#two halves ff

[novaursa]

Good evening love

I was thinking about that last night!

When Daemon and Rhaenyra goes to brothel they sleep together and obviously she’s pregnant and coz it’s just before her wedding (we will says it just before) everyone thing it’s Leanor.

She gave birth to a little girl all Targaryen looks. They’re was always some rumors but since she looks like every targ it’s easier for her. Harwin played dad role for her and she’s really protective of her brother.

more time passed and everyone can clearly see that she looked exactly like daemon physically and mentally.

And it’s finally during the funeral of her aunt, Daemon see her and he understand that she is his. She’s everything he want and have a special bound with her (first child, heir of the throne, powerful dragon)

Fire in Her Veins

- Summary: During Laena’s funeral, Daemon recognizes you as his own blood. 

- Pairing: (daughter) targ!reader/(father) Daemon Targaryen (platonic)

- Note: The reader is the firstborn child and only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen. The reader is also bonded to Vermithor.

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The sea air on Driftmark is filled with salt and sorrow, the crashing waves of the Narrow Sea providing a mournful backdrop to the solemn gathering. You stand with your brothers on the stone cliffs of the island, your hands clasped tightly together in front of you as the funeral procession moves solemnly forward. Lady Laena’s casket is adorned with pearls and driftwood, her body wrapped in the traditional Velaryon colors, and you can feel the weight of your family’s grief pressing heavily upon your shoulders.

The mood is somber, the sky above gray and heavy, as if even the gods mourn the loss of Laena Velaryon. The Velaryon banners flap in the wind, and from where you stand, you see the faces of the royal family—Alicent and her children, all clustered together, keeping their distance from you and your brothers. Their green dresses stand out like bright flames against the dark ocean and black mourning attire. 

You feel a familiar pang of protectiveness as you glance toward your brothers, who are standing just to your right, their small faces grim and pale. You notice how Jacaerys keeps his head down, avoiding the stern gazes from across the gathering. You recognize the unspoken tension between the two halves of the family, an invisible line that divides you all.

Behind you, you hear the murmurs of the court, soft whispers that seem to follow you wherever you go. They speak of many things—the death of Lady Laena, the grief of her husband Daemon, and the unspoken truth that seems to hang in the air around you. The truth of who you are. 

"She looks more like him every day," you overhear a noblewoman whisper, though she thinks she is being quiet enough to go unnoticed.

And you know who they mean. Not Laenor Velaryon, who raised you as his own. Not Harwin Strong, who shielded you when you were small, his fierce protectiveness marking him as a father figure in your life. But Daemon.

Your eyes, so like his—stormy, burning with fire—scan the crowd until they land on him.

Daemon Targaryen stands just beyond the gathering of mourners, his face half-hidden beneath his hood, his silver hair blowing in the wind. There is something wild about him, something untamed, as though he belongs to the sea and the sky more than he belongs to the earth. He looks broken today, mourning his wife, but in his eyes there is a flicker of something as he catches your gaze—recognition, perhaps.

Your heart beats harder, and you lift your chin, a Targaryen through and through. You are not afraid to meet his gaze. In fact, there’s something in you that draws you closer to him, though your feet remain rooted to the ground.

Daemon's eyes narrow, the brief glint of recognition becoming a full realization. His mouth parts slightly as if he is going to speak, but no words come out. You see the flicker of memory in his gaze, a moment that stretches back to the night you were conceived—the night Rhaenyra escaped into the shadows of King's Landing, into his arms, if only for a single stolen moment.

The likeness between the two of you is undeniable, your shared features as plain as day to anyone who cared to look closely. Your high cheekbones, the curve of your lips, the storm in your gaze. And there is something more than just the physical—an energy, a fierceness that burns in you as much as it does in him.

"Y/N," Daemon murmurs your name under his breath as he steps forward, moving as though drawn to you by some unseen force.

You do not step back. You hold your ground, standing taller, your spine straight. You are not the little girl who needed protection anymore. You are Rhaenyra’s daughter, the rider of Vermithor, a dragon like no other. 

Your brothers shift uncomfortably beside you as Daemon approaches, and you gently place a hand on Jacaerys’ shoulder, a silent reassurance that you will protect them. They are yours, just as much as you are theirs, and no one, not even Daemon, can change that.

“Do you remember me?” Daemon’s voice is low, so low that only you can hear it. His eyes never leave yours.

Your lips part, but words fail you for a moment. You do remember him through your memory as he was a ghost—and the stories your mother told you, the truths she revealed as you grew older. You remember the fire that courses through your veins, the unyielding bond with your dragon, the instincts that set you apart. It all comes from him.

"How could I not?" you reply, your voice steady, even though inside you feel like a storm is brewing.

Daemon’s lips twitch, but it’s not a smile—it’s something darker, something more conflicted. He glances toward your mother, Rhaenyra, who stands a little ways off, her eyes firmly fixed on Laena’s casket. There is a tension between them as well, a history that lingers in the air, unspoken but understood.

“You look like her,” Daemon says quietly, but his eyes say otherwise. He knows you look like him. 

You tilt your head slightly, studying him. You have always heard the whispers, the stories, but standing before him now, there is something more intimate in the way he observes you. He is seeing himself in you, recognizing the dragon fire in your blood, the legacy of your shared heritage.

“I look like myself,” you correct, your tone sharper now. “I am my mother’s daughter.”

“And mine,” Daemon replies, his voice a murmur carried by the wind.

You hold his gaze, your heart thudding in your chest, but you do not back down. For years, you had wondered what it would be like to stand face to face with the man whose blood flows in your veins. Now that you are here, you find that you do not need his acknowledgment. You do not need his approval.

You are who you are, no matter who claims you.

"I didn’t need you before," you say, your voice low but firm. "I don’t need you now."

The wind blows harder, carrying your words with it, and Daemon stares at you for a long moment before he nods, almost imperceptibly. There is something in his eyes now—perhaps regret, perhaps something else entirely.

"You are strong," he finally says, his voice barely above a whisper. "That much is clear."

You nod, not offering him anything more, and you turn away, your brothers following you as you lead them away from the cliff’s edge and back toward the safety of your family. The tension in your shoulders slowly fades as you walk away from Daemon, though you can still feel his eyes on your back, watching you as you go.

As the sea crashes against the rocks below, you feel a sense of finality, but also a strange kind of peace. You are your mother’s daughter. You are bonded to a dragon as mighty as Vermithor. You do not need anyone to tell you who you are.

And yet, you cannot help but wonder what it might mean to carry the fire of both Rhaenyra and Daemon, to have the blood of two dragons raging inside of you.

[offtotheiceberg]

Chapter 431, what have u done? Part 4

Spoilers

4) I’m sorry for everything I’ve done up until now.

Okayyy let’s get started.

Katsuki x Izuku is one of the most popular ships in mha. Whether you like it, hate it, or reject shipping culture entirely, their relationship (however you see it) is one of the main pillars of the story. I will say that I like them together, I think they make sense and their history is compelling, and I love writing them, but pls don’t disregard everything I’m saying just because of that.

First of all, hot take, but bkdk would never EVER have been canon. Shonen (particularly popular shonen) doesn’t do queer couples, at least not obviously. Notice, that’s not what many fans are concerned about. I’m going to try and unpack it as best as I can.

Izuku attempting to save Katsuki from the sludge villain was the reason All Might gave him his power. You cannot spin this any other way. If Izuku hadn’t run into that fight, he would still be quirkless. One one end, I don’t think it mattered who was in that villain’s grasp - I think Izuku still would have gone if it was someone random from school, but on Katsuki’s end, it mattered that it was Deku. In some ways, they were both catalysts to the other’s Hero journey.

Second, Izuku progress and All Might’s downfall were two of the main influences that broke down Katsuki’s superiority complex (plus realising that he wasn’t the strongest in the class, and he too needed to be saved). This break down allowed to two of them to be “proper rivals” which is a direct quote from the manga. Win to save and save to win are two halves of All Might’s ideology, and that is NOT a coincidence. In many ways, they’re supposed to be foils that build each other up. Even if you hate it, you can’t deny that they’re significant influences on each other in their hero journey.

(tw here, brief discussion of suicide)

Now, the atonement. THIS is where the hypocrisy comes out to play. What Katsuki did to Izuku in middle school cannot and should not be taken lightly. Aside from the bullying, telling someone to kill themselves is not okay. But, and it’s a big but, YOU CAN AND SHOULD MAKE UP FOR YOUR MISTAKES. This is not systematic, malicious abuse, like we saw with Endeavour (who never gets to fully atone, rightfully so that is a different situation) these are the actions of a 14 year old kid. Katsuki was cruel to Izuku, I am not trying to deny that. HOWEVER, in real life, people are not held to the horrible shit they say when they’re 14. Come on, this is obvious. Atonement requires two things: an apology, and a change of behaviour. Katsuki does both of these things. However atonement in literature, or in “not real life” or whatever, is slightly different. It ALSO requires the relationship between those two characters to be affected in some way, and this relationship change is what clues us as the audience in to whether this atonement has been successful. Take Endeavour, for example the way we as the viewer see that he has not fully atoned is via Natsuo, the son who didn’t forgive, and Shoto’s hesitance to. We get taught this as writing students, I’m not pulling this out of my ass.

The bare minimum to fulfil the message that people can atone for their past mistakes is a resolution to Katsuki and Izuku’s relationship that fulfils the arcs set up for them. Just a reminder, these arcs are: twin stars, rivals, “win to save, save to win”, “I will surpass you” otherwise known as catching up to each other, and both of them wanting to be the best Heroes in the world.

The soundest, most logical way to finish these arcs is the two of them becoming a Hero Duo. The second most is them working together, which is what Katsuki offered Izuku in the last chapter. THIS IS NOT AN ADMISSION OF ROMANCE, FFS. It’s good character development!!! You can have Izuku working sith Katsuki AND have a satisfying Izuocha romance in the same universe, they are not mutually exclusive!!! I can’t believe I needed to say that???? Be an izuocha shipper and ACKNOWLEDGE THE FUCKING STORYLINE. Please don’t make this into a petty ‘them vs me’ narrative, there was already enough of that shit with the US election.

Them going their seperate ways might even have been a satisfying ending if it had been written better, but it wasn’t. There was no evidence of that for 430 chapters. Their growth, particularly Katsuki’s was irrevocably tied to the other. Again, some of the most nonsensical writing I’ve ever seen. What it implies, whether intended or not, is that atonement is a falsity and no matter what, Katsuki and Izuku’s relationship is forever scarred by what happened when they were kids, even though the final battles in the war have evidence to the contrary. This is NOT a positive message. For more analysis of Izuku’s decision to not be a Pro Hero, pls see part 1.

Come back for Part 5 (conclusion)

[multiwreckedmess]

Two Princes (The End?)

Pairing: Prince!Hyunjin x fem!servant!Reader x Prince!Felix Genre: Royalty AU Smut WC: 9k (ish) Summary: The realities of life hurt more than if the two Princes were just a daydream. It’s time to be honest. 

TW: Sexual assault (not by the boys, I will include additional detail below the cut to review at your own discretion), threats of violence (not to yn) CW: Sir title, creampie, anal penetration, dacryphilia, yn referred to as “darling” “toy” “girl” “cocksleeve”, mentions of marriage and family.

Genuinely idk what ya’ll want me to tag there.

Normal disclaimers, this is fiction not a resource manual for how to do literally anything in life. This does not represent ANYONE real or fictional. It’s a fantasy AU FFS if you cannot figure that out I cannot help you. Please do not interact if you are under 18. This content is meant for 18+ readers so by continuing below the cut you agree that you are 18+. Also not proofread sorry, I’m a gremlin in a human suit.

Part 1 | Part 2 you might wanna read. i’m not your mom.

For the TW and spoilers I guess? There is a third party who has yn touch him inappropriately without their consent or knowledge. She asks the boys not to do anything about it. They EMPHATICALLY want to do something about it but respect yn’s wishes.

 Hyunjin’s sleepy rustling barely registers in your exhausted body, one of his legs kicking out from under the sheet. The room is lit with rich blues and pinks, calling in the morning light. Sweat sticks to your forearms where they press into his side, a small way to prove to yourself it’s all really happened, it’s all physically real.  Felix is far more wrapped around you, nose and forehead planted in between your shoulder blades, light breaths running down your spine. An arm drapes over your waist, hand slid between your breasts, his knees slotted behind yours. The throb of his cock, perfectly slotted between your cheeks tightens a knot in your stomach. You push back against him, wiggling happily.  Sure enough he responds with a gravely moan, abs flexing as he rolls his hips back at you. His thumb finds your nipple, lazily flicking back and forth over the sensitive nub. Slowly your lower halves slip and slide against each other, still tired from the night prior. Winding each other up little by little. He’s never been as interested in your chest as he is right now. Pinching and pulling and playing with your pebbled nipples, measuring your jittering hips to perfect his slow torture. Your clit throbs as you whine and wiggle your toes to relieve the tension growing in your gut. It does nothing. Felix is a small explosion of a half chuckle.  “Sir?”   “You can use my name if you prefer.” His voice is huskier in the morning, vocal cords still not used to moving.  “Sir, I need it-” your voice bounces as you tap your toe against his shin, pleading.  He plucks his hand from your breast, tracing down your side to the cleft of your ass, pulling apart your cheeks, cold air hitting your cunt, stale cum seeping from you still. Teeth grazing your shoulder, he slides in easily, the whisper of a groan vibrating from his mouth to your arm. With a shift of the covers and a slide of your knee, you're open to the morning light, his cock languidly rubbing against your inner walls.   “See doll, simply ask your future kings, we will provide.”  Neither of you are in a hurry to climax, the carnal need having been spent the night before, drifting between conscious and semi conscious as your eyelids flutter. You think you orgasm, it’s so gentle in comparison to your soul rending affairs it feels like a different beast entirely. A wave of pleasure washes over you like a summer tide lapping at your ankles. Your eyes roll back with a sigh, his fingers lightly circling your clit. “Is this real?” You wonder aloud, full body sunk into his chest.

 “As real as you want it to be.” You nearly jump out of your skin, Hyunjin’s smiling face turned to you, still puffy from sleep, naked and obviously aroused.   “Sir! I’m - sorry, Hyunjin? Sir.” Somehow you sound both panicked and sheepish, stuffed cunt on full display. “I didn’t think-” Your train of thought is interrupted with a harsh thrust, Felix’s cock lodging itself straight into your g-spot.   “Don’t be mad ‘Jinnie, you’ve been awake the whole time, you could’ve joined.” Felix chuckles.  You stare incredulously at Hyunjin, who shrugs with a smile.   “What can I say, darling. I love watching you,” his face softens, hand reaching out to stroke your hair, “and asking for us all by yourself. Such a good girl.”  “Do you want him to join?” Felix purrs in his low bass that makes your eyelids flutter. “As a peace offering.”  “Yes,” you gasp as he pulls out, the sudden emptiness almost uncomfortable.   Felix rolls you to face him, “but I'm feeling a little greedy today, if that’s alright,” he states with a boyish grin, pecking you on the nose before hitching your top leg over his hip.

