with his hair. As one would expect, Sukuna wouldn’t dare to show the soft side of himself, as it’s reserved for only his adoring wife.

Husband!Sukuna who feels off whenever you aren’t right next to him. No matter where, if you aren’t standing with him, he shifts uncomfortably and ends up calling for your presence. When Sukuna realized he had these unfamiliar feelings for you, it was decided that you could never get rid of him.

Husband!Sukuna who is too stubborn for his own good and can not for the life of him express his feelings. His bull-headed attitude always made disagreements turn into petty fights. You had learned that it’s better to give him space, rather than go back and forth.

Sukuna had done it again. He had killed off an innocent servant without a second thought. You couldn’t help but feel guilty that Sukuna didn’t face you with his merciless personality. There were only a selective few that the King of Curses didn’t wish death upon if they served no purpose. As you got word of why the poor servant was cut into pieces, you felt frustration build in you at the insignificant reason for her demise. You marched to your shared chamber, a deep furrow in your brow, and unsurprisingly, Sukuna was ever peaceful, reading a book on your bed.

“Is something wrong?” He hummed boredly, not looking up to meet your hardened gaze,”As a matter of fact, yes.” The king raised a curious brow, but shared no more interest,”What is the issue?” Standing unwaveringly, you plead your case,”You killed off a servant girl.” Sukuna nodded shortly,”I did. Is that all?”

Your jaw tightened,”You did it with no reason at all.” Sukuna gave you an indifferent look, clearly not seeing why you were upset,”She knocked over one of your vases, I had every right to kill her,” Your hands turned into fist,”No you didn’t. It was just painted clay, we could have gotten another one from the town’s potter.”

Sukuna set his book to the side, anger beginning to grow,”That was a gift. Are you telling me that you show no care toward my gracious offering?” You pinched the bridge of your nose,”No Sukuna. I loved the vase, it was beautiful,” You gave him a desperate look,”But that girl didn’t deserve to die over a simple mistake.” He looked you up and down, his tense expression unmoving.

“I detest your ability to forgive someone so easily.” You felt your hope run out at his heartless response. You exhaled softly, beginning to turn away. Sukuna noticed your change and he felt a sharp pang in his chest. Moving towards the door, you turned over your shoulder,” I apologize for wasting your time,”

Sukuna reached out and tried to call for you, but his chamber door was already shut. The king tossed his head back against the headboard and let out an audible groan.

Husband!Sukuna who replays your saddened voice over and over again and realizes he has to make it up to you. It was clear you were passionate about this topic and all Sukuna did was make it worse. So even if he’s completely terrible at voicing his apology, he understands that’s the only way to make you feel better.

Husband!Sukuna who seeks you out all throughout the estate, rushing past the workers and making them jump at his fervency. After searching for what seemed like forever, he goes to the last place in his mind. The gardens. This place was for Sukuna to rest in and for Sukuna only, that was until he found you. The two of you shared the sacred space often, just whenever you needed a moment of quiet. The garden was fenced off and only a certain few could enter the premises.

Husband!Sukuna who lets out a sigh of relief as he finds you sitting alone near a thin river.

Sukuna calmly walked over, sitting down next to you, and it was almost comical to see this beast of a man resting by your side. The silence between you two was agonizing, but you seem unbothered. The king carefully moved his head, revealing a pure white rose,”I plucked this for you. Its beauty reminds of you.”

Despite your anger, his words made your heart flutter, and you took it quietly. Your fingers fiddled with the delicate petals,”Thank you,” Sukuna wasn’t greatly pleased with your words. His mind ran laps around what he should say and eventually he spoke up,”I will try to be more…pitying.” Your head whipped around, facing your husband in shock,”Really? Would you do that?”

He let out a lenient sigh, giving you a short nod,”If it makes you happy, then I shall.” Sukuna knew you were giving him those pathetic eyes that made him feel all warm and gross, so he didn’t meet your gaze. Before he could continue, your body was leaping onto his, making the King fall onto the grass with a small groan.

His face was decorated in tiny kisses and you thanked him endlessly,”Oh, thank you Kuna. I’m forever in your debt.” Sukuna rolled his eyes, staring up at you as you halted your persistent kisses,”Don’t say such foolish things. You’re in no one’s debt and you never will be.” His words made your smile wider and once again he was smothered in your lips.

It seemed like merely a fable that the King of Curses was letting out belly laughs as his wife showed him so much affection.

Husband!Sukuna who tells himself that nothing, no living or dead creature shall take you away from him, and he would rain hell on the earth if they dared to try.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Platonic Villains + Heroes with a Child Hero Reader

The blurb from @n0rmal-cat was the seed for a wonderful idea! Thinking about a world that functions with heroes and villains but thanks to the weird genetics of super abilities when you’re youngest, the powers you have are at their prime. This makes for the money-hungry billion-dollar idea of making you, an influential 11-year-old fight bad guys for a living. 

Forget school and getting to hang out with others your age like any normal kid—you’re saving the world!

“Watch your back Psychlock I’m coming to take you down!”

“Look kid I’m waiting for a real hero so if you would please take the fire escape to get down safely–”

“FIRE KICK!”

“Ack! Did you just kick a fireball at me!?”

What’s more unassuming than some short little kid going up against adult villains who are violently protesting how society is run? It’s the most tragic joke in the industry to see a barely 120-centimeter kid flying by with a cape and mask like the comic book heroes of old. It certainly keeps the everyday villains guessing.

“How embarrassing is it getting your plans foiled by a kid, Mega Bat?”

“Not nearly as embarrassing as watching you fly around with chocolate all over your mouth.”

“W-what!? Oh no why didn’t anyone say!”

“Probably because you were so busy zooming around no got the chance to. Agh! Please don’t wipe it with your cape, please there are napkins in my lair just don’t randomly wipe it and spread the mess.”

“Thanks!”

“Whatever.”

It's a bit of a routine gag at some point. For villains to get over the fact that they’re fighting a literal baby. Some villains purposely toy with you delaying your flight ability and putting the buttons to deactivate a bomb on a ledge you can’t reach. Some like to chat like old aunts and uncles who casually ask what you’ve been up to while you tear through their minions. Others try and give you a lesson in their anti-government philosophies. Of course, your more distant older sibling-like heroes are happy to soothe any… curiosities you might have.

“So big sis Fire Heart what about the thing about the poor getting poorer? The taxes aren’t exactly the same all around.”

“Pish Posh kiddo Shadow’s just trying to make you scared. If anything goes wrong the people are allowed to rise up and stuff.”

“But can’t the government just call in the big heroes like you?”

“Well…uh…you hungry kid? I’m happy to treat ya!”

“Oooh YES!”

The unfortunate part about your world other than its crumbling economics is the truth about the young superheroes. You aren’t the first child superhero, after all, that’s when the highest potential for powers can be reached but the amount of supers born in a year worldwide is extremely low. But with such low numbers as a strict 100 a year a horrid truth remains. Many children don’t make it to the age of 18 before their abilities consume them. Such a fate isn’t talked about too often; a silent promise not to scare the cursed children. 

So there’s always a small delay when you happily wave goodbye to your villains and the other older heroes. 

“Rapids…is it really right…not to tell them?”

“We don’t know if they’re one of the unlucky ones. No use scaring them if they aren’t.”

“But they–”

“This is why we’re not supposed to have kids….it hurts too much. Now come on we’ll have to check their work, they get sloppy when they fight the Shrimp man.”

“...right.”

It isn’t private knowledge just not talked a lot about but the villains are talking. Oh, are they talking? The best ones, the worst ones, the ones that wear a mask and live throughout society without being suspected have gathered to speak. And the topic for this meeting is you. 

“I suggest we put them in cryo-stasis! Me and my minions have made brilliant progress.”

“Too risky it doesn’t solve the problem!”

“I say we wipe their memory while we figure out how to eliminate the death marker in their body?”

“No way they still don’t even know about it.”

“Then what other method is there to choose from!?”

“I have an idea.”

He wasn’t invited. The villain they all dread. A master of destruction with seemingly no aim. They all despise him for it for tons of reasons. But when he tosses copies of a document previously classified onto the long table, everyone pays attention.

“The pigs’ research says the connected deaths are an accumulation of an implant placed beneath the skin. Remove that and they’ll live just fine.”

“Grrr they knew the whole time!?”

“Of course, they’d do that! That scum!” 

“So what are you proposing Malice?”

“Oh so sharp Shadow. Let me remove it. Provide me with the distractions I need to snatch them up, do the operation, and let them free.”

“So…you’ll let them go once you’re done?”

“You have my word.”

They wait the week before their plan goes into action. It was simple pick a small-time team up. Two average supervillains team up, nothing new for you. You’re a smart kid but this gets a lot harder when a communicator buzzes off in your ear mid-fight with desperate calls for help. 

“Help! Look I know we usually don’t include you in these but I need your help taking on these villains. They’re teaming up and it’s proving to be awful dicey!”

“F-f-fireHeart? Uh, I’ll come over if I can but Optics and Shrimp Man are working really hard today! Whoa–”

“Soon kiddo I don’t know how much longer I will last!”

It only gets worse when another hero calls out to you and then another. The city is filled with explosions and you’re just not fast enough. You’re working harder than you ever had before and the tricks that worked with the usual villains just don’t work. They all seem so focused too no jokes, no questions about what you ate or who you fought. This day is just turning out to be the worst.

“Hello, little hero.”

Malice appears in the chaos with his billowing cape, all too-wide smile, and eyes glowing an ominous green. You’ve been told by all your seniors—heroes and villains alike to avoid him but here he is standing above you while you’re feeling the worst you ever had.

“You can rest easy. This will all be over soon.”

It doesn’t help that shortly thereafter your eyes close in pure exhaustion. 

Malice smirks scooping you up quite easily. Cradling your body gently as he watches all the heroes get too distracted to notice. Allowing him to wave his cape over himself and disappear.

Hundreds of kilometers away he sets you down and begins his procedure occasionally administering a sedative to keep you sleeping. The operation itself is quick, done in a grassy field that has a mattress perfect for this quick extraction.

“All finished little Hero.”

After closing the small incision he wraps you tight, a loose swaddle with a blanket his wife had knitted. Smiling at the sight of you curling into the fabric. Holding you tight he looks to the sky and waits. Half an hour and finally he sees the flame in the sky and lets out a sigh of relief. 

“My flame you had me worried I’d have to come get you, myself.”

“And leave our little bundle unattended? I don't think so!”

Flameheart and Malice both press a kiss to your head before kissing each other. It was early on that they both discovered their government-implanted death markers. One of them outright removed theirs and the other simply cut off the instant kill directive. Both have been playing their roles the best they could vaguely wishing to destroy a world that would allow such a horrible thing but then like the little spark you are it clicked. Why destroy the whole world when there were still beautiful little heroes like you coming out of it? So they figure they’ll just destroy the worst parts of course after they have you safely tucked away to enjoy your life without the worry of being a hero.

“Now my flame shall we leave, this wretched planet?”

“We shall! Have you got the serum ready? The one that will make them forget their horrible start?”

“But of course my flame, where would we be without it!”

Completely disregarding the promise made Malice and Flameheart truly believe in taking you away to live out your life on a planet Malice has long since called home. And with occasional trips to the mudball known as Earth, Malice and Flameheart hope to rid the world of the ugly parts with the hopes that when you return to rule the world will be half-decent this time. 

“Sleep our little hero, when you wake we’ll be happy to help you learn all about yourself without the world getting in the way.”

Kofi → Here Masterlist → Here Commissions → Here

🖤🖤🖤🖤

[j0shuahongs]

Sanctuary

summary: In which Jeong Jaehyun, the heir to a mafia empire, falls harder than he ever thought possible — A lot of donuts, death threats, and a ride-or-die romance that not even the world falling apart could break.

word count: 2.6k

pairing: jaehyun x female!reader

content: mainly fluff but with mentions of violence, blood , kidnapping scene, threats and danger implied, brief description of gun violence, minor injury (not on jaehyun tho lol), a bit of angst / hurt but it's mainly fluff, i promise!

a/n: hello! i wrote this fic back in 2023 and wanted to post this on jae's birthday back then but life happened (oops) so this was put on hold for two freaking years lol but hey now it's finished! yey! It's been a long time since I wrote fluff (or anything at all) so I hope it's okay enough to read. please please please let me know what you think :)

"Still don't know why Boss has someone like Madam," one of the personnel shook his head in disappointment, lighting up a cigarette before taking a puff.

"Yeah, if I were him, I'd get an eye candy for sure," the guy beside him shrugged in agreement.

"I heard a lot of supermodels were all over Boss back then," another chimed in. "Even a famous celebrity used to like him!" he added.

Jeong Jaehyun — or what everyone calls him, Boss — is the son of the district's former mafia leader.

When Jaehyun came of age, his father immediately retired and handed him the family business.

His family poses as entrepreneurs in public, attending conferences and pretending to run an office just for appearances. But keeping a low profile doesn’t exactly work when people can’t take their eyes off Jaehyun.

He’s so good-looking that heads turn when he walks into a room, and people sneakily take pictures of him like he’s some rare collectible. A lot of people want him — for his looks, his money, his power. Many have tried to use him for their own gain, but once they found out who he really was, they backed away fast.

