#will solace centric

[losersolace]

i know nobody fucks with will solace even though he’s not a fighter bc imagine pissing him off and he goes “you will start coughing in three days” and then in three days you actually start coughing. you wrong him once and he’s like “ok then. explosive diarrhea” and you have to start praying for forgiveness

[willthespy]

The Nico is extroverted and Will is introverted argument is both right and wrong depending on what your definition of both terms is and I have to talk about it. I agree mostly with the original post that claimed this, so just listen and bear with me.

Most people categorize extroverts as ‘social’ and introverts as less so, but in reality (depending on what theory) that is not really true. Because I do agree Nico was a social kid who still has the social skills, but has dampened it down because of his own insecurities and the insecurities he’s been fed due to his parentage. Then for Will, he’s got some solitude and gloominess in him for sure (another introvert stereotype), but shows himself as the (I don’t know what word I want to use for it, but I’ll go with) happy head counselor, because he ‘had to be.’

As for the definition I prefer to use, it’s in fact a bit different. Note that it isn’t a black or white thing, and that you can’t be 100% introverted or 100% extroverted. That’s the same as saying you’re 100% autistic, because all of these terms are all created and used to categorize, and you can’t perfectly fit a category. There’s no such thing as ‘perfection.’

Now, it’s been a while since I’ve properly read about cognitive functions, but as a Feeler type myself, I know most about the different types of ‘Feelers’ to say that Nico has dominant introverted feeling (Fi) and Will uses dominant extroverted feeling (Fe).

While Nico has shown to have social skills, he definitely looks to be a Fi user. He knows who he is (again, not 100% - it isn’t black or white) and what he wants and he doesn’t really base his values on others. I think why a lot of characters with Fi are ‘emo’ or ‘weird’ is because they’re authentic to themselves and don’t bend themselves to anyone else’s will that easily. Now, we all know Nico can be a stubborn prick, but we also can see that in PJO he corrects Minos on who he is. His whole thing there is him being ‘the Ghost King.’ He knows he is, he doesn’t need to be told he is that, he just does what feels real to him.

Also that one scene in ToA (I believe) where Nico is very blunt towards Lester/Apollo and where Will tells him he needs to work on his social skills or whatever? Yeah, that shows their differences in Fi vs Fe. Nico focuses on his inner needs and values (which actually aren’t selfish at all, but important to the entire universe in this case), while Will knows the bluntness isn’t socially acceptable (as far as he knows) and, albeit jokingly, tries to control his outer world to bring it to ‘harmony.’

Note that Nico also has had selfish inner values, wants, and needs. For example, trying to revive his sister. But Will was also selfish when he tried to keep Nico away from the Trogs for example. Fi and Fe aren’t inherently selfish, but their different types might make them make selfish decisions.

Will and Nico both are self-sacrificial, but in different ways. Nico does it for his own internal values and because he feels he’s not wanted anyway, and Will seems to do it because he seems to feel the need to be strong and have an image of himself up for everyone else, even if that means putting his own needs second to his own.

Will also showed some eagerness to absorb and ‘fix’ Nico’s negative emotions in a way. He’s a healer, it’s what he does, right? But meanwhile he struggles to accept or even acknowledge his own ‘darkness.’ (Yes, I’ll talk about this as long as I’ll live. I won’t stop. Ever.)

Also very important. Nico was way more accepting of the Troglodytes than Will. And you might say, “well, isn’t that an extroverted trait?” And I’d tell you: “that depends on your definition!” But in terms of Fi/Fe, it’s Nico who’s showing introverted feeling here. He doesn’t judge, as long as they (the Trogs) don’t go against his core values.

Will, my dumb, dumb, dumb son (note: I don’t actually think he’s dumb), whom I love very much, shows Fe here. He’s quicker to judge because of his sense and knowledge of social norms, but also because of his care for his loved ones. I don’t know, I think both are true arguments as to why he was against the idea of the Trogs.

Also this is why I think it wasn’t too out of character for Will to get all bitchy and negative about the Underworld. And also not why Nico got upset about it, because Will being against his ‘home’, went against his inner self. Boo! Fe vs Fe argument! Take that liberals! (joke)

In short:

Nico is the Fi user. He’s authentic, stubborn (in defense of his own values), actually attracts misfits - because he’s not as quick to judge people who go against social norms - as he doesn’t conform to social norms himself. He’s passionate and emotional (very emotion-driven). If I remember correctly, he also shows to solve problems by talking about it, rather than just cheering anyone up.

When he was ‘unhealthy’, he also retreated from society and went into solitude + lashed out. He also strictly followed his internal beliefs that he was unwanted and all that, while Will claimed that he was the only one thinking that.

Will is the Fe user. He is a healer and nurturer, but neglects his own inner self. He is externally friendly, but can be a bitch. (Sorry not sorry fellow Will lovers.) He can definitely be a bit controlling and less expressive for the sake of his outside world and is also more aware of what he thinks are social norms and cares about them more. (As is seen in ToA and TSATS).

I checked PDB (not the best source, but a source nonetheless) right after this, and people seem to agree. Nico is categorized as INFP (Fi > Ne > Ti > Se), while Will is voted to be ENFJ (Fe > Ni > Te > Si). Thank you for listening to my TED-talk.

[losergender]

i don't have anything for wip wednesday (yet??) but i remembered i did these sort of """"aesthetic"""" ""moodboards"" of the vibe i want solangelo + lost trio to have in this one highschool au im planning (solangelo + valgrace) and i was gonna let them rot in my computer but not anymore ig

the songs are meant to be sort of what they would listen to in this particular au! the rest of the seven are gonna be there as well but i gave up after doing piper's

[fictionalmenaremytype]

If Jason Grace is not in tsats sequel I am going to go on a rampage

[jlmasaysmoneyisbest]

Favorite Ideas to create

My favorite ideas to like imagine up

is one that makes no sense

Like Bruce Wayne as Cale Henituse

or crossovers that are so big and confusing it hurts

One of my favorite I came up with is

Damian as an apollo child

mostly b/c i see him as a Child who loves art

but he has mastered all musical things

because of how bored he was

Like Apollo is a god

he could most defintely sneak some of his DNA into Damian as he was made

he could also replace someones DNA

but why would he?

Bruce and Talia are hot XD

He would probably flirt with them if they didn't scare him

So

Damian arrives at wayne house at age 10

He is in the League of Assassins till age 6

and the years before that NO ONE KNOWS

he went to demi-god camp

and then at age 9 a month before he turned 10 returned b/c

Apollo just went through his trials and Will was in tarturus

he rather all the children he has who could be sent home would

and Apollo knew about Talia plan to send him to the waynes

so he felt good sending Damian to Talia

who then sent him to the waynes

So Damian has like 34 identities

Damian Al Ghul

Damian Wayne

Robin

and

Damian the son of apollo

(his favorite brother is in fact Nico-with a doctors note! without it its Will who's mother has 100% adopted him

so Damian Solace- is the fourth identity

mostly b/c I don't know much about Will's mother but if she's anything like Will and if she liked Apollo

most definetely would adopt Damian

idk it feels right

they also never told the demi-gods were Damian is

so yeah-they get messages from Apollo he is alright

and Damian has been busy the summers he could return

until like one day

Will and Nico still haven't fully been back to 95%(91 for Nico he went twice)health sense tarturus(not 100 they could never return to 100)

So Apollo decided FAMILY ROAD TRIP!!!!

and they whole Wayne family all panics b/c who is this man calling Damian son why is Damian agreeing

and WHERE IS HE GOING?!

and thats it all I have

[a-random-insomniac]

Me before reading tsats and ready to defend it to anyone: 👁️👄👁️

Me after reading tsats: 😶

[allfortzu]

idk ive very well but evil yujin ,

[spankysparkles]

Leo & Billy- A Solangelo Oneshot! Out Now! Leo, Will, and Nico visit Texas and meet Will’s mom. They eat BBQ and go to a country music concert. Read from me here on Wattpad:

https://www.wattpad.com/1484851495-leo-billy-a-solangelo-oneshot-chapter-1-leo Read from my co-author emonemo on AO3 Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59760151

[ollieofthebeholder]

to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic

<< Beginning < Prev || AO3 || My website

Chapter 79: August 2011

It’s been a cold, wet day all day, especially for August, but Daisy doesn’t mind. The clouds add to the darkness, and it’s convenient for her purposes. It also means there aren’t a lot of people about tonight, so she’s less likely to be observed. She doesn’t need any witnesses for what she’s planning to do.