  Rolling to face him, Felix kisses your nose, taking your top leg over his hip and slotting his cock inside you again. Hyunjin’s weight shifts the mat behind you slightly as he closes in on the two of you, hands roaming your buttocks and low back.   “Our toy has gotten bold,” his breath is as warm as his skin, fanning over the back of your neck. “Darling just relax and let us take care of your every whim,” Hyunjin purrs. “Now that you’ve asked, we can provide.”   Another shift in the bed that you barely notice, Felix’s face buried in your chest as he slowly and sloppily thrusts up into you. The telltale clink of the glass vase of oil uncorking, glugs of the slick liquid sloshing in the container. The press of Hyunjins fingers to your other hole sends a shiver up your spine.  “S-sir?”  “Yes Darling?”  You gulp, “just nervous.” Whining you feel the heat of embarrassment spread across your face.  “Oh darling,” Hyunjin plants a kiss directly between your shoulder blades. Two well oiled fingers slip against you as Felix slows. You can’t help but wiggle back against them. “It was nice last time right? Your kings weren’t wrong were they?”   Your head buzzes with lust, eyelids drooping in the haze. “Sirs were right. Always right.”  “So you’d like to? I need to hear you want this.”   “Please Hyunjin Sir, I want it. Just, slow please.”  A short puff of a chuckle escapes from his nose, “oh darling, of course.” He mutters, a finger slipping past the tight ring of muscle, a protracted moan ripping through the morning air.   “Keep doing that, I think she likes it Hyune.” Felix groans, slowing even further with his thrusts. “I can tell that by your cute little cunt, doll.”  With gentle touches and slow patient progress Hyunjin’s fingers work you open. It’s easy to lean into his sure guidance, letting the two of them work together to adjust the tangle of legs to better present you.   The heat of the sun streaming through the window keeps your skin warm as the three of you lay exposed and unhurried. No words spoken, the space between breaths filling with hushed moans and light giggles. Your world feels like a perfect golden bubble, glinting as it drifts happily along on the early summer breeze.   Soon enough slender fingers are replaced by the blunt tip of Hyunjin’s cock, pressing steadily into the space prepared. Your breath quickens as the pressure stirs your guts, no matter how much he did with his fingers it still was a tight fit. “Deep breaths darling, you taking us both so well. Just a little more, love.” Hyunjin's voice floats dreamily in the sunlight. Felix’s short but strong fingers massaging your hips, indenting your skin as he molds your flesh. “That’s it, good little darling,” Hyunjin groans as his hips meet the cleft of your ass.   “Really full,” you burble, clinging onto Felix in front of you. “‘S good tho’. ‘S nice.” Head swimming you can barely compute thoughts into words. Very much at the mercy of two royals there's no place you’d rather be stuck. The heat and pheromones buzz in your brain and drown out lingering worries and doubts leaving it empty, quickly filled with the sounds of the Prince’s slow labored breaths. Laying on your side you don’t bounce much, instead letting the two men lazily shift your hips back and forth, sliding you between their bodies. When one drags the other pushes and vice versa.

 “I can’t anymore-” Felix whines. “She’s so wet. Fuck she’s squeezing-”  “You can go longer,” Hyunjin grunts. “She’s not done.” Purring in your ear he whispers, “darling, cum for us. Show your Prince’s how good they’ve been to you.” Hands snaking around you to play with your chest, the tickle in your ear has you shaking already.   Felix’s breath catches, strangled in his chest. His hands grip you harshly, “oh-” he mutters as his face open in shock. His cock throbs, pushed up and fit as snugly as possible, cum flooding as your walls spasm. “I’m sorry,” he whines, “cumming.”   Something about his whined apology, the way his eyes slowly blinked open marveling at you like some sort of precious thing he feared he’d disappointed, it flips something in you. Your vision darkens as your whole body clenches, gasping and flooding the man inside of you. Juices practically drench them as you spasm. Teeth bump against your shoulder as you feel Hyunjin’s lips attach, sucking a purple mark into your skin as he folds forward, emptying himself as well, a cascade effect of your release.   Exhaustion overtakes you, fading in and out of consciousness as the two men adjust you and clean you and come back to lay with you. Happy bubble. Shining happy sunlight. Your skins pressed together feel tacky with dried sweat but you don’t mind. And neither do they. They don’t mind the mess and the grime or the work.

 The work.

 Eyebrows furrowing you think about the work that you aren’t doing today. The small chores that stack up to make bigger headaches. You want to lay and bask but the nagging thought won’t leave you alone. The reminder that your absence would be noted. Your legs have never felt heavier as you try to pull yourself down the middle of the resting men so as to not disturb them.   “Stay,” Felix mutters groggily, hugging you tighter momentarily before returning to slumber. Gently you roll him to his back, letting his arm slide off your body and gingerly crawling over the other outstretched on the bed.   As you swing your legs over the edge of the bed you watch your feet dangle over the ornate floors. Calloused from years of standing, they’re workers' feet. A permanent crack in your nail bed that goes unpolished is further proof of this. “I’m sorry for the offense of my trodding but I must make myself scarce,” you think wryly as your toes touch down as lightly as you can muster.  A hand grabs your forearm. “Would you stay if we commanded it?”   “That’s my duty sir,” you say without looking at him.   “Must we always command it?”   With a sigh you turn into him, Hyunjin, a measure of sadness in his eyes. “I wish I could tell you that you didn’t have to command it, sir. I wish I could just stay as you request. I wish I could stay of my own desire.  In my world, a command means everything, sir, and desire nothing.”  He nods, hand trailing down to interlace with your fingers. “And would it be so terrible if I commanded it?” Hyunjin flashes a smile at you   “Not so terrible to me, but you are the Prince of a small kingdom and a host of a castle, so you must think of others.”  Hyunjin flops dramatically backwards onto the mattress, jostling Felix. “Fine. My darling must leave me. I can’t monopolize her time. I see. I understand. If you must.” He whines. “A kiss first. A command. You must kiss me.”   Leaning over you first kiss Felix’s outstretched palm, watching him as he reflexively curls. Then you look at Hyunjin, lips pursed dramatically at you, waiting. “One kiss sir. Exactly as you commanded, are you sure you want that kind of kiss?”  He leans up, hand extending to pull you closer by the back of your neck. Lips locking with his, you both press into the kiss, unwilling to be the first to break.  You chuckle as you leave, tearing a hole in your heart as you close the door.

 No longer new to the routine of the monthly meeting, you’d become familiar with the quirks and habits of the usual attendees. Those who were lucky to live close frequently settled in early while those who lived in the farthest reaches would sprint in just in time for the Princes to sit down from their small talk. As the season progressed your uniform adapted as well, much to their delight. Layers paired down to a simple sweat-wicking chemise, corset, top and knee length skirt. Still plain but lighter during the summer heat. Easier to put on, easier to remove.

 This month was different. You took note of a new member, sitting crooked in his plush chair, chest bare but shoulders covered in a rich velvet cloak. Not the usual fashion of the kingdom or her provinces. Stubble was already pricking his skin and tinting his jawline, his mouth quirked to the side, there was something in his smile that turned your stomach. Not the fluttering flip that the Princes gave you of excitement and anticipation, it was a jittery yank violently downwards of dread.  ”I’d have thought to come to court more frequently had I known you were hiding away treasures as this in this stuffy old castle,” the man comments to the Princes. Felix’s normally cheery smile and bright eyes fading, setting into stone.  ”We’ve made no effort to hide her,” Hyunjin plasters a cold smile to his face, ever the diplomat. “As you know, our kingdom has always had an open door to yours, you only need knock.”  The Princes watch in a tense uneasy silence as you refill the man’s goblet. The only noise that breaks through is the steady stream of dark liquid splashing into the vessel. From this distance you can tell he’s at least two decades your senior, glittering silver streaks flecking through his hair. You can feel his fingertips brushing the backs of your thighs, clammy on your warm skin. He’s careful to go just high enough to meet the hem of your skirts, not high enough to be obvious except to yourself and him. Alert bells ring in your head but you hold firm and focused. The second it fills you bow shortly, just enough to pass as polite, and go to skitter back to the safety of your corner. To hide where you know best.

 But he grabs you by the elbow pulling you back into place. ”How much?” Hyunjin’s vacant smile falters as both Princes stare at the man. ”How much for the slave girl.”  Felix splutters, “she’s a human, she’s not for sale.”  ”Everything has a price my naive boys,” he laughs, turning to you. “How much?” Eyes flitting from your princes to this man, you shake like a leaf. His hands move boldly; traveling the front of your thighs, visible now to the princes. ”I asked, how much? What’s the price for a lick of that sweet little cunt of yours?”  ”Miss,” Felix’s voice booms in the chamber. “Do you want that man to handle you as he is?”  You shake your head swiftly, yanking yourself back from him.  ”The next appendage that so much as brushes against her apron will be lopped off and fed to the pigs,” Hyunjin's voice cuts through, direct to the man’s ears, striking like a snake. The court sits on a knife's edge, teetering precariously, waiting for someone to act. The visitor smirks, slowly lowering his hand to his lap with the shake of his head. “Now can you behave yourself long enough to sort out the new agreements or have you been so enfeebled by your long day’s travel that your brain is soft and you need to be excused to rest?”   The man smiles, eyes cold, “little princes, all of this bluster is not necessary. It was a simple question, that is all. We can proceed as planned.”

 No matter how hard you try you can’t escape the feeling of being watched. His lingering gaze torments you in your corner. You had trained years and years to be as invisible as possible and now you were so clearly not. Not just to the Princes, but to others. Others whose attention you didn’t want. You’d been good at it too, making yourself small and silent and unseen, or you’d thought. Now you weren’t so sure.  Your leg bounces nervously. Hyunjin, you notice, seems particularly distracted by the visitor, back stiff and straight, eyes darting around the room. It’s difficult to tell exactly what the Princes were saying but by body language Hyunjin is on edge, clearly pressing the agenda forward at a rapid pace. The visitor sips his wine leisurely, staring. Making a show of the empty cup as his hand jangles it around, pinched between his thumb and forefinger. Hyunjin almost breaks then, jaw tensing as you approach the man. The rest of the visitors and advisors don’t notice as you slip between the seats with your vase.   “These big mean boys keep you locked away?” His voice turns your stomach sour. “It’s okay you can tell me. Just whisper sweet nothings in my ear.”  You shake your head in a small tight back and forth, “no. My state is well, thank you.”  The man’s nostrils flare. “Tell me girl, have you ever seen such riches as these?” His hand dives into the deep pocket of his velvet overcoat, pulling from it a wad of bills and tossing them on the table. “Can you even comprehend the amount of wealth I have?”  “No,” you whisper. “Please sir, is this all you require? I don’t want to disturb the meeting.”  Slowly heads and eyes are turning to you as you stand, sticking out like a sore thumb from the rest of the seated table. What happens next happens in slow motion. You watch as the man’s hand reaches forward to grab the goblet but instead of grasping the stem, he punches it out from underneath, tipping his glass towards himself, sending the contents spilling forward onto his lap. Without thinking you grab a napkin and begin to dab at the bubbles of liquid before they absorb fully into a variety of thick, plush, fabrics. It was the training, the years of muscle memory to protect the image of the court, to care for the guests of the kingdom, to remedy any ills that could potentially fall on your head, that kicked into gear. His lecherous smirk doesn’t even register fully until his low gruff chuckle passes by your ear.  “It’s okay everyone, just a small accident,” he waves to the hushed table to continue their discussions. Then he turns to you, voice low enough for only you to hear, “such an eager little wench. Take some change for your troubles,” his hand covers yours, big and rough, taking the napkin from you and gesturing towards the stack of money on the table. “See how your state likes that.”  You feel something flex below your fingers. Wrenching your hand away and gathering it to your chest with the other, you feel sick. You don’t want to know what you felt. The man gathers the money and slides it into the front of your apron with the same lascivious smile plastered on his face.   “There you go, girl, for doing such a good job.”

  Lips cemented shut for fear of the nausea worming in your gut becoming something more, you sit back at your stool and pray. This room had been a sight of many unreal feeling events but this was something else. Front teeth biting the inside of your lip you fight the tears welling in your eyes. You can’t bring yourself to look at them, the Princes, radiant as ever at the front of the room. Instead your eyes search the room for any excuse to leave first, break protocols and abandon your position, any emergency that needs immediate attention would do.   But nothing appears. For the rest of the meeting there are no hiccups, not that there ever were. The rest of the castle knew just how important this meeting was and acted accordingly like a well oiled machine, practiced and precise. Except for you. No amount of oil could make up for the misshapen way you felt. No amount of elbow grease or pressure could fix it. Nothing had made you more certain of that than this. The outline of the wad of bills in your white linen apron reminds you of your place. Another person would’ve found a better way out of it, or wouldn’t be in this position to begin with. Your body holds itself so stiffly you start to vibrate, imperceptible to everyone but yourself.

 The meeting wraps up, advisors slowly meander past your post, some lost in deep discussion, others give you small nods of thanks until few remain. You steal yourself, waiting for the moment you know is coming. Eyes to the floor you can still feel him standing slowly, footsteps heavy and elongated, slowly making his way, server in tow, to your stool. You can hear him take a breath to speak as a third pair of footsteps intercedes.  “If you have a request, allow me to personally attend to it.”   An angel stands with his back to you, separating the man from your line of sight. Your angel, swooping in to save you. Prince Felix, unmistakable from his wide shoulders and small waist. He walks perpendicular to the man, continuing to block you from him as he corrects course to the door. He’s caught and by the Prince no less. Though you can’t see him you know he can’t act without causing more trouble than you’re worth.  “Ah well you see my clothes are still a bit damp and-”   “-and I will have an outfit more befitting the climate sent to your room where you can undress and bathe yourself in privacy.”   Their voices grow faint as Felix walks with him out the door and into the hall, leaving no room for arguing. Finally the room is quiet, your eyes search for Hyunjin who is uncharacteristically missing. So you clean. Gathering glasses and plates and papers. Separating and stacking. Carefully placing onto trays and those trays onto the cart. Finally carting the dishes into the small auxiliary kitchen, the opposite direction of the way you normally leave with the Princes. Pushing the door open with your back and pulling the cart with you over the threshold, the happy sound of water sloshing into the large basin of the sink greets your ears.

 “How much did he give you,” the water turns off abruptly, before you have a chance to turn. The tone of his voice could cut glass like butter. You drop into a low curtsey out of shock.  “Prince Hyunjin sir! Why-where-here?”  “How much did he give you?” Hyunjin’s shoulders hunch up to his ears as his palms press into the lip of the sink, biceps flexed and knuckles white.   “I don’t- I didn’t count. I didn’t want to touch it. I couldn’t, sir i could never, I would never-”  He whips around, hands still damp, he reaches into your apron pocket and tosses the bills onto the small prep table in the corner. “Count them. Count them and he’ll get as many lashes.”  You gasp. “Sir, no. I can’t. Lashes? For what?”  “He insulted you. Therefore he insulted me. Therefore he insulted the kingdom and should be punished accordingly.”   “Sir. No.” Your stomach flips as you shrink into yourself. “Not me. Not me at all. I’m not worth the incident.”   His eyes look wild with anger. You wish more than anything you could evaporate under the heat of his fury. “Why not? You’re a human. You have dignity.”  “To a powerful man like that, I’m nothing. It’s his right.” Hyunjin’s words have pushed you back, thighs and palms holding the small table behind you as he stalks forward.  “Not here. Not in this Kingdom. Not in my Kingdom. Is that what we are to you? Your Princes are just powerful men exercising their right?”   “No! Sir-”   “Stop calling me that. We aren’t in court or the bedroom.”  “Hyunjin.” It isn’t you who says it. Mouth ready and open to heed his request, instead Felix, at the doorway, speaks his brother’s name sternly.  “You’re scaring her. Look at how small she’s made herself. If she doesn’t want us to do anything, we can’t do anything.”   Felix is right, you’ve curled reflexively around your middle as best you can, body naturally protecting your vital parts. With a gulp a flood of tears spill silently to your cheeks.  “He tricked her, Felix.” Hyunjin's full attention turns to him. Your breath stays held as you watch their showdown. “He tricked her into touching him. Then he tried to pay her for it. Tried to take her away from us. It was bad enough when he did it to our faces but to try to coerce her during court? Assault her? As though we don’t take care of our people. It was an insult to her autonomy. It was an insult to our authority!”   Felix doesn’t budge in the face of his tirade, resolute.“Take a walk, cool off. It’s equally her right to ask us not to interfere.”   Hyunjin opens his mouth to fight but Felix heads him off.   “As you are so concerned with her rights, you agree, it’s her right to ask us to not interfere.”  His mouth flaps open and closed soundlessly. For a second you think maybe he’s going to haul off and punch Felix. Instead he pushes past him into the hallway, not missing the opportunity to knock shoulders fiercely. You can hear his frustration echoing down the hall, exasperated groans and angered shouts rattling the stones of the foundation.