But when he met his wife, she never cared about any of that. She said none of it mattered because it didn’t define him. Up until now, he still doesn't know what she saw in him — but he’s forever thankful she did.

She was his many firsts: his first love, his first girlfriend, his first kiss, even his first real friend.

It had always been hard for Jaehyun to make friends growing up since he was sheltered by his parents. Given their dangerous situation, they were strict and cautious with anyone who came close to their child. Besides the children of his father's workers, Jaehyun never really had real friends — just loyalty.

He still remembers the first time he met her.

Actually, she loves to reminisce about it, but him?

He was mortified.

He had been forced to attend one of those boring conferences just to show face. Words were going in one ear and out the other while he fiddled with a pen, scribbling nonsense on a napkin now soaked with ink. Jaehyun quietly groaned in frustration.

How long is this going to take?

He decided to make a move for refreshments — an excuse to escape his seat. As he neared the food table, the scent of coffee woke up his senses. He fixed himself a cup, bringing it close to his nose, eyes closing as he inhaled the sweet aroma. Suddenly, he felt a hand reaching out in front of him. Out of instinct, Jaehyun grabbed the arm in a tight grip. His eyes shot open — ready for a fight — only to find a girl staring up at him, wide-eyed. Both of them froze.

"I-I just want some donuts..." she said carefully, her voice small. She gestured toward the pile of glazed donuts beside him. Embarrassed, Jaehyun immediately let go and stepped back, giving her space. She muttered a quiet "thank you" and slipped past him.

He mentally cursed himself for acting like that in public, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. When he looked up again, he saw her happily biting into a donut, her head shaking slightly in satisfaction. He didn’t even realize he was smiling along with her — until he noticed the red finger marks slowly forming on her arm.

"Oh my God, I am so, so sorry," he stammered, reaching out, then pulling his hand back, unsure what to do. She bit into her donut, holding it between her teeth as she examined the marks.

"It's fine," she shrugged, taking the donut out of her mouth. "I, too, get defensive when it comes to donuts," she joked, then finished her pastry.

Grabbing another donut, she walked past him again. "You should get some before they run out," she said, giving him a pat on the shoulder before returning to her seat.

Jaehyun just stood there, dumbfounded. His eyes followed her until she sat down, acting like nothing had happened. After the conference, he rushed over to her to apologize again, but she kept waving him off, insisting it was fine. Still, the guilt gnawed at him. He had done far worse things before — and felt no remorse. But this? This he couldn’t forgive himself for.

Since then, he was like a lost puppy, constantly tailing her, and apologizing over and over.

"Mr. Jeong—"

"It's Jaehyun," he interrupted quickly.

"Okay," she paused, amused. "Jaehyun, please. How many times do I have to tell you? I am fine!" she laughed.

He still wasn’t convinced. She sighed and lifted her arm, twisting it so he could see the redness fading.

"See?" she said warmly. "Don't worry about it, okay?" She smiled at him.

When their eyes locked, Jaehyun felt something flutter in his chest. Her smile widened, and somehow, the heavy feeling inside him eased away. He had no idea how someone he just met could make him feel this way.

"You didn’t hurt me," she reassured.

"At least let me make it up to you," he insisted, sadness lingering in his voice.

She sighed. "Fine. You can make it up to me by buying me a dozen glazed donuts," she teased, grinning.

Jaehyun immediately nodded. After that, he kept asking her out — initially under the excuse of "making it up to her." But soon enough, both of them realized it wasn’t about the incident anymore.

Jaehyun was surprisingly shy, despite his intimidating looks and aura. She couldn’t believe someone like him had never dated before. When he finally revealed the truth about who he was, she accepted it — and him — without hesitation. She accepted all his baggage, ready to help him carry the weight. He had never felt so grateful in his life.

When news spread that Jeong Jaehyun finally had a significant other, threats started pouring in — from jealous admirers, those seeking revenge, and rival syndicates hoping to use his relationship as leverage to get to him. It began with anonymous texts, emails, tweets, even sticky notes and white envelopes left on her desk — all filled with hate and danger.

She tried to brush it off, pretending it didn’t affect her. But when Jaehyun found out, he was livid.

He would do anything to protect her.

But they had warned her, hadn't they? She ignored them, holding her head high. But hatred doesn’t like being ignored.

One night, they made good on their threats. It happened so fast — a sharp yank, cloth over her mouth, darkness swallowing her whole, a car speeding into nowhere. But even as panic surged in her chest, she forced herself to think.

Stay calm. Think.

She didn't scream.

She didn't cry.

Instead, she memorized everything — the number of men, the way they spoke, the turns the car took, the muffled sounds from outside. Little clues Jaehyun would know how to piece together.

They tied her to a chair in some abandoned warehouse. Ropes bit into her wrists, but she kept twisting subtly, loosening the knots.

Time. I just need time.

She didn't know how long she'd been sitting there when the door slammed open.

And then — him.

Jaehyun.

Her Jaehyun.

But not the soft one she knew.

This was the devil everyone whispered about — storm-eyed, radiating death.

He was a storm unleashed. The enemies barely had time to react; gunshots split the air, bodies dropped where they stood, blood slicked the concrete floors

In minutes, it was over. Jaehyun stood in the middle of it all, chest heaving, fists clenched, rage radiating off him like a second skin.

Until he saw her — tied to a chair, eyes wide.

"(Y/N)!" he choked out.

She was already trying to free herself but froze when their eyes met. For a moment, something passed over her face — something that shattered him.

Fear.

Jaehyun froze, his breath catching in his throat.

No.

Not her.

For one heart-stopping second, he thought she was afraid of him. And that terrified him more than anything.

He felt his heart drop, and his stomach twist painfully. His hands went cold. He felt like a stranger in his own skin.

Was this who he had become?

A man even she couldn't look at without fear?

He felt like he was suffocating. He didn’t think he could survive it.

It terrified him — not because of what it said about her, but what it said about him.

But then... he looked closer.

Her eyes weren’t full of terror — they were full of sorrow.

It wasn’t fear of him.

It was fear for him.

For the life he lived.

For the blood he shed.

For the war he was drowning in.

Her hands trembled not because he terrified her, but because she knew this kind of life would destroy him — piece by piece.

Jaehyun's gun slipped from his fingers, clattering to the ground. He stumbled toward her, falling to his knees like a broken man. His hands gripped her shoulders, his face wild.

"You okay?" His voice cracked, a jagged plea in the silence that followed.

"I'm fine," she said, heart pounding but voice steady. She even managed a small smile. "Told you I'm tougher than I look."

He pulled her into his chest, trembling harder than she was. "I should've protected you," he rasped, his voice breaking.

"You did," she whispered back, her voice low, steady, holding him together.  "You found me."

"I'm sorry," he whispered, tears spilling down his cheeks, mixing with the blood splattered across his skin. His voice cracked like a fragile thing breaking apart.

He looked at her like he expected her to turn away.

To hate him.

To leave him.

But she didn’t.

Slowly, gently, she leaned forward, the ropes falling loose around her wrists. She cupped his bloodstained face in her trembling hands.

"I'm scared," she said quietly, her voice thick with emotion. "Not of you... but for you."

Jaehyun sobbed — a raw, wounded sound that echoed through the empty warehouse. He buried his face against her stomach, clutching her like she was the only thing anchoring him to this world.

And she let him.

She held him close, rocking him gently, even as tears filled her own eyes.

In that bloodstained warehouse, surrounded by death and chaos, he found salvation in her arms.

Later that night, Jaehyun sat beside her on the couch, staring at the quiet city lights through the wide glass windows of his penthouse. The blood was gone. The warehouse was a memory. But he couldn't stop shaking.

She sat next to him, her small hand resting over his heart, grounding him. Neither of them spoke for a long while.

Finally, Jaehyun broke the silence, his voice hoarse. "I almost lost you today," he said, not looking at her.

"You didn't," she replied softly.

"But I could have." His jaw clenched. "Because of who I am. Because of this... life."

She squeezed his hand. "I know what I signed up for."

He shook his head, almost angrily. "You didn’t sign up for this. You deserve better than this world." He finally turned to face her, and the pain in his eyes was unbearable. "You deserve someone who can give you a peaceful life. A safe life."

"I don't want a peaceful life," she said, eyes steady. "I want you."

Jaehyun felt something in him crack open.

He didn't even realize he was reaching for the small box hidden deep in his pocket — something he had been carrying for months, never brave enough to use.

Until now.

With trembling fingers, Jaehyun dropped to his knees again, this time not in defeat — but in devotion.

Her eyes widened as he opened the box, revealing a simple but beautiful ring. No flashy diamonds. No gold. Just a thin silver band — something sturdy. Something real.

"Marry me," Jaehyun said, voice thick with emotion. "Be my family. Be my home."

Tears welled up in her eyes. She smiled — that same smile that melted every wall he'd ever built around his heart — and nodded. "Yes," she whispered.

He slid the ring onto her finger, his hands still shaking. Then he leaned his forehead against her hand, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles.

When the news broke that Jeong Jaehyun finally had a significant other, threats rained down harder than ever. But it didn't matter anymore. Because when Jaehyun looked at her — his wife — he didn't see fear or doubt.

He saw a future.

Because Jaehyun would burn down the world for her. And he'd smile while doing it

"Boss is such a simp for Madam," the guy chuckled, blowing smoke through his nostrils.

The other men laughed along.

"And what if he is?" a low voice asked.

"Well, it's pathe—" The guy stopped mid-sentence when he looked up and saw Boss standing right there, staring him down. Startled, he shot up from his seat as everyone else scrambled and backed away. They bowed deeply, not daring to meet Jaehyun’s eyes.

"Up," Jaehyun commanded.

The smoker slowly stood straight, even as his knees trembled. Jaehyun approached, towering over him until the man's back hit the wall. Jaehyun eyed the cigarette still trembling in the guy’s fingers. He took it from him, rolling it between his fingers as ashes fell to the floor.

"I don't give a fuck if you talk about me behind my back," Jaehyun said, voice calm — almost lazy. "But if you talk shit about my wife..."

He pressed the lit end of the cigarette into the side of the man’s neck, twisting it cruelly until the ember died. The man gritted his teeth, fists clenched in agony. Jaehyun tossed the extinguished cigarette onto the floor. A burn mark seared into the man’s skin — a warning.

And this was nothing compared to what Jaehyun was truly capable of when it came to her.

The other men recoiled, clutching their own necks in fear. "Are we understood?" Jaehyun asked.

"Yes, Boss!" they chorused, bowing deeply before scattering like leaves in the wind.

"Sweetie..." a soft voice called from behind.

Jaehyun’s entire demeanor melted as he felt her arms snake around his waist, pulling him into her warmth. He turned his head to the side and found her hugging him from behind, her cheek resting against his back.

He smiled, tilting his head toward her. "Hey," he said.

"Hey," she grinned, her voice full of sunshine.

Jaehyun turned back to the man in front of him and jerked his chin at him, signaling for him to leave. The guy scrambled away with a hurried bow.

"Let’s go buy groceries?" she asked sweetly.

"Sweetie, you know we can’t go out much," Jaehyun said gently.

She pouted. "But I want to spend time with my husband."

Hearing her call him that made him melt all over again.

He turned, kissing her pouting lips into a smile. "Okay," he gave in easily, threading his fingers through hers, pulling her protectively into his side. She wasn’t just precious to him — she was sacred.

Jaehyun tightened his hold on her hand, glancing down at her with a soft smile.

He never thought he’d be lucky enough to live like this — to chase after little pieces of normalcy, to laugh, to argue over groceries, to hope.

As long as she was with him, Jaehyun could endure the storms. He would tear the world apart to keep her safe, no matter the cost.

But tonight, he just wanted to be a husband buying milk and eggs with his wife. And somehow, that felt like the greatest victory of all.

[yourtypicalhuman09]

Beyond The Bat

(Neglected Reader x Yandere batfam)

Chapter 2: Hidden Truths

TW!!! Cursing !!Dark AU!!Mentions of Rape and Violence(not towards reader)!!

(N/N)- your nickname

3rd POV

The long twisting halls of the manor glowed radiantly with a childlike joy. Colorful drawings were plastered on walls and little trinkets and toys were scattered along rooms and hallways causing the young boy walking down the hall to chuckle and smile amusedly. 'What am I going to do with you' he thought to himself, smirking as he heard the small giggles of his sweet little sibling coming from his room. The boy walking into his room smiling at the sight of the young child laying on his bed kicking their feet as they drew.

"(N/N) you know you have to pick up after yourself after playing"

The little child immediately jumped up with excitement and ran towards the boy who opened his arms for a hug.

"Jay!"

(Y/N) squealed with joy as they jumped up into Jason's arms giving him their best attempt of a bear hug. Jason ran his fingers through their soft locks as he sat on the bed peering at their drawing.

"So what did you draw (N/N)?"

(Y/N)'s eyes lit up with excitement as they scrambled off Jason's lap to grab their drawing.

"Look Jay it's you, me, Dickie, and daddy! We're on one of those night adventures you guys promised me I could go to when I'm older!"