Not that there’s anything wrong with it, she tells herself. It’s exactly what she always does, what she’s been trained to do. She caught wind of a monster. She tracked it, trailed it, sniffed out its current lair, and now she’s lying in wait for it. She’ll spring her trap, take it somewhere safe, and dispose of it. No muss, no fuss, no argument. Certainly no one to complain, no one to miss him—it. It’s what she always does. It’s hunting. Not even trophy hunting, not the kind rightly reviled and despised. This isn’t for sport. Granted, it’s not for food either, but it is vermin control.

Nice and simple. Nothing to be concerned about. Nothing to be nervous about. No reason to worry.

But people are soft. They don’t understand. They want results, they want safety, they want the vermin gone, but they don’t want to acknowledge what it takes to get to that point. So they make noises about brutality and due process and accountability, and they don’t admit that monsters don’t play by the rules, and if you play by the rules trying to catch them, they won’t be the ones getting caught.

So she has to be careful. She can’t be seen. Can’t give anyone the chance to complain. The chances of her getting in trouble with her superiors is pretty slim, they don’t question methods as long as she gets results, but if people make a fuss there might be…complications. For others if not for her. And her superiors don’t like messy.

Besides, this isn’t…technically sanctioned.

She stills suddenly, nostrils flaring. It’s not necessarily that she smells something, she wouldn’t describe it as smelling, but she senses something the way a hunter would, or a wolf on the prowl. A shift in the air, a movement in the metaphorical undergrowth, a looming sense of danger.

Her prey approaches.

Carefully, she shifts her stance from the energy-saving stance she’s been in, the one that enables her to stand, motionless, for as long as she needs to, waiting for the things she hunts, into one that’s poised on a hair trigger, ready to launch at a moment’s notice. She can’t get this one wrong. Something, some instinct, tells her she’s only going to get one shot at this. She has to make it count.

The door of the bar opens, and a figure steps out.

Patrons exiting this place have left in a number of ways—some hurriedly, phones jammed to their ear as they assured someone they hadn’t forgotten and are on their way; some jovially, laughing with friends or shouting cheerful farewells back into its interior; some angrily, stumbling and cursing or being aided by a shove or a boot from another patron or the bouncer. This figure, however, is different. It steps out, not with purpose, not with joviality, not with hesitance, not with defiance. It simply moves as though of course it should be in this space, where else would it be? It does not move as though it is trying to draw attention to itself, or avoid attention being drawn, in any way.

Yet Daisy recognizes the air of menace hanging about it. She senses the danger, the coiled threat of violence. She knows that it is not moving the way it is because it fears anything around it, or wants to make itself known as a threat. It knows it is a threat, and sees no reason to advertise that. It simply exists, and will hurt anything it chooses, for any reason. Not like her. This is no hunter.

Daisy, however, is.

She lunges forward. The timing is exactly right; the door to the bar is closed, the traffic light has just changed and drivers are honking at people in front of them who didn’t immediately floor the gas pedal, and the streetwalker working this stretch of sidewalk is chatting up a potential customer who might otherwise have walked past the alley and seen her. She brings the lead pipe in her right hand up, adds her left hand, and swings it with all her might to land on the figure’s head.

It doesn’t go down.

Instead, it stumbles, then looks up quickly, a familiar red light seeming to shine in his eyes—its eyes. She tells herself this isn’t him anymore, it’s just a monster, it’s—

It’s starting to get up. Daisy curses under her breath and brings the pipe down again—and again—and again, working against the clock, one eye on the traffic and the other on the door, she’s got to get this done before—

Oh, thank fuck, he—it—finally goes down. Daisy tosses the pipe aside and manages to catch him before he hits the ground, then drags him back down the alley to her waiting car. He’s heavy, but not any heavier than the ones she normally does this to, and she’s able to get him in the boot without too much trouble. She backs out of the alley and heads down the road.

It’s only as she hits the edge of the city that she realizes she’s back to thinking of what’s in the boot as him.

She rolls down the window to get some air, cold and damp though it is, even though it’s stopped raining, fucking finally. The wind ruffles her hair, freshly clipped and barely long enough to flutter in the breeze. The road hums under the tires and matches the thrum in her veins, singing a song of danger and chase and the hunt. For most people, this would be a wonderful moment except for the unconscious body in the boot. The mostly unconscious body, she amends as she hears a thump from the back as she goes around a corner. Either he’s, it’s waking up or its feet are just clattering around back there.

Either way, it adds to the experience. Anticipation curls and tightens in her gut, setting her heart thudding with excitement and pleasure. Usually she hates this part, stalls it as long as possible, because at this point it’s usually all but over—her prey captured and incapacitated, her challenge lessened, nothing left to do but end it with a bullet or a knife. She prefers the knife, it’s cleaner and quieter and more intimate. But this…this is different. Every instinct screams at her that the thing she has been hunting is still very much a danger, that the second she opens the back of the car it’s going to spring at her and she’ll still have to outwit it.

She hopes it runs.

She doesn’t think it will.

She drives and drives, the night getting older and the waning gibbous moon stalking her through the underbrush of the clouds, occasionally peering its face down on her battered, nondescript car as it wends its way towards the countryside. At last she turns off at what’s not so much a thruway as a gap in the trees and rattles her way along the dirt road, bumping and jostling, although not as much as she could; the car’s got damned good springs. The thumping in the back has long since stopped, but she doesn’t think it’s because the thing back there is asleep or unconscious or dead. She wouldn’t get that…lucky? No, lucky isn’t the right word; she doesn’t want it to be dead. Not yet. She’s still hoping to stretch the hunt out a little longer. The trouble is that the thing in the back is a kind of predator, too.

It’s not a predator, whispers a voice in the back of her mind, so soft as to almost be inaudible over the sound of the blood in her veins. It’s just a killer.

Daisy grunts. No problem, then. No finesse. She doesn’t have to track something that knows all the same tricks she does.

No, the voice agrees. You just have to kill something that doesn’t do anything else.

Get out of my head, she growls in the confines of her mind.

Her brain, quite inconsiderately, refuses to get out of her head, but it does at least shut up and let her get on with driving.

Finally, she pulls off the road just outside of a small clearing. There are a few people on the force who handle this sort of thing, and each of them have their favorite places; some of them overlap, and she knows where most of them are, but this one is just hers. She’s careful to keep it hidden, and she doesn’t think anyone knows what goes on here except her. Anyone living, anyway.