 If a black hole appeared and sucked you into it in a violent vortex of wind you wouldn’t be surprised. You’d be thankful for the quick and certain death at the hands of a celestial entity that was not made of flesh and bone and blood. Face still streaked with tears your body responds with automatic protocol. Most painfully, despite it all, dishes must be done, time stops for no one, not even powerful men. And so you start cleaning, soapy water still warm from Hyunjin’s washing. Each glass, used or not, gets carefully dipped and swirled around. The silverware clatters to the bottom to soak in the suds. There’s a calmness in the rhythm of it. Reach for the glass, grab the stem, dip the goblet, swish the soapy water, rinse with new water, place upside down to drain, repeat. Reach, grab, dip, swish, rinse, place, repeat.   “He means well, you know. It’s just seldom that anyone asks us to not do anything,” Felix sighs. His shoulder touches yours as he hunches over the sink with you, grabbing a glass for himself and following your lead.  “Please,” you whisper barely audible above the soothing sound of the water, “you really shouldn’t-”  “I’m just a Prince, I’m not totally and completely incapable of household chores. Besides, our Hyunjin is not the only one who hates to sit on the sidelines.”   Tears bubble again, you’re not sure why. You don’t fight him about it, instead leaning into him as the two of you work to clear the pile. He doesn’t remark on your crying, softly humming as he works. You almost feel like a normal couple, not a Prince and a member of his housestaff. Slowly your head leans over onto his shoulder, his long blonde hair tickling your ear.   With two people the remainder of the cart is cleared quickly, which you are thankful for. Pure emotional exhaustion fatigues your brain. You hardly notice how much weight you’re lending to Felix until he shrugs, your head bobbing with him. He’s midway through wiping his hands on his trousers, normally you’d be horrified to see the dirty dishwater soak into the richly dyed fabric but now you simply offer your apron to him.   “You’re tired,” Felix softly smiles. “May I?” His waterlogged thumb wipes the dried tears at the bottom of your jawline. You nod into his palm. The small gesture has tears welling at your lash line again. You love his care, you love his smile, you love him so much it hurts and catches in your chest. Felix tuts. “I only want tears if they’re from pleasure.”  “Then make it so,” you sniff. “Make them happy. Make me happy.” Your voice trembles and threatens to crack. Through watery vision you stare fiercely into his eyes.  His expression looking back at you is so soft in contrast, eyes kind but troubled. He chuckles, “quite the demand. I’m only a Prince but I'll see what I can do.”

 The moment you feel the helplessness threaten to collapse inside of you his lips catch yours. Wet and messy your lips, teeth, and tongues clash against each other as if by force you could express the sincerity of your feelings.  “I love you, my doll,” Felix manages to growl into your open mouth. Hips pinning yours to the counter you pant to catch your breath even for a moment. It smells like soap and skin and sunshine as he covers your face with small pecks. “If my love alone could protect you, you’d have no stronger shelter.”  “But it can’t Sir-” his lips dip down the column of your throat, a fresh hot wave of arousal traveling down your spine with a shudder.  “And you know this, how? How many Princes have loved you like I?” He holds you just far enough away so you can see the sparkle of his eyes.  “None.”  “Then you don’t know for sure that it can’t.”  “But it’s not--!”  “Then join me in pretend,” he kisses your warm cheek. “What use is logic and reason if all it does is make you sad? Just for now, just me.”   With a pointed nip at your neck he forces a moan from you. It’s difficult for your rational side to escape how overwhelmingly good it feels to be with him, how eagerly he kisses every inch of skin, how consumed he seems by you, his slight of hand tricks that seem to magic you into a more undressed state. In the warmth of his embrace feelings pool and flow over, drowning that small voice that tells you to be critical. One hand slipping up your skirt, he kneads the crease between your ass and thigh, fingers slowly working their way towards your entrance. The other pulls hastily at your bodice strings, not bothering to fully unlace anything that didn’t need it. He hitches your leg up over his hip, his knee pressing into the cupboards below the sink, arm looping around your thigh to support you.   “Britches, undo them, now” he pants as he leans the two of you back. His length throbs with your swollen cunt.   Still nowhere near as deft with his toggles as he was with your ties, your hands fumble over the buttons confining him within the cotton panel. Each slip of a button from its hole increases the heat of anticipation in your gut, as though this were the first time you’d seen him. The swollen tip of his thick length poking over the draped fabric has you giddy, hand automatically migrating to circle it.  “Did I say you could touch?” His face scrunches, fighting an airy whine.   Fingers of one hand still fumbling with buttons while the thumb of the other glosses the beaded precum over the spongy head you watch him struggle to keep his strict facade. “Please?”   With a deep breath he forces the air from his lungs in one guttural groan, “I can’t refuse my doll now can I? Not when you ask so sweetly. Not when you’re practically dripping on me.”  “I need you, please, sir, please,” his cock nearly fully out, a few buttons separating you from him. “How many buttons do you even need,” you grumble.   “Fuck the fucking buttons,” Felix perches you on the edge of the sink, teetering precariously as he hastily pulls the breaches the rest of the way down, shirt completely untucking. Your skirts get shoved up around your waist before he pulls you to him, cock searching blindly beneath the flood of fabric for your core. Catching on the muscle, with a sudden prod his blunt head slips past.  You wince and yelp, “Felix!”   Brushing your flyaways back he kisses you, “okay? You okay? I’m so sorry usually we- I know I- I want to take my time love but-”  “I’m fine, just sudden, just big,” you bite your lip and try to breathe. Felix holds you closer to steady the two of you, rocking the rest of his length up as you slowly sink down, all the while murmuring praise against your throat.  You feel delirious as his full length fills you, clit grinding against the caught mixture of fabrics of his shirt and your skirt. “Feels so good.” Your skin buzzes with endorphins. “Felix you feel so good.” A sob catches.  “Pretty doll, why are you crying?” He kisses your trembling shoulders. Bouncing you up on his hips, speared on his cock he coaxes the tears free with each percussive measured thrust.  “Hap-py, real-ly hap-py,” you burble, words broken up by air forced from your lungs. “Fu-ull and ha-ppy.”   His arms add to the thrusting, pulling you down faster than gravity onto him. Usually one to reply, Felix pours his full focus into pummeling your cunt, your single leg barely adding support as you wobble on your tippy toe. The leg held on his hip tensing and shaking. Fingers digging into his shoulder blades and wrinkling his shirt you cum. He seems to reveal in the feeling of your cunt working him, kissing you with more fervor as it pulses around him, happy to clench around something so thick. Eyelids fluttering and eyes rolling you’re  Gulping air and overstimulated he doesn’t let up, instead hammering into you as he chases his high. Every ounce of strength you can muster is diverted to withstanding the smack of his hipbones against your ass. His hips stutter and pace slows, you can hear his heart; a comforting fluttering thudding part of him that reminds you that you’re both just flesh and blood and emotions in squishy little bodies. The part of him you like most maybe, the soft tender man that lives in the shell of a mighty ordained being. You don’t even realize you are whimpering in his ear until you hear the door click and shift squeakily on its hinges. You duck your head into his chest, trying to curl completely into his shadow.  “Get. OUT.” Felix practically roars, mid climax and not waiting on formalities. The door slams shut quickly before you have a chance to peek over your lover's shoulder. He looks more lion-like than he’d ever, halo of golden hair wild and mane like, panting and hunched over you like prey he’d feasted on.   “Do you think-” you gulp and pant.   “No. If anything they saw my ass.”   “What if-”   “Then we handle it. Together.”

 Hair fixed, clothes smoothed and righted, you head back to your room in the soft glow of the hallway. The only reminder of your day is the slow trickle of cum streaking your thighs. You suppose all lovers do this to some extent, waddle their way to their own beds until they’re married. Was there even a chance of that with him, with them? Or was the inevitable end of your tryst a quiet disappearance into wider society. Standing in the full ground level kitchen you stir your herbal concoction. Queen Anne’s Lace, willow, pennyroyal, myrrh, and rue. A mash of plant parts from roots to seeds all put together, a well-tread recipe at this point, still horribly bitter to swallow and best chugged when cool. It could be worse, for you all that happened was light bleeding and cramping. You’d heard for some the potion made them bedridden for days. It was inconspicuous as long as you refilled what you’d taken from the kitchen garden.  Still you can’t help your burning curiosity as to who may have seen you or what may be said. Taking extra hours in the kitchen, assisting with the laundry, really adding any of the known gossip spots to your routine of chores. Strangely nothing. Not a peep of anyone, much less a Prince, using the auxiliary kitchen for auxiliary activities. You’d at least expected speculative whispers of who the man could’ve been. In particular the laundry day gossip had revolved around one of the stablehands' sexual conquests, questions of paternity of a noble woman’s eldest child, and whatever was happening at the far away chantry. So maybe a consensual romp in a kitchen wasn’t interesting enough without hints at who it might be. As an upside your extra hours had grown your estimation in your matron’s eyes, always pleased to see your head down, nose buried in work, keeping yourself out of trouble.  “I’d had my doubts some days,” you overheard her speaking with the head of the staff, “but she’s really taken to work like flies to honey.”   But flies who feed themselves fat on honey stick and drown.

 Normally beds were made in pairs but your partner was sick in bed that day. Doubled over with cramps she was in no state to lift mats and shake out duvets with you.  “Really I can-” she sat on the edge of her small cot, one arm wrapped around her stomach, shoulders hunched over. Practically shaking with pain, you carefully helped her back down.  “It’s fine, I’ll make up for the both of us.”   Face contorted in pain she nods. “Please, ask anything of me and I’ll help you.”  “It‘s fine,” you assure her, “it’ll be better than nothing.”  “Really, I refuse to be a burden. If you ever-” an anguished clench of her jaw interrupts the thought process. Refilling her water jug and placing it in arms reach, you leave her small room. Some day you may have to use that offer but for now you had to get going.  The work wasn’t easy or efficient but it was better done alone than not at all and better alone than dragging your friend around like a ball and chain. Carefully tucking opposing diagonal corners of the bottom sheet in before rotating and attending to the other pair, you work methodically through the upper guest rooms. In the summer heat the heavy shades are draw and rooms dark to preserve what cool night air you could. Still the heavy work left you panting and sweaty, hair frizzing in different wild directions. The thin layer of dried sweat reactivated by new beads as you progress through the rooms.  You sit on the edge of a half made bed to catch your breath. Limbs starting to hurt and drag you focus on the promise of a nice cool bath at the end of the day. You think about how the water would prickle against your overheated skin, numbing as you soak the pain of the day away. The air wicking the droplets off your exposed parts and cooling you further. Eyes closed the power of suggestion works it’s magic to refresh you even now.

 “Look at this darling present left all alone,” Hyunjin’s voice calls in a cheerful sing song as he closes the door behind him, leaving the two of you in near darkness.  Your heart beats wildly. “Prince Hyunjin, your royal highness?” You respond into the black.  A sigh from behind you has you spin on the top sheet. “Are we so unfamiliar even now?” You wish you could see his expression, but he sounds almost sad. “My darling, my gift, my love, I’m sorry.” The bed bends in behind you, his voice drawing nearer. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”  “Can I speak honestly?” You mutter sheepishly.  “Of course darling. Always. Forever.” You gulp down to ease the clench of your throat, “our worlds are so different. Yes they intersect but there are parts of mine that you’ll never understand and parts of yours I’ll never be privy to.”   “I-we know. But we-”   “Please. I need to finish before I regret this,” you take another breath, silence settling across the two of you. “I don’t know where this is going. I don’t know what I am to you. Either of you. And you can’t protect me from what may come of whatever we are. And I don’t want what may happen to hurt you. And no matter what we do you are who you are and I am who I am and we just- and, and, and-” you search for the words to express the depths of the helplessness you feel. Instead a sob rips the sudden silence apart at the seams.  “Oh my pretty darling, may I-” you feel him inch closer. You nod wordlessly, he doesn’t need to complete the request. You’re not even sure he can see you but your throat is so tight you can’t even squeak out a yes so you have to hope he can feel the slight bounce of the bed. Like a ray of god shining through the break in the curtains a beam of sun illuminates a sliver of bed. It hits his arm first, muscular and bare. As he leans towards you the strip travels his face, the area around his lips looks red and puffy, his nose too. The slight glimmer of his cheek tells you he’s been crying. Shoulder dipping as the weight of his cheek pours over it your head naturally falls onto his.  “Have you thought about country life?” His question trails into the dark nothingness. “I think about it a lot. Taking a cart and a horse and a wife onto some unsettled land. I’d still be a king even then. Just of a much smaller domain.”   “You would. And would you rule over your wife then? And children?”  “And cows and chickens too, and any of their babies,” he chuckles wryly. “Why? Would it bother you?”   You sigh and shrug him from your shoulder, collapsing back into the half made bed. “I don’t know, my lord, I think I’d like to be a partner in a marriage more than a subject.”  “My lord? You’ve gotten so cheeky,” he says with a swat to your thigh.   “Sir. Prince. His royal highness-”  Hyunjin lets out a deep sigh, a burst of air hitting you as he collapses backwards on the bed. The air itself is hot. Laying there in silence you feel his fingertips brush the back of your hand lightly, asking for permission from you.  “Hyunjin.”  “Darling?”  “If that’s what you want-”  He grips your hand so tightly it stops you. “You know what my father -our- Felix and my father said when Felix joined our family? The decree?”   Your heart pounds out of your chest. In all your years within the castle no one dared to broach the subject to the point where you could’ve sworn it was a punishable offense. You of course were too young to remember those years clearly, shortly after the passing of the sister queen and king to your land. Not related by blood but of bonds much deeper. “Something about no more queens to follow but I thought-”  “None. We may have heirs but neither Felix nor myself is promised a queen. Nor can we make a person a queen. No more Queens.”   He’s clearly eager but you don’t quite follow. “So if you marry…” your words trail slowly, waiting for him to finish your thought.   “They would be our partner. But nothing to the land. Only ours. Not a subject nor royalty. Just ours.” His hand shakes yours, he’s either excited or scared and you aren’t quite sure, even with your eyes adjusted to the dark.  You gulp, “but surely if they already were a princess or a queen…”  “They lose all status. Making us as princes, virtually worthless to their kingdoms.”   You’re not sure exactly what he is saying or why he is saying it to you now or what it means for any of the litany of worries you’d unleashed only minutes earlier. Pressing your lips together you try to follow his line of thought.   “Darling, I will die if I have to spell it out,” he sighs, exasperated.   You remain silent. The mattress tremors with the shifting of his anxiety.   “We’re cursed Princes. A death to Princesses and useless to those seeking to increase their social capital. Please. Think.” He rolls so that his slight frame leans over you, eyes staring directly down into yours for the first time since the incident. “What do you want from us? What do you want most of all from this relationship? If it’s Queenship, we cannot grant this. If it’s power, we cannot guarantee it.”

 Hardly breathing or maybe breathing too much, you can’t decide between the two, the tension holds invisible in the air, buoyed by the humidity. Gulping hard you watch him watch you. Study you. Eyes flitting over your features searching for your answer.   “Love.” You blurt, cracking under his intensity. “Care. You. Both of you.”   Hyunjin leans over, eyes crossing as he closes in on you, his hair curtaining down and tickling your cheeks. Slowly he tilts to the side, lips meeting your cheek. “Good,” he whispers, lips tickling the shell of your ear, sending a shiver through your spine.   Sweat droplets travel down your body soon followed by his hands, carefully stripping you. As Hyunjin works to undo the various ties you realize his hands are shaking ever so slightly. It was always Felix helping you from your garments, he was faster, more sure. Hyunjin was more cautious, as though he could rip your bodice from your body with the wrong flick of his wrist. The moments between your breaths the world feels still. You can hear him breathing too, holding for a moment as he fully inhales and again as his lungs empty, deep slow breaths.  “Sorry if I-” you mutter a half hearted apology.   “Sorry? For?”   “I’m sweaty. I probably smell. I’ve been cleaning all day-”   Interlocking his fingers with yours he presses another kiss to your cheek.  “It’s hot. You’re hot. That’s all.” Releasing your hand he slips down the outside of your thigh, tracing your outline on the covers.   “It’ll get on the bed,” you giggle as his fingers run across your skin, tickling all the way.   “And?” His voice is cocky as you spread your legs easily at the mere press of his knee.   “I just made it. It’s a waste.”  “If you sleep here, is it a waste?” Hips slotting between your thighs, warm skin to warm skin, still the upwards sweep of his fingertips against your shoulder leaves a wake of goosebumps on your body.  “I can’t sleep here I-”  “If we sleep here?” Hyunjin quickly interjects. Heavy and hot his erection lays waiting on your belly, pulsing as want courses through his veins. “Together. You’ll sleep here with me? Then it won’t be a waste.”  “Hyunjin, we have beds. Our own-”  “Then the floor.” He kisses you hurriedly, “I want to have you. Now.”  Another day of half work. You sigh. Heart and head tugging you in opposite directions again. Kissing the tops of your knees he waits attentively for you. “Hyunjin…the floor?”  “Anywhere. Anything. Let me take care of you.” The kisses move down your inner thighs, slowly enough that you could stop him if you wanted. “The castle won’t fall apart if a few beds are less than perfect, darling, trust me.” Hyunjin gazes up at you, plush lips hovering above your mound, hair curtaining down to you. He looks like a lion hunched over downed prey. To be wanted so desperately, so recklessly, excites you, sending shivers coursing through your body like white hot fire.  “Sir?” Your voice shakes in anticipation. “May I touch you?”  A short burst of hair escapes his nose, mouth closing and lips quirking into a small smile. “Darling, whatever you want from me. Whatever you need from me. Take it.”