Jason looked at his little sibling, who held up their drawing proudly, with an affectionate smile. The drawing was as colorful as the others scattered in the manor, it depicted four figures on top of a tall building looking at the city hand in hand. Jason loved that his little sibling wanted to be with them, when they get older he hopes that they'll still want to go with them even after knowing the truth that these midnight adventures are more dangerous than their innocent mind may think. The image of him helping his beloved younger sibling train and fight by his side makes his heart swell with joy.

"It's beautiful (N/N), just a few more years and it'll be real"

"Really?! Pinkie promise?!"

Jason smiled fondly at little (Y/N) and wrapped his pinkie finger around theirs

"Yeah, pinkie promise..."

(Y/N) POV

I woke up huffing and sweating, looks like I fell asleep working on my project. After school I had met up with Cyrus and he dropped off the supplies I asked him to get. I was currently working on the biggest project of my entire life I need to get serious, no more sleeping or slacking off. Gotham was easily one of the most dangerous places in the US, even with all the heroes patrolling the area crime rates are through the roof. Despite what most think Gotham Prep isn't filled with only rich kids, there's also kids coming from middle or low class families who work their asses off to make sure their children have good lives. Unfortunately most who work here are bastards who submit to bribery or are just simply biased towards the rich, I however have no such bias. Casualty rates are extremely high for children, buses and schools are constantly in the crossfire of massive fights and unfortunately due to bad city planning there's pubs, clubs, and bars dangerously close to many schools. Rape and death are nothing new to even young children, it's sick and horrible but it's true. The police and heroes are preoccupied with keeping people safe from villains and bigger threats, so I've put it on myself to make something to at least help all the children, poor or rich, because at least most have themselves and loving friends and families to live for. I want to make some sort of public child safety technology and years of seeing Tim work and learning about technology has given me some sort of advantage to figuring this out. I have only the resources to make one for the school but hopefully it's successful and spreads to other schools and homes.

"Oh you're awake.! Mornin sleepin beauty."

I looked up to see Cyrus walk in chuckling and holding a plate of food.

"why are you here... you didn't have to wait here at the school with me."

"Oh no it's no problem at all! Plus I was worried about you, you've been workin yourself to the bone as of late."

I froze and looked at him but he just stood there with the same grin he always wears as if it was truly nothing. Why the hell would he be worried about me? No one ever worries about me so why does he? Why why why why why why why why why why why why why wh-

"Hey it's ok (Y/N), breathe in and out... breathe with me..."

I could barely hear anything he was saying but when he put a hand on my shoulder and guided me to breathe slower I could feel myself calming down.

"(Y/N)... I know your situation at home isn't the greatest but trust me you're safe with me... I care about you (Y/N)..."

I looked up at Cyrus, he was almost unrecognizable, I've never seen him this serious and worried before. Usually he's the stupid silly one and I'm the collected one-. Red hot embarrassment shot straight though me as I scrambled away from him and straightened myself out.

"I'm sorry you had to see me like that Cyrus, I would appreciate it if we never talk of this shameful event."

I turned and walked away, missing the way Cyrus' face crumpled further with worry, despair, and longing. Missing the words of reasoning he tried to make me listen to, 'No (Y/N)... it's ok... nothing shameful...come back'.

Author's Note: I'm so sorry for being gone for so long😭🙏 School has been killing me plus practice ugh shoot me now🥲🔫 Anyways I hope y'all like this chapter and like always thank you for reading and I hope y'all have a good day/night!

Credits to khaer for the dividers

@simpingpandas @rosalietodd013 @sirenetheblogger @cim0nnin @00hellohello00 @crazycaoticsimp @lovebug-apple @youdontknowshtaboutfk @kittzu @h-ib @classicsimpforaaronwarner

[rosedpetal]

A Good Father

Summary: Ransom shows his family he knows how to take care of his own kid.

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Reader (as his baby mamma)

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: none

Author's note: this is a repost.

Masterlist

If years ago someone ever told Ransom that he'd get married and have children, he'd laugh in their faces. Whenever anyone in his family brought the topic of him settling down, he would leave the table and curse at them.

Until you came in the picture.

He was having the worst day ever, and he desperately needed a cookie. So, he went to the grocery store and was about to pick the last package left of his favorite cookies on the aisle, when you swayed your damned hips and got the package first.

Ransom was livid. He threw the most embarrassing tantrum ever, threatening to call security on you and ruin your life, but you just laughed at his face and asked if he wanted to share. Share! How dared you?

So, you bought the cookies and gave him half. After the first bite, his mood improved and he actually asked you out on a date. It was the best night of his life.

Five years later, you were married and had a baby. You moved to a nice house in a quiet neighborhood, and even adopted a stray dog (well, he just got home from work one day and the puppy was chewing on one of his expensive shoes, while you had the widest grin he ever saw on someone's face).

Ransom loved you with all his heart. And when you gave birth to your baby daughter, he loved her beyond words.

But right now, you were set on making him miserable.

"I'm not talking about this again, Hugh." You pointed your finger at him and he flinched. You never called him by his name. "You're going and you're taking Lily with you. Her nanny is sick, and I have to work."

"But babe-"

"Not. Another. Word." You gave him one of your deadly stares, and he actually felt sorry for Lily having such a scary mother. After petting your dog's fur, you turned to Lily on the highchair and peppered her face with kisses, while she giggled. "Mommy's gonna miss you so much baby boo, you tell me if your daddy misbehave!"

Ransom tried not to roll his eyes at you. You pecked him on the lips and he pouted. Before you left the kitchen, he called you:

"Babe, don't forget your jacket. It might get cold."

You smiled at him. You knew he was upset for having to take Lily to his family's horrible get-together.

After your car left the garage, he looked at his chubby baby, wondering if he'd succeed in shielding her from the evil of his family.

Things change after having your first child. First, Ransom started saving money. No more shopping sprees for him. Then, he actually tried to get his own thing, in which he failed miserably. Seeing his struggle, his good old grandad secured him with the ownership of their publishing company (for Walt's despair). The only catch: he'd have to show to family meetings at least until Harlan Thrombey's death. 

Which was how he was stuck in this mess in the first place. 

Ransom was not stupid. He could handle these annoying game nights, dinners and whatever by provoking everyone and leaving after setting the mood for a big fight.

But bringing his baby with him?

Big no.

Well, you shared his opinion on this. You two would avoid having Lily in their company as best as you could, but some things couldn't be helped.

Your trusted nanny called in sick, and you couldn't bring Lily to work.

Ransom wanted to cry. 

He took the fussing Lily out of the baby seat and struggled to put her in the carrier attached to his front, got her pink bag on his shoulder and closed the door of the car with his feet (how you managed to do all these things so gracefully were beyond him). He got on the front porch of Harlan's home and wanted to scream. What the hell was his great-grandmother doing there, sitting alone on that chilly afternoon, with such a thin blanket covering her?

"Hey Nana, why don't we go drink some tea inside?" He offered. The small old woman nodded, in a way he new she didn't actually acknowledged him.

Fuck his family for treating Nana like she was something disposable.

Ransom took Nana's small hand on his and carried her to an armchair in the living room, where Fran was serving tea to Harlan.

Before Ransom could even say "hi" his grandfather was already up and speaking in his "baby" voice with Lily. His daughter giggled, showing her cute teeny tiny new teeth.

It was fucking cute, but the days of Lily's teething made Ransom and Y/N traumatized.

"Hi to you too, granddad." Ransom rolled his eyes, sitting across his grandfather's seat.

"Tea?" Fran offered Ransom. He thanked her, an habit you made him build. Saying "thanks", and "please", things his parents didn't bother to teach him. He wanted Lily to be better than him, and by that, he had to make himself better than whatever he was.

The first time Ransom apologized to Fran, the woman was so shocked that she broke in a fit of hysterical laughter, while Marta just blinked like she was imagining things.

Ransom took a walk with Lily still safely attached to his chest. He didn't want to admit it, but she was getting heavier and harder to carry all the times. God, after five minutes he needed to sit down on a wooden trunk to recover.

Feeling like his breath was coming to normal again, Ransom went back to the house, noticing that there were more cars parked there.

Here comes the shit show.

At the dining table, Richard's voice mixed with Walt's, like they were competing on who would talk louder. Linda absently smoked a cigarette, promptly ignoring Joni. Jacob and Meg where fighting over politics or some shit, and Donna was on her phone.

A miserable-looking Marta sat between Fran and Nana on the small couch on the corner.

And Harlan ignored the rest of them, with a glass of whiskey dancing in his hand.

"Oh, there he is! And look who is here too!" Linda beamed, putting out the cigarette. 

Ransom grimaced when his mother's nicotine smelling hand brushed against his daughter's face. Lily was so calmed before, and it broke his heart when she started crying her lungs out, like she wanted to be away from Linda's greedy presence.

Lily's crying made everyone shut up. She was born eight months ago, and they saw her only once, when Ransom and Y/N took her to Harlan's when she was a newborn. Linda and Richard tried to visit Ransom's house a few times, but they quickly grew bored of the grandparents role.

Joni, Donna and Walt couldn't really care less for baby Drysdale. Meg tried to be as nice as she could with Lily, but she was terrified of babies. As for Jacob, Ransom didn't want that little creep close to his daughter.

"Oh, Ransom, is she hungry or something?" Linda grimaced at Lily's screams. 

No, mother, she's upset because she hates you. Ransom wanted to yell at Linda's face, but he just took Lily in his arms and rocked her gently, kissing her sweaty temple and running his thumb over her tears.

"Shh, love. 'S okay, daddy's here for you. My brave little girl, everything's gonna be alright, I'm here for you." Ransom whispered gently to Lily.

Linda gulped, suddenly feeling her eyes watering. She wondered if she could go back she'd be a better mother. She doesn't remember ever holding Ransom like that, not even when he was a baby. She didn't even breastfeed him, and she and Richard never woke up in the middle of night to soothe Ransom's cries. Not when they had nannies for that. Not when they could buy their way of not giving him their time or affection.

"You're good with her, son." Richard cleared his throat, feeling the same guilt wash over him.

"Of course I'm good with my own daughter." Ransom scoffed, still rocking Lily in his arms. He lowered his head to her. "There you go, baby. Wanna hang out with auntie Marta while daddy spend some time with these assholes? Huh?"

Marta smiled a little at the snarky remark, and Ransom passed Lily to her, who was already making grabby hands for Marta.

Of course she likes the immigrant nurse, Linda bitterly thought.

"Wow, that was so cute, Ransom!" Meg complimented. "You make me think even I could be a good parent! No offense, of course."

"None taken, cousin. Having children is life changing if you're ever willing to have your own."

"Ohhh, I miss when Meg was that tiny. You were the cutest thing ever, baby." Joni took Meg's hand on her own. Donna and Walt's gaze strayed to Jacob, who smiled at them.

The memories of Linda, Neil and Walt's feet running in the house flooded Harlan's memory. How he missed them like that. How he missed his deceased son and wife. 

The atmosphere in the living room was way more harmonious, almost soothing. The Thrombey-Drysdale family was taken aback by Ransom's behavior. They never thought he'd be a good father.

[prisvvner]

૮ . . ྀིა⁩ ʏᴜᴊɪ ɪᴛᴀᴅᴏʀɪ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʟᴜꜱʜɪᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴅᴏᴏᴍ

"Okay, what the hell is that," Yuji blurts, nearly jumping out of his skin. His arm flails mid-flinch and sends the popcorn bowl teetering on the edge of the coffee table.

You grab it just in time, cradling it like a newborn, then turn to him with raised eyebrows. “Uh… it’s just a video of Labubus.”

Yuji’s eyes are still glued to the screen in full-blown fight-or-flight mode, his mouth slightly open in disbelief. “Just? Just? That—thing—looks like a Furby had an existential crisis, then crawled out of the Mariana Trench with unresolved emotional damage.”

He snatches the remote from the cushion beside him and slams the pause button. On the frozen screen, Labubu—the pastel-colored, drooling puppet-like character with googly eyes and four wobbly limbs—grins directly into the camera. Its felt cheeks are unnaturally rosy, and a glittery trickle of something viscous leaks from the corner of its mouth. It looks like it's about to lurch forward and whisper your Social Security number.

Yuji points dramatically at it. “Why is it smiling like that? What does it want from me?!”

You blink, then stare at him like he’s the one who crawled out of the ocean. “Yuji. It’s a puppet from a children’s show. It teaches kids how to count and share.”

“I don’t care if it teaches calculus, that thing is cursed,” he insists, eyes still wide. “It moves too fast. And it sings in that whispery, echoey voice like it’s standing right behind you.”

You’re already dissolving into giggles, clutching the popcorn bowl to your chest. “Oh my god. I didn’t realize you were scared of cursed plush toys.”

“I’m not scared,” he huffs, sitting up straighter like his pride depends on it. “I’m… appropriately cautious. That’s healthy.”

“Mhm. So you flinched like someone just threw a molotov cocktail because of a singing sock puppet?”

“Yes. Because it’s unholy.” He crosses his arms and nods once, very seriously. “I’ve faced curses that whisper through walls. I’ve never trusted things that smile that much. Not even Gojo.”