It’s got three advantages. The first is the cliff just on the other side of the last couple of trees, which is convenient when they try to run, because they never know it’s there and they always try to stop themselves and then she has them. The second is the soil itself; it’s light and sandy, drains well, and is easy to dig, but also packs nicely. The third is the trees themselves. Their roots break up the soil, and…well, Daisy has never forgotten the experiment her professor did in one of the classes she took to get her degree so she could be a cop (passion is all well and good, you can say the right things in any interview and pass all the physical tests, but when you’re a girl, even one that’s six foot even and twelve stone seven, you need something more than that to get past the fucking gatekeepers), the one where he laid a raw steak at the base of a tree and came back the next day to find it had been absorbed by the tree’s roots. Trees need nutrients, too, and there are good nutrients in a body.

These are very well-nourished trees.

Daisy shuts the car off and lets it settle until she can’t hear anything but the susurration of the wind in the beeches (she likes that word, more than murmur or rustle, it’s got a whole different feel that she secretly loves—there was a time she loved words more than the hunt, but it’s so long ago she can barely remember it), and then she gets out of the car and goes around to the back.

It’s still silent. She is aware that’s not a good thing.

For a moment, she stands, running through her options. The gun would probably be the smartest option—quick, clean, no chance for it to get away—but there’s a part of her that wants it to have that chance, that wants to chase it. Besides, this one…this one is more dangerous than most, and she’s afraid—no, not afraid, concerned, fear is for prey, not predator—that if she doesn’t kill it in one go, it will try to wrest the weapon away and turn it on her. A knife wound, or even a bludgeoning wound, she can probably explain away at the A&E. A bullet wound will result in an awkward conversation.

Something heavy and solid? She left the pipe back in the alley, but her tire iron is in the backseat (she’s not stupid, she doesn’t keep anything in the trunk that could be used as a weapon against her), so she can use that if she wants to beat it to death. After how long it took her to get it subdued, though, she doesn’t think that’s likely to work. And it’s awake—she can sense it, with a hunter’s instinct, even if it’s lying still and playing dead—which isn’t normal. Real life isn’t like in books and films; head injuries are nothing to mess around with, and if it’s not brain dead after the clubbing she gave it, let alone still unconscious, that’s definitely something to be concerned about.

So it has to be the knife. She has a few, including a really nice set of throwing knives she definitely didn’t take off of one of the bodies buried here, but usually she uses her trusty hunting knife. This time, however, she hesitates, then ducks back into the car and unlocks the hidden compartment in the center console. Inside is a genuine antique, a knife her grandfather brought back from the war. He said he took it off a dead soldier, but he was always real closed-mouth about the details, no matter how often young Daisy asked. It’s the one thing she claimed as her inheritance—there wasn’t much left after the fire anyway, but the knife was all she took in the end. She’s always been equal parts fascinated and repulsed by it, especially by the fact that, no matter how well she cleans it, it always seems to carry the faint coppery scent of old, old blood.

The voice in her head buzzes with a warning, but she ignores it and pulls the knife out. It feels cold and heavy in her hand. Gripping it tightly, ready to strike, she moves around to the back of the car, pops the lock, and throws the lid open.

She jumps back immediately as the thing in the boot launches itself at her. It hits the ground, rolls, and gets to its feet, standing in the same casual, insouciant, of course I belong here attitude as it came out of the bar with.

“Well, well, well,” it leers. “What do we have here?”

The voice is nothing like the one Daisy remembers…which isn’t that much of a surprise, actually. Not that the thing that’s taken over the body in front of her has altered it in any way, but the last time she saw the body in front of her, it wasn’t entirely done with puberty yet, either.

“Benchley,” she says coldly.

There’s no recognition in the amber eyes looking back at her. She’s not terribly surprised at that; puberty had its way with her as well, so even her closest friend she hadn’t spoken to since school wouldn’t have known her, and she doesn’t really expect this thing to know her either. But, and this is the part she hasn’t been prepared for, there’s not the vacant expression she remembers staring down at her from the stairs, either. There’s a person in there, just not a very nice one. Calvin Benchley hasn’t been taken over by a monster. He’s still human.

For just a minute, her resolve falters. Then Calvin’s eyes lock on the knife in her hand, with a gleam in them she really, really doesn’t like, and she knows two things.

One, Calvin Benchley cannot get his hand on this knife.

Two, Calvin Benchley cannot leave this clearing alive.

He lunges for her, hands outstretched like he wants to wrap them around her throat or shove her to the ground. She dodges to one side and slashes out at him. She misses, but only just; it catches the edge of his jacket and tears it. He hisses as if it’s burned him and pounces again. This time he’s aiming for the knife.

Daisy twists, stabs out, and this time she catches him in the shoulder. Blood wells on the tip of the knife, but he doesn’t cry out. The smell of the blood seems to excite him. He turns to her with a grin, and that expression is familiar. It’s the grin that still haunts her nightmares, the one she saw from the top of the stairs. The grin that promises that he not only wants to kill her, he wants it to hurt.

Fuck that. Daisy is not going to be the one that dies out here. And she won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her in pain.

“Come and get me, then,” she taunts, and backs away a few steps.

Calvin’s grin gets wider, crueler, darker. He twitches his ears in a way that almost hurts in its familiarity—she remembers him at nine years old, giving her that goofy, gap-toothed grin and wiggling his ears at her to make her laugh—does she even remember how to laugh like that anymore? Not important—but it seems to be because he’s…listening for something. Like he can hear something she can’t.

Except he can’t. Daisy’s hearing is keen to begin with, and at times like this—when she’s doing this dance with her prey—every sense is at its sharpest. She knows exactly what he’s hearing: the wind whistling along the edge of the cliff and the water surging against the rocks far below. He thinks he’s going to throw her over when she’s not expecting it, or chase her over it. He thinks she doesn’t know it’s there. He thinks he has the advantage.

She can use that.

Maybe.

He springs towards her again. She drops to the ground and somersaults away, then pops to her feet between a pair of trees. He doesn’t hesitate, merely bulls low and tries to rush her. She knows she won’t be able to pull that trick again, so instead she leaps into the air and stabs downward with the knife. Either he’s lower than she thinks or she jumps higher than she expects, because she misses, again, barely grazing the back of his head, which is…no longer bleeding.

That’s going to be a fucking problem.

You think? The voice in her head whispers.

“Shut the fuck up,” Daisy mutters out loud. Calvin has managed to stumble to a halt before he slams headfirst into the tree, and he’s drawing himself up to his full height. He’s somehow still got a few inches on her, in both directions, and for just a second she wonders if she’s outclassed.

Then she shakes off the moment and tosses the knife into the air as Calvin rushes towards her. It rotates twice, then heads point-down towards Calvin. He slams into her, nearly taking the wind out of her entirely, but she manages to catch the knife by the hilt and drive it into Calvin’s back.

Contrary to what some people might think, she doesn’t actually enjoy killing. She doesn’t hate it, but she doesn’t get any kind of thrill out of it either. It’s just a chore, like brushing her teeth or doing her laundry or making her bed—the natural conclusion, some might say consequence, of an activity she does enjoy—eating, working out, sleeping. Hunts end in a kill. She’s not a fucking photographer. It’s just what happens.

But this—driving a trench knife through Calvin Benchley’s back, in the exact same spot where she bears the scar he gave her twenty years ago—this she enjoys.