 Fingers threading through his hair, pushing it back, your gazes lock as he lowers to kiss your cunt. A spark seemingly from his lips sends tingles to the base of your spine. Tongue dipping between your folds his breath fans across you. Your grip on his hair tightens as you moan, tugging as he tries to dive deeper. The intrusion of his tongue probing has you squirming and squealing.  “Darling?” He emerges, chin shiny. “Are you okay?”   You both pant, staring. “I’m sweaty…it can’t be…I’m sorry.”   “If you weren't delicious I wouldn’t, darling. I am a Prince after all.” Licking his lips, his eyes narrow, “if it’s alright with you, I’d like to eat what’s mine.” He nips your inner thigh, leaving a red mark of his presence. Pressed into the mattress his hands hold your trembling thighs apart. He feasts as though you’ve greatly offended him by suggesting any part of you was not the perfect fit for him, growls sending pleasant vibrations into your heat. It’s sloppy and wet as his tongue works to map every fold of your cunt. Giggling and shrieking and moaning your hips buck with abandon against him until you’re both left a mess of spit and slick.   Finally you tug at his hair to pull him to you, eyes unable to focus, fingers twitching. Lips locking with his in a messy expression of lust you can taste yourself on him, not unpleasant as you’d feared. A mix of salty sweat and natural sweet musk.  “Ride me.” Hyunjin tumbles backwards, pulling you over him. His eyes rake over you, “want to watch you take me. You look so beautiful. Let me watch you.”   Quaking like a newborn fawn you straddle his hips, he looks gorgeous with his arms up, cradling his head forward. You lower your palm to his chest to steady yourself and reach between your thighs to position him. The muscles in your legs burn as you slowly take him in, inch by inch.  “Gorgeous,” he says as you finally steady on top of him. “Bounce for me darling, I think you can take just a little more.” Hyunjin thrusts upwards, jostling you.  Your eyebrows shoot up as he slides just a little deeper, just enough to kiss your cervix, stirring in your gut. “Ha-Hyunjin!” Yelping and moaning as he fucks upwards again, letting gravity push him into you. Craning back with your chest to the sky, your mouth lolls open. Primal need overtakes you as you grind back against him.  “That’s it,” he coaxes, “does that feel good darling? Tell me how good I feel.”  A shiver runs through you, a hunger that’s indescribable. The ache of absolute need opens the pit of your stomach. A thirst that no water could possibly satiate coats your throat and dries your mouth. “Hyun-hyun-sir,” you babble, “I’m-I need to use you. I’m sorry it feels so good. I feel so good.” Repeating yourself over and over you steadily grind back and forth in time to your own chants. His hands join your hips, helping hold you to him, soft murmured praises fill the fuzz between your ears. Your pace increases steadily as the want grows, body burning and exhausted but driven by the promise of release. The wave of pleasure hits suddenly, the swell rocketing you forward, collapsing to his chest as you shake. The resistance of his cock filling you as your walls clench around him has your vision swimming even in the darkness of your closed eyelids. Holding your hips he continues the slow grind through your orgasm, not enough to push you over the edge again but enough to leave you in a state of bliss.  Hyunjin smothers your shoulder in kisses, hands running up and down your body. “You work so hard,” he says with extra honey to his tone, “you did so well.” He half scoops and half rolls you onto your back again. “Since you used me for your pleasure, it’s only fair I do the same, right? What do you say, darling?”   “Please, sir,” you mewl, senses lost as your minds float amongst the clouds. “I want nothing more than to be of service.”  “Good,” he growls as he practically picks your hips up and stacks them, folding you almost in half. Nothing could prepare you for the vigor with which he fucks down into you. The angle leaves you open and vulnerable, lungs sandwiched in on themselves so you can only manage half breaths. Your legs hang half over you uselessly wobbling even with the support of Hyunjin’s torso and shoulders. The first slam of his cock rams him right into your gspot, nearly knocking the wind from you. Mouth gaping in a wordless scream as his hips pummel against your ass, your body tenses and braces itself as best it can for the onslaught. Your hands search for anything to stabilize, finally reaching up to the headboard just before the top of your head makes contact. Blurry above you Hyunjin’s chest is red and coated in a thin layer of sweat, droplets slowly saturating his blonde locks.   Hyunjin pauses, resting his head on the headboard, panting. “No matter how much we fuck you, you’re still so tight. Our darling.” He thrusts pointedly again, smiling as you squirm and squeal, speared by him. “Such a good cocksleeve.” Another thrust that you can feel tickling the inside of your belly button, crying out again. His thumb brushes against your clit as you whine pathetically below him. “Going to cum again, darling?” Hyunjin teases.  “Yes, yes, yes, yes,” you repeat, only able to find one word at a time.  “Want me to cum in you? Fill you up like the good darling you are?”  “Yes,” you continue to chant like a stuck cuckoo clock.   Hyunjins thumb rubs more insistently as he slowly drive into you, both sliding easily with the natural lubrication. Inhuman noises gurgle up from your lungs although you are unable to hear them. The rush of dizzying pleasure fills your ears and eyes as your entire body bears down on the man fucking into you with abandon. As you cum his hand retreats, grasping your hips to better steady them for him to pull up as he plunges down. The room evaporates as you feel him spilling into you with a whine of his own. Making true of his word to fill you, a mix of your juices leaking out around him as he slowly presses himself tight to you, leaning to kiss your forehead gently.  Small orgasmic aftershocks follow you both, panting and sweating in the dark. Every time he shifts you whine and clench around him, forcing whats left from his withering cock deep into you with a groan. Slowly unfurling, your tendons burn as they release from their uncomfortable position. Hyunjin continues to mouth and nuzzle at your neck and shoulder gently, almost appreciatively.  “When we marry,” he whispers, “we’ll keep you stuffed full just like this. All the time. Our darling partner. Our favorite toy. Our love.”  “We?”   Hyunjin laughs, “didn’t the matron teach you? The Princes get gifts in equal pairs accepting where there is only one, which then will be shared. And you are the only one.”

Thank you all for all the love this unintended series has gotten! I really hope you don’t mind as I take a break to write some other things. Upcoming ideas include an angsty as fuck changbin oneshot, a smutty hongjoong best friend oneshot, and a semi-professional dom!san series. As always i respond well to requests so folks who are 18+ my asks are open. I have some basic rules (18+, i reserve the right to say naaaah) so please don’t be shy. I AM actually on here even though i’m bad at it.

[bardic-tales]

Stillness in Scars: A character deep dive for Bianca Moore, a FWC / FF 7 OC

When we talk about intimacy in fiction, it’s easy to default to grand romantic gestures or high-stakes confessions. But for characters forged in trauma, intimacy often arrives in smaller, quieter forms like the way they allow themselves to be touched.

The first article in this week’s Blorbo Blursday explores the physical and emotional terrain of Bianca Moore, a character whose celestial birthright and corrupted body make even the simplest acts of affection feel seismic. Cuddling, for Bianca, is not just a comfort. It’s a crucible. And in that stillness, we see the parts of her she tries hardest to hide.

Possible Trigger Warnings: Abuse, body horror, emotional trauma, medical experimentation, PTSD, self-image issues, sexual trauma, touch aversion

Bianca Moore was not made for softness. Fate didn't have softness in mind when it created her soul and split it into two halves. She was engineered for survival. From the moment of her prophetic birth, touch was something weaponized against her: a doctor’s scalpel, a cultist’s hand, and a demonic father’s claws. Her earliest associations with physical contact were laced with control, restraint, and pain. Even the touch of those she loved was often a prelude to betrayal or death. As a result, Bianca’s relationship with cuddling, or any form of prolonged touch, was one of volatility. It existed at the uneasy intersection between craving and dread, as well as vulnerability and resistance.

Yet Bianca did crave it, in the way starved things do. Her body remembered warmth even when her mind told her it was a risk. She longed for the kind of touch that didn’t demand anything, just the quiet affirmation of another heartbeat near her own. But she rarely sought it. To initiate contact was to risk exposure. Her strength came from control: of her emotions, of her space, and, ultimately, of her image. Letting someone hold her, or worse holding them back, meant surrendering that control, even momentarily. And for someone whose autonomy had been stolen more times than she could count, that was no small ask.

When Bianca did allow herself to cuddle, it was a rare and sacred thing. After the Nibelheim Incident, Bianca was not casual with her affection. She curled herself around someone only when her walls had already fallen and when her trust had already been tested by fire. Her style of cuddling was guarded at first: tense and watchful. But if the other person remained patient, if they didn’t flinch from her scarred skin or the way her Jenova and S-cell-infused body pulsed with otherworldly energy, she softened. Her limbs would relax. Her breath would slow. And slowly, she’d tuck herself into the space where safety used to live.

With Sephiroth, her most consistent partner in vulnerability, cuddling became a language all its own. They didn’t speak much during those moments. Words felt unnecessary. If Bianca were honest, sometimes words felt even invasive. Instead, they communicated through the tension in their spines, the angle of their heads, the rhythm of their breathing. Bianca would often rest her head on his chest over his heartbeat, as if grounding herself in the proof that he was still there.

Ultimately, Bianca’s capacity for cuddling mirrored her greater arc: a slow, halting reclamation of agency over her body and emotions. She would never be someone who cuddled freely or often, but when she did, it was meaningful. It was a sign of trust hard-won and intimacy made holy.

For Bianca, cuddling wasn’t an indulgence. It was a rite of survival. And in a world that taught her to flinch from kindness, choosing to lean into someone’s arms instead was the most radical act of all.

@themaradwrites @shepardstales @megandaisy9 @watermeezer

@prehistoric-creatures @creativechaosqueen @chickensarentcheap

@inkandimpressions @arrthurpendragon @projecthypocrisy @serenofroses

@sapphirothcrescent @tolliver-j-mortaelwyver

[a-roguish-gambit]

Hey roughish!

I'm sure you've probably seen this glorious panel around lately.

And upon seeing this, it reminded me of how much I like seeing superheroes interacting and even being friendly with animals.

I don't know, seeing a superhero being a friend to animals is just a cherry on top.

And it reminded me of a project I'm currently working on.

It's called "Tales of the Fantastic Four", a fanfic series based around, well, The Fantastic Four.

The series will essentially focus on the globe-trotting (and sometimes planet/dimension-hopping) adventures of Marvel's First Family.

There's two things to note about the series.

It'll essentially be like Marvel's version of Batman: The Brave and the Bold, as just about every episode would see the family teaming up with another notable hero.

It's a massive love letter/homage to the pulp adventure genre, with many of the heroes the FF team-up representing different sub-genres of the genre and being inspired by different famous pulp heroes.

As for The X-Men, they'll be among the FF's most recurring allies.

Another thing to note about the series is that the Marvel characters will actually be based in different parts of the world.

Not only allowing for the globe-trotting adventures, but also just helping make the world feel much bigger.

Like, people have heavily criticized Marvel for keeping most their heroes in the same city.

Largely because it kinda makes the world feel somewhat smaller.

Plus, whenever one of those large-scale events come along, it usually focuses on just one or a few characters.

When it would make sense to bring in everyone else.

But here, there would actually be a good reason for that!

As for The X-Men in this regard, they've decided to split the Xavier Institute into two halves and relocated to different parts of the world.

The first half relocated to Australia.

And the second half relocated to Madripoor.

The reason why: they just wanted to continue their work in a more…..peaceful place.

The Australian school would be located in The Outback, not too far from both a local town and an Aboriginal village.

And the Madripoor school would be located in the jungle.

The Australian school would look like the traditional X-Mansion (except located in The Outback).

And the Madripoor school would closely resemble The Treehouse they had during the Krakoa Era.

I wanted the X-Men's new homes to showcase a respect for the natural world.

As in, they didn't have to clear any land to built said homes.

Speaking of which, The X-Men are back to The Blue Team and The Gold Team dynamic.

The Blue Team are the ones who run the Australian school, while The Gold Team runs the Madripoor school.

In terms of who makes up each team….

Blue Team:

-Cyclops (leader) -Wolverine -Rogue -Gambit -Psylocke -Beast -Jubilee -Morph -Xavier

Gold Team:

-Storm (leader) -Jean Grey -Nightcrawler -Colossus -Iceman -Angel (who's a female in this universe) -Bishop -Shadowcat (with Lockheed) -Emma Frost

The Blue Team would serve as a homage to the Australian adventures of the pulp genre, while The Gold Team would serve as a homage to the pirate genre.

Yeah, the Gold Team would essentially be The Marauders.

But the coolest thing about this series is that all of the heroes will have animal companions.

Because I said so!

In terms of the X-Men…..

The Blue Team have two in the form of a kangaroo named Jack and a crocodile named Dundee.

The same applies for The Gold Team as well, who have an orangutan named Eastwood and a female rhinoceros hornbill named Rampy.

I wanted to know out of the two teams, who do you think would be the best with animals in general?

I don't think either in particular as a team would be great with animals but I think Nightcrawler and Gambit specifically would be good with them. Personally I do not trust Emma Frost to take care of an animal. She just doesn't seem capable of it except for maybe a purse dog. She might care for a purse dog. Colossus, Wolverine, beast, Shadow cat, and Rogue I think also can do fairly good job with animals too but I think Gambit and Nightcrawler are the best. Cyclops is good with dogs but he doesn't understand wild animals well I don't think.

[splendsay]

ACOTAR FF // Azriel x F!Reader // Shade Cerulean

ayoooo we got an introspective chapter. hope it makes you go huh...am I real?

..................................................................

..................................................................

Shade Cerulean // Chapter 4: What Dies in the Dark

!!MDNI!!

Chapters: 4/? Word Count: 10,630 Content Warnings: Explicit language, suicidal ideation Pairing: Azriel (ACOTAR) x Reader (You) Chapter Preview:

Your fight fades as days pass in this stupid fucking dungeon. 

This world has a sun as well as it has a moon, and the two exchange places in the sky on an interval not far off from the one you're used to. When the sun is high, more of the cell comes into clarity -- and it makes you feel ill. Eternally damp, caked in filth, and...lonely. You haven't been very good about counting the revolutions. But you know there have been several. 

It's too much. The time alone is beginning to haunt you. Your thoughts are disorganized. Jumbled. Hopeless. Too loud inside your head. 

Old memories resurface. Memories you'd spent years burying. Memories that crack through your marble heart and fill your veins with icy self-loathing and a deep, unrelenting sorrow. Your current failure holds a horrible, vivid mirror to all your imperfect past selves who taunt you in unison. 

Your mantra changes from stay alive to...nothing. Your mantra dies. Your thoughts linger on that word: die. 

Occasionally you'll get a flare of blind determination and think: you have to get home. You have to get home. 

But then your brain will start asking questions it already knows the answer to. Why did you jump? Because you're a fucking idiot. Why did you land here? Because you can't do anything right. Why are they keeping you locked away down here? Because you're not worth knowing. Not worth saving. 

Why, why, why, why?

You're always cold. Always. Your garments from home do little to offset the bleak dankness of this place. Your skin carries a coat of goosebumps at any given hour. Your teeth chatter relentlessly. Shivers wrack your body on a near constant basis. 

Your wrists and ankles ache from pulling against your bindings. The skin there is new and red and raw. 

Your chest feels unbearably tight. Like your lungs are actively clinging to your ribs, the bars of their cage, pleading to be set free. 

You're exhausted. Bone weary. 

But here you sit. Devoid of choice and at the mercy of your own consciousness. 

Two lovely, shadowy creatures do come down every now and again to feed and bathe you. And help you relieve yourself, to your perpetual dismay and humiliation. But they're gentle -- soft-spoken. You learn to look forward to their visits. Sometimes, if they can spare the time, they brush and braid your hair into two long plaits down your back to keep it out of your face, which is nice. You don't understand the kindness, but you appreciate it all the same. They've never spoken their names, but you get a sense that they're two halves of the same whole. They're wraith-like -- mysterious. They don't winnow in or use the iron door like the others -- they simply emerge from and fade back into the darkness. 