You laugh harder. “Okay, fair.”

Two days later, Yuji gets a text from you mid-morning:

Hey, got you something 💕 Hope you’re feeling brave today.

It’s accompanied by a photo of a suspiciously plush-shaped gift bag with sparkly pink tissue paper sticking out like flames.

Which is how Yuji ends up standing in your doorway twenty minutes later, expression grim, like he’s about to defuse a bomb. The gift bag dangles from one hand while he eyes it like it might start singing.

“Babe…” he says, tone low with dread. “Tell me this isn’t what I think it is.”

“Just open it,” you say sweetly, arms crossed and trying not to giggle.

He sighs like a man on death row and carefully peels back the tissue paper.

And there it is.

A Labubu plushie. About ten inches tall. Same wide, stitched-on grin. Same googly eyes. Its little felt arms are sewn open like it’s begging for a hug—or preparing to latch onto his soul.

Yuji holds it up like it might suddenly sprout legs. “…Is this… what I think it is?”

You beam. “Her name is Trouble. She sings when you hug her.”

He gapes at you in betrayed silence. Then, reluctantly—reluctantly—he brings the plush to his chest.

Trouble immediately emits a garbled, staticky jingle: “Haaaappppy daaaaay! Let’s eat crayons!”

Yuji yelps like he’s been electrocuted and launches it across the room. It bounces harmlessly off the couch cushions, still smiling its twisted little smile.

He scrambles backwards until his spine hits the wall. “WHY does it want to eat crayons?! That’s not normal behavior! Why is that part of the lesson plan?!”

You’re doubled over, gasping for air between snorts of laughter. “Oh my god—I can’t breathe—Yuji!”

He’s pink in the face now, arms flailing. “You brought evil into this house!”

“I brought wholesomeness!”

“That’s not wholesome! That’s a trap!” He runs a hand through his hair. “I’m breaking up with you.”

“You say that every time I buy you something cute.”

“Because you keep gifting me possessed objects! First the cursed toaster, now this?!”

Later that night, you tiptoe out of the bedroom to get water. You freeze when you see him passed out on the couch. The TV is playing a muted rerun of a nature documentary. His mouth is slightly open, one hand resting over his stomach.

Tucked under his arm, snuggled into his chest like it belongs there, is Trouble.

Still smiling.

Still smug.

You take a photo in perfect silence.

It becomes your new lockscreen.

i've had this piece sitting in my drafts since january, it's inspired by my best friend hating on labubus with a burning passion (he's scared of it lol)

✧･ﾟwritten by @prisvvner ⛓️ do NOT repost, steal, translate, or claim as your own. 🖤 reblogs are love — theft is not.

[meadow-of-daisies-and-lavender]

Summary: The winter ice has melted, and the spring blossoms have bloomed. But as the elders continue their tyranny over your village, your gods seemingly disappeared. Or had they? Eventual Poly 141.

A/N: Please comment and reblog. Thank you to @ethereal-night-fairy and @wildflower-and-honey for feeding my brain worms. I love you three and cannot thank y'all enough <3 Thank you, @saradika, for the beautiful dividers I use in everything.

CW: (18+) Children begone! PIV smut, swearing, a Dyslexic wrote this, Religious Kinks, some violence. Let me know if I missed anything!

NO AI

Leave a comment and reblog!

There was something in the air that had come with the visiting traders. Perhaps it was the joy of seeing fresh faces or new goods for the village, but you knew it was the change of winter melting into springtime, coaxed by the longer days and warmth of the sunshine peaking hopefully from between the rain clouds. Who couldn’t help but stretch their arms and sigh as if waking from hibernation? Even the trees reached their blossoms to the sunshine, eager to play in the rays of light, drink from the rain once more, and splash in the mud.

The melting waters came with the waking warmth, opening the trade routes in time for the Spring Festival. What once was a holy holiday to celebrate the addition of Kyle Garrick to godhood, the creation of youthful spring, was now a feast to celebrate wealth, trade, and alliances between villages.

You sat beside your neighbor, adding your dish to the feast to share, before twisting in your seat to watch the village elders light the bonfires for the evening’s celebrations. After a week of trade, your village offered a feast and celebration on the night of the holy spring festival as thanks to those who had traveled far and wide to come to the village. You only remembered the Spring Festival being a sacred holiday as a young girl. Somewhere along the way, the spring celebration had fallen from the gods and landed on mortals' laps, becoming a jovial, insignificant matter.

“Why do you look so sour?” Elder Sheppard spoke with a stern face. You would have turned, but his hand clamped down on the back of your neck, squeezing until you grit your teeth.

Elder Sheppard jostled you around like a kitten who needed scuffing. He was known for a forest fire of a temper, flaring into dangerous territory when he was the one who wanted you dead in winter.

You stumbled to your feet as he pulled you from the bench, holding you closer to his body. It was one thing for the elders to plot your murder in the wintertime, to speak ill of you until you had a reputation of a rumored curse. It was another to dehumanize you into their little doll, playing with their food until they decided it was time to eat. He shook you, squeezing your neck until you whimpered, speaking words you couldn’t make out over the ringing in your ears.

The hand disappeared as Elder Sheppard was pulled away by a trader in white, leaving you stumbling onto the table bench, shivering. You rubbed away the touch of Shepard until your skin felt hot.

A mouse had more fight than you did when Sheppard rattled you around. It was how the elders had managed to get you into the woods in the first place, even when you knew it would be your death. Being around the elders left your mind limp and your body frozen in fear, unable to breathe in the fumes of their reign, poisoning you slowly to death. A slow death was still a death- and the miracles to save you were used up and dried out.

The wind picked up as the clouds gathered overhead, threatening rain the next day. You ate silently as musicians began to play, dancers gathering around flames, emboldened by the flowing alcohol. Since winter, the elders made it known you were being watched. You were supposed to be a frozen corpse in the snow or a slaughtered woman at the hands of the gods.

Instead, you had been saved by the gods and granted a miracle of one more day alive. You had slept with the god of winter, partially in thanks, partially because you wanted to. John Price left his marks on your skin as the winter ice marked the rocks, splitting them over time. Apparently, even the gods wanted nothing to do with you now that John had his fill, leaving without a word or answered prayer over winter.

“Look!” Your neighbor gasped. Turning, you covered your mouth as Elder Sheppard hobbled from the trader in white, spitting insults at him as his broken nose gushed blood. The trader, who wore a hood and a mask, glared at the man oozing blood while he remained spotless. You quickly turned to your meal as if you saw nothing and took a drink of wine.

“He will have to leave in the morning as soon as dawn comes if he wishes to leave alive,” Your neighbor spoke. “Elder Sheppard is not a forgiving man.”

“He deserved it. A right bastard, treating people like animals on leashes like that if you ask me.”

A man’s voice from behind made you jump, nearly spilling your wine. With a sigh, you turned in your seat, looking up at the trader in white. Now, closer to the firelight, you could see the golden sparkle gliding through his gaze.

“Punching a stranger from a different village with high standings is like asking for war, trader,” You spoke, rubbing the back of your neck. “Doesn’t do much of anyone good to irritate the elder more than necessary.”

“Well, if he knows what is good for him, he’ll keep his hands off of a pretty bird like you,” The man’s eyes crinkled as if he was grinning under his mask. “Care to dance?”

“No. I only came for the food.” You stood to go home for the evening, appetite lost for the night. “Besides, you already have enough of a death wish with your hot-head actions.”

“Hot-head actions?” The man scoffed. “What he did was a right improper thing. What kind of leader treats his people like that? Yet, I’m the hot head?” The man spoke as he followed you away from the fires, his thumbs looped in his belt pockets. He walked side-by-side with you, only brushing your arm on occasion.

“It is said to be bad luck to speak ill of the elders around here, trader. A man died last winter because of it,” You scoffed, thinking of the soldier who traversed into the woods before you. “I’m lucky to be alive and do not wish it jeopardized, nor should you.”

“Pity. I heard dying is in fashion nowadays,” the man joked.

“Only for those lucky enough to be immortal,” You blandly replied. The man did not respond, deciding to pluck a blossom from a tree and examine it between his fingers. You kept walking, leaving him behind.

“I don’t remember the Spring Festival being a thing about trade.”

You rolled your eyes before stopping to respond, “It’s more lucrative to twist the meaning to bring trade opportunities in. They believe the old gods are dead, and only the new god of power reigns over their hearts and minds.”

“And do you, Fawn, believe the old gods are dead?” The trader spoke, making you squint in the darkness. You hadn’t been called Fawn since...

Tears welled in your eyes, and you unexpectedly felt your stomach drop. The whisper of John’s care still hovered in the memory of your body, keeping you awake and praying for his return. You had tried returning to the woods so many times over winter. But the elders were always there, watching and waiting for your failures. Your prayers echoed in the temple's vaults, responding in a puppet of your voice, mocking you. The gods had gone silent. For whatever reason, they did not want you anymore, casting you aside to deal with your mortal issues alone.

“There,” You swallowed thickly before clearing your throat. “There is a difference between the gods being dead and the gods not caring. Why should the gods not care for what has not cared for them?”

You furiously wiped at your eyes with your sleeve. Your village did not care for your gods anymore, but did it mean nothing that you still cared for them? That you still prayed nightly to John, Kyle, Ghost, and Johnny? That you tended to your altar within your home out of your love for them? Was it all for naught?

“Have you stopped caring for us, Fawn?” The man whispered.

Whirling around, the man had removed his hood and mask to reveal the god of spring, Kyle. His brow was knit low, the bud he had picked now plucked to parts on the road by his boots, and the golden sunshine in his eyes dark to match the reflection of the moonlight. Memories of waking in the north and east gods' presence were cloudy. Of Gaz, you only recalled his bright grin and his brown eyes. The shapes had gone fuzzy in your recollections, lost to time.

“I,” You paused as a light flickered in the distance, growing larger as the shape of an elder grew, walking down the road. Kyle turned, huffing once he caught what you saw.

“You would think your village elders had nothing better to do,” He huffed, placing a gentle hand on your lower back.

“They won’t bother me at home. I’ll make you some tea,” You offered, slipping your hand over his bicep and guiding him to your little home.

“I’m surprised to see you here,” You confessed as you deposited your muddy boots on the porch of your home. “I haven’t heard from you since winter, not even John.” You opened your door and began to busy yourself with illuminating the space.

“John wanted us to wait for you to come to us. He didn’t want us to overwhelm you,” Kyle mentioned as he followed suit, removing his boots. Standing, he moved to enter before pausing, holding the inside of your doorframe.

“What’s wrong?” You questioned, shucking off your outerwear.

“Well,” Kyle chuckled, fingers tapping along the oak, feeling the smooth surface. “We were waiting for you to come to us, but we never saw you enter the woods without the elders following you. And it seems whatever prayers you prayed had been blocked by… this.”

He tapped the top of the corner frame, where a very small sigil had been quickly etched into the frame. It was sloppy, the smooth curves of letters jagged in the rush. Such magic practices were unfamiliar to you but not unfamiliar to your people. However, very few still practiced the magic.

“It is made to keep anything from the spiritual realm out. Prayers, offerings, ancestors, everything is cast out,” Kyle informed you. “Even the fuckin’ gods.” Kyle reached into his belt, pulled out a knife, and whittled away the sigil until it was a scarred, scratched patch of splinters.

“I didn’t do that,” You muttered, fingers hovering over the spot. “Such magic must be an old practice if it works.”

“And it works all right,” Kyle spoke as he crossed the threshold, a gust of fresh air following him into the home. It was as if you had opened all the windows to chase away the stagnant build-up of air, a sudden wash of rejuvenation breathing new life into your space.

Glancing at Kyle, who had entered your home and leaned on the closed door, savoring the fresh air with his eyes closed, you couldn’t help but admire the scars on his cheeks and his tilted smile. You took a step forward, fingers itching to touch his cheek, to trace the plush swell of his lip and the divots of scars to the bridge of his nose. His eyes flickered open, and you froze, heat gathering on your neck. Stepping back, you retreated into the kitchen, rubbing your cheeks.

You loved the gods as a devotee. Out of that love, you let the god of winter, John Price, kiss your skin and cradle your love in his hand as if porcelain. Setting the kettle to boil, you jumped as Kyle settled his hands on your hips, but he waited to see if you would step away before slowly pressing his chest to your back.

“If we had realized the elders were keeping you from us, we would have done something,” Kyle confessed, lips moving as he spoke against your neck. “Price thought you wanted nothing of us after having you in our bed. That didn’t make sense to me, so I came to find you; figure out what’s happening.”

“Wanted nothing to do with you?” You scoffed, turning in his arms. “That’s the most absurd thing I’ve heard.”

Kyle chuckled, squeezing your hips. You reached to cup his cheek, finally being able to brush your fingers over his scars. He melted into your touch, his shoulders hunching as if the world's weight had been shucked from him.

“That’s why I came to see for myself, Fawn,” he grinned, pulling you closer. “We can’t let you slip that easily.”

“We?” You questioned, leaning closer to his face.

“We. Who do you think allowed me to go?” Kyle’s eyes drifted down to your mouth, and he leaned closer.