He gurgles, and then goes still. His weight bears heavily against her legs and drives her to the ground, but she knows with a hunter’s instinct that he’s not getting up again. Ever. Calvin Benchley, or whatever he’s become, is dead.

For a few moments, Daisy remains on the ground with Calvin’s weight on her legs. Then she takes a deep breath, gets up, and extracts the knife from his back with a wet sucking noise. Methodically, she cleans the blade, getting every single drop of visible blood off, then slides it back into the sheath and locks it in her center console again.

Ignoring the voice in her head, which is murmuring that she should have left the blade where she found it—seriously, what is with her brain today—she extracts the shovel from under the backseat. Choosing the biggest, most aggressive looking tree, she starts digging, slowly and methodically, angling her shovel so it goes between the roots to give her better access. The rain’s made the soil a little heavier than usual, but nothing she can’t handle. Once she’s dug deep enough, shoved the body into it, and tamped the earth back into place, she goes back for the knife and makes a small, but deep, nick in the trunk, so she’ll remember which tree ate him.

She backs away from the tree, gets into the car, locks the knife away again, and reverses slowly out of the clearing, all without taking her eyes off the tree. Only when she gets to a place where she can no longer see it does she do a three-point turn, slam the car into gear, and peel out of there as fast as she can.

She’s never turning her back on that tree again. Never. Superstition or not, she doesn’t want to begin to imagine what it might do to her if she does.

Not with what it clutches beneath it.

[wholoveseggs]

Mistress

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

{Daemon Targaryen X Rhaenyra Targaryen x Reader} It's a stormy night on Dragonstone and you seek solace in your queen's bed, but a certain king consort joins the two of you, making the evening even more interesting...

4.6k words - Warnings: smut, incest, daemyra centric, voyeurism, ffm threesome, tribbing, fingering, oral (male & female receiving) face sitting, riding, Daemon being cheeky, Rhaenyra being a bit nervous& inexperienced in pleasing a woman, lots of kisses, tons of fluff & teensy tiny bit of somnophilia ...

{Daemon Targaryen Tag-List}

@elijahstwink @starshipcookie @absolutemarveltrash @odairtrqsh @darkened-writer @cheneyq @fallout-girl219 @nina6708 @evasmlp @sadmonke @deamonloverrrr

It was well past midnight on Dragonstone, the sound of rain tapping on the stone floor filled the quiet halls of the castle. It was dark and cold but that did not bother the two lovers as they embraced in the sheets, bodies entangled in one another.

Soft moans and heavy breaths filled the room as you straddled your queen, the sheets pooling around your waists as your lips moved against her plump ones, kissing her deeply. Your fingers danced up her arms, her shoulders, and her neck before finding their way into her beautiful silver-gold hair. Her own hands were running down your back and over the curve of your ass before giving it a light squeeze.

A quiet giggle escaped your lips as she squeezed again, and you pulled away from her slightly, pressing your forehead against hers as you both gazed into each other's eyes. You could see the lust and passion as she smiled, moving a hand from your ass and up your side before cupping your cheek and bringing you back to her for another kiss.

Rhaenyra had never felt the touch of another woman before, nor the taste of her lips. Her heart was pounding in her chest, feeling you against her as she deepened the kiss. The feeling of your bare skin against her own was magic. Your warm soft breasts pressing against hers, making her nipples harden against your chest. She could feel the wetness between her thighs, and she knew you could feel it too.

"Your grace," you murmured against her lips, your soft hands caressing the young queen's face, "you are shaking," you told her, feeling her body trembling beneath you.

"I'm just a little cold," Rhaenyra lied, she felt heat flood her cheeks at the way you smiled down at her.

"Then let me warm you," you replied, pulling her closer to you as you moved a hand down her neck and between her breasts, your fingers trailing her soft pale skin. You moved down her stomach, over her navel, and through the neatly trimmed patch of hair on her mound before reaching her soaking wet center.

You watched your queen's face closely, her eyes fluttering shut as you ran a finger along the wetness, making her let out a moan, her lips parting. You smiled at her reaction and brought your finger to her pearl, rubbing the sensitive spot gently, watching as Rhaenyras skin began to flush a beautiful pink, her breathing becoming more ragged.

"Does that feel good, your grace?" you asked her, slowly moving your finger back and forth as you lowered your head and kissed her jaw.

"Yes," she breathed, her hips bucking against your touch as her hands gripped the sheets tightly.

To be intimate with a dragon felt like a dream, feeling the heat radiate off of her body, her skin glistening with sweat. It was an honor to teach her, an honor to touch her, and an honor to watch her as she was pleasured.

You gently pushed her back onto the bed, her silver-gold hair fanned out on the pillow like a halo around her head, the moonlight shining through the window, illuminating her body. You wondered if the Targaryens tasted different than other women, their blood was so close to dragon blood, the magic that was once coursing through their veins, maybe it still did, maybe it still lingered.

Rhaenyra looked up at you with wide eyes as you kissed down the valley between her breasts and over her stomach, your warm lips leaving a trail of kisses and soft bites on her skin. You glanced up at her, making sure she was okay as you kissed her mound. You could smell her sweet scent, like honey and jasmine.

Your eyes stayed locked with hers as you slowly moved down, kissing her inner thigh, your nose tickling her soft flesh. You could hear her breath catch in her throat as you pressed a soft kiss against her swollen pearl, her hips lifting up slightly at the feeling. You smiled and gave it another kiss, flicking your tongue over it before sucking it into your mouth.

You could feel her squirming beneath you, her thighs trying to close around your head. You placed a hand on her stomach, holding her still as you licked, sucked and nipped. Her moans filled the room, her back arching off the bed, her hand flying to the top of your head and pulling on your hair.

Her taste flooded your mouth as she cried out, her body shaking with her climax. You slowly eased your lips off her, moving back and reaching out your hands, pulling her into a sitting position. You kissed her shoulder, her neck, and her jaw, moving your lips up to hers, kissing her gently, letting her taste herself.

"Men, you see, don't know the first thing about a woman's body," you explained, stroking her hair gently as she tried to catch her breath, "they fail to understand just what it takes to please one."

"They can be a bit selfish, can't they?" Rhaenyra whispered, a slow smile spreading across her face as you nodded.

You giggled and wrapped your arms around her waist, pulling her flush against your body, your breasts pressed together.

The candles flickered, light bouncing off your bodies which were now glistening with a soft sheen of sweat. The sound of the heavy rainfall and the cracking of the fire drowned out the laboured breathing as you placed your leg over her hip and brought your core against hers.

Rhaenyra gasped when you made contact, and you began to rock your hips, grinding yourself against her. You held her tightly, her hands gripping your ass, squeezing and guiding you, trying to find the right rhythm.

Soft gasps and moans echoed off the stone walls as the two of you moved together, your lips brushing over hers. Rhaenyra moaned into your mouth, becoming lost in the pleasure, the heat, the wetness, the feeling of you against her.

Daemon had always loved a good storm. The sound of the hammering rain, the crack of the lightning and the rumble of thunder made his blood rush.

He had been away from home for far too long, so much that he had forgotten the tranquility Dragonstone provided. Even on nights such as these, when the weather was unpredictable, he loved the thrill of riding on Caraxes over the hills and valleys, letting the storm rage, letting the wind and rain beat his body, it was exhilarating.

But the thrill he craved the most was that of his wife. He missed his queen, his darling Rhaenyra. He missed the way they clashed together, tearing into each other with claws and teeth and desire. Nothing could tame the fire he had for her.