One of the sisters comes to see you a few times. The sharp-eyed one. Nesta, you learn. At first, you'd been wary -- what with her rigid posture and withering gaze and endless stream of clipped questions, but she's grown on you. She's curious about you, understandably, but you sense there's more to it than she's told you. Her visits are long. She doesn't offer you much information about herself, but you glean what you can from her mannerisms. You gather she's somewhat of a black sheep. Abrupt -- straight-forward -- and inquisitive. All qualities you admire. She's a lifeline to your sanity -- keeping you tethered to a world outside your own head.

..................................................................... Links to:

Spotify Playlist Full Fic

[warpedengine]

MSG86: SIGNAL LORE

will be rambling about my potential characterizations for this AU here, gonna be listing down characters in two halves: Titans and AEUG.

Titans Test Team "VOGEL" - EFSF Penrose (Alexandria-class)

All Cyber Newtypes are from Augusta Newtype Labs, and will be denoted as ANT.

ANT-512 "Elster" - A former EFSF pilot and veteran of the One Year War. One of the EFSF's initial newtype pilots at the end of the OYW, she was sent to Augusta to be enhanced, later made to join the Titans Test Team "VOGEL" unit as a test pilot. Pilots a RX-121-2 Gundam TR-1 "Hazel Early Type".

ANT-317 "Falke" - A former Zeonic veteran under detainment by the EFSF following their victory at A Baoa Qu. Sent to Augusta Newtype Labs for experimentation and as a result has lost her memories during enhancement. Seeking the chance of having Augusta Labs' most potent Cyber Newtype, she was made commander of the Vogel Unit. She pilots a RX-124 Gundam TR-6 "Psyco Inle".

Lt. Ariane Yeong - A communications officer, MS researcher and unknowing Newtype test subject onboard the Penrose. Originally from the colonies, her aunt had brought her to enlist in the EFF military after the OYW, leading to her being chosen for the Titans in 0083 after the Stardust Rebellion. She does not realize the package of the Penrose - the mobile armor ORX-NT-0001 "Signalis" - was slowly attuning to her latent Newtype abilities.

Cpt. Adler - Captain of the Alexandria-Class ship "Penrose", secretly one of the initial Cyber Newtypes that was supposed to be part of the Vogel unit, but seeing his past life as an excellent ship captain of the One Year War, he was placed directly under the order of Bask Om to put an eye on the Vogel Unit's actions and tests.

ANT-921 - "Eule" (RX-107 Rosette)

ANT-194 - "Star" (RX-124 TR-6 Hazel II)

ANT-823 - "Storch" (ORX-005 Gaplant TR-5)

ANT-444 - "Mynah" (RX-121-1+FF-X29A Gundam TR-1 [Hazel-Rah] Full Armor)

ANT-023 - "Kolibri" (RX-124 Gundam TR-6 Haze'n-thley II)

ANT-481 - "Ara" (RGM-79EW GM EWAC)

AEUG - "The King in Yellow" Team

Alisa Seo - A former EFF veteran amd ace pilot that had served with the Cyber Newtype known as Elster prior to her enhancement. Seeking to uncover answers as to what happened to her former sister-in-arms. Pilots an older model RGM-79SPII GM Sniper II.

Isolde Itou - A young Earthnoid woman who used to be friends with Ariane. After her departure from Earth and the unraveling of the Colony 30 incident, she seeks to find Ariane as a form of penance for letting her join the Titans.

Erika Itou - The twin sister of Isolde and also a good friend of Ariane. Joined the AEUG after witnessing Colony 30. Tries her best to help her sister and find out what happened to Ariane. Pilots a refurbished RGM-79 GM Guards Type.

[yeonchi]

GameSir X2 Bluetooth Controller Review (and opinions on other controllers)

It's taken me over half a year to write this. Back in December 2022, I wrote about the 8BitDo Pro 2 Controller and how I loved using it to play games on my PC and my phone. Since then I've also used it on my relatives' Nintendo Switches at family events; it works as advertised, but it's a bit hard to play Mario Kart with it honestly. I swear it used to be easier to play Mario Kart on older consoles.

As I used the 8BitDo Pro 2 on my phone with the phone clip, I gradually understood why people thought it was top-heavy. Also, although I did have the muscle memory to play Warriors games with it, I wanted a telescopic controller because I didn't want to have my phone weighing down the controller. Because literally no telescopic controller uses the PlayStation analog stick layout (seriously, even the Backbone One PlayStation Edition uses the Xbox layout ffs), I decided to suck it up and buy something that was good yet I didn't want to spend so much money on.

I did consider the Flydigi Wee2t but apparently the ribbon cable used to connect the two halves is cheap and prone to failing from repeated use and the work required to DIY repair it is hard because I'm a person who strives for easy results. Hence I decided on the GameSir X2, a reliable and reputable telescopic controller that I could get used for cheap and sell it for a profit if I didn't like it. Unexpectedly though, I actually quite like the GameSir X2 for playing games on my phone. Thanks to it, the 8BitDo Pro 2 has been delegated to being a PC controller and it's still very useful for that purpose.

The controller connects to the phone via Bluetooth and is compatible with both iPhones and Androids; there are also Lightning and USB-C (with Switch button configuration) variants that support passthrough charging. Your phone needs to sit flush in the controller for the best experience; with my old phone (Samsung Galaxy A70), I had to take it out of the case because it had a kickstand, but when I got a new phone (Samsung Galaxy S23+), I made sure to get a case that was flat so I wouldn't need to take it out of the case. The controller has three modes, one for Android, one for iOS and one for the G-Touch mode, which connects to the GameSir app so it can act as a touch emulator through keymapping.

GameSir says that the controller doesn't support PC, but you can connect it to a PC using a USB-C cable or Bluetooth and use it as an Xbox controller. Together with the 8BitDo Pro 2, I've got a pretty good two-player setup that would have been good when my friends and I still cared about each other when we had time to care.

The controller also came with concave or convex stick covers; the sticks can be used without the covers, but they will be a bit smaller compared to having the covers on them. The covers fit quite snugly, but something to be mindful of is that they are known to come off quite easily without you knowing it. I've had numerous times where I thought I lost a stick cover only to conveniently find it nearby. GameSir do sell stick covers, but they don't sell the same kinds of stick covers they include with every X2 controller. There is no reason why they don't have spares they can sell separately because it doesn't take that much to make them.

The X2 Bluetooth originally costed nearly $100 new. I found an eBay auction listing for a used one (albeit interstate) at under $20 - with all the people putting in bids towards the end, I ended up $39 for it plus $13 postage, which was still cheaper than buying it new (even with the price drops over the past 18 months). The only reason why I won was because I used eBay's automatic bidding and set it up to $100 max bid. It was an absolute steal and a good choice on my part in case I paid too much for something I didn't end up liking.

Other similar models include the X2 Pro with a free month of Xbox GamePass Ultimate, the X2S with a changeable hair trigger/analog trigger mode and the G8 which styles itself more like an actual controller and adds an audio jack. All three models have a USB-C connection with Hall effect triggers and/or sticks (not on the X2 Pro). Speaking of the G8, the joysticks are replaceable with different variants and they aren't just stick covers.

So with how I've moved from a normal controller (with a phone clip) to a telescopic controller, a question arises as to whether I'll move on to buying a dedicated gaming handheld. The effort of fitting my phone into the controller can get a bit tedious, not to mention all the drama that's been happening in emulation on Android, particularly with Yuzu/Citra and AetherSX2 being removed from the Play Store, plus recent phone updates making it more difficult to sync my PS2 saves between my phone and computer. Plus, in all honesty, I have better things to do on my phone at the moment and I'm already taking two phones (and a laptop) into work every day, so I'm not interested in going to the effort of buying a handheld console or PC. At least I have a controller I can take to play emulated games with my phone on trips and holidays.

[novaursa]

The Silver and The Gold

- Summary: This was the first time you and Aegon acknowledged the bond between you, and the first time you are truly one.

- Pairing: twin!reader/Aegon II

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N and is bonded with dragon called Starfyre. If you want to read this series in chronological order, you can find the list of my works on my blog. The list is pinned to the top. This is currently considered part one. But it can be a part just for itself.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 5 191

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The sun hangs low in the sky, casting a warm, golden hue over the Red Keep. You and your twin, Aegon, have managed to slip away from your septa’s watchful eye once again, finding solace in one of the many hidden alcoves of the castle. These moments away from the prying eyes of the court are your favorites, the only times when you can be truly yourselves—just Y/N and Aegon, two halves of a whole, inseparable from the moment you entered this world together.

Your laughter echoes softly through the stone corridor as you both rush through a narrow passageway, your hand firmly clasped in his. Aegon’s pale blonde hair glows in the dim light, and when he glances back at you, there’s a mischievous sparkle in his violet eyes. You’ve both been caught sneaking away before, but the thrill of breaking the rules only adds to the excitement.

“Y/N,” he whispers with a grin, pulling you into a small chamber tucked away behind a tapestry. “They’ll never find us here.”

Your heart races, not from fear of getting caught, but from the proximity to him, the closeness you’ve always shared yet lately feels different, more charged. The chamber is small, barely furnished, but it feels like a world of your own. The tapestry falls back into place, cloaking you both in semi-darkness, the only light filtering in from a high, narrow window.

“We’ll be in such trouble if they find us,” you say, though there’s no true worry in your voice. The thrill of being alone with him like this, away from everyone’s expectations, makes it all worth it.

Aegon shrugs, a playful smirk on his lips. “When are we not in trouble?”

The truth of his words makes you both laugh again, and for a moment, it’s just like when you were children, chasing each other through the gardens, getting scolded for dirtying your clothes. But as your laughter fades, a tension fills the small space, thickening the air between you.

You’ve always been close to Aegon, closer than anyone else in your life. He’s been your constant companion, your protector, and your best friend. But lately, there’s been something more—a longing in his gaze, a flutter in your stomach when he brushes your hand, a sense that you both are standing on the edge of something new and terrifying.

“Aegon…” you begin, unsure of how to voice the feelings that have been swirling inside you.

He steps closer, his expression softening. “Y/N, I… there’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you.”

You look up at him, your breath catching as you see the earnestness in his eyes. He’s nervous, you realize, the ever-confident Aegon, unsure of himself for once. The realization emboldens you, and you reach out, your hand trembling slightly as you place it on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palm.

“I think I know,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

He covers your hand with his, his touch warm and steady. “Do you?” he asks, his tone soft, almost reverent. His free hand reaches up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly across your skin. The gentleness of the gesture sends a shiver down your spine, and you lean into his touch, your eyes drifting closed.

When his lips meet yours, it’s as though the world stops. The kiss is tentative at first, exploring, as if you’re both afraid of crossing an invisible line. But the moment your lips part and you taste him—sweet and warm and utterly intoxicating—everything changes. The kiss deepens, fueled by the years of unspoken feelings, of wanting and needing but never daring to take.

Aegon’s hands slide to your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. Your own hands find their way to his shoulders, then into his hair, threading through the silken strands as you press yourself against him. The kiss becomes more urgent, more desperate, as if you’re both trying to make up for all the time you’ve wasted.

You’re not sure when it happens, but at some point, you find yourself lying back on the small bed in the corner of the chamber, Aegon above you. His kisses trail from your lips to your jaw, down the column of your throat, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Your breathing is ragged, your heart pounding as his hands explore the curves of your body, as if he’s trying to memorize every inch of you.

“Y/N,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice rough with desire. “I need you… I’ve always needed you.”

His words send a jolt of electricity through you, and you arch into him, your body responding to his touch in a way that feels both entirely new and utterly familiar. You’ve always belonged to him, just as he has always belonged to you. It’s as if this moment was inevitable, written in the stars long before you were born.

“I’m yours, Aegon,” you whisper, the confession slipping from your lips before you can second-guess it. “I’ve always been yours.”

His gaze darkens, and you see the shift in him, the realization that you’re his just as much as he is yours. The passion between you ignites, and the world outside the small chamber fades away. There’s only Aegon—his touch, his breath, the way he makes you feel more alive than you’ve ever felt before.

Your clothes are discarded in a tangle of limbs and heated kisses, and when he finally joins with you, it’s like the world is remade. The sensation is overwhelming, a mixture of pain and pleasure that leaves you gasping, but the way he looks at you, the way he whispers your name, makes it all worth it. He moves within you, and the rhythm you find together is as natural as breathing, as if you were made for this, for each other.

Time loses meaning as you both give in to the storm of emotions that has been building for so long. And when it’s over, when you’re both spent and breathless, you lie tangled together on the bed, the air between you charged with something new, something that can never be undone.

“I love you,” Aegon whispers, his voice hoarse but filled with a sincerity that makes your heart swell. He brushes a strand of hair away from your face, his touch tender, almost reverent.

“I love you too,” you reply, the words feeling right, like they’ve always been there, just waiting to be spoken.

You’re about to kiss him again when the door to the chamber creaks open. You both freeze, your eyes wide with shock as you turn toward the sound. A servant stands in the doorway, her face pale, her eyes wide with disbelief at the sight before her.

For a moment, no one moves. The servant seems to realize what she’s walked in on, her hand flying to her mouth as she stammers an apology. She backs out of the room quickly, her footsteps echoing down the corridor as she flees, leaving you and Aegon alone once more.

Your heart races, panic and embarrassment flooding you. But when you look at Aegon, you see that he’s not afraid. He’s smiling, a slow, confident grin that makes your heart flutter.

“Let them talk,” he says, his voice steady. “I don’t care what they say, Y/N. You’re mine, and I’m yours. Nothing will change that.”

His words calm the storm inside you, and you smile back at him, knowing he’s right. Whatever happens next, you’ll face it together, just as you always have.

The grand hall of the Red Keep is bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun as King Viserys Targaryen lounges on his throne, a sense of contentment softening the lines of his aging face. His golden crown rests heavily on his brow, but the weight of it seems lighter today as he speaks with Otto Hightower, his trusted Hand. Queen Alicent, ever dutiful, stands nearby, her hands folded neatly in front of her.

The rhythmic sound of booted feet echoes through the hall, growing louder as the doors swing open to admit a pair of Dragonkeepers. They stride forward, their faces marked with the quiet reverence that always accompanies news from the Dragonpit.

“Your Grace,” one of them begins, bowing low. “We bring news of the dragons, Sunfyre and Starfyre.”

Viserys leans forward, his interest piqued. His voice carries the weight of authority but also a grandfatherly warmth. “Speak then, what of the golden and the silver?”

The Dragonkeeper straightens, his voice steady but tinged with awe. “Sunfyre has successfully mounted Starfyre. They have mated, Your Grace.”

A collective breath seems to fill the hall, a hum of interest and excitement threading through the air. Viserys’s eyes light up with pleasure, his mind already considering the implications. “This is indeed prosperous news for our House. If their union brings forth viable eggs, it will be a blessing of great fortune.”

Beside him, Alicent nods in agreement, though her attention wavers as a servant, face pale and anxious, approaches her with hurried steps. The servant leans close, whispering into the Queen’s ear. Alicent’s expression shifts, her eyes widening before narrowing into a tight, painful grimace.

Viserys notices, his brows knitting together in concern. “Alicent, what troubles you? Speak plainly.”

The Queen hesitates, her gaze flitting to Otto before settling on Viserys. Her voice is low, strained. “It is… the twins, Your Grace. They… they were found together, in an intimate situation. They had eluded their septa.”

The words hang in the air, and for a moment, there is silence. Viserys’s face hardens, but there is something else in his eyes—a flicker of understanding, perhaps, or resignation.

“Aegon and Y/N…” he murmurs, his voice trailing off. He closes his eyes briefly, then sighs deeply. “The blood of the dragon runs hot, it seems.”

Otto shifts uncomfortably, but it is Alicent who speaks next, her voice taut with disapproval. “They are young, but such behavior is… unbecoming, Your Grace. They must be reminded of their duty, of what is expected of them.”

Viserys opens his eyes, looking at Alicent with a mixture of weariness and something almost like amusement. “They are twins, born together, bound by blood and by fire. Is it so surprising that they would find comfort in each other, as their dragons do?”

Alicent’s lips press into a thin line, but she does not respond, sensing the futility of arguing with the king on this matter.

Viserys continues, his gaze distant as he muses aloud. “Sunfyre and Starfyre—brother and sister, golden and silver, a union as beautiful as it is powerful. They were born in the same moment, just as Aegon and Y/N were. Their bond is not one of simple affection; it is something deeper, something… ancient. The dragons choose their riders, and perhaps, in some way, they guide them too.”