“I didn’t realize it was a group decision,” You breathed.

“It’s always a group decision, love,” Kyle brushed his nose against yours before kissing you softly.

Kyle kissed you as if committing the taste of your flesh into his memory, unrushed and slow. He did not bother to move his hands when yours traced his shoulders and biceps and scratched the back of his head, urging him to devour you. He seemed fearless of the coming dawn, blind to time and her urgency.

Coaxed by his ease and gentleness, your impatience soon melted away. Becoming lax in his arms, you conceded to follow his pace.  His hand slowly slid lower on your hips, reverently smoothing over the bumps of fabric and fat to palm your ass. Your hips jilted forward, bumping into his, making you moan as he swiveled his hips teasingly against yours.

“Fucking, take me to bed already, Kyle,” You huffed playfully against his mouth.

“I don’t know where your bed is, love. Your home, not mine,” Kyle teased back. You rolled your eyes, making him chuckle as he took your hand to follow you into the bedroom. He removed his clothes as you removed yours, eyes darkening as he took in your form.

Asking you to lay on your back, he kissed down your neck, reverently cupping your tits in his hand. He did not pinch or twist; he simply squeezed and caressed the softness in his hands. You rubbed your thighs together, but he settled between them, forcing your wetness to drip down and cool your aching cunt.

“Kyle, please, hurry up!” You huffed, tugging at his short curls.

“Fawn, we have all night,” the god of the north grinned, nipping at your nipple. “Let me enjoy you.”

“What if I’m not enjoying your teasing?” You countered, mouth dropping as his hands covered the icy scars of John’s creation over your womb just as he sucked at the sensitive side of your neck.

“Tell me you aren’t enjoying my mouth on your body, Fawn,” Kyle goaded into your ear, dropping his hips to grind his length against your wetness. He grunted, letting out a moan in your ear. “But it doesn’t seem like you hate this, love.”

No, you did love it. Reaching to grip his pert ass, you tried to coax him inside your cunt, but he swatted your hands away, pushing you up the bed as he spread your legs even wider. Staring intensely at your cunt, he licked his lips, easing a leg over his shoulder.

It tickled as he brushed his lips over the inside of your ankle, made you shiver as he licked the back of your knee, had your hips bucking by the time he sucked the skin of your thighs into his mouth, biting the flesh or rolling his tongue against it.

The only reason for your existence was to give his mouth your supple flesh to consume and drink from. His hips shuttered against the sheets as he ground his cock into the mattress, his back and hip muscles rippling with the motion. You moaned, throwing your head back into the pillows and pushing your hips against his cheek.

“Absolutely soaked for me, aren’t you, Fawn?” Kyle hummed as he dragged his tongue over your pussy, drinking you up. He avoided your clit, deciding to agonizingly insert a finger into your heat, rubbing against your walls until you relaxed enough for a second finger.

“I want to suck your cock, Kyle,” You whined, gasping as his other hand rubbed circles on your clit. “Probably as pretty as the rest of you,” You babbled, thinking about being on your knees for him, reducing him into as much of a flustered mess as you were at the moment.

Quietly, you heard the shlack, shlack, shlack of him fisting his cock before he licked at your cunt. Squealing, your bucked hips were shoved back to the bed as he wrapped his arm around your body to anchor you to him. With one hand around his cock, and one now playing with your clit as he ate you out, you gushed, knowing your wetness was wrapped around his cock.

“Are you going to cum all over your hand for me? I want to see you cum- so good,” You couldn’t stop talking, rolling your hips in time to his hand around his cock. “Shit, I’m,” You groaned, grabbing the back of his head, but just as you neared your orgasm, he pulled away, panting into your thigh.

Your body dissolved into the bed with a frustrated squeal, your cunt still pulsing for attention. You sputtered out curses at Kyle before feeling him hoist your legs in his arms and pull you down the bed to his waiting mouth, building you back up.

Over and over again, he teased you. Bringing you to the brink of the edge, he’d ruin your orgasm until you were babbling and thrashing beneath him. Finally, as he sucked your clit and pushed three fingers inside your cunt, he pressed down on your lower stomach. He let you cum then, bursting and gushing with a cry over his hands, feeling a very small stream of liquid escaping you.

Ears ringing, you went limp, feeling your pussy pulse with distant contractions. Your chest rose and fell with each pant as Kyle gingerly set your legs on the bed, rubbing at your sore thighs.

“Feel good, Fawn?” He whispered, leaning down to kiss your temple and brush his nose against yours. You nodded, letting your heavy eyelids fall, sinking into blissful warmth.

Kyle had fucked you before he left that morning, entwining his arms with yours as he worked his cock in from behind, spooning you in the morning hours. After, he fed you berries and nuts from his altar, which you had chastised him for.

“What’s the point if I can’t share?” He countered. “Besides, I don’t want them to go to waste when you need energy after last night.”

You had managed to wobble out to the door to see him off, kissing him one last time before he tugged up his white mask, making his way north to his woods. The birds sang from the blooming trees, and even with the morning chill, you couldn’t help but melt against the doorframe and inhale, exhaling into the stillness of the morning dew.

But even in the stillness of the morning darkness, tinged with the dusty blues of dawn’s hatching, you could feel the eyes of another raking over your skin. Peering down the road, you glared at a neighbor staring intensely at you from their porch and returned inside your home for more rest, knowing the elders would hear of your guest by sunup.

When you were woken by the mid-morning sun, you were not surprised to discover your arms wrapped in silver scars shaped like ivy and vines, the god of Spring, marking you as his.

a/n: Please comment and reblog!

[twstfanblog]

Has Yuu told the boys about Krampus?

The story is actually pretty fucked up, he was an evil butcher that killed, chopped up, and salted 3 children hanging out by his shop. St. Nicholas found out and performed actually fucking necromancy to bring the kids back to life, and then God cursed the butcher to follow St. Nick around every December 5 as a punisher and the demon of Christmas :D

Anyways I think Kalim and Riddle would have the best reactions but what do you think?

In my Christmas fic last year, I had wanted to add in a little thing on Krampus and Santa, but it didn't end up fitting.

Honestly Leona is the first who came to mind about wanting to know about Krampus. I do know Yuu'd talk about Santa to the kids because like 'Yeah if you're really good all year round, a man will bring you a really great gift.'

But Leona takes great pleasure in looking Cheka in the eyes and telling him he's going to call Krampus to take him away in his sack if he keeps yelling in his ears. (He then has to deal with a terrified Cheka clinging to him later that night).

Riddle would like the idea at first but then hearing the whole tale, I think he'd be distressed like. Wait, the actual children DIE? They're taken away forever? To that hell place??? The children are eaten???? He's got a few concerns at the very least. He feels more comfortable with Santa's 'naughty children get coal' than Krampus's 'naughty children are beaten with sticks and eaten in Hell'.

Kalim is DISTRESSED. No! His little siblings are in danger enough with kidnapping attempts! Now he's gotta worry about a magic man taking them!? He will fight Krampus to the death honestly. Gathers up all his little siblings and has them sleep in his room. Stays away all night to guard them with Jamil's help. (Jamil calling Yuu and asking why she hates him enough to tell Kalim about a demon that's entire MO is EATTING AND KIDNAPPING CHILDREN????).

Yuu 100 tells her children about Krampus before they even KNOW about Santa. All of her children are naughty lil brats 😅

[aryxchse]

the calm waters / percy jackson x daughter of amphitrite! reader.

a / n : i love the trope of married gods' children falling in love. and i will shamelessly write about it!!!!

warnings : cursing, blood, fighting, stoll twins being icons!!

"y/n, we need you on the arena!" connor stoll called, rushing to you.

you were in the lake, meditating in the water to find inner peace or something, or just to be away from the camp's chaos. well, as you can see, your plan was doomed.

you sighed as you stepped outside of the waters, standing on the dock with the help of some waves. you weren't even wet, still in your dry camp tank top and blue shorts. "what happened this time, stoll?" you asked, hands resting on your hips.

"percy is beating one of my step brother so fucking bad," he panted out, and you didn't wait for him to finish for rushing to arena.

there was a big crowd, which made a big circle in the middle of the arena. you pushed away some kids to reach where percy was. and boy, the view was not good.

percy was on top of the poor kid, punching him non stop. the guy was already bleeding but percy seemed to go feral, and you wondered what could the boy have possibly done to make him this mad.

everyone was too scared to stop him, even the ares kids wasn't doing anything. and you knew you had to do something before he basically killed the boy.

"alright percy, that's enough." you yelled, grabbing percy's arm harshly to make him stand up. he stopped the minute he heard your voice, only panting now and giving death stares to the boy who fainted on the ground.

"he fucking deserved it." he growled, not looking at you. you kept him away from the boy as the apollo kids moved the kid away, immediatly to the infirmary.

"does it matter?" you held his face in your palms, expression serious. "control yourself."

the words seemed to have an affect on him, to a level of charmspeaking. his expression softed as his eyes met yours, quick breaths slowing too. "you're more than that." you spoke again, as the crowd standed far behind you.

as you both kept talking, mostly you calming percy down, and him easly melting under your touch, the stoll brothers stared at you both.

"i wonder how she can calm him down this easy." travis said, stooding beside his twin. they knew their brother were wrong, and they didn't liked the boy anyway.

"because of their parents, y/n is the daughter of amphitrite." connor explained, but from travis' expression, he knew his brother didn't understand what he meant. connor rolled his eyes before he continue to speak again.

"do you know why she's married with poseidon?" he asked, and travis shook his head as in 'no.'

"because, poseidon was a maniac back then," connor said, hitting his head. "and zeus made him marry with amphitrite to calm his temper down, which, it worked perfectly."

travis' expression changed, "oohhh," he smirked, crossing his arms like his brother. "i get it know. power of the love and all."

conner chuckled, shaking is head. "whatever this is, it's working and i'm glad. percy is no better than his dad, in fact, he's worst."

travis looked at him with his usual mischief. "well, we're glad he has his wife around him yeah?"

connor laughed. "totally."

the twins watched you go to the lake, diving in the water professionally.

[j-k-writes]

The Bronze Targaryen - 9

Summary - When (Y/N) falls injured in a battle with the mountain clans of the Vale, Rhaenyra and Daemon must travel to Kingslanding to protect Luke's claim to Runestone.

Warnings - blood and injury, violence, character death, general HOTD warnings

“I still do not understand why you could not just fly in on Vermithor and burn them out.” 

(Y/N) rolled his eyes, stepping carefully over a tree root, “And burn down the forest as well?” 

“It would’ve made this all go a lot faster.” 

Gerold chuckled next to him, “Osric, leave him alone.” 

“Both of you shut up.” (Y/N) snapped, and the two men beside him quieted. They continued to walk through the forest, careful to avoid any snapping twigs that would give their presence away to the mountain clans no doubt hiding somewhere in the trees. 

It had been four moons since he’d seen his family, the most time he’d been away in six years. They’d been fighting back the clans for six moons, (Y/N) only flying out to Runestone two moons into the skirmish at Gerold’s desperate plea. (Y/N) was getting increasingly frustrated with their lack of improvement in the fight against the clans, and if they did not root them out soon he may take Osric up on his idea and simply burn the forest down with Vermithor. Gods know the dragon needed it after four moons of little activity in the Vale. 

His thoughts fell back to Rhaenyra, she’d been in her sixth moon of pregnancy by now, and (Y/N) longed to be at her side on Dragonstone. She sent him letters with updates about their sons, and Daemon, but (Y/N) wished to hear her voice and witness their children's achievements with his eyes instead of reading them on a page. 

The sound of a twig snapping behind them jolted (Y/N) out of his thoughts. All three of the men tensed, pausing their steps. (Y/N)’s grip on his sword tightened, and he watched as the two men beside him eyed the trees, Osric drawing back his bow string and Gerold lifting his sword up in a defensive position. 

Before either of them could react an arrow whizzed through the air, catching Osric in the neck. (Y/N) watched in horror as blood pooled and leaked out of Osric’s throat, dripping down the front of his body, a shocked look crossed the man’s face before he hit the ground. (Y/N) turned to Gerold, opening his mouth but another arrow whizzed out from the trees striking his cousin in the collarbone before he could speak. 

(Y/N) turned quickly and ran as a second and third arrow struck Gerold, not turning back to watch as his cousin’s body no doubt hit the forest floor dead. (Y/N) continued running, praying to the old gods that he would manage to make it back to camp before whoever was in the trees caught up with him. He cursed himself silently for only taking Osric and Gerold out on the scouting party, he was confident they wouldn’t run into trouble, the mountain clans had not been sighted anywhere near where the three men were scouting camp. 

He heard the arrow before he felt it strike his shoulder, right in between the gap in his leather armor. Despite the flare of pain in his shoulder he kept running, even as a second and then third arrow hit his body, the third lodging itself in his leather armor instead of his skin; and he was grateful that he had brought some armor with him, even if it was leather. As he neared the camp, relief starting to flood his veins, a fourth arrow barely missed his calf as it whizzed by. But the shock of it caused him to stumble nonetheless. His stumble only caused him to pause for a second, but long enough for an arrow to actually lodge itself in his calf and he yelled as he tripped. 