He landed Caraxes in the courtyard and dismounted, his boots splashing in the puddles as he strides towards the main entrance. He entered the castle and began to make his way through the dimly lit halls, heading towards the royal chambers.

Guards watched as the king consort strolled through the castle, drenched from the rain with his hair wet and braided. He was in his element here, walking the halls of his ancestral home, eyes blazing and the blood in his veins running hot.

He came to the large wooden doors of the royal chambers and opened them, entering the room and closing them behind him. The first thing he noticed was the smell. It was sweet, like honey, and the air was thick with a heady aroma.

His eye was immediately drawn to the vast windows, from which he could see the beautiful night sky and the dark and stormy seas, the rain pelted the windows and the sound echoed throughout the room.

A slither of lightning brightened up the room for a moment. the flash of light allowing Daemon to see two naked figures intertwined in a soft and untroubled sleep.

He stayed still by the door, taking in the sight of the two bodies before him. They lay on their sides facing each other, their legs and arms entwined, their hair splayed out on the pillows and their skin glistening. He could see the soft rise and fall of their chests, and the peaceful look on their faces as they slept.

He knew he deserved this, whatever this affair was. He couldn't blame his wife for seeking out affection when he provided her with none. But he would have never expected it to be her closest handmaiden.

He was intrigued by the pair and found himself approaching the bed. He could see your breasts peeking out from the sheets, the way your skin was flushed, and how your hair was sticking to your face and neck. His wife's skin was the same, her cheeks rosy and her lips parted, soft snores escaping.

This was a gift and he couldn't deny himself a taste.

He pulled off his gloves and cloak, leaving them in a heap on the floor, then he approached his wife. He leaned over her, placing a hand on her hip, feeling her warmth against his palm. He slowly slid his hand up her side and over her shoulder, caressing her cheek. He could hear her soft sigh, and her body began to stir as he gently pushed her hair away from her face.

He leaned down and placed a tender kiss on her cheek, her skin soft and supple beneath his lips. "Rhaenyra," he purred, kissing further down to her neck, sucking on the sensitive skin, "what are you dreaming about?"

She shifted a little, her head lolling to the side as he kissed her shoulder. Her lips parted, and a quiet moan escaped her, and she turned her head towards him.

"Daemon?" she muttered, her voice sleepy.

He hummed, the sound vibrating against her skin, his stubble scratching her, "wake up, love."

Her eyes slowly opened, and the realization that her husband was home washed over her.

"Daemon," she repeated, her eyes widening.

He pulled back and met her gaze, his lips curling into a wicked grin.

"Hello, my love," he said, his voice low, his tone teasing.

Her heart started to race and she looked over at you, her face reddening when she saw your sleeping form.

"She's new," Daemon commented, noticing the way she watched you, "your first, yes?"

Rhaenyra's blush darkened as she nodded.

He smiled and walked over to you, reaching out and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. His eyes scanned over your body, noticing the way the sheets barely covered your naked form.

"You have good taste," he said, his fingers brushing your cheek, his knuckles lightly grazing your lips.

She couldn't help but watch the way his eye raked over your body, how his touch lingered. It stirred something within her, something she had never felt before. She didn't feel jealous, nor did she feel embarrassed, rather she was curious.

Daemon noticed her watching, and he glanced over at her, smirking at the look on his wife's face.

"Did she teach you much?" he asked her, his fingers running down your arm.

"Some," Rhaenyra answered, her eyes following his fingers, her chest rising and falling as her breathing quickened.

"Show me," Daemon said, looking up at her.

Her eyes met his and her heart skipped a beat. She wanted to, she desperately wanted to. The idea of sharing you with him, showing him what you had taught her, ignited a fire in her, one that burned hotter than the one that burned between the two of them.

She nodded, moving towards you, her eyes locked on his.

He smiled, walking over to the nearby table and pouring himself a glass of wine. He leaned back against the table and took a sip as he watched his wife slowly wake you.

You felt a gentle touch on your cheek, a thumb brushing over your lips. Your eyes slowly fluttered open, and your gaze was met by beautiful purple ones, a loving smile gracing the lips of the young queen.

Her kiss was tender and sweet, her hand caressing your cheek as she deepened the kiss. A quiet moan escaped you, and you returned the kiss, reaching out to cup her face, pulling her closer.

The kiss quickly became heated, both of you desperate to taste and feel each other. Your hands wandered, touching and groping, and you let out a soft moan against her lips.

That's when you heard a low, raspy laugh. Your eyes shot open and you looked over Rhaenyra's shoulder and saw Daemon standing by the table, a wine goblet in his hand, his eyes fixed on you.

He smirked, raising his drink in your direction.

Your cheeks burned, realizing the king consort was watching. You quickly sat up, pulling the sheets over your body as Rhaenyra's gaze flicked between you and him.

"No, please, continue, I was enjoying the show," Daemon chuckled, taking a long swig of his wine.

You felt your cheeks heat up under his gaze and your body tensed as his eyes drifted down your naked body, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. You could tell by the growing bulge in his trousers that he was indeed turned on by what he was seeing.

His smile grew, clearly enjoying how flustered you were, how his presence had caught you off guard.

Daemon turned and walked across the room, locking the door, making a point to look at the two of you as he did so. Rhaenyra looked at you and then back at him, swallowing hard as he slowly began walking towards the bed, his footsteps echoing on the stone floor.

He pulled his tunic over his head and tossed it aside, standing before you and Rhaenyra bare-chested. His body was covered in scars from past battles, the damaged skin shining slightly in the moonlight. His eyes were burning with a fire that made the pit of your stomach flutter.

Panic flooded your mind, clouding your reasoning. You quickly scrambled out of bed, holding the sheet to your body. You bowed, your legs trembling slightly as you lowered yourself in front of him.

"M-my king conso-, f-forgive me. I-I...I'm so sorry." You stuttered, your voice shaking, feeling your heart race.

You didn't dare look up at him. You kept your head down and your eyes focused on his feet.

He chuckled, looking at his wife then back at you, taking in the sight of you kneeling before him, your body quivering and the blanket barely covering your breasts. He could see the panic in your eyes, and the way you trembled, like a small bird that had just been caught by a predator.

Daemon grabbed you by the wrist, his grip strong but gentle, pulling you to your feet and back towards the bed, pushing you down next to his wife. You gasped as your back hit the soft mattress and you looked up at him, fear and confusion in your eyes.

"Relax," he whispered, his voice low, his hand reaching up to brush a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his thumb tracing the outline of your lips.

Your gaze flicked between him and Rhaenyra. They had an intense gaze, and it was clear they had a connection, an energy, a bond. Their eyes locked onto each other, and Daemon smiled, bringing his free hand up to cup her cheek.

"She's a lovely creature, isn't she?" He mused, his eyes still on his wife.

"Yes," Rhaenyra whispered, her cheeks burning and her heart pounding.

"You enjoyed her?"

"Very much."

He hummed, his hand moving up and grasping her chin, pulling her close and kissing her.

You watched in awe as his lips moved against hers, his tongue sliding into her mouth. Rhaenyra's hands rested on his shoulders, clinging tightly to him. You could see her nipples were hard, her breasts pressing against his chest.

"I can taste her on your lips." He said, his voice low, his gaze flicking to you.

Your face turned red, and you couldn't stop staring. They were so beautiful together, their passion seemed to radiate off of them.