The comparison is not lost on anyone in the room. Sunfyre and Starfyre, two magnificent creatures, both radiant with their own unique beauty, have chosen to mate, their union a symbol of strength and unity for House Targaryen. And like their dragons, Aegon and Y/N share a bond that goes beyond mere sibling affection, a bond forged in fire, blood, and the shared legacy of their house.

Alicent’s discomfort is palpable, but Viserys waves a hand, dismissing her concerns with a sigh. “They are of age soon enough, and they will wed as is our custom. This will strengthen the bloodline, as it has always done. There is no shame in what has happened, only the inevitability of it.”

The room falls silent once more, the tension easing slightly as Viserys’s words settle over them. The Dragonkeepers, still standing at attention, exchange glances before the king waves them away.

“Go,” Viserys says, “and let us hope that Sunfyre and Starfyre’s union blesses us with eggs, and that the fire of our blood burns ever brighter.”

As the Dragonkeepers leave, Alicent glances at Otto, her discomfort still visible. Otto, ever the strategist, simply inclines his head slightly, acknowledging the situation but offering no further comment.

Viserys, his mind already drifting to other matters, leans back in his throne. “Aegon and Y/N…” he murmurs again, almost to himself. “They are as their dragons, destined to be together. Let them be. They will learn their duties soon enough.”

The conversation moves on, but the parallel between the dragons and their riders lingers, unspoken but understood. You and Aegon, like Sunfyre and Starfyre, are bound by something elemental, something that neither courtly expectations nor the disapproval of others can sever. The fire of your shared blood burns bright, and as Viserys himself has said, it is inevitable.

And as you stand by Aegon’s side, you cannot help but feel the truth of it in your very bones.

The dawn breaks over the Red Keep, casting its golden light through the high windows of the royal chambers. The warmth of the sun does little to thaw the icy tension that fills the room as Queen Alicent stands before you and Aegon, her expression a mixture of stern disapproval and maternal concern.

You and Aegon sit side by side on a cushioned bench, close enough that your thighs touch, your fingers occasionally brushing as though neither of you can bear to be apart for even a moment. Aegon’s hand rests casually on your knee, a gesture of comfort and possession that seems to rile Alicent further. She stands before you both, her arms crossed, her lips pressed into a thin line as she gathers herself to speak.

"Do you understand the gravity of what you have done?" Alicent’s voice is sharp, each word carefully enunciated as though she needs to be sure you both understand.

Aegon lifts a shoulder in a careless shrug, his expression almost bored. "What we’ve done, mother, is what was expected of us. Or will be, soon enough." His voice is tinged with the arrogance of someone who knows his place and feels no need to apologize for it.

Alicent’s eyes narrow at his nonchalance, her voice rising slightly as she responds, "Expected of you? To dishonor yourselves in such a way, before your wedding even takes place? This is not just a matter of propriety, Aegon. You were found in an… improper situation, one that brings shame upon you both."

Aegon scoffs, leaning back against the bench, his arm slipping around your waist, drawing you closer to him. "Shame? There is no shame between us. We are to be wed, and what we do now is no different than what we will do once it’s official. The dragons have already shown us the way—why should we deny what is natural?"

His words are blunt, almost crude in their simplicity, and they make Alicent flinch. She shakes her head, clearly frustrated by her son’s cavalier attitude. "You are too flippant, Aegon. You speak as though this is a game, but there are consequences to your actions, even if you do not see them now."

Aegon tightens his hold on you, his gaze unwavering as he meets his mother’s eyes. "There are no consequences that matter, not when the King himself sees no issue. Father understands what we are, what we will be. Why can’t you?"

Alicent’s cheeks flush with anger, and she turns to you, as though seeking an ally in her reprimand. "And you, Y/N? How is it that you two continue to escape your septa’s watchful eyes? This is not the first time, and yet you act as though your actions have no meaning. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Your heart beats steadily in your chest as you look up at your mother, your expression calm. "We did what we had to, mother. The septa cannot keep us apart, and I would not let her even if she tried. Aegon and I…" You pause, searching for the right words. "We are meant to be together, as our dragons are. We are stronger together, and we find peace in each other’s company. Why should we be made to feel guilty for that?"

Alicent’s frustration gives way to something like despair as she realizes that neither of you feel any remorse for your actions. She looks between you and Aegon, her voice softer but no less stern. "You must understand that your behavior reflects on the entire House. You carry the weight of our name, and with that comes the responsibility to act with honor. Your bond is strong, yes, but it must be guided by duty as much as by affection."

Aegon’s grip on you tightens, and he leans in, pressing a kiss to your temple in a gesture that is both tender and defiant. "We know our duty, mother. But our bond is our own. No one, not even you, can dictate how we choose to honor it."

The intimacy between you and Aegon, your heads leaning toward one another, your bodies close, is a silent but powerful statement. It speaks of a love that is as much a part of you as the blood in your veins, a love that refuses to be shamed or hidden away.

Alicent looks away, clearly uncomfortable with the display of affection before her. She takes a deep breath, her voice trembling slightly as she tries one last time to reach you. "I only want what is best for you both. But you must be careful. The court is full of eyes, and tongues wag far too easily. You must be above reproach, especially as the future of this House."

Aegon’s expression softens slightly, though his resolve does not waver. "We understand, mother. But know this—we will not deny what we are. Not for the court, not for anyone. We are dragons, and dragons are not meant to be tamed."

Alicent studies you both for a long moment, and then, with a weary sigh, she nods. "Very well. But know that I will not be so lenient if this happens again. The next time, I will not hesitate to involve your father directly, and you will not like the consequences of that."

With those final words, Alicent turns and leaves the room, her posture rigid with the effort of maintaining her composure. The door closes behind her with a quiet click, and the tension in the room seems to dissipate the moment she is gone.

You and Aegon remain seated, your bodies still close, but now, the air between you feels lighter, freer. Aegon looks at you, a slow smile spreading across his face. "That wasn’t so bad, was it?" he says, his tone playful.

You smile back, leaning into him as you feel his warmth against your side. "No, it wasn’t. But I wish she could understand. We’re not like everyone else."

Aegon nods, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your arm. "She’ll never understand, not fully. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is that we do, and nothing will change that."

You rest your head on his shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. "Nothing will change that," you echo softly, knowing the truth of those words deep within your soul.

The heavy oak doors to your chambers close behind you with a quiet thud, sealing the world outside as you and Aegon stumble into the room. The thrill of the night’s stolen moments pulses in your veins, a heady mixture of wine and newfound desire that has you both breathless with anticipation. Your heart races as Aegon pulls you to him, his lips capturing yours in a fierce, urgent kiss.

The taste of wine lingers on his tongue, sweet and intoxicating, as he presses against you, his hands already working at the laces of your gown. You reach for his tunic in turn, your fingers trembling with impatience as you tug at the fabric, desperate to feel his skin against yours.

“We have too many clothes,” Aegon murmurs against your lips, his voice low and rough with need. There’s a teasing edge to his words, but the fire in his eyes is anything but playful.

“Then we should get rid of them,” you reply breathlessly, your hands finally finding purchase on his tunic and pulling it over his head. His skin is warm under your touch, his muscles taut with the tension of restraint quickly unraveling.

Aegon chuckles, a sound that vibrates through you, sending a shiver down your spine. “I couldn’t agree more.”

In your haste, the two of you stumble over each other, half-laughing, half-moan as you attempt to discard your clothing. Your gown pools at your feet as Aegon steps out of his trousers, the two of you moving in a frantic dance across the chamber, neither of you willing to break the contact of your bodies for even a moment.

Aegon’s hands find your waist, lifting you with an ease born of familiarity as he backs you toward a nearby table. Your back meets the cool wood, and you gasp as he pushes your legs apart, his fingers digging into your thighs as he leans over you, his breath hot against your neck.

“You drive me mad,” he whispers, his voice thick with desire as his lips brush your ear, trailing kisses down the column of your throat.

You arch into him, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pull him closer. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way,” you breathe, your words lost in a gasp as he enters you, a moan of pleasure escaping your lips at the feeling of him filling you.

Aegon’s hands grip your hips as he moves, his movements frantic, driven by the urgency of a fire that neither of you can quench. The table creaks under your combined weight, but the noise only spurs him on, his lips finding yours again in a searing kiss.

“I need more of you,” he groans against your mouth, his voice hoarse as he pulls you off the table, your legs wrapping around his waist as he attempts to carry you to the bed.

You cling to him, your nails digging into his shoulders, but in your haste, his foot catches on the edge of a rug, sending you both tumbling to the floor in a tangle of limbs. The fall jolts a laugh from you, the sound bubbling up between moans as you feel the press of him inside you, undeterred by the sudden change in position.

“Aegon,” you gasp, your voice a mix of laughter and desire as you move together, the hard floor beneath you forgotten in the heat of the moment.

He chuckles, a breathless sound that vibrates against your skin. “I think the bed is overrated anyway,” he says, his hands roaming over your body as he thrusts into you with renewed fervor.

You can only moan in response, your body arching into his as the two of you continue your desperate union, every movement fueled by the need to be closer, to feel more of each other.

Eventually, the bed does beckon, and somehow, in the midst of your fevered passion, you find yourselves on it, the soft sheets a welcome change from the hard floor. Aegon’s pace slows slightly as he pulls you against him, his lips finding yours again in a kiss that is no less passionate but now tempered with a kind of tenderness that makes your heart ache.

“You’re mine,” he whispers against your lips, his voice filled with a possessive intensity that sends a shiver down your spine.

“And you’re mine,” you reply, your voice soft but no less fierce, your hands caressing his face as you look into his eyes, the connection between you deepening with every word, every touch.

The night stretches on, the two of you losing yourselves in each other again and again, until finally, you collapse into each other’s arms, exhausted but satisfied, the fire between you finally quenched, at least for the moment.

As you lay there, your bodies tangled together under the covers, Aegon presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, his hand stroking your hair as you drift toward sleep.

“Nothing will ever keep us apart,” he murmurs, his voice a soft promise in the quiet of the night.

You smile, your heart swelling with love as you snuggle closer to him, knowing that no matter what the world throws at you, nothing could ever break the bond you share. And as you drift into sleep, the last thing you feel is the warmth of his body against yours, the steady beat of his heart a comforting reminder that you are exactly where you belong.

The first light of dawn barely touches the sky, casting a pale glow over the Red Keep. The room is dim and warm, filled with the remnants of last night's indulgence—half-empty goblets of wine, discarded garments strewn across the floor, and the heady scent of passion lingering in the air.

You lay tangled in the silk sheets with Aegon, your bare bodies pressed together under the covers. His arm is draped lazily over your waist, and your head rests comfortably on his chest, rising and falling with the rhythm of his breath. The night had been a blur of laughter, whispered confessions, and the kind of love that leaves you both breathless and content.

But the peace of the morning is abruptly shattered as the door to your chamber bursts open. Before either of you can react, the heavy curtains are yanked aside, flooding the room with blinding sunlight. You groan, burying your face in Aegon’s chest to escape the sudden brightness, while he lets out a disgruntled noise of protest.

“For the love of—” Aegon begins, but his complaint is cut short as the covers are ripped away, leaving you both exposed to the cool morning air and the stern gaze of your septa.

“Good morning, my prince, my princess,” she says briskly, her tone making it clear that there’s nothing good about this morning at all. The septa, a stern woman named Septa Maris, has the kind of face that rarely cracks a smile, and this morning is no exception. Her greying hair is pulled back tightly, and her eyes are sharp as they take in the scene before her.

Aegon squints up at her, clearly annoyed. “Septa Maris, what in the seven hells are you doing here at this hour?”

Septa Maris doesn’t so much as flinch at his language. “I am here under the Queen’s orders, Your Grace. Her Majesty has instructed me to ensure that you both maintain a presentable state until your wedding. And further to that matter—” she pauses, her gaze hardening as she looks between you and Aegon, “—you will no longer be sharing a bed until you are properly wed.”

You feel Aegon tense beside you, his annoyance quickly shifting to anger. “That’s absurd,” he snaps. “We’re to be wed soon enough. What difference does it make if we share a bed now or later?”

Septa Maris raises an eyebrow, her tone unyielding. “The difference, Your Grace, is in the propriety of it. You may do as you wish after your vows are spoken, but until then, you will adhere to the customs of our house. Now, both of you, up.”

Aegon groans again, dropping his head back onto the pillow with a dramatic sigh. “This is ridiculous.”

You can’t help but chuckle at his exasperation, and you reach over to brush a lock of his silver hair from his forehead. “Come now, Aegon, you know she won’t leave until we do as she says.”

He turns his head to look at you, his violet eyes gleaming with mischief. “Perhaps we should just ignore her and see if she gives up.”

Septa Maris, unimpressed by the suggestion, clears her throat loudly. “You will rise, both of you, and make yourselves presentable. I will not leave until it is done.”

Aegon lets out another exaggerated sigh but begins to sit up, clearly not thrilled about being dragged out of bed so early. You follow suit, wrapping a sheet around yourself as you move to the edge of the bed.

“There,” Aegon says with a smirk as he tosses his legs over the side of the bed, “we’re up. Are you satisfied now, Septa Maris?”

Septa Maris’s gaze sharpens as she catches sight of the wine-stained goblets on the nightstand and the scattered clothes. “Hardly. You both look like you’ve been dragged through the Dornish desert. You will wash, dress, and present yourselves properly before the Queen hears of this.”

Aegon rolls his eyes but stands, stretching his arms above his head, entirely unconcerned with his state of undress. You can’t help but admire the way the early light plays across his skin, the easy confidence in the way he moves.

“Fine, fine,” he grumbles as he reaches for a discarded tunic. “But don’t think for a moment that we’ll abide by this ridiculous rule of yours. You might keep us apart during the day, but the nights belong to us.”

Septa Maris’s expression is as stern as ever, but there’s a flicker of frustration in her eyes as she turns her attention to you. “And you, my lady, you should know better than to indulge your brother in such folly. You are a princess, and princesses must uphold the highest standards of conduct.”

You offer her a small, apologetic smile as you gather your own clothes, though you’re not feeling particularly sorry. “Of course, Septa. I’ll do my best to remember that.”

Aegon snorts at your diplomatic response, pulling his tunic over his head. “Oh, we’ll remember it, all right. And then we’ll forget it again as soon as she’s out of earshot.”

Septa Maris steps forward, her patience clearly wearing thin. “Enough of this insolence. Lady Y/N, come with me now. You will bathe and dress properly before the morning meal.”

You and Aegon exchange a look as she says this, a silent communication passing between you. His eyes are filled with defiance and a promise—one that says no septa, no matter how stern, could ever keep you apart.

“Don’t worry, Y/N,” Aegon says, his voice light and teasing as he steps closer, his hand brushing yours. “We’ll find a way, as we always do.”

You squeeze his hand briefly before stepping away, following Septa Maris toward the door. “I know,” you say softly, a smile playing at your lips. “No septa or gods could ever keep us apart.”

As you walk away, you feel Aegon’s gaze on you, warm and reassuring. The two of you might be separated for now, but it’s only a matter of time before you find each other again, as you always do. And the thought of that next secret rendezvous, hidden away from prying eyes, fills you with a thrill that no amount of propriety could ever diminish.

And as you leave the room, you’re already thinking of the many ways you can outmaneuver your septa, the promise of another night together fueling your every step.

[allnighter200]

Sitting, crying over a toilet your dormitory's restroom with food poisoning ([literal] fruit of my dumbassness), with a teacher trying to be helpful (she was very sweet) while also being anything but reassuring, gives a person a new kind of loneliness. Especially as it's late af and your parents are probably either asleep or working, and your sibling is not answering their fucking texts, ffs. While the only thing you really want is someone who had already experienced it saying it's going to be fine after it's over.

Thankfully. (Thank Fuck) My dad was still up at the ass o'clock of 11 (even tho he was just planning on going to bed, my timing is impeccable), and as I inherited my dumbassness from him, he was able to calm me down from my (quite pathetic) crying.

The next morning sucked ass, waking up every two hours also sucked, and having a bucket by me was quite literally a life saver. But by noon I could eat yogurt, and by afternoon I was able to eat a sandwich in two halves. Probably not the best decisions, but I did wait out eating 8 hours after the last emptying of my poor stomach. (Even tho everything I've read said to wait till the second day before eating more solid food ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯) And it didn't come back up, so I'll consider it a success.