He hit his head on a branch as he went down, no doubt once again breaking his nose and probably giving himself a concussion as well. He groaned, pushing himself up and grabbing his sword from where he dropped it. He turned to face the direction the arrows were coming from, and he raised his sword up, cutting down a fifth, sixth, and seventh arrow as they flew at him from behind the trees. As he cut down the seventh arrow, an eighth one came at him from behind, striking him in his other shoulder, and as he turned to face that direction, two more arrows whizzed by, striking him in the stomach and the arm. 

The force of the arrow hitting him in the arm caused him to drop his sword, and the stomach wound caused him to double over in pain, knees hitting the ground. As he hit the forest floor the adrenaline started to leave his body, the pain of the multiple arrows littering his body and the head wound making his vision swim. He swayed, falling onto his side, his vision tunneled as men approached him. 

They stood over him, and one spoke. “Is he dead?” 

“He will be, leave him. I want it to be painful.” Another said, and (Y/N) only had enough time to realize they were speaking the common tongue before he lost consciousness.

The dirt and sweat covering his entire body was not enough to dampen the day's mood. Syrax has laid another clutch of eggs, three this time to Daemon’s delight. The more dragon eggs that came into their possession the better, especially with Rhaenyra and (Y/N) needing an egg to place in a cradle within the next few months. The Dragonkeepers were already waiting for the prince as he climbed the hill, and he passed the saddle bag carrying the eggs off to them. 

One of the Dragonkeepers passed him a piece of paper, the grim look on his face giving Daemon pause. He slowly took the parchment, looking down at the unbroken seal of House Royce. 

“It is from Maester Pate of Runestone.” The dragonkeeper spoke, and Daemon gently broke the seal reading the words of the letter carefully. 

To Prince Daemon and the Princess Rhaenyra, 

Prince (Y/N) Royce has fallen grievously injured. He and his scouting party were ambushed not half of a league away from their camp. In the fighting, he took many wounds, most caused by arrows, and was left for dead. The wounds were severe and much blood was lost. But my greater concern is the fever that has followed. He burns from within as if his blood has been replaced with dragon fire. The Prince is strong, but I have seen blood fever take men half his age. 

I fear to say this is not the only news that plagues House Royce. Lord Gunthor Royce, the Prince’s cousin, has ridden to Kingslanding, preparing to petition the court for the seat of Runestone if Prince (Y/N) is to succumb to his wounds. We must pray to the Gods that the Prince makes a full recovery, but if Lord Gunthor’s petition is accepted, the damage may be too deep to be undone. 

Maester Pate

He read the message three times before the message really sank in, “I must speak with the Princess.” 

He found Rhaenyra with Jace and Joffrey in the council room, she looked up as he walked in dismissing the boys and their maester. She was smiling as she took the letter Daemon held out for her, but his posture and expression seemed to give way to the grim news hidden in the parchment as her smile quickly fell upon seeing it. 

Daemon watched her carefully as she read the letter. Her eyes watered at the report of her husband’s fate, and Daemon remembered that Rhaenyra had urged him to fly to help with the fighting in the Vale after they had received Gerold’s letter. Her expression quickly turned into one of anger and disbelief as she finished reading the letter. 

“He means to call into question Luke’s legitimacy.” She scoffed, “And by extension, Jace, and by extension my own claim to the throne.” 

“Gunthor cares only about Runestone, and the Royce line. Not about our politics.” Daemon said, hoping the words would bring his niece comfort. He doubted it as the thought did little to comfort him. “Has he made common cause with Otto Hightower yet?” 

“Hm this is what I fear.” Rhaenyra frowned, worrying the paper between her fingers as she thought. “I cannot rely on my father, the vipers rule in his name according to Rhaenys. I should write to her, if nothing else she may be able to provide some advice.” 

Daemon nodded, he had heard of Corlys injury and Laenor’s death leaving his daughter and Vaemond the only heirs to Driftmark should Corlys not recover from his injury. Last he heard Rhaenys was petitioning the throne pass to her and then to her granddaughters, Daemon’s daughters, upon her Lord husband's death. 

“You are going to Kingslanding then?” Daemon asked, and Rhaenyra gave him a questioning look. 

“Are you not?” She asked. 

“I am flying to Runestone. I will join you as soon as I can.” 

Rhaenyra shook her head, “No. I will accompany you.” 

Daemon smiled at her, placing a gentle hand on her stomach. Since she had fallen pregnant (Y/N) had been insisting the child would be a girl, and Daemon could only hope his son would live to see her born, and even longer after that. “No. The boys need you, you must go to Kingslanding and protect Luke’s claim.” 

“(Y/N) lays dying-” 

“He will understand.” Daemon said. “He does not need you, your sons do.” 

The look Rhaenyra gave him showed she did not like his words, but she conceded to them anyway, nodding silently. Daemon softly kissed his niece's forehead, “I will inform him of your desire to come, dear niece. Do not fret; (Y/N) is strong. You and your boys will see him again."

Daemon felt sick at the sight of his son’s bloodied body against pale sheets. He would’ve thought (Y/N) already dead if not for the wheezing of his breath and his chest moving painfully slowly. He carefully approached the bed, brushing his son’s (H/C) curls out of his face. He smoothed the sweaty and tangled mess back before pressing a soft kiss to his boy’s forehead. 

His eldest son, his only son. 

“Fever cannot take you,” Daemon whispered, taking a seat next to the bed. He clutched (Y/N)’s hand, cringing at the dried blood that littered his skin. There was still dirt and blood under his fingernails from the fight. “You are a dragon. This is not how you die.” 

There was no indication that (Y/N) heard him, the milk of the poppy keeping him unconscious. Daemon watched silently as his son breathed in and out, he had broken a rib when he hit the ground, Maester Pate informed him. His son was lucky that he was found by the scouts sent after him after he and his group did not return at the scheduled time. If he had been lying on the forest floor for any longer, he would’ve surely died of his wounds. 

Daemon cursed the Gods that let this happen to his son. It was bad enough he’d been dragged from his family to deal with a war that the Valemen should’ve been able to stop in less than a moon, but to try and take (Y/N) from him when he’d only truly had him for six years was something he could not forgive them for. 

“Kepa.”

Daemon jolted out of his thoughts at the sound of (Y/N)’s raspy voice. He gently shushed him when it looked like he was going to speak again. “You will be alright, just rest.” 

(Y/N) smiled, and Daemon’s heart ached. He rubbed his thumb across the top of his son’s hand in hopes of soothing him. He licked his lips, clearing his throat before speaking. “You were right, I should’ve never come back to the Vale.” 

“No.” Daemon shook his head. “These are your people and you were only doing what you thought was best. That is never wrong, zaldrītsos.” 

“I am not so little anymore.” (Y/N) laughed at the nickname before his face contorted in pain, and he started to cough. Daemon reached for the milk of the poppy the maester had left by his bedside, but (Y/N) stopped him. “No. No more.” 

“You are in pain.” 

“I am more useful when not addled by milk of the poppy.” 

Daemon took his son’s face gently in his hands, “You are most useful alive.” 

(Y/N) turned his head as Daemon tried to give him the milk of the poppy, and Daemon frowned at his son’s stubbornness. He placed the cup back on the table when it was clear nothing short of pouring it down (Y/N)’s throat would make him drink it. 

“Rhaenyra wished to see you.” Daemon said, trying to move the conversation onto lighter thoughts. “I feared she would take off after me on Syrax as soon as I left. But she’s on her way to Kingslanding with your boys.” 

At the mention of Kingslanding (Y/N) caught Daemon’s wrist, hand visibly shaking from the effort. “Gunthor-” 

Daemon gently grabbed (Y/N)’s hand, taking it off of his wrist. Daemon placed (Y/N)’s hand back on the bed, covering it with his own. “I know. Maester Pate warned us of his plans.” 

(Y/N) shook his head. “You must listen.” 

“I am listening.” Daemon assured him, “But you mustn’t worry about Gunthor, leave him to Rhaenyra and I.” 

(Y/N) ignored his father’s advice, continuing on as if he hadn’t heard him. “We cannot rely on Viserys for support. Gerold is dead, so if I die-” (Y/N) paused, swallowing before speaking again. “Gunthor is still unmarried and without an heir. Seek out Rhaenys, offer a marriage between my boys and your girls. If Luke is to be wed before Gunthor, he is a more attractive heir to the Lords of the realm.” 

“Have you spoken to Rhaenyra about this?” Daemon asked, gently massaging (Y/N)’s still shaking hand. 

(Y/N) nodded, “In passing. But we cannot afford to wait anymore.” 

“You will live.” Daemon insisted. “You just need rest.” 

(Y/N) gave him a sad smile, nodding softly but unconvincingly. His eyes started to droop, and Daemon once again reached for the milk of the poppy, holding it before his son. (Y/N) stopped him, “You must protect them. Do what you need to, just promise me you will protect them.” 

“Of course.” 

(Y/N)’s face hardened as best it could against the exhaustion plaguing his body. “You don’t understand. Do what you must to protect them.” 

Daemon froze, giving (Y/N) a curt nod. “Drink the milk of the poppy.” Satisfied with Daemon’s answer (Y/N) finally accepted the drink. Daemon placed the empty cup back in its place, gently cupping his son’s cheek. He rubbed his thumb against the bruise on his cheek gently. (Y/N)’s cheeks were sunken, and the dark circles under his eyes mingled with the other bruises on his face. (Y/N)’s eyes closed, and Daemon kissed his cheek. 

Daemon stood, making to leave, but (Y/N)’s soft voice caught his attention before they could. 

“They were noblemen, father.” 

Daemon froze, preparing to ask what (Y/N)’s words meant. But when he turned to look at his son he had already fallen back asleep. Daemon sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, already feeling the beginnings of a headache beginning to form. He left the room, walking in the opposite direction of where Caraxes was waiting for him and toward the Maester’s chambers for more answers.

The yard was practically empty as Daemon arrived. He stepped carefully out of the carriage, scoffing at the measly introduction given by a Kingsguard. 

“All hail Prince Daemon Targaryen.” 

He could only hope that Rhaenyra and his grandsons were shown more respect, but he doubted that if the Hightowers were in charge of their welcome. He doubted Viserys was even aware that they were arriving in Kingslanding. 

“Welcome, my Prince.” Lord Caswell greeted Daemon. The man was clearly nervous to speak with Daemon, if the mindless fidgeting was anything to go off of. 

“Where is Princess Rhaenyra?” 

“The Princess is in the King’s chambers.” 

Daemon gave him a curt nod in thanks before stalking off into the keep. He scarcely recognized the place he once called home, and the thought that the Hightower’s influence had started to bleed into the very foundations of the keep made him sneer. Almost all the emblems of House Targaryen had been removed from the walls of the keep, replaced instead with symbols of the faith. Daemon wanted to gauge his eyes out on one of the points of the seven-pointed star. 

He eventually found his way to his brother’s chambers, opening the door silently at the sound of soft voices within. He was not so quiet as to not alert his niece, who immediately looked up at him and smiled. 

“Father, Daemon is here.” 

“Daemon?” His brother said, and Daemon walked forward at the sound of his brother’s faint voice. The sight that greeted him turned his stomach and made him freeze. He had thought (Y/N)’s appearance was enough to give him nightmares for moons, but the sight of his brother was going to plague him till he died. 

“Daemon.” His brother called out again, and Daemon approached his side cautiously. “Daemon. Help me up.” He placed a pillow behind Viserys, guiding him into a sitting position. His brother gave him a pained smile. “It’s been so long.” 

“(Y/N) has taken a grave wound in battle in the Vale.” Daemon saw Rhaenyra cringe at his bluntness from the corner of his eye. He wished he could have eased into the news, but they were not here for reunions, and he’d made his son a promise. 

Viserys frowned, “There is no war in the Vale.” 

Daemon scowled at his brother’s words, just how far into the dark had the Hightower’s pushed him these past years? “No. The mountain clans have become restless, they have pushed in the boundaries of the Vale houses. There has been fighting for months, brother.” 

Viserys’ furrowed brows were the only indication he gave that he had heard Daemon’s words. 

“There is a petition to decide upon the succession of Runestone and the heir to the Runestone throne.” 

“Petition?” Viserys said, confused, “Alicent and Otto…they see to all that business now.” 

“No.” Daemon huffed in frustration, “Brother listen to me. You are to affirm your position for Lucerys to be my son’s successor.”  

The door opened behind him as he awaited Viserys response, the soft babbling of his grandsons easing some of his tension. 

“Something happened to (Y/N)?” Viserys spoke, and Daemon shut his eyes tight. He shook his head, standing and walking away from his brother. 

Rhaenyra walked up to him, placing Aegon in his arms. She took Viserys from the wetnurse next, sitting on the bed in front of Daemon. Daemon pressed his cheek into Aegon’s silver locks, smiling at the sound of the babe’s attempts at words. 

“Father, there is someone we wish to introduce you to.” Rhaenyra said, and Viserys looked at Daemon confused. 

“Daemon.”

“Brother.” Daemon said, and Viserys looked down at the babe in his arms. 

“Who is that?” 