Rhaenyra turned to you and smiled, her cheeks flushed and her eyes full of lust.

Daemon smirked, pulling back and moving to lean against the headboard, his eye raking over your body, his cock straining against his trousers.

"Well, don't let me stop you," he said, taking another swig of his wine.

Rhaenyra's eyes sparkled with mischief as she turned back to you. She pressed her lips to yours, kissing you deeply, her hands roaming your body.

Daemon watched with a grin, his hand moving to his crotch, squeezing his erection as she kissed down your jaw, moving to your neck and over the swell of your breasts. Her lips leaving a trail of warm, wet kisses on your skin.

Daemon's eyes were fixed on the two of you as Rhaenyra's kisses traveled further down your body, stopping between your legs. You felt her warm breath on your thighs, and you couldn't help but moan softly, feeling her mouth move closer to your aching core.

"Look at me," Daemon commanded.

You turned your head, meeting his gaze, his eyes burning into you as Rhaenyra pressed a soft kiss to the inside of your thigh. Her lips traveled up and over your mound, her inexperience was evident, but the young queen was determined to prove herself.

You let out a soft whimper, your hips lifting off the bed, feeling her warm tongue slowly drag up the length of your pussy. She moved her tongue between your lips, tasting the wetness that had pooled there.

Daemon watched with amusement, his eyes darkening as Rhaenyra began to lap and suck. Her mouth was warm and wet, her tongue moving in slow circles. She was doing well, making you squirm with need.

You couldn't stop the moans from escaping your lips, your hands gripping the sheets. Daemon untied his breeches, freeing his erect cock.

It was a beautiful sight, seeing him slowly stroke himself, his gaze never leaving the two of you. To be in the presence of two dragons was an honour, but to be fucked by the two of them was something else entirely.

Daemon moved closer to the two of you, his hand reaching out, caressing the curve of your cheek. He cupped your chin and tilted your head, turning your attention away from his wife and onto him.

He leaned down and kissed you deeply, his tongue darting into your mouth. His fingers brushed over your nipples, making them harden, his teeth tugging at your lower lip.

Rhaenyra paused, looking up at the two of you kissing, watching as her husband claimed your mouth, his fingers pinching and teasing your breasts. She enjoyed the way you reacted to him, your body quivering beneath them, your hips bucking up towards her.

Daemon slowly pulled away, looking at his wife, and then back at you. His strong hands trailed down your body, his fingers dancing along the curves of your breasts, the swell of your stomach, and the dip of your navel.

Rhaenyra watched his fingers dip inside you, his thumb brushing against your swollen pearl. Your back arched, and you moaned, his touch sending a jolt of pleasure through you.

Daemon smiled and began rubbing you, his fingers moving in slow circles. Then he pulled his fingers out and pushed them past Rhaenyras lips. She sucked them clean, her cheeks flushed as she looked up at him.

"Do you like the way she tastes?" Daemon asked, pulling his fingers from her mouth.

"Yes," she replied, a smile tugging at her lips.

He let out an approving little hum, sitting up and looking down at his wife, his cock still in his hand.

"Continue," he told her.

Rhaenyra nodded and returned to her task, her tongue slow and deliberate, licking and sucking, savoring every drop of you. You felt the heat rising inside of you, the warmth spreading through your body.

You reached out and began to stroke Daemon's cock, his head falling back and his eyes closing.

"Good girl," he said, his voice low.

You pumped his cock, feeling the hard, silky flesh between your fingers, precum leaking from the tip. He moved closer and you licked the head, swirling your tongue around the tip. You could taste the saltiness as you slowly took him into your mouth, feeling the weight of him on your tongue.

You bobbed your head up and down, taking him as deep as you could, your eyes never leaving his. His eyes were dark, filled with lust, his pupils blown wide. He moaned and grabbed a handful of your hair, guiding your head up and down, fucking your mouth.

The sound of his grunts and moans filled the air, along with the soft, wet sounds of Rhaenyras mouth. She had begun to suck harder, her fingers joining her tongue, pumping in and out of you.

You moaned around his cock, the vibrations sending a wave of pleasure through his body, his hips thrusting forward.

"That's it, sweet girl," Daemon murmured, his grip tightening, pulling your hair and forcing you to look up at him. He looked beautiful, his silver hair hanging down, framing his face.

Rhaenyra was moving faster, her tongue and fingers working in tandem, the heat between her thighs intensifying. She pushed you over the edge, your thighs shaking as you came, a muffled moan escaping your lips.

Daemon pulled his cock out of your mouth, smirking as he tapped the tip against your tongue. Then his eyes drifted to his wife, her lips swollen and shining, her cheeks flushed.

He pulled her up and kissed her deeply, tasting the sweetness of your arousal on her lips. He grabbed her hips and pulled her closer, his cock pressing against her stomach.

You watched the two dragons kiss, their tongues sliding against each other, their bodies pressed together. It was a beautiful sight, their silver hair looked as though it was entwined, the moonlight making their skin shine.

Daemon broke the kiss and moved his lips to his wife's neck, sucking and biting, marking her pale skin. She gasped and moaned, her hands pressing into his chest.

You were lying there, your body still trembling from your climax, watching as the queen and king got lost in each other.

You could hear the sounds of their kissing, the soft moans and grunts, the rustling of the sheets. Rhaenyra pushed him back onto the soft bed, trailing kisses over his chest and stomach. Her fingers grazed the scars that covered his chest, the ones she knew all too well.

Daemon watched as his wife took his cock in her mouth, slowly sliding her lips up and down, taking him as deep as she could. He groaned and reached out for you, pulling you closer, his fingers tangling in your hair as he kissed you.

Rhaenyra's eyes met yours, her lips curled around her husband's cock. She looked so beautiful, her eyes wide and filled with lust, her mouth stretched and her cheeks flushed.

She slowly pulled her mouth away from him, moving up to straddle him. He gripped her hips, his eyes filled with desire, his lips parted.

He could feel her wetness against his cock, sliding up and down his length, her breasts bouncing slightly as she moved.

"Kneel for you king," he whispered against your lips, gently biting down on your bottom lip.

You pulled back, slightly confused by his request, until he gestured to his face. You blushed furiously as you realized what he wanted. You moved closer, his hands guiding you, helping you straddle his face, facing Rhaenyra.

She smirked, her eyes locked with yours as you both lowered yourselves. The two of you leaned in and shared a messy kiss, tongues slipping past swollen lips.

Daemon's hummed against you, his stubble scratching your thighs and his hands tight on your hips. He always wanted to die a dragon rider's death... But this? This was a glorious way to go.

Rhaenyra's eyes closed, her head resting on your shoulder as she began to move, her hips rocking, his cock hitting that spot deep inside her. Daemon had never felt such pure bliss, the taste of you on his tongue and the feeling of his wife riding him, the sounds of soft moans like a chorus.

The three of you were lost in the heat and the pleasure, the taste and the touch. You could hear the bed creaking, the headboard hitting the wall, the sheets rustling, the sound of lips and skin crashing against one another.

You watched the way your queen rode her husband, her body moving like water, her hips rolling and grinding against his. You reached down to where they were connected, touching her, feeling the wetness of her arousal mixed with the thickness of her husband's cock.

Daemon groaned and held you tighter, his grip on your hips almost bruising, his mouth devouring you.

Rhaenyra leaned in and kissed you, her hands cradling your face, lips crashing together. You could feel your legs beginning to tremble, the pressure of your release building.