[island-in-the-shadows]

Writing ff while battling a head cold is and unique challenge. Two halves of my brain fighting like: They kissed and...*loses consciousness for a little bit* they kissed and...*sleeps again* they kissed. Wait what?

[solbit-fox]

Second Serbian dub of Filly Funtasia

You heard that right! Dexy TV just went and premiered another Serbian dub of FF in December 2023.

It has one only dubbed song - intro theme, and it sounds lovely. Other songs were subtitled.

You can hear it thanks to my sweet friend and her friends! :3

And another nice person provides the lyrics in Serbian and the translation ;)

The show seems to be airing each day, https://www.dexytv.rs/tv-program and each episode is split into two halves, much like China and Germany have it. Except the order of episodes is the same as in majority of countries (starts with Cupcakes Mystery, ends with Battle for dark crystal).

I find it also cool that Dexy aired many other cartoons generations of people love. My Little Pony is also there ;)

[calico-constellation]

Great post as always, Feathers.

I think that thinking about FM and FF as two ends of the same spectrum is also incredibly useful when still in the early stages of recovery, because it adds depth and dimension to conceptualizing what either one might look like.

We're still very much in the early stages; we've only fairly recently, really in the past year and a half, started getting absolutely anywhere with our system. When we first discovered our system we leaned on a lot of ideas that systemhood had to be miserable and we had to become one, and doing otherwise was anti recovery. Then over time we started kind of liking each other, and none of us wants to go away, nor do we want our parts to go away. We've helped each other through a lot, even if we're part of the same person, we love each other. It was hard to imagine ourselves as condensing down to our host or core; we don't even really have one.

And then we were introduced to the idea that it's not that black and white, and things started to make sense. It really sank in for us what it Meant when fused systems said that alters didn't disappear during fusion. And whatever choice we make isn't one we're locked into forever. We're notoriously awful at making decisions about ourselves, so it's great news for us and a bit stress relieving that we kind of don't actually have to, at least not permanently. Fusion became less scary to think about, and more intriguing, and even exciting for some of us. And honestly it made blending and partial integration less scary too!!

Pardon if there's a bit of tone changing, multiple parts are wanting to add thoughts. For a while now I've been a lot less overtly active than when our system was discovered, but that's also because I've started to integrate more with an alter whom I love and trust very much, and I think fusion might be right around the corner for us. Honestly, we've been avoiding it for a long time because we were scared of what it might mean. But I think we might be almost there, and it would be good for both of us. We've always been twin halves; we didn't start out on the best foot but with time and work we've come to realize that we're at our best when we're borrowing aspects from each other. I've rarely come out much explicitly these days, because most of the time I've just been tangled up with him. It probably would have taken us a lot longer to get here if we were still stuck in being afraid of losing ourselves in each other. More and more we're realizing that that's not something that can happen, because we have always belonged in exactly the same place.

Apologies, I've gotten quite off track, my ADHD tends to send me on rambles haha. I think I got that from him; or more accurately, that part of myself now belongs to both of us. Point is, seeing FM and FF as a spectrum rather than two separate boxes got us light years further than trying to visualize what one of them might look like without leaving space for the other. This is a good outlook and it helped me.

Full Integration, Final Fusion, Functional Multiplicitly, and General "Spirituality"

(Disclaimer: this is a very long post)

Heyyo, this is a bit of a hodgepodge of connected topics that I was thinking on this morning. For those that don't know, after like three months of being a really solid fused whole, we really decided that we needed to redivide back into our core parts to recenter, rebalance, and reorganize ourselves since our fused whole was loosing sight / vision of the "plot". We don't consider this "splitting" because we are still in - what we like to call "full integration" - and we don't really engage in much dissociation when we do this as the means of how we do this largely stems from the way we perceive, engage with, and view the concept of "self" and "identity." Our system highly values the mastery and art of a very fluid and ever changing sense of identity and self. This morning - thank you Chunn brain for batting our collective brain from the usual urge to get out of bed and get started with our day to give us time to really sit with our inner selves - we spent about an hour and a half and a small half hour nap just laying there thinking among ourselves and I wanted to share a few.

I think at the moment I am still mostly a fused whole and I had considered trying to go to Ray or Lin for them to write this, but it didn't feel right to go to Ray brain and Lin brain directly told me "Dude, this thought line started with Riku-dominant fused brain, trying to have someone else write it would be a disservice to the reflection. Let Riku or Riku-dominant fused brain do it, it's their thought." and you know, fair point. I think I'll use this post as a temporary "bye few thoughts" and love letter to our parts as a fused whole before leaving it to the individual specialists to do their things.

So introduction to this post aside, hello and temporary soon to be farewell before I choose to temporarily redivide into my main parts. Today is May 15, 2024 and I'm gonna document this a bit for when I come back whenever that is and kind of see if my fused-whole perspective and nature changes - mostly for myself. Online I go by Feathers, irl I just go by our chosen name.

I'm a (mostly, technically non-denominational independent, but most of my views and perspectives come from and align closely with) Zen Buddhist. I'm nonbinary vaguely transmasc (not really though?) intersex individual with the pronouns of they/them. I am extremely pro-endo and if I honestly felt like sticking around longer, I was thinking about writing a much more nuanced essay on tulpa-terminology discourse with my current reflections as a fused whole and as a pretty avid Buddhist but, unforunately, unless one of my parts still shares the same insight AND interest, that essay will have to wait for me to potentially be back (hey, Riku or Chunn might still want to who knows). I dunno what else to say, I love bird, Bleach, walking, driving, listening to music, video games, writing, art? I dunno man, I'm just me.

Documentation aside anyways, I gotta figure out where I want to start. I think I will actually piss my high-school English teachers off and start with the LAST thing in the title card. I might loose a lot of close minded white anti-endos here, but hey, if you are that close minded, then its your loss cause I'm just talking about late-stage recovery as a person with diagnosed DID that is considered polyfragmented. It's a fun conversation to have with other people with DID aiming for recovery so, if you're hell bent on hating people talking about plurality form a non-DID lens enough to disregard cool information, that's your loss. (Thank you XIV brain, crediting that to you for part of our goal today)

Buddhism, Spirituality, Plurality and Our Perspective of Full Integration

According to Buddhism, and one of the largest concepts and principles of Buddhism that we believe the most in and actively work to practice and cultivate the mindset of - is that the concept of "I" and the concept of a singular, distinct, and separate self from the world and others simply does not exist - only the experience and illusion of experience exists. I was talking about it with @quoigenicfromhell in DMs since they were interested in talking shop about Buddhism.

To save myself a whole effort of rewriting a discussion on how one can hold together the clear sensation of existing and being an individual with the idea and Buddhist understanding that the "self" does not exist, I'm going to copy a little bit of what I wrote in response to them. If it doesn't make sense cause its in a bit of Buddhist jargon, then oh well, I'm lazy, it's written for an audience that has done some reading and looking into Buddhist thought so RIP yall srry not srry (Thank you Chunn brain lol)

Honestly the development and understanding of holding those two things together (the non-self and non-existence with the clear experience of self and existence) is largely a lot of exploration on the understanding and respect for the experience without applying too much value or regard to said experience. Its kind of a hard thing to understand just based off of words alone and like all things Buddhism, its one of those sorts of things you really gotta sit on and explore in your own mental space, but like

The experience of self and personhood and existence is a denied concept in Buddhist thought, but its not a bad or incorrect thing, the experience of self and existence is kind of considered an inherent expression of life and the world and while its important to be cognicent that it is an illusion that can cause suffering and muddy an individuals ability to see Things As They Are, the experience and illusion of self is additionally an entirely natural thing to experience and is an important part of being able to, well, be

I kinda of personally perceive it kind of similarly to say a part in a system. Innately the part is not (at least in my experiences of systemhood) a literal entire separate being and thats an important thing to acknowledge for a number of reasons (life organization and direction, system accountability, etc) but its would also be incredibly foolish to completely ignore that the part operates, experiences themselves, and lives in the world (both inner and outer) as if they were an individual of their own

In the same sense that a part in a system can be seen both as an individual and a part of a whole / collective depending on what perspective and demands the moment needs. An individual can be seen both as the individual expression of a self informed by the arguably incorrect illusion of isolation OR as a part of the whole worlds expression depending on what serves the moment the best. I largely kind of see myself as part of a system that is the world much like I see my parts as part of a system that is "me". While the self may be an illusion, its not an experience that can be denied and it is an innate expression that in its own right can prove to be a great teacher So you deny the concept of a self but respect and revere the experience and innate natural expression of self

With that context in mind, while we do not believe in the concept of self and find that trying to seek out a concrete idea of a singular person and singular self in society is a source of extreme suffering, stress, and displeasure, we DEEPLY revere and honor the expression of self. As we see it, in a complete ideal and impossible the world would be in perfect harmony if we let the world express itself as it naturally does. We find that the experiences of self - in whatever form they take - are inherent and natural expressions of the world as a whole and to try to shape oneself to fit a specific image - may that be societally imposed or internally / personally imposed or a sense of envy or any sort of clinging or desire to a specific version / image of self - is a disrespect to the innate beauty found in the natural expression and a means of adding disharmony into the world.

As a result, our system and whole aims deeply, above almost all else to exist simply as we naturally would in any moment time to time. If we find that something we are doing with our sense of self is drawn and influenced too much on a "I should" or "I want" or "I wish" or "I hope" then we tend to pause, self reflect, and ask if we are actually existing in our natural state, or are we trying to fight against our natural state of self to fit into a self-imposed idea of what we "should be".

As a result of that, our system deeply values our flexibility, fluidity, and ability to change any aspect of ourselves, any opinion we hold, any identity label we consider, and our overall presentation in all ways and forms to a very high level. The desire to be consistent and predictable serves us little in simply practicing on "being" and finding the true and simply-run life that we want. That then results in why our system so casually flips around in system size, fusions, redivisions, how we refer to ourselves, etc. We find very little value in committing to labels and concepts and do whatever is natural for us.

Additionally, another large aspect of Buddhism our system deeply reveres and appreciates is the acknowledgement that there are "Buddhas" - or in less Jargon terms, potential for everything both internal and external to be teachers and guides into finding a sense of peace and simplicity in the world - and that it is deeply important to cultivating peace, happiness, and insight to actively always be seeking out the "Buddha" in everything and everyone. It's important to reflect, engage with, and talk with those "Buddhas" as they are the best and number one way to gain the insight that brings happiness and peace into life and removes excessive suffering and stress.

As many Buddhists agree (at least of the Mahayanan branches), everyone is inherently a Buddha because the world and everything is a Buddha. The only issue people have is that they can not connect, hear, and see clearly enough to be in that state due to a large number of human conditions - one large one being the aforementioned illusion of self.

Having lived my life as someone with DID and having gone through a lot of trauma therapy, self reflection, communication and coordination with my parts, and all that to the point we have reached functional multiplicity over a year plus ago and been able to hold a fully fused state for over three months, I feel like its a given to say that of ALL things in the world, the "Buddha nature" of my parts have been the best and most insightful teachers I've ever had. We revere each other's strengths and specialties greatly as each of us have taught the other great strengths, great understandings, great insights, and great appreciations that have collectively brought us so much peace and happiness. It's not to say any part is "enlightened" because each part is also deeply flawed and struggling in their own realms, but it is largely by working and talking and supporting one another and ACTIVELY looking to one another for insight and lessons about the world and our existence that we are able to reach a uniquely peaceful space.

For us, its an incredibly important practice - both for self care and in the art / spirituality of Buddhism - to regularly talk and engage with these specialized and uniquely-wise (and uniquely stupid - thank you XIV) parts of ourselves to gain deeper insight and overall understanding of ourselves and our place in the world.

In the same sense, it is why - despite being completely capable of operating as a fully fused whole - we regularly choose to INTENTIONALLY redivide into our parts. And no, its not us "splitting again" or even really throwing up any real level of dissociation / dissociative barriers. If anything, we usually do this through meditation and mindfulness.

It's a Buddhist practice, its not a mental disorder and its not stemming from the same mechanism's DID stems from. It might operate *based* on the foundation our history with DID stems from, but at this point in our healing, the way our system operates at functional multiplicity that is intentionally chosen to be that way AFTER reaching "final fusion" has a number of differences from how it operated before we reached general full integration.

Again, for those more familiar with the tulpa-terminology discussion, you might be able to see where I would have a long post delving into a highly nuanced and more middle-ground perspective of that syscourse from the paragraph above this one, but I'm gonna leave that cause I already know this post is long and it would detract from the purpose.

At this point, my system is mostly an "intentionally created one" to Western label standards. We personally do not see any significance or binary in plural VS singular people beyond it being a label some people identify with and not. Plural VS Singular is a false binary perpetuated in white, western, and european society and while I respect that perspective and view in a space that is primarily filled with white, western, and/or european individuals, I am going to firmly state that and expect you to give me that same respect. (and if you refuse to give me that same respect, then you are close minded and being very white / western lmao <- thank you XIV, again)

And so the other related but slightly different topic away from the more philosophical, esoteric, mysticism sounding topic of Buddhism...

Full Integration, Final Fusion, and Functional Multiplicitly

At this point, what we used to call "Wishiwashi Recovery" we kind of have taken to just calling "full integration" generally as a means of really breaking apart the suggested categorical and boxed binary of "final fusion" and "functional multiplicity" as our own experience and discussion with other systems at and near full integration have made us realize that the difference between functional multiplicity and final fusion is FAR more a spectrum than it is two seperate categories. Some systems stick to one end, some to the others, but the largest difference is in external and internal expression of the parts and less any fundamental or biological / clinical difference; at least not in terms of integration. (Note: Integration =/= Fusion; Integration is the general connectivity and accessibility of parts with less / limited / no dissociation)

It's a false binary to say Final Fusion or Functional Multiplicity and its why a lot of the "ones bad and ones good" syscourse is dumb. They're two heads of the same Doduo and they should be kissing. (JOKING, thank you Riku-Aya brain)

With that said, our system, as we've made clear, regularly and freely practices sliding and flying all over that spectrum as just how we like to engage with ourselves. We change between the two as we see fit and having spent probably like 9~ months in functional multiplicity and 3~ months in final fusion I wanted to share some pros and cons of both sides.

I would also like to put a disclaimer that this isn't meant to be "positives and why this side sucks" as much as it is the differences in life style according to our opinion and our experience. Both final fusion and functional multiplicity are absolutely WONDERFUL things overall and we love both states. If we got "stuck" in either, we would still be immensely happy. The purpose of this part is just to share certain differences in how we experience the two different ends. The Cons in these case are only "cons" relative to the "alternative" and not "to not ever reaching either"

Functional Multiplicity Pros:

A lot more clear and direct communication between parts internally that allows for a SHIT ton of internal banter, productive conversation about complex topic and perspectives from unique and diverse perspectives; the communication is a lot more intentional and a lot more in focus so its easier to properly sit and attend to the complex differences and sometimes conflicting directions

It's honestly just a lot of fun, not gonna lie. A lot more dramatic and extravagant expression + brain friends in a more overt sense

Easier to let certain parts of the brain take "breaks" - it's not the same as it is with not-fully-integrated DID but compared to Full Fusion, certain parts of the brain can "tune out" easier than not

More palatable to DID / OSDD spaces online

Easier to focus and use a wide variety of skills, interests, hobbies, and thinking patterns by simply just having a specialist part take their look at it

Generally easier to target specific boxes to look into as you process all the newly accessible memories and information from being highly / fully integrated

Final Fusion Pros:

Quick and a lot more inherent understanding of all parts on a general gut level without necessarily needing to fully think about everything and listen to every opinion and perspective; there is a lot more of an inherent understanding, trust, and awareness of the collective whole which makes decision making and seeing whats good for the system as a whole a lot easier

It's honestly way more calming, relaxing, and solid feeling. There is a unique sense of confidence, understanding, and trust within yourself and you have a HUGE arsenal of skills and interests that come from the combined parts that you've lived as

You are a lot more present and aware of your life and you actually get to live YOUR life and have all parts of yourself be engaged in life; no part feels really left behind or is caught off guard from having their brain partially turned off. The awareness is really present and engagement is so much more complete.