Daemon smiled, shifting his hold on Aegon so that he could show their grandson off to his brother. 

“Father. This is Aegon.” Rhaenyra smiled, and Daemon brushed his finger down the boy's cheek as he tried to wiggle out of his arms. 

“Aegon.” Viserys repeated, before looking at the second babe in the room. 

“And this is Viserys.” Rhaenyra bounced the younger child on her hip, and Viserys broke out into a grin. 

“Viserys. Now that is a name fit for a king.” Daemon chuckled softly, wondering what his brother would have said if Rhaenyra had conceded to (Y/N)’s choice of name for the babe. 

Viserys groaned in pain, and the sound seemed to upset the already fussy babes as they immediately started to break out into whines and cries. Daemon gently shushed Aegon, but the babe would not be comforted by his grandfather’s soft voice. He passed him off to the wet nurse, Rhaenyra, doing the same with a crying Viserys. 

“Oh, I'm sorry I-I’m sorry.” Viserys apologized mindlessly as the babes were taken out of the room. “Please. My tea. My tea.” 

“This?” Daemon approached the table next to the bed, grabbing the only cup he saw. 

Viserys nodded, desperately trying to reach for the cup as Daemon brought it to his lips to drink. “Yes. Yes.”

When he finished Daemon brought the cup up under his nose sniffing it carefully. He frowned at the familiar scent of milk of the poppy, it was clear as Viserys quickly fell asleep that the tea was not for pain but to keep him incapacitated. 

Rhaenyra walked away from the bed closer to the doors of the chambers. “How is (Y/N)?” 

Daemon sighed, running his hand down in face as he took a seat near Rhaenyra. “He is-” Daemon swallowed. “In pain, the fever has not yet broken.” 

“Did you speak with the maester?” Rhaenyra asked, and Daemon nodded. 

“Yes, when I got there and before I left.” Daemon took the piece of parchment Maester Pate had given him before he left out of his pocket. “(Y/N) had Pate write this when they discovered Gunthor’s plans.” 

He handed the parchment over to Rhaenyra who ran her fingers over the unbroken seal gingerly. “It’s his final decree.” Rhaenyra froze at his words, and Daemon watched as she turned from him to cover up the wetness of her eyes. “It declares Luke as his heir, among other things.” 

Daemon considered telling her what (Y/N) had told him as he left and what Maester Pate himself had confirmed before giving Daemon the parchment, but the look on his niece's face as she looked at the parchment in her hands made him keep his mouth shut. He would tell her later, she had too much to worry about already, and if Daemon had his way, Gunthor would be dealt with before Rhaenyra even had his to worry about retribution. 

“He does not think he will live?” Rhaenyra said and it was obviously supposed to be a question but the tone in her voice told Daemon she already knew the answer. Daemon did not respond, and Rhaenyra nodded, handing the parchment back to him silently. 

“(Y/N) wishes to betroth my daughters to your sons, to strengthen our alliance with the Velayrons.” 

Rhaenyra nodded, “I will speak with Rhaenys.” She sighed looking at where her father was laying, still asleep in his bed. “I will also speak with Maester Gerardys. Perhaps if he could see the King he’d suggest a different-” 

Rhaenyra paused as the door opened, and they both turned to look as Alicent walked into the room. Alicent gave them a smile, although it didn’t reach her eyes. “Princess Rhaenyra. And Prince Daemon.” 

Daemon hummed, not even bothering to give her a smile back. 

“It has been so long since we were granted the joy of your presence. Although I do wish it could be under happier circumstances.” Her eyes slid from Rhaenyra to Daemon as she spoke. 

“Indeed. Your Grace.” 

“Though not long enough to merit a greeting upon our arrivals.” Daemon said, and the way Rhaenyra smirked told him that she too had received a less than warm welcome back home. 

“I’m sure the Queen had pressing business, Uncle.” Rhaenyra said, taking a place next to where Daemon was sitting. “What can either of us know of ruling a kingdom?” 

“I do not rule as you well know.” Alicent said. “My father and I are mere stewards of the King’s will and wisdom.” 

“And how exactly is that wisdom expressed…hm?” Daemon asked, looking at Alicent properly for the first time since she entered the room. “In blinks and wheezes? I’d be surprised if he could remember his own name. Or if you could.” 

“King Viserys’ condition had worsened since you saw him last.” Daemon laughed, and Alicent glared. “It subjects him to considerable pain. On the advice of the maesters-”

“Ah, the maesters. Of course.” Rhaenyra barked out a fake laugh. “It is they who keep him addled on milk of the poppy while the Hightowers warm his throne.” 

“Rhaenyra if you could see him without it, almost blind with suffering.” 

“Oh, Alicent, I have no doubt it was an act of the purest mercy.” Daemon said, voice hard. “But tell me, for the King’s suffering, did the maesters also prescribe the removal of Targaryen heraldry and the installation in its stead of various statues and stars?” 

“The emblems of the Seven serve only to guide us on an uncertain path. To remind us of a higher authority.” 

“And on the morrow,” Rhaenyra walked toward Alicent, who to Daemon's chagrin stood her ground against his niece’s piercing gaze. “Which authority will sit in judgment of my son’s claim on his own inheritance?” 

“That would be mine.” She paused. “And the hand’s.” 

Daemon scoffed, bitterly chuckling. 

“But be assured the Father is just and commands me to forget the accusations you have hurled in this room today.” 

Alicent looked to the Prince and Princess, before giving another of her false smiles and walking out of the room.

Daemon watched as Otto Hightower stood in front of his brother’s throne. Rhaenyra stood beside him, eyes darting between her half-siblings and the Hightowers. Jace stood beside his mother, posture tense and mouth turned down into a frown. The boy was obviously anxious, understanding the gravity of the situation at hand, but his anxiety was nothing compared to his younger brother. Luke had been on edge since Daemon saw him last night, he cared less about the hearing of the petitions and more about his father’s health and it devastated Daemon to be unable to calm his grandson’s worries. 

“Though it is the great hope of this court that Prince (Y/N) Royce survives his wounds, we gather here with the grim task of dealing with the succession of Runestone. As Hand, I speak with the King’s voice on this and all other matters.” Otto spoke, taking a seat on the Iron Throne, and Daemon frowned at how comfortable he looked there. “The crown will now hear the petitions. Lord Gunthor of House Royce.” 

Gunthor Royce stepped out from the crowd, not bothering to look at the boy who’s future he was trying to ruin. He turned to address Alicent and Otto instead. “My Queen. My Lord Hand. House Royce can date their lineage back ten thousand years to the Dawn Age, we were Kings while the Targaryens were still in Old Valyria. We are the blood of the first men, not the dragon, and our blood shall stay that way until the day our house disappears. 

“I have spent my entire life in the Vale defending the seat of House Royce, first at the gates of moon and then at Runestone. I am Prince (Y/N)’s closest Vale kin, his own blood. The true, unimpeachable blood of House Royce runs through my veins.” 

“As it does in my sons, the offspring of (Y/N) Royce. The very spitting image of their Grandmother, Lady Rhea.” Rhaenyra spat, “If you cared so much about your house’s blood, Lord Gunthor, you would not be so bold as to supplant its rightful heir. No, you only speak for yourself and for your own ambition.”

“You will have the chance to make your own petition, Princess Rhaenyra. Do Lord Gunthor the courtesy of allowing his to be heard.” Alicent focused her gaze toward Rhaenyra and her family, voice tight. Gunthor smirked, finally turning to face Rhaenyra and Daemon. 

“What do you know of Royce blood, Princess? I could cut my veins and show it to you and you still wouldn’t recognize it. This is about the future and survival of my house, not yours.” Daemon’s eyes narrowed at his tone. “My Queen, my Lord Hand, this is a matter of blood not ambition. I place the continuation of the survival of my house and my line above all. I humbly put myself before you as my cousin’s successor…the lord of Runestone.” 

“Thank you, Lord Gunthor.” Otto spoke. “Princess Rhaenyra, you may now speak for your son Lucerys Royce.” 

Rhaenyra took a deep breath, taking a step toward the middle of the hall. “If I am to grace this farce with some answer, I will start by reminding the court that nearly twenty years ago, in this very-” 

She was cut off by the doors of the Great Hall opening. Everyone turned their attention toward the doors and Daemon’s breath caught in his throat at the sight in front of him. 

“King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of his Name, King of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.” 

Everyone fell silent as they watched Viserys make his way down the hall. The layers of clothes did little to hide his frail figure, sitting loose on his body and making the drastic weight loss obvious to those in the room. He had a gold mask on one side of his face which hid the most gruesome of the damage from the crowd. 

His brother paused as he walked by Rhaenyra, he gave her a small nod before turning to address Otto. “I will sit the throne today.” 

“Your Grace.” 

Viserys made for the steps to the throne, pushing the Kingsgaurd’s accompanying him off to make the climb himself. He only made it two steps before he doubled over, crown falling to the ground with a sharp clatter. Daemon stepped out of the crowd walking past the guards and toward his brother. 

“I said I’m fine.” Viserys insisted as Daemon grabbed an arm to steady him. When he realized it was Daemon helping him he paused, face giving away his shock. 

“Come on.” Daemon said, under his breath so no one but his brother could hear him. “Steady.” 

He gingerly helped his brother up to sit on the throne. When Viserys was settled in his rightful seat Daemon turned, picking up the throne off the steps. Viserys bowed his head and Daemon placed the crown atop the head of his King. He gave his brother a nod, before making his way back to Rhaenyra’s side. 

“I must admit my confusion.” Viserys wheezed. “I do not understand why petitions are being heard over a settled succession. The only ones present who might offer keener insight into Prince (Y/N)’s wishes are Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon.” 

“Indeed, Your Grace.” Rhaenyra brushed Daemon’s arm in encouragement as he stepped toward the middle. “It was my son’s wish that Runestone pass to his second trueborn son Lucerys.” 

Daemon took the parchment out of his pocket, showing off the unbroken seal to the crowd. He paused as he made eye contact with Gunthor, unable to stop the smirk that graced his face at the anger in the Lord’s expression. “I have a decree, seal unbroken, stating that his mind never changed.” 

He took a deep breath before his next statement. Rhaenyra had talked to Rhaenys last night, and while the elder Princess had been less than happy with the suddenness of the proposal Rhaenyra had assured him that she’d agreed. Rhaenys held no love for Daemon, only fostering Baela out of her love for his late wife. He made eye contact with Rhaenys before speaking, silently asking her permission before making the official announcement. His cousin gave him a subtle nod, and he spoke. 

“As a matter of fact, Princess Rhaenyra has just informed the Princess Rhaenys and I of her and my sons desire to marry their sons Jace and Luke to my daughters, Baela and Rhaena. A proposal to which we have heartily agreed.” 

“Well, the matter is settled. Again.” Viserys stated, wheezing. “I hereby reaffirm Prince Lucerys of House Royce as heir to Runestone.”

Daemon could practically feel the relief radiating from his family behind him. He gave his brother a grateful nod and stepped back toward Rhaenyra and his grandsons. 

“You break law and centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir. Yet you dare tell me who deserves to inherit the name Royce. No. I will not allow it.” Gunthor sneered at Viserys. 

“Allow it? Do not forget yourself, Gunthor.” 

“That is no true Royce! And certainly no cousin of mine.” At his words Daemon wrapped his hand around the hilt of his sword. 

“Go to your chambers, you have said enough.” Rhaenyra hissed at Gunthor. She took a step in front of her sons, allowing Daemon to step closer to Gunthor. 

“Lucerys is the true-born grandson of Prince Daemon and I. You’re no more than the second son of a second son of Runestone” Viserys said. 

“You may run your house as you see fit. But you will not decide the future of mine. House Royce is the blood of the First Men. We are ancient kings, and I will not allow our bloodline to end on account of these dragon-” He paused on his words, and Daemon remembered his son's warning. Gunthor does not care about the rumors spread by Alicent, his hatred for Daemon and (Y/N) drives him. 

“Say it like you believe it, Lord Gunthor.” Daemon challenged. 

“Her children are dragon bastards!” He yelled, words echoing through the now silent hall. Daemon slipped from his spot next to Rhaenyra unnoticed. “And she is a whore.” 

“I will have your tongue for that.” Daemon heard Viserys say as he raised his sword, still unnoticed by everyone in the room. 

Do what you must to protect them. 

Daemon brought his sword down as his son's plea echoed through his head, and in one clean slice, Gunthor’s head rolled off his body onto the floor, the rest of him hitting the floor with a thud seconds later. Daemon looked at the body, and the hall broke out into yells. The man who had plagued (Y/N) for nearly twenty years, who most likely ordered his death, fell with a single swing of the sword. It was almost laughable how easy it was. 

“Disarm him!” Otto yelled, and Daemon held his hands up in surrender. 

“No need.” He wiped his sword with a piece of cloth before sheathing it. 

Before anyone could respond Viserys collapsed atop the throne. Raised panic voices echoed through the hall as both Rhaenyra and Alicent ran toward Viserys. Daemon turned toward his grandsons, motioning to Jace to leave the room. Jace nodded, taking Luke’s arm and dragging him out of the room. Daemon watched, frozen in place, as the Grand Maester and Alicent helped carry his brother out of the room.