"Cum with me," Rhaenyra purred, her forehead pressed to yours.

You nodded, with half lidded eyes, watching Rhaenyra grind her hips faster, her nails scraping down your arms as she held onto you. The pressure inside you became too much and your climax hit you hard. Rhaenyra's moans were loud and breathy, her head thrown back, her pale skin glistening with sweat, her silver hair cascading down her back and the candlelight danced across her skin.

The two of you rode out your highs, gasping and panting. Your fingers intertwined with hers, the smell of sex heavy in the air. Daemon followed soon after, a guttural moan escaping his lips, his cock twitching, his release spilling into his wife.

You slowly climbed off Daemon and collapsed on the bed, the three of you tumbling into a tangle of limbs and sheets.

Rhaenyra snuggled up next to her husband, his arms wrapping around her and pulling her close. You watched the two of them, a small smile on your lips, the love they had for each other was plain to see. Daemon looked over at you, reaching his arm out and beckoning you to him.

You scooted closer, cuddling up to him, his arm wrapping around your waist.

"This is my favorite one so far," he said softly, kissing your forehead.

Rhaenyra giggled, leaning over him to kiss you, her lips soft and warm. You felt safe and content, lying there with the two dragons, their fingers tracing lazy circles on your skin.

"Shall we keep her?" Rhaenyra asked, looking up at her husband, a lazy smile curling at her lips.

"Indeed, we shall," Daemon replied, his hand moving up and down her arm.

The three of you stayed there for a while, enjoying the closeness, the warmth and comfort of each other's bodies. You could feel your eyes beginning to close, the exhaustion creeping in, the heat from them made you feel sleepy and comfortable.

To be in the presence of not just one dragon, but two, was a great honor. But to be their mistress? Their shared lover? That was the rarest of privileges, one that you would savor for the rest of your days.

[visthoughts]

This is how I feel when I search for Will Solace content that isn't solangelo centric

[iwannascreameurekaa]

I actually cannot believe some people thought that will "didn't have enough" character in tsats

the book was pretty Nico centric but the book was also tagged with "a Nico di Angelo adventure" so what did you expect??

was his backstory on how he was found by a satyr and attacked by the stph-whateverthefuck birds not a compelling introduction to his life?

was the impact from the underworld hitting him so hard he was practically dying not enough for you? Was him doing his best to please Nico even though he had no idea what he was doing not enough?

what about the conversation he had with Persephone? What about when he built a makeshift fort for Nico to sleep in and walked off to scout the area because he just wanted to be useful?

clearly Will was given chaarcter in this book and if I see one more person say that he wasn't developed even slightly during tsats I will explode

Will was shown to be an overthinking, awkward boy who just wants to help anyone he can and that is his character

His character isn't and has never been "just Nico's boyfriend" so I don't know why we're complaining about that and ignoring wills development

with that being said I do agree that the second tsats book should central around will. It's a solangelo book the first one was mainly about Nico so yes I think this one should be about will

Rick please tag the sequel as "a Will solace adventure" that would literally compete my life thank you

[ascoresdalua]

THE DODGE BALL OF PROPHECY ☀️🌟

Cover for a PJO fic (Will Solace-centric) I'm currently working on/editing! More info will be out soon!

[once-upon-an-animation]

If the TSATS sequel isn’t a well-written, well-structured, well-developed Will Solace-centric where Will finally gets a real identity instead of just being Nico’s boyfriend, I will officially give up on the Solangelo ship and anything related to them.

Solangelo has had 4 books to sell me on their relationship, both as a couple and as individuals, but I am so sorry, Will Solace is not a convincing or compelling character. Most of the intrigue going for him predicates himself on the whole ‘Happy Sunshine + Grumpy Darkness” dynamic, and it’s too shallow of a foundation. Cool for him being a form of representation, but as an avid and passionate story consumer, I am well past the point of being so easily impressed by mere representation. If you’re going to do DEI and representation, you need to fucking do it well. It’s not enough to just throw surface-level discussions race/ethnicity/sexual orientation/gender identity into a story and then act like your work is done. You actually have to design a story that’s worthy enough to carry that diversity. If your representation doesn’t come with quality writing, I don’t fucking want that shit!

So for Rick/Mark, it’s time for them to step up their game. Give Will a real personality, and a real identity. Make him an interesting person worth giving a shit about. Tell me what else has happened in his life other than just Nico. Tell me about his family, his friends, his siblings, his view on the gods/his dad, what it was like to participate in three wars and/or watch his counselors die. Tell me about the kind of people he was crushing on before he met Nico. Tell me what his thoughts about romance were BEFORE he met Nico. Add some real fucking substance to this character, I am literally begging you!

[nwjnsloona]

if the world was ending (i’d wanna be next to you)

kang haerin x f!reader

synopsis: what would you do if the world was ending?

word count: 1k

tags: angst, fluff in a way??, world end au, mentions of other newjeans members but this is haeyn centric, also 6th member ig

haerin found out the world was ending on a tuesday.

she had just left her local coffee shop, the bell jingling behind her, when her phone rang.

that must be yn, she thought, picking up the call without much thought.

“yn-“

“i love you.” she heard you say over the phone, your voice shaking as you spoke.

“is everything okay?” haerin asked, worry evident in her voice.

“can you come over? quickly.” you said in the same tone as before.

“of course. but why?”

“the world is ending.”

“oh. i’ll be right there, i love you.”

“i love you too.”

you heard the beep of the phone as haerin hung up and you slid down the wall, staring at the floor blankly as you cupped your face in your hands.

the tv droned on in the background, and you could just about make out some more information about the exact details of how the world would be destroyed over the constant train of your thoughts. you decided that sitting around wasn’t a very good use of your last moments, so you picked up your phone again and called minji.

she picked up almost immediately, “i guess you’ve heard.”

“i… have. are you with hanni?”

“yeah, hanni and dani are both here.”

“have you called hyein yet?”

“dani did.”

“what did she say?”

“uhhh…” you heard some muffled voices on the other end. “she’s still on the phone now.”

“do you think me and haerin can make it there if we drive?”

“literally everyone’s driving right now. there’s no chance.”

there was a pause, and though you couldn’t see minji’s face, you knew what expression she was making.

“minji,” you whispered, like it was a secret. “i’m scared.”

“me too.” she confessed. “i’ll- i’ll miss you.”

“i’ll miss you too.“ you let out a stifled sob as you let it sink in— the world was ending, and you were all going to die.

you didn’t want to die. you and haerin had finally moved out of the dorms into your own apartment, and that was recently.

it was just kind of… unbelievable that this morning was the last morning you would ever spend together. and this afternoon was the last afternoon before you died.

you found some solace in the fact that today was your off day and you didn’t have any schedules.

the door unlocked with a click as haerin rushed in, hurriedly taking her shoes off and running over to you. she held your face gently in her hands, softly tracing circles with her thumb.

“it’s going to be okay.” she said, her eyes meeting yours.

“but what about our future together?” you looked up at her, your eyes glistening. “what about us?”

her arms wrapped around you, and you breathed in her scent. she smelled just like she usually did— floral perfume and jasmine shampoo, and you wondered how this could be so normal when everything else seemed to be tipped upside down.

a tear slipped down your cheek as minji’s voice sounded from your phone.

“hello? yn? are you there?”

“minji unnie!” haerin exclaimed.

“haerin? are you at yours now?”

“no, i’m with hyein.”