More palatable in real life and non-DID/OSDD spaces

Easier to simultaneously use skills from multiple parts at once; very much a jack of all trades all at once situation

Generally easier to integrate multiple complex and otherwise seemingly detatched boxes of memory and the past as you process all the newly accessible memories and information from being highly / fully integrated

Functional Multiplicity Cons:

Takes more intention, focus, and often time to get the same level of full understanding of the whole system when making decisions. It can be slow and it requires a lot more internal engagement which can make it harder to be fully present in life

Sometimes you can get what I call "lite" amnesia where a part was not paying attention and doesn't fully process what was going on / what is going on and so sometimes you get poor attention-driven "amnesia". It's small and easily recovered by simply going "hold up wait" and thinking back or asking another part

Harder to use skills from different parts at the same time; albeit definitely still possible and only "harder" relative to final fusion

Generally harder / requires intentional discussion between parts to integrate multiple complex boxes as you process all the newly accessible memories and information from being highly / fully integrated

Final Fusion Cons:

Less direct and overt bantering and discussion between parts (still present by the way, just less frequent and less overt). It can be a little less fun (still is fun cause they are sill there) and it can be a bit harder to fully see the extent of a more extreme perspective

It can be tiring and overwhelming to be aware and present so much for so long if you were accustomed to the breaks DID / OSDD tends to give parts

Easier to forget to use a lot of the skills and hobbies that may have been more niche to less-dominant and less-prominent parts; you don't "loose" the skills, you just aren't accustomed to using them as much so you can just kinda forget to use them

Harder to focus on a targetted recovered memory / information that you want to process and can sometimes be a bit overwhelming trying to connect a number of things at once

And this is all just to say that both are absolutely astonishing and great places to mentally be. The main point is that - for us - sometimes one state works better for us in the moment and another state works better for us later and that's completely cool cause - as aforementioned - the difference between plural vs singular is not a binary one for us anyways.

Anyways, I don't know how to wrap this up so I'mma just post it

Ideally today we will focus on cultivating our independent parts and return to Functional Multiplicity end of the spectrum so I guess tata for now

-Feathers

EDIT and PS: Anyone is allowed to add their thoughts to this so long it is in good faith.

[thisgarbagepicker]

“Night Spectres” - Reylo Weekly Challenge

My contribution to the third @two-halves-of-reylo Tumblr weekly challenge, “Scars” theme.

“Night Spectres” (AO3)

Words: 2,830

Summary: A week after reuniting with Resistance, Rey is plagued by nightmares of the Supremacy and struggling to cope with her new life as a rallying point of rebellion. As she inspects her healing wounds and contemplates taking a late-night shower, the Force bond opens for the first time since she last saw Kylo Ren on Crait.

The young woman in the mirror is beginning to look more like herself. Rey leans nearer to the filmy glass and gently prods the bruise above her left eye. A week after the event that gave it to her, it has all but faded entirely. There are others on her body that are more stubborn—her back, ribs, knees, and shins all bear marks of the fight on the Supremacy, and likely will for another week or so. The angry slice at the top of her right arm has scabbed over. It will leave a scar, which she supposes could have been prevented in better times. But the Resistance supply of medical necessities, and everything else it possesses, is dire. She would not have allowed the use of bacta for such a small thing even if it had been offered her.

She is grateful of the quiet afforded by the hour, which is either very late or very early. The new base is never silent during waking hours, and often not even at night. In spite of the reasons for her wakefulness, the unusual tranquility seems like a gift. Particularly when all she really wants to do is sneak a shower and go back to her bunk in the hopes of having at least another hour or two to rest her eyes, even if sleep continues to elude her.

People have stopped pressing Rey about what happened on the Supremacy. They take her lack of denial of the rumors they pick up in intercepted transmissions to mean there is nothing to deny: that she is responsible for Snoke’s death. They suppose she must be struggling to cope with the things she saw and did and will give more detailed accounts when she’s ready. At first she didn’t agree. She was coping fine, she told herself. Now, she thinks they are probably right. The nightmare that woke her tonight is not the first she’s had since Crait, and she knows it won’t be the last.

Snoke inside her head, a grasping claw ripping here, tearing there, taking anything and everything because he can, leaving her nerves blazing and mind raw and aching. A body bisected by a beam of blue light, toppling from a throne, and the sharp sickening smell of cauterized flesh. The weight of the lightsaber in her hand as it enters body after body, the low sound of its hum always steady in the violence of thrust, swipe, parry, lunge. So little blood but red everywhere and that smell again and again and again. Ben, Kylo—she hasn’t decided how she thinks of him now, when she does, which is often—his face ashen and pupils blown in the aftermath of carnage. As fire falls around her, the way her heart and hopes crumble when she realizes that Luke was right: this would not go as she thought it must.

Sensory impressions, seared in memory. Each night her mind, stripped of waking rationality, brings her something new and uniquely terrible. Rey closes her eyes and takes a deep, centering breath.

“Breathe,” she whispers roughly to herself as she releases it. “Come on. Rey, just . . . breathe.”

It’s hard tonight but she manages, and she shivers as the air stills. She feels something within her slip into alignment. Better. She again inspects the wound on her arm, frowns at the memories it calls up, resists the urge to pick at the scab, and begins to draw her shirt up over her head.

A man clears his throat somewhere behind her. Startled, Rey yelps and spins, tugging her shirt back into place. It’s him, standing against the wall with his eyes averted. Kylo. Ben. Kylo. Ben, she determines in the moment. It’s who he is. Better to think this way. It bolsters her belief that there is still a chance that she wasn’t wrong and that the Force is at work even in this. Still some reason, no matter how small, to hope for him.

That doesn’t mean she isn’t angry or hurting. She turns back to the mirror, where her face is taut with alarm. She can’t see him reflected behind her, even though he should be visible in the glass. But then he isn't really here, is he? Rey looks over her shoulder again to make sure this isn’t just her mind tricking her. Some new nightmare. He is still there, staring at her now.

Her mind is working too slowly, and part of it stubbornly continues to insist that she is alone in the room. Unbidden, she remembers local lore on Jakku, of sand wraiths and night spectres. Ghosts. If you had the misfortune of encountering one, stories said, you were not to speak to it. If you did, it would stay, feed on you, haunt you, until you were never truly alone and the knowledge of it drove you mad. She doesn’t say anything.

He’s standing stiffly, and his voice is flat and low when he says, “I thought you were ignoring me on purpose.”

Rey considers doing just that. It would be easiest to splash her face with water from the sink and leave as if Ben isn’t here. She doesn’t feel like arguing, and that is the only way she can see this going. But she really does crave the singular prolonged solitude the shower would provide, and his presence puts a bump in that plan.

“Go away.” She immediately regrets saying it. Not because she doesn’t mean it, but because it’s a ridiculous request in the circumstances.

The look he gives her, like he can’t believe she just said that when she knows this is as much out of his control as it is out of hers, makes her even angrier. After a week of nothing, Rey was starting to think that their connection in the Force truly had died. Now she sees that this was just another simplistic, premature assumption.

She has been standing hunched up against the sink basin as if Ben’s presence here frightens her. Which it doesn’t, so she forces herself to relax. It almost works.

“How’s your wound?” he asks as she straightens.

The question nettles her. Something in the way Ben inclines his chin when he asks, a flimsy pretense of superiority that she sees through and doesn't like. She isn’t sure how long he was watching her before he alerted her to his presence, but evidently it was long enough to see her examining her arm. He has no right to ask, as far as she is concerned.

“It’s nothing,” she says shortly, glaring at her own solitary reflection. “Like me, remember?”

Rey can’t help it. Reflexively, she turns to look at him, curious to see if her words get a reaction. She is pleased to find that he looks fleetingly abashed.

But then his face hardens. “Is that supposed to hurt me?”

She’s not sure. It hurt her, when he said it on the Supremacy, and she senses that it hurts him now to be reminded of his tactlessness. Why did she do that? She should be ignoring him. Instead she’s already being drawn out, so easily, and willfully makes it worse. “Does it?”

His only response is to take a few steps toward her.

“Don't you dare.” Her voice doesn't sound right, the way the room makes it echo slightly. She’s not even sure what she thinks he’s going to do. She just doesn’t want him nearer. “Stay where you are.”

Ben halts, so suddenly and completely that she almost thinks he’s run against a physical barrier. “Happy?”

Rey isn't sure if he means the question in reference to his stopping at her request, or to her situation at large, here with the Resistance. She suspects the latter.

“Yes.” A partial lie. She looks at him full on, and feels herself about to resort to his methods of deflection. Yet she’s been provoked, and she can’t stop herself. “You aren't.”

He is impassive at first, but only just able to hold it. Then his mouth squirms and he turns the statement back on her, just as she knew he would.

“And you're lying. I can feel it.”

“Then why ask? It's a stupid question.”

She isn't in unhappy. The people here are important to her. She cares about them. Finn most especially, and Leia, too. They have never made her feel as if her place should be anywhere else. There is belonging here, but tempered by a sense she gets, a little more each day, that they view her as something other. Something with the power to lift stones with only a thought, or wield a legendary lightsaber with next to no training, or bring down the Supreme Leader of the First Order single-handedly. Something around which they can rebuild their hope and the rebel platform. Another Luke. And so, while they mean well, Rey knows everyone treats her differently since she returned. Except Finn, but even he has things he seems afraid to ask her. She can sense it, and that’s almost as bad.

And there is her failure to save the man speaking to her now. It wasn’t her failure alone, but she’d placed so much on it that it weighs on her anyway. Mostly at night, when she has little else to distract her from it, and anything that might serve as a distraction—meditating, mending her saber, perusing ancient Jedi texts—only brings him more to mind. All these things accounted for, happiness is not something Rey considers within her grasp yet.

Ben is rankled by her response for reasons she doesn't know. He takes another step toward her, then stops as if he forgot himself briefly. “If you hadn't attacked me—”

“If I hadn’t attacked you?” Rey cuts him off, pushing away from the sink and rounding off to his right, looking wide-eyed at him. She tries to keep her voice low, but it’s difficult in her mounting indignation. “Attacked you? I didn’t attack you!”

“Oh, no? Why else would you have tried to rip the lightsaber away?” He’s facing her off, arms stiff. His posture is all bluster, but his voice quavers. “If not betrayal?”

She would laugh, mostly out of shock, but she’s too aware of the seriousness of his accusation, and her throat constricts. Even if he is wrong, there is hurt in his eyes all over again. At least she isn’t alone in that. Rey refuses to give him any ground, and her mind races for an answer that isn’t hostile.

“I didn’t attack you,” she repeats, more calmly than the last time, but still piqued. “You think I want you dead? If that’s so, why would I have left you alive? I woke and found you unconscious. I could have ended it right there.” Her eyes fix on the scar that curves over his face and neck. She notes the way it starts as a fine line over his eyebrow, cuts deeper across his cheek, seams his jaw and throat, and though the rest is hidden from her view, she remembers the stark way it hooks over his chest as well. Ben notices the way she stares, and she doesn’t stop. She wants him to know that the intensity of her gaze is as much a reminder as her next words. “But I didn’t. Again.”

He visibly deflates and takes a step back, though his face is still tense, and his eyes are darting over her. She can’t tell what he’s thinking. Whatever it is, it’s troubling him deeply, and she doesn’t know why, but she longs to know it. There is a way she could find out. Not one she’s ever tried intentionally, and she doubts it would work now. She doesn’t want to revisit that moment in the interrogation room ever again, in spirit or otherwise, so she leaves Ben to his thoughts.

“I thought you’d gone back to Luke. That you’d brought him . . . given him the—” He isn’t even looking at her as he speaks, favoring the floor near her feet instead, and barely anything he is saying makes sense to her. He’s somewhere else right now. She doesn’t think she’s ever heard him at a loss like this, or seen him so confused. “To . . . but then he wasn’t even . . . no. No.”

She isn’t sure what to make of these half statements, so she ignores them. “I wanted the lightsaber, so that I could leave. I suppose I’d have . . . fought you, if you tried to stop me. But . . . what was I supposed to do? Let people I care about continue to die? Just watch? No. What you expected from me, it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right.”

“What I offered you,” he says, recovering suddenly, like she’s misspoken and he’s trying to help her remember the correct version of events. “When I asked you to join me, all I wanted—”

Rey shakes her head. “That wasn’t an offer. You assumed. You assumed after I’d faced . . . all that, and what you said to me, what I admitted, that I’d just—no. I’m not like you.”

“You assumed, too.” His voice is even, his eyes dark. He doesn’t elaborate, but he doesn’t need to. Rey knows exactly what she assumed would be the outcome of that day. Everything she told him in the turbolift, and everything she didn't. So much more. He must have some inkling. “You are like me. At least I can still admit that.”

“Stop.” Turning on her heel, Rey stalks back toward the mirror, refusing to look at him. “I know. I know that. Just stop.”

She hates this. She wishes he wasn’t at least a little bit right. She wishes the connection would close. She wishes she’d ignored him after all. She wishes he’d never told her he was here and just let her go on with what she was doing, decency be damned, and let the minutes pass in ignorance. She won’t be sleeping tonight, even if she tries.

“What did you really expect?” she says.

He doesn’t answer, even after she gives him a few moments, and so she spins to demand he do so. He is no longer there. The connection has closed, leaving her alone again. Or as truly alone as she can ever be anymore, which in this moment is no comfort. Ben will be there, in the Force, always so close and yet undeniably separate until the next time they are made to appear before each other. Because now she knows—there will be a next time.

Rey scrubs her hands up and down her arms in a bid for focus, quickening the motion until it almost hurts. She stops with a sharp gasp as one hand jerks too high and pulls violently at the scabbed wound on her right arm. There isn’t any blood, but some of the yet-unhealed tissue is exposed, pale and tender where she sees it in the mirror.

She’s wasted enough time. Abandoning her reflection, she runs the shower hot until steam begins to pour out, strips down, and steps in. For a while she just stands there, staring at the wall and watching the water slide down in rivulets, letting it scald her a little until her skin adjusts, trying not to think of how the droplets remind her of falling tongues of flame. She forgot soap, but she doesn’t care. She didn’t come here to get clean. Her hand slides up to the wound again, presses it gingerly, then rests there to shield it from the water.

Two hands reaching out.

That was what Rose said, when Rey met her a few days ago. They chatted a while, traded some stories, compared their respective battle wounds. Rose was in far worse shape than Rey was then, but she seemed tough, if a little awestruck. She said the wound at least looked interesting, tried to guess what had made it, and then said that: “It looks like two hands reaching out.” It shook Rey a little in the moment, but she hasn’t thought of it again.

Now she can’t stop thinking of it, and of what she saw when she and Ben touched hands. She recollects the anguish of having that conviction torn away when the future she saw did not immediately come to pass. The wound it left behind, unacknowledged until now, is still so raw she feels it almost physically, and she is suddenly overwhelmed.

Rey sinks to the floor of the shower and sits with her knees bent, her back curled against the wall. The connection endures, beneath the surface. Reminding her. Picking at her. It isn’t seamed into her face, a memento every time she looks in the mirror. Instead it is somehow worse. The living reminder of a past that can’t be reclaimed and a future she fears will never come to be. She shudders as a sob comes on in earnest, and she cries openly as the steam twists around her.

[everylamp]

i wonder how many times kid!dean slipped up bc he was a literal child trying to make sense of the world and didn’t understand (hence couldn’t remember, bc that’s how developing brains work) why his daddy called their imapala “baby” and “sweetheart”.. and what macho man father of the century john winchester’s punishment was for misgendering the fucken CAR

[l0tu2]

CHAPTER 10 (Lifted Spirit) of Live for Yourself has been officially updated on AO3!

the updates and progression of this story are slow and tedious, but that does not hinder my heart and soul into this story. it will be finished for however long it takes. slowburn is like a slap in the face, because i truly don’t want to rush it. their struggles are real and their characters are terribly flawed and broken. dear readers, bear with me on this.

──────

CHAPTER 02 (Owed for Own) of Shared and Halved has been officially updated on AO3 since april 22nd.

this story is coming along fine, believe it or not. it still has some minor plot hiccups i am currently deciding, but it is quite heated and grasping from the get-go. for something more intimate and spice-filled — go check out the lo’ak x ao’nung ff on AO3. considering this story won a pole and will now include mpreg!

──────

EYWA’S FORTUNE has officially begun the first chapter in progression.

it is not published, but the ao’nung x kiri ff will take some time to get out with the consideration of two other stories. the deadline will possibly be within this upcoming week to two weeks ahead. apologies my readers — i cannot pump out these chapters as fast as i intend to. gives me burnout should i dedicate myself too deeply into my hobby. hope you guys are patient and my other stories satiate y’all well!