Daemon could feel the absence of (Y/N) by his side like a burn. The empty seat between him and Rhaenyra drew his eye every time he turned his head. Jace and Luke refused to look at it, focusing directly on their newly betrothed. The people around the table sat deliberately in silence as they waited for Viserys to make his way to the dinner, Daemon nursing his cup of wine as Rhaenyra turned her attention to Alicent every so often.  

The door opened, and everyone stood as Viserys was carried into the room. He was placed between his daughter and his wife, and as soon as the guards took a step back to take their place by the door everyone took their seats. 

“How good it is to see you all tonight.” Daemon grimaced at the strain in his brother’s voice. “Together.” 

“Prayer before we begin?” Viserys nodded. “May the Mother smile down on this gathering with love. May the Smith mend the bonds that have been broken for far too long. And to Gunthor Royce, may the gods give him rest.” 

Daemon gave a bitter chuckle, which drew an amused look from his niece. 

“This is an occasion for celebration, it seems.” His brother smiled, “My grandsons, Jace and Luke, will marry their aunts, Baela and Rhaena, further strengthening the bond between our houses. A toast to the young Princes and their betrothed.” 

“Hear, hear!” He called out, giving a smile to both his grandsons and his daughter as he raised his cup. He watched as Aegon whispered something to Jace, which caused the boy to frown. 

“Let us toast as well Prince Lucerys, the future Lord of Runestone.” Everyone raised their cups again. 

Aegon once again turned to Jace to whisper something in his ear, this time Jace responded. His words were too low for Daemon to make out but his face gave away his anger. Viserys interrupted the two men before anyone else could respond. 

“It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table. The faces most dear to me in all the world yet grown so distant from each other in years past.” His brother stood, breath coming in short gasps as he struggled. He took the gold mask off his face, and Daemon winced at the sight of his rotted face. His right eye was completely gone, and his cheek was rotten and sunken. “My own face is no longer a handsome one if indeed it ever was. But tonight I wish you to see me as I am. Not just a king, but your father, your brother, your husband, and your grandsire. Who may not it seems walk for much longer among you. Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts. The crown cannot stand strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided. But set aside your grievances. If not for the sake of the crown, then for the sake of this old man who loves you all so dearly.” 

Viserys took a seat, body trembling with the effort of standing for so long. Rhaenyra shifted uncomfortably in her seat, before grabbing her cup and standing. She looked around before clearing her throat and beginning to speak, “I wish to raise my cup to her grace the Queen. I love my father, but I must admit that no one has stood more loyally by his side than his good wife. She has tended to him with unfailing devotion, love, and honor. And for that she has my gratitude and my apology.” 

“Your graciousness moves me deeply, princess. We are both mother’s, and we love our children. We have more in common than we sometimes allow.” Alicent stood, cup in hand. “I raise my cup to you and to your house. You will make a fine queen.” 

Alicent took a seat, and Daemon picked his cup up to take a drink of the wine. He was interrupted by Jace standing quickly, giving Aegon a dirty look as he did. Aemond followed his league, gaze trained on Jace. Daemon watched the three men stare at each other, grip on his cup tightening. 

Finally Jace spoke, picking up his cup. “To Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond. We have not seen each other in years but I have fond memories of our shared youth. And as men I hope we may yet be friends and allies. To you and your family’s health, dear uncles.” 

“To you as well.” Aegon said, clearly unhappy with the result of his relentless teasing. 

Haelena stood next, smiling as if the tensions of the evening were completely lost on her. “I would like to toast Baela and Rhaena. They’ll be married soon. It isn’t so bad, mostly he just ignores you. Except sometimes when he’s drunk.” 

He barked out a sudden laugh, covering it up with his hand. His brother asked for music, and the tensions dissipated from the room. Jace stood from his seat, offering his hand to his aunt Haelena and taking her to the middle of the room, where they began to dance. Daemon smiled softly at the sight, turning to catch Rhaenyra’s eye. She, too, was staring at the sight, and Daemon could tell it reminded her of her own similar dance with (Y/N) nearly twenty years ago. 

Rhaenyra caught his eye and blushed. 

“You miss him.” Daemon stated, and Rhaenyra nodded. She ran her fingertips along the edge of her cup, smiling softly to herself as she did. Daemon reached across, pointedly ignoring the empty chair, to rest his hand on his niece’s arm. “A fever will not take him from you, he is too stubborn for that.” 

Rhaenyra laughed, “He is his father’s son.” 

She touched Daemon’s hand in gratitude, she looked to where Luke was speaking to Rhaena. Daemon followed her gaze, smiling fondly at the sight. “I fear I may be made a grandsire again soon.” 

Rhaenyra’s hand fell to her stomach, “Let us hope it will be a few years. There are too many babes in this family already.” 

Daemon chuckled, but his amusement quickly died as he watched the guards take his brother out of the room. Everyone paused their activities watching the King silently as he was carried out. Servants entered the room shortly after placing more food on the table, but the mood was too damaged to return to its previous lightness. Daemon startled slightly as Aemond stood, table clinking under the weight of his hands landing on top of it. 

“Final tribute.” He looked around the room, raising his cup. “To the health of my nephews, Jace, Luke, and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise…strong.” 

“Aemond.” Alicent warned, but Aemond ignored her. 

“Come let us drain our cups to these three…strong boys.” 

“I dare you to say that again.” Jace challenged, and Rhaenyra tensed next to Daemon. 

“Why? ‘Twas only a compliment. Do you not think yourself strong?” Aemond approached Jace, who rounded quickly on his uncle throwing a punch. He missed as Aemond dodged the first and soon all the children were out of the seat. Aegon had Luke pinned to the table and Aemond had pushed Jace to the floor. The guards separated the boys as Daemon stood and watched the action. Alicent had grabbed Aemond, harshly whispering in his ear. 

Aemond spoke up halfway through his response to his mother. “-though it seems my nephews aren’t quite as proud of theirs, perhaps if they had their father’s eyes-” 

Jace tried to break the guards hold on him, but Daemon took a step between the families before he could. “Wait! Wait!” 

“Go to quarters. All of you go, now.” Rhaenyra ordered her sons. They mumbled under their breath, shooting glares at their uncles, but they turned and allowed themselves to be escorted out. Daemon leveled a glare at Aemond, raising an eyebrow in challenge at the young man. Aemond huffed, shaking his head as he followed his nephews out. 

“It’s best I think if we go back to Dragonstone.” Rhaenyra said, and Alicent took his hand in hers. Daemon raised an eyebrow at the sight. 

“You’ve only just arrived,” Alicent said, finger rubbing along the scar she herself gave to Rhaenyra as she spoke. 

“Let me see the children home, and I’ll return on dragon back.” Rhaenyra said softly, “I have to fly to Runestone anyway.” 

“The king and I would both like that.”

“My Prince you should not-” 

(Y/N) waved the maester off, continuing to limp slowly down the steps; cane held so tightly his knuckles were white with the strain. He had practically leaped, as much a man in his condition could, when he saw the ships approach the shore of Dragonstone, signaling the return of his family. 

Maester Pate had almost wrung his neck when (Y/N) informed him of his plans to return to Dragonstone on Vermithor when his fever finally broke. He probably would have if (Y/N) was not the Lord of Runestone, but he allowed the Prince to leave Runestone. (Y/N) had all but collapsed from the pain when he landed on Dragonstone, his last thought before he hit the ground was that Maester Pate would be laughing if he could see the Prince now. When he woke, the maesters of Dragonstone told him he was a fool for trying to fly while his injuries were still healing, but (Y/N) had just brushed them off and asked for something to alleviate the pain. 

He watched now as his family made their way up the beach. His sons caught sight of him first, the eldest three breaking into a run toward him. Jace grabbed Joffrey and lifted him into his arms before the young boy could run straight into his father. (Y/N) gave him a grateful nod, and Jace smiled. 

“Father,” Jace said. “Mother said you were at Runestone with a fever.” 

“I got better.” Luke leaned into his side, careful not to aggravate his father’s wounds. He did not speak, but (Y/N) could see the events of the past weeks were weighing heavily on the boy. He ran his fingers through the boy’s hair, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. “I will meet you inside after I speak with your mother.” 

His sons made their way inside, but not before (Y/N) pressed a kiss to Joffrey and Jace’s cheeks. The maids carrying his youngest sons were next, and the two babbled and grabbed at their father as they walked by. He pressed soft kisses into their soft white hair before allowing the maids to carry them inside as well. 

Daemon rushed him, bringing him in tight and (Y/N) grunted in pain as his wounds pressed into his father. At the sound of his son in pain his father released him, worrying painting his face. He grabbed (Y/N)’s face, “Are you alright?”

“I am better.” (Y/N) smiled, allowing his father to press a kiss to the top of his head. “I heard what you did, and I thank you. For protecting them, father.” 

“You do not need to thank me.” Daemon said into his hair. “I told you once I would provide you with anything you needed and I meant it.” 

Daemon pulled back, taking (Y/N)’s appearance in completely. “Did you fly here?” He sighed at (Y/N)’s guilty look, “Remember that you are not seven and ten anymore, my boy. You cannot afford to be so reckless with your life.” 

“Uncle.” Rhaenyra cleared her throat behind Daemon. “May I have a moment with my husband.” 

Daemon gave (Y/N) a smile, pressing one last kiss to his cheek before leaving. Rhaenyra looked downright murderous at the sight of her husband, and (Y/N) sighed. “I have been lectured enough these past days, Rhaenyra. I am aware I should not have flown so soon after-” 

(Y/N) was cut off by Rhaenyra grabbing him and crushing their lips together. She pressed their foreheads together, breathing heavily when they broke apart. “I thought I would never see you again.” 

“It is not yet my time to join my ancestors.” Rhaenyra laughed wetly, running her thumbs across his cheeks. 

“We have much to talk about.” Rhaenyra said softly. “Your cousin is dead, and Luke’s position is secure.” 

(Y/N) nodded, “I am glad.” 

“Daemon did not tell me much at Kingslanding. I think he feared whispers being heard by the wrong ears.” 

(Y/N) nodded, offering the hand not holding his cane to his wife. She smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, before taking his hand. “Come, I will tell you everything over dinner.”

---

Translations -

Kepa - Father

Zaldrītsos - Little Dragon

[thistlecatfics]

Remus & Harry's fight in DH with the lens of lycanthropy as CSA

I revisited the fascinating Remus vs Harry fight in DH for my ‘Andromeda hates Remus’ mini meta, and now I keep thinking about it from the lens of lycanthropy as childhood sexual abuse. 

I love using fiction as a way to stretch my empathy muscles (which sounds pretentious and sanctimonious but it’s true!), and it’s taken me a while to really figure out how to find empathy for Remus here. He literally blasts Harry and makes Harry hit his head so hard he develops a big lump! Because Harry rightly calls him out on running away from his pregnant wife! Because it’s hard for me as the reader to see how Remus feels because being a werewolf just… doesn’t seem all that bad? Or at least not disgusting, even if it obviously carries societal stigma? 

A lot of people hate the lycanthropy as CSA thing precisely because there’s this implication that you are then cursed to perpetuate the violence, but I think it’s still a worthwhile way to understand Remus. I’m not going to make a grand text based argument for the metaphor. I just like it because I like using fiction as a way to work through my own stuff. 

Someone does something to you as a kid, something bad, and you carry that around for the rest of your life and you feel like it marks you as different from others and disgusting at your core and probably dangerous too. Most of the time you look normal – which just makes you feel like you’re a liar because you know you’re disgusting and isn’t it terrible that you’re lying all the time and letting people believe you’re alright? But you carry it, hidden, all of the time. 

(Plus, the obvious of Fenrir in the night targeting children, how Draco who has worked to let Death Eaters into Hogwarts in HBP is afraid of the idea of letting Fenrir into a school etc.) 

Many survivors (including nearly all CSA survivors I know who are men or lesbians) have at some point held a deep fear about some latent predatory nature that might take over and lead them to hurt people/children/women in the same way they were hurt. Desire feels dangerous.

So for Remus, the idea that he might pass along lycanthropy to his unborn child is not just “my child might be a werewolf” but “I just deeply harmed a child.” Not just any child. My own child. A baby.

Trauma brain is saying: I let myself relax. I put down my guard and let myself act like a normal person and stopped seeing myself as something disgusting and dangerous and who needs to be set apart from others. I let myself be loved. And what was the result? I did this to a child, just like it was done to me. It feels internally for Remus like he just sexually abused a child.

Even if logically he knows that cannot possibly be an accurate understanding, trauma brain is insistent. He just did the one unspeakably bad thing he hates most in the world.

No wonder he wants to run from that possibility. No wonder he wants to try to risk his life for a noble cause instead of facing the possibility. No wonder he’s so agitated that, when pressed by Harry, he blasts him against a wall. 

I’m not arguing that everyone needs to read his actions this way, and, like I said, I totally get why people hate the lycanthropy as CSA metaphor thing. But Remus's actions only start to make sense to me when I take that lens, and it’s the lens which allows me to feel closest to him and feel the most empathy for him here.