“what?”

“i’m kidding, how would i be using yn’s phone in america?”

“i don’t know,” minji sighed. then, in a smaller voice, she said “i’m glad you’re safe, haerinnie.”

“you too, unnie.”

there was a long pause, where all three of you tried to take in each other’s presence for the last time. then, minji spoke.

“i’m… going to hang up now. i love you.”

something about it seemed so final, but at the same time, you couldn’t imagine that tomorrow, you wouldn’t wake up and call minji because you were late for pick up time and she wouldn’t sigh and tell the manager that they would have to wait— that tomorrow, you wouldn’t wake up at all.

“i love you too!” haerin replied, and you repeated her words.

the three beeps sounded signifying the end of the call, and that was that.

“the last time we ever talk to minji,” you said, bitterness seeping into your tone.

“it feels so… surreal.”

haerin stared blankly at the wall.

“how are you so calm right now?”

“i mean, if these are my last moments on earth, i want to spend them happy, with you.”

you stopped, contemplating her words. then, you reached your arms out, and haerin smiled, rushing into your arms.

“you know all the things we put off saying we’ll do them another time?”

“yeah?”

“well we can’t do them another time, so let’s do them now.”

the next few hours were spent doing things you loved— baking cookies, and making a cake for your anniversary which had passed a few days ago. you ate them all, not caring about the restrictive diet your company had set. you drew each other, laughing at the end result, and looked through your camera rolls, reminiscing the past.

(“we were so young back then,” you smiled, looking at a selfie all of newjeans had taken.

“i know! we look like babies.”

haerin scrolled to the next picture— “wait! you’re not allowed to see that!” she said, hurriedly changing the picture again.

“i wanna see!” you complained, reaching for her phone. she held it up out of your grasp, but you had a trick up your sleeve.

“HEY!” she yelled between laughter. “STOP- STOP TICKLING ME!”

“give me your phone.”)

finally, you both crawled into bed— haerin lay on top of you, resting her head onf your chest.

“i love you.” you said, smiling. you felt your eyes fill up with tears. “let’s meet in the next life.” it felt so final, like it was the end, the last time you would ever say it.

“i love you too.” she looked up at you, a singular teardrop rolling down her cheek.

and despite the fact the world was falling apart, you felt whole.

a/n: sorry the pacing is AWFUL i write all my fics like five words at a time 10 mins before sleep

[saltpepperbeard]

Call It Through as a Crew: Alleviating Some Phone Anxiety

Hello everyone! So as you probably already know, there has been a recent call to make, well, calls! Another member of our crew figured out that the max customer service line (855-442-6629) is a very effective way to get our feedback heard, as the feedback gets transcribed and shared to a multitude of teams.

I already sort of briefly shared my experience on this post, but I wanted to go a bit more in detail to offer some solace for those who are also phone averse, as well as share resources and get the word out even more.

And y'all, when I say I'm phone averse, I mean PHONE AVERSE LMAO; MY FEET WERE SWEATING JSDKLS LIKE I WAS FIGHTING FOR MY LIFE. So I totally, TOTALLY get it, and am here to walk you through everything in detail!

So I called that number and was on a brief hold--probably like 5 minutes or so. The customer service representative (Margot my bestie Margot) then picked up, and asked for the email associated with my account as well as my full name.

I was extremely extremely worried and anxious about being bothersome/annoying the person on the other end and just being able to feel it in their tone, so I was shivering and sweating all the while. But then when she asked for my reason for calling, I said, "Oh, it's actually in regard to some feedback," and she went, "Is it for Our Flag Means Death?"

And we both laughed, and I was like, "Haha how did you knooooowww?" And she laughed some more and was like, "Let me tell you, I have never seen anything like this in all my years working here. We are getting so many calls. It's incredible."

And by that point, a large weight was off my chest because she was friendly, I was friendly, EVERYONE WAS FRIENDLY.

I laughed and told her that we were a very passionate and concerned bunch, and she told me that she thought that was so cool and also super important. She then allowed me to tell her my feedback, and she transcribed it as I talked. This was the little script I had prepared in case you'd like to reference it:

I just wanted to call and express my disappointment, dissatisfaction, and concern with the recent cancellation of Our Flag Means Death on Max. As a queer person myself, this show has a tremendous impact on me. And in a climate where so many diverse and LGBT-centric shows have unjust ends, I’d just like to express my wish for reconsideration, and just the hope that…Max will allow LGBT stories like ours to live and flourish. And I’m really worried about there being some kind of…homophobic angle to the cancellation, so it would mean the world to myself and so many others if the decision could be reversed, and we could get our third and final season.

I went a little graver than originally planned, because I saw talks that taking a DEI (Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion) angle, as well a "hey I'm a queer person and this feels like a decision made for a nefarious purpose" angle, are supposedly more likely to be noted.

Anyway, she allowed me to say my piece and wrote it all down, and then actually stayed with me on the line to chat a bit more. So, the phone call didn't feel rushed or anxious which was SO so huge to me; it felt far more conversational.

She was like, "I don't want to toot our little horn or anything, but Max really takes all this feedback into consideration. It will be passed to the properties team (or something equivalent, I can't remember the EXACT term she used), and they're in charge of what goes on Max and why. So, I really feel like you guys have a fighting chance with these efforts."

And of course I was thanking her profusely for telling me all of this, and for listening; polite menace, that will be my brand!

But man, the coolest part of all? She told me that she was POC, and a queer person herself, and that this was all so cool and so amazing to see. She applauded our efforts, and expressed interested in the show. I laughed and said, "Well uhhhh I might have a BIT of a bias, but I cannot recommend it enough."

And then she proceeded to tell me that it might be even MORE effective to hit from different angles. So, keep calling (they're available 24/7), and also keep utilizing the online feedback form. Basically just keep FLOODING them with how much this means to us and why.

I then expressed a lot of gratitude, we exchanged pleasantries, and there was a brief survey at the end. I don't think the survey is necessary, so you can probably hang up by this point, but I stuck around for a little more horsepower. It tells you to rate the customer service on a scale of 1-5 with 5 being the highest, and you know I gave my bestie a fivvvveee. It also tells you to press 1/2 if your issue was resolved or not. I said HELL TO THE NO, DUDE SJDKLS. And THEN, it asks you to leave a voice message after the tone describing your experience. I said that I was with the customer service representative Margot, and that she was extremely friendly and helpful, but that the issue at hand will not be resolved until Max reserves their decision about the recent cancellation of Our Flag Means Death (I'm also always saying the show title in full as opposed to just the acronym, just for more OOMPH).

...And thennnn I proceed to shake it/shriek it all off LMAO.

Buuuut yeah! Probably took a total of 10 minutes or so. @xoxoemynn also shared with me that she's seen people say that these customer service representatives likely deal with older folks who need help with technology, and are subsequently stunned (and maybe even excited) to talk to younger people who just want to voice concerns instead of chew the poor customer service people out lol! And Margot also mentioned that they were eager to take calls no matter what, so as long as we're all polite and succinct, I don't think we'll have to worry about a very tense and awkward call.

I hope this alleviates some fear a bit! We got this, crew. We're doing so, so much. And it seems like it's being heard all over the place; it also seems like we've got so many people on our side, too. Big big hugs, and I'll share the necessary resources once more-

Customer Service Number: (855) 442-6629

The Online Feedback Form:

The original tumblr post with all the information:

The tumblr post where Fox and others were sharing even more information: