jerrythecrow

[jerrythecrow]

Moments They Realize They're Falling In Love With You 彡

KUROO TETSURŌ

— When You Tease Him Back and Win

Kuroo lived to get under people’s skin. Smirks and pokes, smug retorts—especially when it came to you.

So when he nudged your shoulder and said, “Try not to miss me too much when I leave,” he fully expected a blush or a stammer.

But you just said, “I only miss you when you’re quiet. So… I guess I’ll be doing great.”

He choked on his sports drink.

You patted his back with a grin and walked away.

It wasn’t just the joke. It was the way you looked so pleased with yourself, so completely unshaken.

That was the moment. When his smirk melted into something slower, something warmer.

He wanted to keep losing to you like that for a long, long time.

BOKUTO KŌTARŌ

— When You Let Him Be Sad and Stay Anyway

He called you because he didn’t know who else to call.

He said he was fine. You didn’t believe him. You stayed on the line, silent and steady, until the words started tumbling out.

“I messed up. I ruined the rhythm. Everyone’s too polite to say it, but I know.”

You didn’t argue. You didn’t tell him he was wrong. You just listened.

And then you said, soft and certain, “You’re allowed to have bad days. You’re not less lovable when you’re off.”

That was it. No fireworks. Just a truth he hadn’t known he needed to hear.

He looked at his screen, your name glowing under the time stamp, and felt his heart do something new.

HINATA SHŌYŌ

— When You Cheer for Someone Else First

You weren’t wearing his team’s jersey. You weren’t jumping up and down for him.

You were sitting a few rows behind him, watching a different match, cheering like your life depended on it. For friends. For the game. For the sheer love of it.

He couldn’t look away from you. Not just because you were glowing with excitement—but because you got it. The way he felt about volleyball, the way his whole world shifted around it. You lived that feeling too.

And in that moment, with your voice hoarse from shouting and your hands clapping wildly for a point he hadn’t even scored, he realized something terrifying and exhilarating.

He wanted you to cheer for him like that.

He wanted to deserve it.

IWAIZUMI HAJIME

— When You Don’t Flinch at His Frustration

He’d just yelled. Not at you, but near you. Loud enough that you could’ve easily walked away.

His neck was flushed, fists clenched, and the muscle in his jaw was tight with strain.

You walked up to him with a bottle of water, handed it over like it was the most natural thing in the world, and said, “You good now, or do we need to go punch a tree together?”

He stared at you. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t fear his anger—you understood it. And more than that, you stayed.

That moment cracked something open in him.

He wasn’t used to people sticking around when he wasn’t calm.

You did. And he knew then—whatever this was between you, it was something real.

MIYA OSAMU

— When You Sit in His Kitchen Like You’ve Always Belonged There

You offered to help. He waved you off.

“Just talk to me,” he said, slicing scallions with ease.

So you did. You told him about your day, your bad boss, the weird guy on the train.

You were half-laughing, half-exhausted, curled up on the stool with a glass of iced barley tea.

He looked over once. Then again.

And in the middle of stirring miso into the broth, he suddenly realized: This feels like home.

Not the kitchen. Not the soup.

You.

MIYA ATSUMU

— When You Don’t Take the Bait, but Stay Anyway

He flirted. You rolled your eyes. He cracked a joke. You didn’t laugh—just smiled and said, “Try again when you’re being real.”

That stunned him.

Because people usually laughed. Or blushed. Or leaned in when he turned it on.

But you? You saw through it. And didn’t leave.

Later that night, he stared at the message you’d sent:

“I know you don’t always want to be ‘the fun one.’ You don’t have to be with me.”

He reread it three times.

And that’s when it hit him. You weren’t trying to win him.

You just wanted to know him.

And that was enough to make him yours before either of you even realized it.

SUNA RINTARŌ

— When You Read Him Without Asking

He didn’t text you after the game.

Didn’t post anything. Didn’t answer the group chat.

He just sat in his apartment alone, scrolling through highlight clips he didn’t want to watch and trying to ignore the fact that the team had lost, and that for once—maybe—it had been his mistake that turned the tide.

You showed up anyway.

Didn’t knock. Didn’t say hi. Just let yourself in with the spare key and dropped a bag of takeout on the table.

You didn’t tell him he played fine. You didn’t try to cheer him up. You just sat beside him on the couch, leaned into his shoulder, and pressed your cheek into the side of his arm like it was your favorite pillow.

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

But the weight in his chest cracked just a little. Like you’d carved out space in it without needing permission. Like you knew he’d never ask for comfort—but needed it anyway.

After a while, you turned on a dumb cooking show and made some sarcastic comment about the host’s ridiculous hair.

And that was it. That was the moment.

Because you didn’t try to fix anything.

You just knew him.

And he couldn’t stop the thought that hit him like a punch to the ribs:

No one else would’ve known what I needed without me saying a word.

And no one else would’ve stayed this quietly, this completely, without needing anything back.

He looked at you. You looked at the screen.

He didn’t say a thing.

But he was in love. He just hadn’t told you yet.

SAKUSA KIYOOMI

— When You Made Him Laugh Without Trying

He doesn’t laugh easily.

People expect that from him—stoic, sharp, unsmiling unless it’s at someone else’s expense. He’s used to being misunderstood, and he doesn’t really mind. Keeps things simple.

But then there’s you.

Walking beside him after a long day, telling a story about some ridiculous thing your coworker said. You’re gesturing too much. Your bag keeps slipping off your shoulder. You’re slightly out of breath and completely unaware of how much space you take up in his head.

And then—just as you’re mimicking someone’s voice—you trip over nothing and catch yourself with a dramatic, sweeping save that you try to style off like it was on purpose.

He snorts. Actually snorts.

You pause mid-sentence, turning to stare at him. “Did you just laugh?”

“No.”

“You did!”

“It wasn’t—shut up.”

But he’s smiling. Teeth and all. Eyes crinkled. No sarcasm. Just… genuine amusement.

You beam at him like you’ve just won gold.

And in that moment—watching you shake your head and continue your story like nothing happened, completely unaffected by his usual chill—he feels it.

The shift. The click.

It’s not just that you made him laugh.

It’s that he wanted to. With you. Over and over.

And for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t want to go home alone.

[jerrythecrow]

Karasuno, Ushijima & Oikawa confessing to s/o

Authors Note: y/n = your name// not proof read// GIF not mine // Have fun <3

Summary: How would our favourite volleyball dorks prepare and execute their confession?? Well, read and find out!

Genre: Chaos → Fluff??

🏐 Tobio Kageyama 🏐

Unfortunately, Tobio wouldn't have the chance to tell you himself since Hinata was faster than him. It had been a hectic few days as training had been canceled for the last few weeks. The classes went on a trip to Koukyo Castle. So this loss of time had to be made up now if they wanted to have a chance of beating the Shiratorizawa. So here they were. In the middle of the evening, still in the sports hall, the chirping of crickets flows through the windows from outside.

So at some point Hinata blurts it out accidentally,“Hey, Y/n! Kageyama likes you!”

Kageyama freezes mid-drink,“I—NO—I MEAN—wait, do I?”

Daichi sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Guys, seriously.” Asahi tries to mediate but ends up just silently panicking in the background. Noya and Tanaka start yelling, “JUST TELL THEM ALREADY!”

Suga gives you a soft smile and gently nudges you toward the group,“Actually, we all kind of noticed someone has a crush on you.” Tsukishima, from the corner: “Disgusting.”

Yamaguchi elbows him, blushing on behalf of everyone. Finally, Kageyama steps forward, cheeks burning, eyes serious,“I like you. Like… actually. Not just the Hinata kind of yelling-it-out kind. Will you… go out with me?”

You can’t help but laugh a little—this team is insane—but your heart’s already saying yes.

🏐 Daichi Sawamura 🏐

The storm had passed, leaving puddles glistening under streetlights and the world hushed in that sacred way only rainy evenings can manage. You and Daichi walked side by side, hands brushing occasionally, bags slung over your shoulders, the smell of gym sweat still clinging to your clothes.

“Thanks for helping me stay late,” he says softly. “I know you didn’t have to.”

You shrug. “I don’t mind. I like spending time with you.”

Daichi stops walking. You turn to look at him, his expression unreadable but serious. Rain drips from the tips of his hair, and his shirt clings a little at the collar. The streetlight overhead makes his eyes look darker, deeper.

“I’ve been meaning to say something,” he starts. “But I kept waiting for the right moment. And then I realized... maybe there’s no perfect time. Just real ones.”

He exhales slowly,“I like you. Not just a little, not in passing. I think about you more than I should—when I’m on the court, when I’m walking home, when the team’s being absolute chaos.” A small smile tugs at his lips. “You ground me. You make everything feel less overwhelming.”

A beat of silence passes, rain tapping gently on leaves overhead.

“I know I’m not the flashiest guy. But I’m steady. If you let me, I’ll show you I mean it—and I’ll never leave you guessing.”

He looks at you then—quietly brave.

“What do you think?”

You smile, feeling your heart settle in the most comforting way,“I think you’re everything I didn’t know I needed.”

🏐 Hinata Shōyō 🏐

The soft thud of a volleyball echoes as you roll the last one into the cart. Hinata stands a few feet away, bouncing lightly on his toes — not from energy this time, but from nerves.

“Hey… Y/n,” he says, voice unusually quiet.

You turn. He’s holding a ball against his hip, eyes shifting between your face and the polished floor.

“There’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while. Like… it’s been bouncing around in my head like a serve I can’t receive properly.”

You blink,“You okay?”

He laughs nervously. “Yeah! I mean—kinda! It’s just… hard to say something when you really, really want it to come out right.”

He takes a deep breath, then steps forward, that familiar determined fire slowly replacing the hesitation in his eyes.

“I like you. Like really like you. Not just ‘you’re cool’ or ‘I like hanging out with you’ — even though those are true. I mean the kind of like where I get nervous just thinking about telling you, but I’d regret it forever if I didn’t.”

He fumbles the volleyball slightly but catches it again, cheeks flushed.

“You make me feel braver — even when I’m scared. And if I don’t jump now, I’ll hate myself later.”

Hinata looks up at you, face open and hopeful,“So… will you go out with me? Or... maybe just let me try to be someone who makes you happy?”

You smile, warmth blooming in your chest like sunlight,“I think you already do.”

🏐 Yū Nishinoya 🏐

You were walking home from school when Nishinoya suddenly skidded his bike to a stop right in front of you, nearly knocking over a mailbox.

“Hey!!” he shouted, face flushed and chest heaving — as if he’d sprinted the last five blocks.

You blinked. “Noya? You good?”

“No! I mean yes! I mean—ugh, wait—don’t say anything yet!,” he yelled loudly. He fumbled with his bag, nearly dropped something, then shoved it back in. Clearly a Plan A had failed. Plan B? Chaos. He stood up straight, threw his hands into the air, and yelled, “I LIKE YOU!!”

…Right there on the sidewalk. At full volume. As an old lady across the street applauded from her balcony. You froze. “W–what?”

He grinned, but it was shaky. “I like you! Like—actual like! Not just ‘Noya-likes-everyone’ like!” He rubbed the back of his neck, nervous energy buzzing. “I’m loud about everything except this stuff, and it’s been driving me crazy! So I figured, screw it—better to dive for the ball than let it hit the ground, right?!”

You were quiet for a second, heart pounding. Then: “…That was the dorkiest, most you confession ever.”

He winced, “Too much?”

You smiled wide, “No. It was perfect. I like you too, Yū.”

He lit up like someone had flipped on the gym lights during a blackout. Then he fist-pumped the sky and shouted: “SHE SAID YES!! LET’S GOOOO!!”

You laughed so hard your sides hurt — and somewhere behind a hedge, Hinata and Tanaka burst out cheering with homemade confetti.

🏐 Ryūnosuke Tanaka 🏐

Tanaka had planned the whole thing. He was gonna be smooth. Cool. Maybe even suave. But somewhere between walking up to you behind the gym and realizing you were smiling at him like that… his brain turned into mashed potatoes.

“U-Uh—Hey!” he barked suddenly, louder than necessary. You blinked in surprise.

He slapped a hand on his chest, trying to remember what he’d rehearsed with Noya the night before. Something cool. Something like—

“LISTEN!,” he started. You flinched. He winced.

Then he barreled on anyway, “I LIKE YOU, OKAY? I’VE LIKED YOU FOR A WHILE! YOU’RE COOL AND CUTE AND YOU MAKE ME NERVOUS IN A WAY THAT’S REALLY ANNOYING BUT ALSO KINDA AWESOME!”

Silence. You stared. He stared.

Then you smiled. “Uhm Tanaka… was that your way of asking me out?” His ears turned red, “Y-Yeah. I mean… yeah! That’s what this is!”

You took a step closer and grinned up at him.

“Then my answer’s yes.”

He blinked, “YES?!?”

“YES,” you simlied. And then he sprinted away down the hallway yelling, “SHE SAID YES!! LET’S GOOOOO!!”, nearly body-slamming a vending machine in his excitement. Meanwhile, behind him, you were laughing so hard you had to lean against the wall — heart full, smile wide.

🏐 Tsukishima Kei 🏐

You were the only person Tsukishima ever let sit with him during lunch without glaring. Today, you noticed him being quieter than usual. Less biting sarcasm, more silent glancing. He kept pushing his glasses up even when they didn’t need adjusting.

“Hey Tsukki, are you...okay?” you finally asked sofly, nudging him with your elbow. He didn’t look at you — just picked at his food with his chopsticks and mumbled, “You’re really dense sometimes.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?” Tsukishima sighed — a long, put-upon, exaggerated sigh. Then, without looking at you, he said, flatly, “I like you. I’ve liked you. And if you weren’t so painfully oblivious, you’d have noticed it by now.”

You stared, stunned. He finally looked up, gaze sharp behind his glasses. “Don’t make me say it again. It’s embarrassing.”

You blinked again—then broke into a smile. “Okay. Then I guess I like you too.” Tsukishima’s ears turned pink. His face stayed mostly the same, “…Huh. Well. Good.”

Then he shoved his juice box toward you without a word—his version of holding your hand.

🏐 Yamaguchi Tadashi 🏐

Yamaguchi had run through the words a hundred times. Not during practice, not out loud, and definitely not in front of Tsukki — just quietly, in his head, when he walked home, or stared at your smile a little too long during lunch.

Today was the day. He waited for you after class, hands sweating, heart pounding like he was about to serve a match point. When you saw him, you smiled. “Hey, Yamaguchi! What’s up?”

He fumbled for a second, then straightened his back, “I… uh… I need to tell you something.”

You tilted your head. “Okay?”

He exhaled, slow and shaky — then looked you straight in the eye. His voice was soft, but steady, “I like you. Like, really like you. And I’ve been practicing how to say it for weeks, so even if this is totally awkward, I needed to try.”

You blinked in surprise, warmth spreading across your face.

“…You’ve been practicing?” you asked, smiling. He scratched the back of his neck, flustered. “W-Well, yeah. I didn’t want to mess it up.”

You stepped closer. “Well, for the record…” you said, gently, “I think you did great.”

His breath hitched.

“Wait—so that means…?”

You nodded, cheeks warm. “Yes, Tadashi. I like you too.” Yamaguchi’s whole face lit up in a shy, beaming grin — and somewhere behind a corner, Tsukki was silently texting Hinata: “he finally did it. took him long enough.”

🏐 Ushijima Wakatoshi 🏐

It started with a text from Ushijima: “Please meet me by the gym after practice. I need to speak with you.”

Simple. Direct. Very Ushijima. But what was it all about?? Ushijimia and you were usually on friendly terms. It was a quiet friendship. Few text messages, little communication, but you got along well. A text like that was special and you didn't really know what to expect.

So when you arrived, he was already waiting — standing tall and still under the soft evening light, gym bag at his feet, hands folded behind his back like a soldier reporting for duty.

You tilted your head, “You okay?”

He nodded once, “Yes. But I’ve been… thinking. About you.”

Your breath caught slightly,“…Oh?....Oh!”

He looked down at the ground for a beat — not out of shame, but careful thought. Then, his eyes lifted to yours, unwavering and honest, “I like you. I admire your strength. I trust you. And when you’re not around, I find myself… waiting for you.” A pause, like he was searching for the most precise way to phrase it. “These feelings are important. And I would like to know if you feel the same.”

It was quiet for a moment — like the world paused, holding its breath for your answer. You stepped closer, smiling softly, “You’ve never done this before, huh?”

“…No. But I didn’t want to keep it to myself. I believe you deserve to know.”

Your heart swelled at how earnest he was — this powerhouse of a man, undefeated and admired, still fumbling through emotions with the same care he put into every serve. You reached out and touched his hand, “I do feel the same.”

Ushijima blinked once — slowly — then nodded.

“Good," A tiny smile touched his lips. “I feel… very fortunate.”

And for a long moment, he simply held your hand in silence — not needing to say more, because in his world, love was action. Steady. Grounded. Undeniable.

🏐 Oikawa Tōru 🏐

You and Oikawa didn't know how the friendship came about. Oikawa probably simply adopted you because of his outgoing personality. He was completely untalented when it came to art. Unlike you, because art was kind of your thing. Your tables were next to each other, which led to small conversations and later entire tutorials.

Oikawa kicks a small stone as he walks beside you, unusually quiet. When you reach your gate, he turns, eyes unusually sincere. “Hey… can I say something without turning it into a big, over-the-top, sparkly speech?”

You laugh,“I’d love to see you try.”

He grins, but it fades quickly,“I really like you. Not in the ‘flirt with everyone’ way. Just… you. You’re not a competition or a distraction. You’re the person I look for first when I win—or when I lose.” He scratches the back of his neck. “I know I joke a lot, but I mean this seriously. I want to try—if you’ll let me.”

You say yes, and the relief in his eyes is more real than any smile he’s ever given before.

[jerrythecrow]

˚⁀➷｡˚ KINSLAYER ━━━ AEMOND TARGARYEN X FEM! READER

part two.

synopsis: rhaenyra’s daughter seeks revenge for the death of her beloved younger brother lucerys velaryon. and what better way to gain it, than from the man she was once betrothed to.

notes: did i steal daemon’s plot? yes. did the reader do it better? also yes. fuck aemond targaryen (who is 22 here) for killing lucerys fr, and fuck tumblr for making me repost this bc they shadowbanned me :(

warnings: reader is rhaenyra’s daughter, angst, violence, mention of blood, future hotd spoiler (battle above the gods eye)

word count: 3.9k

ONCE UPON A TIME YOU HAD THOUGHT YOU HAD KNOWN WHAT LOVE HAD FELT LIKE. being betrothed to none over than aemond targaryen in an attempt to ensure peace between the divided targaryen house, had gave you a sense of hope. the childish crush you had on the one-eyed prince had long exceeded into your adulthood (unbeknownst to you for a long while). and the news that you were to be married to the man you had felt so deeply for, had you thanking the gods that you were to be so lucky. 

for much of your adulthood, you denied the feelings you had for aemond. brushing the giddiness you felt when you were younger off as a fleeting childhood crush. now, the crimson paint that adorned your cheeks you put down to a sense of duty; you had to act the blushing bride in order to do your part for the realm. your mother's constant reminders that it was you who could maintain the peace between dragons, made you believe it was a sense of duty to your house; to prevent the bloodshed and the path to destruction that would follow if blood was spilt. as time went on, you begrudgingly admitted to yourself that maybe, just maybe, the small minuscule crush you had on the prince, in fact never left. you often reflected on the times where you had lived in king's landing with your family, often choosing to spend time with the second son of the king. you two were inseparable, where aemond went you were sure to not be too far behind. often, challenging each other on who would learn the most high valyrian words in a day, and who would learn the history of their ancestors first. it was a match the gods intended.

however, this sue for peace had crumbled completely. only a mere memory in your mind of what could have been if the targayren house was not so ignorant to the fact that women had much of a right to ascend the throne (you had king jaehaerys to uphold much of the blame for this decision). and now, the house was at war with one another. the dance of the dragons was surely to follow, leaving nothing but war across the realm and your poor broken heart.

the death of your brother lucerys did not seem to help with the feeling of heartbreak that effected life upon dragonstone. you spent many days and nights cooped up in your chambers. there was no one to turn too. yes, you sought comfort with your mother but she too was a shell of her former self. with jacaerys many miles north in winterfell, and your husband the murderer of such an innocent boy, you were left with nothing but your own reckless thoughts. as the sun rose in the east and set in the west day after day, your pain and suffering festered into a new, dark feeling within you. the sadness within was replaced with a craving of utter revenge. the lovesick girl, eyes wide with care and awe was shattered, replaced by a woman no, a dragon, who would go to any means to avenge the cruel death of her sweet younger brother. the love you had felt for the man you once were engaged to disappeared the moment you had learnt what he done; marring any chances at evading the war that was surely to follow. you swore to seek revenge with fire and blood. in whatever means the gods meant it to happen. 

━━━━━━━━━━ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ ━━━━━━━━━

the small council met as the sun lays lazily high in the sky, providing the normally dark and gloomy room with a sliver of light that is often uncommon on the island of dragonstone home to dreary weather most of the time. you welcome the sun in all its glory, soaking it in as you stand next to your brother jacaerys as you listen to the squabbles between the men as they discuss the course of action to take next. small crescents dawned under your eyes, reflecting the many sleepless nights you have come to known. the tiredness you feel currently now and all throughout the days since luke's passing has become an old friend to you, one that is begrudging to leave. you tune out, the effects of another sleepless night and your lack of interest in the bickering that is beginning to fester amongst the lords and your mother is boring you. instead, your eyes are captured by the ball of fire that lay millions of miles away. you weren't all that religious, if it came down to it you preferred the valyrian or old gods in favour of the seven. but there was no doubt the glistening embers that rained upon the room was a good omen. you were sure lucerys was looking down upon you, he adored the few sunny days on dragonstone, and this brought a small smile to your face. 

you hadn't realised just how deep in thought you were until your brothers voice broke you out of whatever hazy trance you were. despite tuning out, you had gathered the basics of the discussion - ser criston cole had set his eyes on rooks rest, and a dragon was needed to defend the castle. jacaerys' proposition to fly vermax was quickly shut down by your mother, deeming the boy as too inexperienced in battle and the dragon too young. 

"i will go." 

the words escaped your lips before you even had a chance to think them through properly. the feeling of revenge running through your veins was more than enough to spark this confident outburst. it had to be you who would go to rooks rest. you did not understand why this feeling was so apparent, whether it be the good omen in the sky, or the smile that had graced your lips for the first time in many moons at the thought of your brother being the one who sent it. but the need to take seat upon your dragon silverwing and fly to rooks rest settled in your soul as a desire you needed to fulfil. you knew immediately your mother would never agree to this, already refusing jacaerys to go meant there was absolutely no possibility she would let you go. 

"no. you too lack the experience that is needed in battle. i will not lose another child to this war." rhaenyra's voice trembled slightly with the mentioning of lucerys but she held strong with her decision to not let either of her elder children fly to battle. the mentioning of luke only feeding the fire in your blood, the need to seek revenge for his passing. 

looking up at your mother, you knew she had understood this as it was plainly evident on your face. alas, rhaenyra could not deny you had your mother's stubbornness and your father's strength. "mother, the entire council knows it is far too dangerous to risk the lives of both you and jace. queen and heir. send me, your grace. silverwing is used to battle and if war and bloodshed is sure to follow with the greens still bot bending the knee to you, then we must become acquainted with it." 

her eyes softened as she gazed upon yours, you reminded her so much of herself in her youth. the fire that burned within you mirrored that of hers. the want to prove yourself as more as weak was apparent, when many men had deemed you fragile due to the gender you were born as, you felt the urge to prove them wrong, just as your mother had felt, still feels with the many lords at the council who still see her as the weaker sex. she knew you were going to fly to battle whether she permitted you leave or not. and with a slight of her head you knew her answer. her lilac eyes gazing into yours with such intensity you knew the message conveyed. be safe, sweet girl.

another voice a the council spoke up, one you weren't expecting to hear. your grandmother, rhaenys. "you must send me as well, your grace. meleys is no stranger to battle, like silverwing. two dragons will be better than one, if the greens decide to also send a dragon to battle."

you were shocked that your grandmother was to fight so willingly for your mother's claim to the throne but yet, the more you pondered the less surprised you were. she too was a woman who should have ascended the throne, the queen who never was, yet king jaehaerys passed over her claim as a count of being weak as she was a woman. gods you hated the man sometimes. 

you were no stranger to the care of your grandmother. she knew straight away that her son was not actually your father, you were born a bastard, fathered to ser harwin strong yet she loved you nevertheless. just as coryls velaryon had favoured young luke, rhaenys, favoured you. your dark her reminded her much of her mother jocelyn baratheon and the way in which you clung to her as a child reminded her so much of leanor. she had grown to love you as you her, and refused to see you alone on the battlefield. 

"come granddaughter, we have much to prepare." rhaenys spoke softly as your mother dismissed the council, guiding you with her hand on the small of your back. giving one last nod to your mother, you notice the look of such fierce love in her. the promise of suffering she would bring if you were hurt. yet, the only thing rhaeynra could do now is pray to the gods above that her only girl would return to her safely. and by the gods she did.

━━━━━━━━━━ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ ━━━━━━━━━

silverwing was just as mesmerising as the day you claimed her at the tender age of  ten and three. her silvery scales often reminded you of the stars that hung from the sky. glistening intently as you often sat at your window deep in thought. such a docile creature, you could not help but fall in love with her kind nature; a dragon who was most friendly to strangers. as you approached her now a small smile once again graced your lips. the she dragon bent down to greet you, pressing her snout to your hand in a sign of understanding. the intelligence of the dragon was also something that had drawn you to her, she was able to sense every emotion you felt. she had known you were grieving and did not hold it against you that you had neglected to visit her. instead, she blew smoke from her nostrils, and you could have sworn she wore a toothy grin. silverwing was glad you had returned to her. 

flying your dragon had somewhat eased the dull ache that seemed to have made a permanent home in your heart. the ocean beneath you and the wind in your hair brought a sense of relief. this was home. you had miss flying your dragon across the realm, watching as the landscape beneath you changed from countryside, to villages, to oceans and to cities. it was freeing. as fast as she was, silverwing was no match for the speed in which meleys, your grandmother's dragon, flew. as she soared effortlessly through the sky, your dragon tried her hardest to keep up. 

"don't push yourself silverwing. meleys is a fast dragon. " you uttered calmingly to your dragon in high valyrian, stroking her scales softly in a show of comfort. oh how you missed speaking the language too. "calm my sweet girl, it will be okay."

as you finally caught up to rhaenys, the two dragons held pace with one another as you surveyed the fields below. ser criston cole's army had been spotted approaching rooks rest. the elder women held your eyes. a message passing through the two of you to get this done as quickly as possible. and with a cry, meleys delved to the army, silverwing not far behind her

a mix of anxiety and adrenaline coursed through your veins. you were petrified at failing the mission and returning to your mother's disappointed face with the castle in the hands of the greens. yet the pure adrenaline of gaining your revenge from those who supported the man who usurped your mother's throne and took your brother urged you to keep going "attack silverwing." you called out causing the dragon to plummet to the ground to attack those below.

the field that was once riddled with soldiers was now nothing but flame and smoke. red heat from the lips of your dragon had engulfed almost the entirety of the battlefield. the flames below you were nothing of the flickering of the candles in dragonstone that brought you comfort. no, the flames you caused mirrored the emotion inside, the intensity of the anger you felt, the betrayal from the man you once loved to cause this amount of pain. 

a sound you had not heard in a long time broke you out of your rage induced comatose. you froze, the greens had come for you. looking up, you recognised the gleaming golden dragon belonging to the usurper king aegon. sunfyre. your anger had only intensified at the man willing himself to fight against you and your grandmother. doubling around the castle, silverwing dipped her sharpened claws into the ocean's water, ensuring a clean cut against sunfyre before rising above the cliffs face, ready for battle. he was no match for that of silverwing and meleys.

despite the adrenaline within, you could not help but worry for your grandmother, as you watched the flames engulf both her and aegon as the dance begun. the women held a dear place in your heart and the image of her being hurt was enough to push you to attack the sun kissed dragon. flying to meet your grandmother, silverwing allowed herself to flip and glide between the flames aimed at you both. the bellows of aegon left a satisfying smirk upon your lips as meleys claws took hold within the belly of the enemy dragon, as you willed silverwing to attack the dragon's wings from above. clawing and scratching at sunfyre, silverwing and meleys both have seemed to have done immense damage to the golden beauty. chunks of the dragons wings had been ripped out and cuts adorned her body, red blood oozing out of her scales. the final blow had been dealt by your grandmother, yet war was far from over as a sickening roar had been heard beyond the trees.

aemond taragaryen had come out to play.

your breath hitched, letting you only to take only shallow breathes as vhagar descended from the trees. you tried to be brave, tried to hold back the tears that were evident in your glassy eyes yet you couldn't. tear drops sprung like rivers cascading down your terror-stricken face as you saw the shining silver hair of the man who had once been the love of your life, and subsequently the reasoning behind all your pain. wrapping the leather reigns that kept you in control of your dragon, you urged her to continue flying around rooks rest. the wind blew harshly as you circled the ashy landscape, drying your tears and making whatever was left stick to your reddened face. as vhagar descended upon the battle in the sky,  hought's swam through your head as you shouted at your dragon to attack, you wished away all feelings of dread. 

in that sliver of calm, you could not help but feel drawn to the sun as it had once again graced you with its appearance. and with lucerys velaryon looking down on you, you knew the gods wanted you to have your revenge in that moment. they had brought aemond to the battle for a reason after all.

flying up to sit side by side with rhaenys, you allowed the hatred in your heart to take over. the fire in your blood burned at the audacity for aemond to dare show his face after all that he had done. 

"it has to be me grandmother." you shouted over the howling winds in high valyrian. the distaste within had spoken clearly, it had to be you who destroyed the man in front of you. you knew rhaneys understood that, but you also knew she carried the same stubborn nature that all targaryen's had come to possess. plowing into vhagar first, it was obvious she was no match for the queen of dragons. sending waves of fire to the boy riding her, melyes took the moment of distraction to tear at the beast's stomach. 

unbeknownst to you, sunfyre had risen again at the sound of vhagar's approach. seeing the flame grown in the dragon's mouth, rhaneys abandoned the attack on the larger dragon, instead focusing on the dragon mere inches from you. ambushing her from the side, meleys' jaws clamp around the neck of the usurper's dragon. in a state of shock, you forced silverwing to the side, gratefulness gracing your features at your saviour. 

nonetheless, it was plain to see that both meleys and silverwing did not hold enough power to over through the two dragon's that had come to fight. with rhaenys preoccupied with the second coming of sunfyre and aegon, it had left you with the battled against  vhagar. having lived centuries you knew that you were no match for her. she had helped with aegon the conqueror's conquest and that alone had gained her much more experience in battle than your dragon would ever come to know.

reality kicked in like a knife to your stomach. understanding what you had to do sent shivers down your spine, but there was no other way.  to kill the dragon you must kill the rider. 

your mind flickered back to the many moments you had spent with aemond over the years. sneaking into one another's chambers at night to tell stories you have read in history books. the days spent in the garden giggling at the idiocy of your family. and as the two of you got older, you recounted the longing gazes in one another's directions, the stammering and blush that rose to your cheeks anytime he was near. the brushing of limbs at the feast as your grandsire had announced the betrothal. 

none of that mattered now. he had made his choice when he decided to slay his kin and you had made yours. 

gazing upon silverwing properly for the last time you spoke quietly "forgive me, comfort my mother when i am gone. i beg of you." the silver beauty squeaked in return, a note of sadness in her tone. she would miss you just as much as she missed queen alyssane, but she would honour your choice gallantly. "fly back to dragonstone when i am gone. i do not wish you to suffer the same fate, my love."

with your mind made up, you willed your dragon to fly to meet aemond and vhagar taking in a shaky breathe as you did. as silverwing glided through the air, her claw's tore through vhagar. nevertheless, the silver beauty had barely left any damage. vhagar's thick skin was almost impenetrable, only small surface wound were left behind from the attacks you inflicted on her. the only thing that kept you alive was your dragon's ability to stray so close to vhagar yet slip effortlessly beyond her reach whenever her jaws made an attempt to kill you both. 

allowing silverwing to deal with vhagar, meant that you were left to deal with her rider; your glassy eyes never leaving  the man who had caused you such suffering. he had grown you noted, his cheeks now hollowed out as if he has been struggling to eat, a dark crescent clear under his one good eye. the hate in your heart weakened, you had almost felt an ounce of sympathy at his obviously heartbroken state. you wondered if he had regretted his actions; had regretted pushing you away. you wondered if he blamed himself for what had happened that night, if he had really meant to kill luke on purpose. but you also knew you would wonder these things for the rest of your life if you let him live. no matter how much remorse he truly felt within you could never forget his actions, the way in which he took pride in what he did, bragging about being the first to spill blood in this horrific war. and that was enough for you to keep fighting.

pulling away from vhagar for a final time, you flew back around the castle unstrapping the saddle you had on silverwing, tossing it to the wind. unstrapping the sword, daemon had given you from your twentieth name day, you held it in your palm with such force that your knuckles began to whiten. as silverwing set her sights on vhagar once more, a final sound of pain came from your dragon as she knew what you had planned to do. knowing there was no way in changing your mind she flew above the dragon and its rider, positioning you perfectly in what you aimed to do. 

holding onto one of the many talons in her back, you allowed yourself to stand upon your dragon's back, the sword still tight in your hand. your eyes had never left that of the icy lilac that sat below you. the mix of fear and understanding stood in his, as he knew what you were about to do a second too late. the shock of realisation came as he tried to unfasten the straps that kept him tied to vhagar. she was too big of a dragon to move in time for what you were about to bestow upon the targaryen prince, and it was too high of a jump for him to survive.  

jumping from your dragon's back you let your mind to once again reflect all the love you had for aemond taragaryen. allowing yourself to find comfort in the fact that you had known love in your lifetime.

and as you drew the sword through him, you felt no remorse. a debt had been payed. revenge had been served. for luke.

but, there was no escaping the torment your heart inflicted upon you in the moment your sword pierced his only good eye. you had thought aemond would hold loathing at what you had done in his final moments, but all he felt was abhorrence for himself. driving you to the point of sorrow and grief where you had felt like you could do nothing more than seek revenge for what he had done. whispering a soft "i love you'' before you had pierced him, gave you the closure you had needed. those three words had answered all the questions that had played over and over in your mind, running rampant through your darkest hours.

the history books recalled that you had died peacefully with no call of a dragon to save you. you had plummeted to the ground with the man you had loved, knowing you had avenged your sweet innocent brother lucerys and had come to learn aemond had regretted his actions dearly. this was truly enough for you to die happily. and that you did.

[jerrythecrow]

[jerrythecrow]

I've had this idea of a monster roommate/lover/partner/friend that is very symbioate based but actually doesn't merge with you...they just kinda mooch off your presence.

A big, colourful, stringy mess of tiny organisms that sit in the corner of your home and just exist. They feed off your warm, cozy home by vibes alone.

You share your meals with them. Watch TV together. And on cold nights, the tangle of an organism slips under the covers for warmth.

Imagine a housecat! But in an eldridge-y, an uncomprehensable alien type of creature that really likes your company but does their own thing alot of the time.

Some days your living room is a body horror type of scene with many fleshy limbs stringing between walls because they needed to stretch out.

Other times, the bath is full of a shimmering mass and steaming hot water. Which means they're having a self-care day.

Some days you don't see them at all. But the constant pressure against your skin lets you know they're still around. They just needed some "me time."

No real thought train here other than I think this idea is cute.

[jerrythecrow]

[jerrythecrow]

[jerrythecrow]

[jerrythecrow]

Like father like son

[jerrythecrow]

"I know chatgpt is bad but you just don't really have any choice" you literally do. Don't use it. Have some moral backbone.

[jerrythecrow]

[jerrythecrow]

Don’t Leave Me Broken and Free — Won’t You Tell Me Where You Are?

Dick Grayson x Fem!Reader

Themes: angst, fluff if you squint, kinda hurt/comfort, hopeful ending

WC: 1.65k

CW: accidental pregnancy, brief non-descriptive NSFW content

A/N: i found the bare bones of this in my drafts a few hours ago and now it’s 4am and we’re here. i haven’t been inspired to actually write anything in months so i hope you enjoy!!!

You’ve known Dick for a long time now. You’re close. Not together, not really, but not not together either. You’re friends. You're more. You're not. You sleep together. You talk everyday. You go without talking for months. You don't hold it against him, it's not for a lack of trying. His job makes friendships, relationships, everything, so much harder than it should be.

It’s a rare quiet night in bed when he tells you he has to go back to Gotham. You pause, hands still clasped around his where you’d been fiddling with his fingers. You can hear the other shoe drop. You’d been living in Bludhaven a little while now, having moved a year or so after Dick had. You got a job in the city and knew you had a friend there in Dick Grayson. A ticket out of Gotham was just what the Doctor ordered. A sea change, or something.

He tells you he’s going undercover. Trying to infiltrate some criminal organisation. He’s skint on the details, per usual. Constantly worried that if he’s too open, too honest. His trouble will make its way back to you somehow. You’ll worry, throw yourself headfirst into danger at the first sign of it, if you know too much. He tries his hardest to keep his vigilante life as separate as possible from his life with you. You’re not Nightwing’s girl. You’re Dick Grayson’s. Kind of.

You sleep together again, fall asleep together, tangled up in the sheets and each other’s legs, but you wake up alone. He leaves you a note, reminds you to contact Alfred if you need anything. Tells you he’ll be back.

You don’t notice anything unusual at first. Willingly drowning yourself in work. Seeing friends. Dedicated time spent rewatching your favourite TV show front to back again. Anything to occupy your overactive mind. It’s just shy of two months before you really take notice. Things are just a little off. You’re moodier. tired. nauseous sometimes. From there it doesn’t take you long to put the pieces together. A missed period here, an odd craving there. One late night trip to the local drug store confirms what you’re trying your best to deny, but had already suspected. You’re pregnant.

You try to contact him immediately. His cell rings out. Texts go unanswered. You knew they would but you had to try. He did say to call Alfred in case of emergency but you can’t really stomach the idea of telling his family you’re knocked up.

‘Hey remember me? Yeah! Exactly! Dick’s friend.’

‘No no I’m good thank you! funny story actually. I’m pregnant and it’s Dick’s. Surprise!’

You’re not together, they know that, and frankly Dick should know first anyway. You don’t even know how he’d feel. What he’d want.

You wallow for a couple of days. It’s not that you didn’t want kids, but you hadn’t exactly planned for this either. It was a someday idea, a maybe if you’re lucky, far off and hazy in your minds eye. If you really sat and pictured it you saw warm smiles and heard excited laughter. In reality you felt cold. The loneliness you were feeling certainly wasn’t what you were hoping for. You let yourself sit in the feeling. Reminding yourself that it’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay. You can be strong soon. You get to feel this now. You make your first doctor’s appointment the next morning.

Your doctor reaffirms what you already know. You’re pregnant. Blood doesn’t lie. You’re knocked up. There’s a bun in your oven. She runs you through your options. Offering pamphlets and making recommendations. If you want to continue with the pregnancy you’ll have to start taking prenatal vitamins. She writes you a list of recommendations and tells you to see reception to book in for an ultrasound the following week. You don’t think you’ve really processed the information yet. Your brain feels broken. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Baby. Baby. Baby.

You continue on as normal for the next week. Work. Friends. TV. Shitty take out. Before you know it a week has passed and you’re back at the clinic. The ultrasound technician is prepping you. It’s an internal ultrasound, because you’re still in the early stages apparently. You’d never really thought about that before. In the movies it’s all squirting the goo on the stomach and looking at little grey blobs. This is a lot more intimate than you’d planned. You briefly think that maybe you should’ve shaved for this. She’s reassuring even as she digs around in there. Everything looks good. Baby looks healthy. She asks if you want to hear the heartbeat and you say yes. The second the room fills with the sound of the baby’s heartbeat — badum badum badum, something inside you snaps like a rubber band. Everything is different now. Real. It sounds like a hummingbird. You start calling the baby Birdie, or Little Bird. It feels right.

Days turn into weeks turn into months in a blur. You’re about halfway now. You caved at 15 weeks and called Alfred to check in. He still doesn’t know about the baby but he knows that there’s something. He said he doesn’t know when Dick will be back and you believe him. You ask if you can send some letters to the manor, something to give to Dick when he checks in next, or comes home. Alfred says yes, of course, that he will keep them safely guarded up until he can pass them onto Master Dick himself. So you start sending sonograms, updates from the doctors. You write letters telling him how big Birdie is this week. That they’re the size of a pear or a papaya. You cry a little when you tell him you’re having a boy. His son. At this point you know you love Dick. You knew you loved him before. It’s a fact, you’re just not trying to lie to yourself about it anymore. The sky is blue, Bruce Wayne is Batman, and you’re in love with Dick Grayson. You have no expectations, not looking for anything in return. You know he can’t commit to you, even if he wanted to, with his lifestyle, his job. What you do know is that he will be the best father a child could have, and on the worst nights when you feel the most alone, crying in bed with a hand resting on your bump, it almost feels like enough.

You’re eight months along now. Almost at the finish line. Your maternity leave officially started this week and you’re putting the final touches on the nursery you’d set up in your apartment. The little room used to be your office and now your desk sits underneath the living room window, but you think you like it better this way. It’s a worthy sacrifice. The nursery itself is circus themed. Filled with lion and elephant plushies, painted with bright reds and vibrant yellows. You even managed to find an old Flying Graysons poster. You had it framed and hung on the wall above the overflowing bookshelf. It was cheesy but it made you laugh. You like to think that Dick would love it. Maybe roll his eyes a little, but smile all the same.

You go into labor alone at three in the afternoon five weeks later. You spend twenty-seven hours in labor, and for at least ten of them you swear to your doctor that you can’t do this and need to go home. In the end, the second they place your son on your bare chest, you can’t imagine it any other way. All roads lead here. To him. Oliver Richard John Grayson. He’s beautiful. With a shock of black hair and lungs to rival the Black Canary. Despite everything you’ve never been happier. Never felt this kind of all-encompassing love. You will die for him. Kill for him. He is your everything. You can’t wait for Dick to meet him.

Alfred comes to visit you two weeks later. You’d been having semi-regular phone calls since you first reached out to him and on a particularly bad night towards the end of your pregnancy you had confessed. You swore him to secrecy. An oath he took very seriously, fortunately for you. The family wasn’t to know and it stayed that way. Alfred nearly cries when he sees Oliver for the first time. His eyes are misty and you catch him dab at them with a handkerchief. He looks so much like Dick he can’t quite believe it. You make Alfred a cup of tea while he gently rocks Oliver in his arms. He tells you they finally heard from Dick and that he’s on his way home. Anxiety crawls up your spine at the thought. You’ve missed him terribly. More than you even thought possible, but every day that passes with your son in your arms is another reminder that his father doesn’t even know he exists. You don’t know how to tell him. He’ll have the letters sure but it’s not the same. You had months to get used to this, the idea of it. To rearrange your life to fit in this tiny little human. Your heart won’t be able to take it if he doesn’t want this too. Doesn’t want to be involved. As he leaves, Alfred promises again to ensure Dick gets your letters the moment he arrives. You thank him and shut the door, trying your best to breathe. Just breathe.

Two days later you wake up with a jolt to your bedroom window sliding open, almost silently. Oliver stirs in his bassinet beside the bed and you shush him with a gentle hand held to his little face, trying to soothe him back to sleep. Dick stands in front of the window, backlit by the Bludhaven skyline, frozen. His eyes are wet with unshed tears, darting between you and the baby.

‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’

PLEASE SUPPORT YOUR CREATORS BY REBLOGGING THEIR WORKS

[jerrythecrow]

[jerrythecrow]

A t-shirt that says "DIME IN A DOZEN" on the front, and on the back is "KILLING ME WILL MAKE NO DIFFERENCE. 12 MORE WILL TAKE MY PLACE."

[jerrythecrow]

[jerrythecrow]

[jerrythecrow]

Do you think urban fantasy settings have porn discourse? Like all the races have different ideas of what they find appealing and how it should be presented. Drarves mostly write erotic literature in runes and you would not believe how slow burn that shit can get. You're five volumes in before the two main characters figure out each others' genders and realise that they may be attracted to each other.

Orcs don't really do narrative arts, they figured out advanced chemistry before writing, and they manufacture perfumes specifically meant to mimic the scent of an orc in heat and then jack off to the smell. Having an orc roommate in college is unbearable.

Gnome porn is unspeakable. Do not speak of gnome porn.

Elvish porn, regardless of media type, features more humans than the uninitiated would expect. This is largely because elvish mating customs are just as slow-paced as those of dwarves, so the myth of humans as wildly promiscuous hypersexual turbosluts is somewhat based in reality: the culture shock that elves often encounter in mixed relationships, where the human partner whom they have been appropriately courting in a perfectly respectable way all of a sudden throws all propriety in the wind and goes "hey we've been together for ten years, do you want to see my tits while they're still this good?"