#late heart mind soul designs

[thewandererh]

💜💙❤️finally designing some jashlings for myself…after a full year of knowing chonny… 👀💦

TW // GOREY CONCEPTS, BLOOD, NOOSE/RED ROPE IMAGRY, DESCRIPTIONS OF AGONY (yummy)

i have pages of designs for the three that i doodled in my school sketchbook, and honestly i can’t pick one so i’m using ✨all of them✨. switching em out yknow?? maybe i accidentally created a bunch of aus instead of characters(??) because they all have loops that happen in different ways, or maybe they *are* the same but in different loops—the chonny paradox. anyways uhm some fellas to mention: nerd mind, merve (<3), deltarune soul, roe, toy-style soul, tadc mind (half an accident), a rabid heart, simon mind, an extremley nonbinary soul…heart with heart-eye glasses but then disruptivevoid reblogged someone’s cute render of the same idea— (honestly, lmao)

the gangs all here !!

but anyways I want to show off one design of soul in particular that has become an extremely fast favorite between me and my fellow rain-jash friend Sluggx!! it’s kinda gorey so i don’t know how to censor it :[, but the image is small so scroll past if the warnings above irk you. but uh. say hi to Dyadracide—a word i coined that means “to kill the duo”

me and my friend sluggx are going FERAL for him,,

ft roe and corona 🔱👑☀️

had the idea of designing a buttload of minds a bit ago, then recently this week i decided the same for soul. doodled him at school, then showed him to my friend via whiteboardfox :]. i draw Dyadra semi different now than there, but all his design is the same. rope neck that coils up inside his body when not in use, oversized pointy teeth (went monochromatik style with human teeth originally but nah), frizzly uhkempt hair, and a trident through his head. he’s always bleeding from the roof of his mouth, whether the trident is retracted into his skull or not. i love him so much😭💛. he has a full body and even a cute little gut but that’s kept for later for now. consider this a teaser of my inner workings :monk_devious:

ive been drawing him *SOOo* muchhh aaugha…can’t wait to show you when i can :]. building a batch of art for a tumblr post that i’ll dump later today maybe. get ready for some fun and gore galore~ (its not too gorey, just the trident-through-head-hes-always-choking-on-his-own-blood concept in full force. yummy ideas have to be explored huhu)

and off i go to have a late brunch. i always write these when i have something else to do lmao. *bites into omelette*

[sayoneee]

☆ I WANNA BE YOUR MAN

“his band is playing tonight, at seven,” annabeth reminds you, with the knowing air of someone far wiser, and far older, “you should go.” (1.7k)

contains: loser older brother luke castellan x fem! reader. mortal au. pt 2 of parent trap but can be read standalone ish. guest appearances! rock / metal music references.

kashaf’s note: i think i can call myself a melomaniac now

LUKE CASTELLAN HAS always occupied that in-between space, the no-man’s-land between something and nothing — his indecipherable gaze as his cold, black, and blued knuckles grazed your cheek when he tucked a lock of your hair behind your ear swims around your mind endlessly. despite how each thought, each expression, each breath is as familiar to you as your own, you have never quite known where you stand with him, regardless of how quickly he seemed to inhabit a piece of your soul.

the familiar weight of the mixtape that luke made you feels unusually burdensome in your hands, mirroring the heft of the songs on it that you have painstakingly committed to memory, each sleepless night’s offerings of tossing and turning becoming a reoccurring ritual. 

you had popped the tape in your walkman immediately after luke had handed it to you, incognizant of the way his eyes softened as you concentrated on the music, trying to identify the first song. 

“this is that band you like — l.a. guns, right?”

“you’re a regular sherlock,” luke had said, smiling and sarcastic, twisting his silver rings.

“shut up, no i know this song,” you say, tilting your head and snapping your fingers. “its — um — i wanna be yours? nono, don’t make that face at me, asshole, hold on… i wanna be your man?”

hues of pink crept up his cheeks, and you basked in the warmth of his answering crooked grin, the feeling wrapping around you like the caress of a summer night. 

you uselessly stirred the spoon in your now stone-cold cup of chai, leaning across the kitchen table with your head propped up in your other hand. the phone taunts you from its corner on the counter, sitting just by the clear jar of blue cookies, its black hue a beacon among the sea of greens (the cabinets, the tiles — you liked to tell sally that she should try her hand at interior design one of these days) — as of late, the jacksons’ kitchen has become somewhat of a refuge for you. 

you set a steaming china cup down in front of him, listening to the sounds of percy, annabeth, and grover in the living room, pulling out the chair in front of him with a slight creak on the slightly worn wooden floors, and watching him as he taps his fingers along to bob marley’s soft crooning, “little darlin’, stir it up”, lost in his own world.  

“luke,” you say, breaking him out of his revelry.

luke sits up straight, meeting your amused gaze, “yeah?” he asks, reaching for his chai, and mumbling a quiet thanks as he sips it.

“you look kinda stupid when you think,” you say, watching him blink before taking the bait, and hiding your smile of satisfaction behind your cup.

“y’know, this is why you have a black hole for a heart,” he says, grinning crookedly, filling you with an indescribable longing to reach out and trace his grin. 

“what?” you laugh, “what does that even mean?”

“just that you’re mean,” luke says, and the afternoon sun chooses that specific moment to encompass him in its glow, like a kiss from apollo. “and that you’re emo.”

“you literally say this every time, oh my god, i’m not mean or emo.”

“because i’m literally right?”

“you like him,” annabeth says, sympathetically, standing in the doorway, arms folded across her chest, her braids resting across her shoulders, glancing from your untouched cup to your face, an expression of pity gracing her features. her presence caught you so off guard that you don’t even question where percy ran off to, who was usually attached to annabeth like a conjoined twin. 

“i know,” you say, shivering slightly, the revelation feeling strangely empty, although you suppose the same part of your soul that recognized him had always known, a small inkling reappearing with every argument, and every nudge. 

“he likes you,” annabeth adds matter-of-factly, interrupting your stream of consciousness. 

“i know,” you repeat, picking at the lint on your sweater, and while this revelation is supposed to be shocking, it is also hollow, as you suppose your soul also knew this with every hushed conversation in the dead of night, and the slips of silence that only spoke volumes around him.

“his band is playing tonight, at seven,” annabeth reminds you, with the knowing air of someone far wiser, and far older, “you should go.” she turned and stalked back toward the living room.

you sat still for a minute or so, before sighing and putting luke’s mixtape (even in your misery, he is somehow always there) in your walkman, putting your headphones on as axl rose trilled, ‘i said, baby you been lookin' real good’ in his voice that took a while to get used to — something luke gave you a heads up on.

you sighed, conceding to annabeth’s attempts to rewrite whatever fate had pushed the two of you apart, from the hours-long phone calls that dwindled into short, clipped conversations, you can’t necessarily blame annabeth for trying to fashion a phoenix from the ashes of your friendship. 

you stood up, grabbed your jacket off the back of the chair you were sitting upon, and walked into the living room, pausing for a few minutes to watch the scooby doo episode on the screen along with percy, grover, and annabeth, who were currently sprawled across the softly carpeted floor, arguing over monopoly.

“you’re literally cheating,” percy was saying.

“i’m the banker, i’m supposed to be innocent,” annabeth argued back.

“percy, i saw you steal a couple dollars behind annabeth’s back,” grover added, rolling the dice.

“guys,” you said, interrupting their three-way argument, “put on your jackets and shoes, we’re going to the fair in five minutes.”

you ignored the way the troublesome trio exchanged glances, walking through the hallway covered in framed photos of percy and sally, going to wait by the door for them.

“so,” percy says, all-too-innocently, “why the sudden change of plans?” once the four of you are a couple of blocks away from his apartment.

“no reason, just wanted to see what was so hot about the fair,” you say, digging your hands in the pockets of your jacket. once more, you ignore the glances the trio exchange. 

“so it doesn’t have anything to do with a certain curly-haired individual that we’re currently seeing less and less of?”

you keep walking, trying to feign ignorance, although the question was so pointed even you were concerned with percy’s audacity, “what’re you talking about?”

“oh, nothing,” percy smiles. “just the way —”

“— the two of you —”

“— were inseparable —”

“— for a disgustingly long time —”

“— and now you’re not —”

“— but we’re going to the fair because —”

“— his band is playing —”

“— and you’re going to try and fix —”

“— your troubles in paradise.”

you blinked slowly, as the three of them did jazz hands, matching shit-eating grins on all of their faces, “how long did it take for you guys to rehearse that?”

“a week, give or take,” grover says, and annabeth shoots him a glare.

“not the point, the point is, we support you.”

“gee, thanks, all i really needed was the support of three twelve-year-olds.”

“three twelve-year-olds that know you’re stupidly in love with luke castellan,” percy points out.

“okay, y’know what…” you trail off, frowning.

annabeth nudged percy, “not the point here, again.”

“fine, fine, fine,” you huff, as the four of you approach the brightly illuminated fair, looking for the ticket-selling booth, “i’ll buy you guys tickets so you can go hang out on the rides and i’ll go to the concert.”

the three of them nodded happily, making a beeline for the cotton candy stand a few feet away. you shook your head before pushing through the bustling crowd to look for the concert stage. when you finally do find it, after three excuse me’s and four sorry’s, the concert is already in full swing, with what looks like a mini moshpit already forming somewhere near the center.

once you’ve pushed your way to the absolute front, the darkening night sky serving as a backdrop, the harsh lights illuminate all five individuals on the stage, with a gorgeous girl with shaggily-cut hair and a raspy voice singing as lead (thalia? you think you remember luke telling you on the phone late at night once). however, your gaze almost immediately fixed on luke, who was playing a riff on his electric guitar, looking as hot as ever, his crooked grin on full display.

the band is covering l.a. guns’ ‘i wanna be your man’ at the moment, and you’re suddenly very grateful to annabeth for her unsubtle nudges, because you would’ve missed out on this sight of luke castellan, the view of his muscled arms bulging out of his band tee is permanently seared into your memory.

you’re almost sad when the show is over though, finally realizing why luke liked concerts so much, from the crowd surfing to the drumstick tricks during solos (beckendorf, you think the drummer’s name was — luke had mentioned him before) to the lead’s insane vocals, to the girl with long curly hair that stood next to you for most of the concert (probably the band’s most enthusiastic fan), you savored every minute of it. however, you’re glad for the chance to corner luke afterwards, climbing onto the stage as the crowd begins to disperse in waves, and realizing the curly-haired girl was already among the band members packing up their instruments, helping the curly-haired bassist pack his things. 

luke barely looks up at your sudden arrival. “what’re you doing here?” he asks, packing away his guitar.

“i’m here to see you,” you say, trying to drive the hint home.

“i told you that you didn’t have to come see the band if you were busy,” luke says, uncomprehendingly, making eye-contact with you. 

“i like you,” you say insistently.

“c’mon, let’s not kid ourselves right now, you said we’re friends so you don’t have to try to make me feel better,” luke says, shrugging and looking away from your face, rubbing the back of his neck.

“i listen to your dumb mixtape every night, luke castellan. does a person who’s not into you do that?”

there is something so raw about the way he looks right now, with his expression stilling as his cheeks are colored in swathes of red. 

smiling at his dumbstruck expression, you surged forward to kiss him, ignoring all the wolf whistles and “get some, castellan” enveloping the two of you, tangling your fingers into his hair, his hands coming to rest upon your hips.

© sayoneee on tumblr. do not repost, plagiarize, translate or claim any of my works as your own.

[arminsumi]

THE SPRING I MET YOU

GOJO さとる

He hates spring because of "allergies"; he blames his sniffly nose and red eyes on the season.

Warnings : angst (heartbreak)

Playme : First Love/Late Spring

SPRING 2006

You had met Gojo Satoru through a common friend — Geto Suguru.

Oh how many times had you heard him say, like a broken record;

"You really have to meet this guy, you're gonna click with him I just know it. You're like the same person."

You're like the same person.

Suguru'd nag you to meet Satoru ever since he entered Jujutsu High, because he thought he was... you know, just the kinda guy you'd fall in love with. And he hated to see you moping around, lonely and hopelessly seeking a lover that was certainly not "coming to you on a summer breeze" like your mother insisted.

So you met Satoru, by Suguru's demand.

And your first impression of him was: oh no; he's an idiot.

A loud-mouthed, obnoxious idiot. Inappropriate. Overconfident. Irresponsible.

And his first impression of you was: eh, she's too shy.

A put-together, attractive woman. Too proper. Too shy. Too responsible.

If you and him were words, then you were antonyms to each other.

But that didn't matter, it was just the peripheral view you had of each other; something still drew you into each other. Like the universe was drawing up a constellation especially for you and him.

What did you have in common? Nothing. What did you like about his personality? Nothing. But Satoru was always nobody but himself and you liked that. That's the thing about him that saved you from viewing him as an unworthy madman.

And you? He thought you were always trying too hard to be somebody else, someone you were not, someone you could never be — and he wanted to change that. To see what was beneath the diffidence, beneath the plastic sheet that you covered over the image of your self.

He wanted to provoke you more than anyone else, not for the purpose of eliciting a cheap reaction and feeling fleeting amusement, but because he wanted to get you out of your shell.

His heart was on his sleeve, and yours was wrapped up in winter layers even though it was a warm spring. Satoru peeled off the layers one by one, until finally he found his gold; your sweet, tender, loving heart. And once he found it he grabbed it in a way that showed he intended for no one else to steal it from him; his love, all his.

It was just beautiful from then on. You and him. Satoru and you. The two stars in the constellation that the universe specifically designed just for you and him. Only you and him.

How did the first date happen? It just happened. How did the first kiss happen? It just happened. How did the first slow dance happen? It just happened. How did the boyfriend girlfriend thing happen? It just happened.

Everything between you and him always just happened. Like Tetris blocks falling perfectly into place. Like puzzle pieces perfectly connecting. Like clockwork.

No friction, no tediousness, no miscommunication between your stars. You and him shared your minds, bodies and souls with each other.

Like you were the same person.

SPRING 2009

Satoru's face trembled and nose reddened as tiny tears rolled out of his eyes.

This was the first time he had cried in three years. And it was a first for having an emotional breakdown in public, in the middle of a busy train station.

"Satoru, I'm sorry." you said to him. "I have to start my life."

"But we've already started a life here, together!" he yelled with a broken voice, in the middle of that busy train station. People looked.

It was Spring of 2009; you were breaking up with a 20 yr old Gojo Satoru as sensibly and sensitively as you could, but he still acted like a child.

When you and him had gotten together in 2006, both of you were just simple-minded, carefree teenagers who had yet to be shaped by the hurt of life.

Oh him and his prismatic feelings, they spill out the edge at the right angle and show a display of everything you never thought he felt.

"Things have changed. I've changed, and so have you. We have to move on from each other." you said, and he shook his head and looked at you like he was falling to pieces.

"I haven't changed! I'm still your boy. C-can't we talk about this at the cafe—

"—Satoru, my train is here."

SPRING 2018

"—Sensei, the train is here!"

He was interrupted back then just like he's been interrupted now from his daydream of you.

"What's the matter?"

Gojo-sensei's blindfold soaks up his tears, but it can't muffle his sniffling or reddened cheeks and ears. His nose wrinkles up and wiggles to the side as he sniffles and runs the back of his hand under his nostrils.

"Allergies. This is why I hate spring." he chuckles.

"Aw, get allergy medicine."

"Yeah yeah, I will. You rascals catch your train before it runs off without you." Gojo

「じゃあ！」 Yuji raises a hand of goodbye to his teacher and boards the train with Megumi and Nobara.

He waves goodbye to his students, lifting his blindfold to catch a peek before the train carries them out of sight. His smile drops when they can no longer see him at all.

He stares for a long moment at the place where you once stood, and remembers two memories;

One late spring you were on your tip-toes kisssing him for the first time.

And one late spring you were waiting for your train, breaking his heart with goodbye.

© arminsumi

I do not permit the copying/reposting/translation/plagiarism of my works. Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.

This is fictional work.

[justblades]

⋆｡˚ ♰・priest! sunday x afab! reader

┈─ ・(ex)plicit, mdni. contains 2.2 spoilers, blasphemous themes, impregnation, clit stimulation, oral sex, controlling sunday, not proofread.

Even a mere mortal can sense the regret lingering in the atmosphere of the vicinity, a small space dedicated for confessions and atonement of sins committed by those who believe in the Harmony. Numerous pews stand in rows before a single one, each being occupied by two people at best, to which you draw closer to the confession box— one more person to go and it is time to purify your tainted soul.

It was just muffled murmurs of two people from the latter reverberating inside the hall's six walls, along with the sound of the ceiling fans whirring. Your mind starts to drift onto something else: although you have no idea what others hold with regards to their sins, you still could not help but think that yours is shameful.

You can see the person beside you exit the birch box with teary eyes and stuffed nose as she holds a handkerchief to her face. "Next please." a resolute voice echoes, signalling for you to step forward into the confessional. With a wobbly stature, you stand up and tread forward, proceeding to close the oak door behind you.

The golden lights from the hall seep through the confession booth's partition, gleaming upon your stature - creating a silhouette as to where only the advocate from the other side can peer through the woodworks. You attempt to clear your voice before speaking, a dry throat halting the words you intend to verbalize within.

"I humbly ask for your blessings and the forgiveness of Xipe . . ." You mutter as your eyes dart to nothing that catches your interest except for the parquetry etched on the wooden floorboards. Your head held down low, staring at its intricate designing.

"Please feel free to proceed. I have sought their presence within us." The priest answers. "I have committed a grave sin of succumbing to passing emotions. Primarily, I struggled with regulating the purity of one's mind and it was late that I realized I indulged in an extreme activity to quench the thirst for sexual pleasure." 

A reassuring hum resounds. "As a devout follower of the Harmony, I believe my actions do not align with the path I stride. Therefore, I ask for forgiveness and assistance on how I will repent for the sins I have committed." After forming the confession where in sentences you never thought have ever been uttered, it feels as though a heavy weight was lifted off your chest and the shackles on your feet disintegrated.

Glancing at the frosted, colored glass window in front of you, you noticed how the warm yellow lights in the background flicker repetitively in an instant, as well as the birch surroundings creaking. "By committing a grave sin, you've engaged in an activity with a partner you are not married with." The priest reiterates as if the faulty lights are a common occurrence.

You hum in response. "And by committing an even graver sin, you took part in an activity with an objective aside from procreation. Please correct me if I'm wrong."

"Yes, esteemed advocate. Everything you said was indeed correct." Your heart starts racing, "Do you promise yourself you'll turn your back on this lascivious history to start anew?" He queries.

"Yes, Mister Sunday."

"Even if you were to encounter challenges to test your faith for the Harmony?"

Hesitation ruptures through your composure. Your resolution suddenly cracks, as if it was merely a façade with a longing for forgiveness to move on.

"Be honest." Like the advocate could read your mind as of the moment, you believe in the capabilities of Harmony, so there was no use in feigning cleanliness when you know it in yourself, you still struggle. "I wish to seek assistance from those with wisdom."

You receive another firm hum in response, "Very well. Please see me in the reconciliation room a short time after." Your mind spirals into confusion and bewilderment, the emotions painting your features like you were an open book to the audience.

Trekking off the confessional booth, you did not dare to spare a glance back at the priest and only made your way to the distinct, separate room - the reconciliation. It was small, enclosed, and only an oak table, two pairs of engraved chairs, a single ligneous partition and a kneeler reside within the space. Your vision anchors to the sculpted wooden cross sign hung on the beige walls, illuminated by a faint golden lamp on the table.

Patiently awaiting the presence of the priest, you stood still with a heavy heart, seeming like the relief you felt previously was only a glimpse of what you could've been if you didn't commit such grave sin. If only.

The door swings open, followed by the entrance of the figure you were anticipating. Faded sky blue hues of hair tumble upon the male's shoulders, along with the golden earrings he was donning. Feathered ears diluting into white ripple from his footsteps, and his distinct, golden halo stays afloat behind his head.

Being vis-à-vis with the highly esteemed figure of the Penacony like this tugs your heartstrings in unease. It felt bizarre, as you could recall from others' experiences that when you encounter priests or advocates of the Harmony, your heart rests. As for Sunday, it was the polar opposite. Chills run kilometers up and down your spine, your throat starts to become dry.

You trail your vision downwards, setting your sight upon his graceful features. His eyes were a radiant yellow tinged with an ocean blue, framed by his particularly long lower lashes. He purses his lips tightly, curving upwards, flashing a small smile. "Please take a seat." He motions for the chair in front of your figures, your eyes noticing the cross cut out gloves he's wearing.

Sitting down with guard held up high, Sunday follows suit as he opens the drawer from the oak table, retrieving something of a color white and frilly in texture, as you make of what you could from your peripheral vision. "This will certainly be of help to put your faith to test. If you would kindly turn around."

Your hands rest on your lap and as you hear the last phrase that came out of his mouth, you subconsciously gripped a handful of the fabric you're wearing in alertness. Not until your vision was impaired as Sunday blindfolds you with the latter material, it was soft and delicate to the touch - you could not see anything but faint shadows against the lighting. Everything was ivory white in stark contrast, and you could barely peer through the lace folds to see the priest.

"I will now be tuning your mind with the Harmony to which you will face repercussions if statements untrue to yourself are said." He pauses. Unsure where this will lead to, you had no choice but to nod in continuation. "Under the light of the Harmony, all wickedness is revealed. I implore them to shed their light."

What used to be a blurry white in your vision now fringes into colored edges, the prominent colors being purple, white, red, orange, and yellow.

"This will serve as a gentle reminder that I am assisting you to a path where grave sins  are not succumbed to, and only ▅▅▅ exists alongside philosophy to instill moral duties to a functioning member of a society."

His words cut through the thick atmosphere, thawing the glacial tension growing with each passing second.

He lowers his stature to face you, gloved fingers trailing from the hem of the laced blindfold down to your cheeks, cupping your face lightly with a careful grip. "Does this send a shiver down to your spine?" Sunday inquires and you shake your head in disagreement. It seems like he has a whole plan on how this will play out, and you were merely a pawn in his chessboard to see what you would react under these circumstances he will put you in.

The touch ghosts a caress on your lower parts, specifically, the frame of your chest. His thumb twirls on the middle part with an unraveled goal of making your buds perk up underneath the confinements of your clothing - making you grit your teeth as a poor attempt to stifle the sound threatening to escape.

A question arises amidst the confusing situation, a question that will surely be received in a poor taste as it will question his authority and legitimacy. You wanted to ask, is this really necessary?

However, the aura he exudes now was far different from what he displays when he's in front of the audience of the masses. He seems more strict now, judging from the tone lacing his voice from his query earlier. "Does this feel good?" He proceeds to unbutton your top, letting the fabric come undone and fall down to your lap. A singular  gloved hand of his snakes its way to your back, and with a single fidget, your bra was unclasped.

The priest takes his precious time in all these. He carefully observes the clothing that you wear, as he had come to adore the fact that you were wearing pearly white brassiere, one that was similar to the blindfold's texture and design, it was frilly in the edges and soft to the touch.

A light chuckle slips out, "Well? What's your answer?" Desire and temptation brews within your stomach, even spiking higher as he caresses your mounds with both of his hands. His touches feel light and blissful at the same time, like your body was basking in the warmth and enjoyment the priest had to offer. You struggle to keep your body still, knees trembling even though you were only sitting.

"N-No, Mr. Sunday."

A sharp throbbing ache courses through your head, granting him a wince of both surprise and pain. "It appears that you haven't put your mind and whole heart to this yet." He says as he walks away from your stature, leaving you dumbfounded. As silence encompasses the vicinity, you hear the male seat himself on the chair across from you. "Come to me." He simply orders.

"Just take steps forward and trust me."

With blind faith, you solemnly obey - approaching his figure with an extremely bleary vision. As your feet meet with an obstacle, seemingly the chair's legs, you stop in your tracks. "Now straddle my lap." Following suit, you feel a bulging sensation under your remaining clothing. Your breath becomes even more jagged than before, especially now that your clothed folds come in contact with his throbbing dick. It was clear cut enough that it was his erection continuously growing.

A brief moment passes and Sunday continues to envelop your hard buds within his lips, teeth grinding on your nipples in an attempt to inflict pain and pleasure all at the same time. "M— Mr. Sunday . . !" You yelp but he does not halt. He proceeds to twirl his warm, slick tongue all over your glazed areolas, your boob dancing in rhythm with his mouth in somewhat harmonic tunes played by your stifled mewls.

His other free hand pulls you tighter to his chest as he adjusts his position, bucking his hips upwards to create some sort of friction. The tip of his covered cock brushes against your already wet slit, granting him another lewd sound - this time, a soft moan. "I— I— I can't—" your hands clutch on the man's broad shoulders, feeling his long, muted blue and white locks tangle along your fingers. "You can. Yes you can. Only a little bit more you would be rewarded by proving your loyalty to the ▅▅▅."

Your sense of hearing downgrades as your mind drifts into pure bliss, lower limbs becoming numb as more pleasure courses through your veins. As if it's still not enough, Sunday simply lowers your remaining clothes to your feet, revealing your folds sopping wet with arousal already.

With haste and care in Sunday's every movement, he lays your back on the table in between the chairs, forcibly revealing everything down there to him — for him to revel in. The gelid wind traces shivers upon your sweat dewed skin, especially your folds now glimmering with muddy white liquids.

He raises your legs and stands up, resting your lower limbs upon his shoulders. The position is embarrassing enough as it is, but having the priest tower over you is another experience that feels even more intense than what unfolded previously. Not to mention that the throbbing pang in your head brought by your dishonesty upon the Harmony worsens minute by minute.

The male buries his face in your inner thighs first, flicking his tongue over your soft skin while his eyes are darted on your face, in high alert to which action of his you will react the most to. "Need I remind you to be honest this time around? Or is the headache that you're feeling not sufficient for you to stay true to your words?" He asks with a demanding tone, the margins of his lips drawing closer and closer to your slit.

"I have learned my lesson, Mr. Sunda—"

Gloved fingers begin to stimulate your clit, moving in motions you cannot fathom with your current state - your lower body jerking up in response to the stimulation. A sly smile creeps up on Sunday's face, his navy blue pupils fixating on each of your actions and expressions.

All you could think of was the fact that he didn't even let you finish, he went straight to pleasure you more, the sensation becoming more overwhelming as he starts to glide the tip of his tongue on your folds. "Do you feel good?" Although his voice was muffled from the proximity from his face and your pussy, you could comprehend and immediately answer, "Yes! I-I feel good . . !"

You rack your head back once Sunday buries his face further into your inner thighs, wallowing himself in your slit as he sucked on your sweet spot, sticking his tongue into your velvet walls while still toying with your clitoris. You bite back your moans, you cannot afford to lose the remaining dignity you had in you left - if there was any.

"Don't do that."

His voice sounds stern as ever, you were left with no choice yet again but to let mewls and moans come undone at this point in time. You were noisy, along with the sucking sounds accompanied by your hums of pleasure, continually bouncing off of the reconciliation room's four walls. "Very good. As for the last part, you must continue to be truthful, to stand by the ▅▅▅, and to ▅▅▅ to what I ought to be ▅▅▅ for you. Do you understand?"

Much to your relief, your vision was once again back to normal as he unties the lacey blindfold on your eyes. This time, you could see Sunday's disheveled hair, as well as the golden earrings dangling at every movement he makes. He swiftly unzips his slacks, therefore revealing his cock he had been concealing for so long before. It stands in its full glory, hues of purple and indigo veins threatening to pop - it was evident he's at his limit.

"Use your mouth. Make me feel good." He commands and peers at you with a somber expression. You muster enough strength on your body to stand up and kneel in front of him, positioning your head in a perfect angle to receive him. Slowly parting your lips open, he shoves his dick inside you, granting you a hoarse moan of satisfaction slipping past his lips.

You bob your head up and down and as if it felt natural to wrap your digits around the remaining length of his cock, you pump him in accordance to your pace, taking him inside with no hesitation, with only one goal in mind: to make him feel good. You could feel the crown of his dick kiss your throat every time you go deeper, making your eyes water as you try to keep yourself from gagging for the priest's satisfaction.

"That's enough, stand up." Your momentum was cut off as he hooks his arms on yours, making you stand from your previously kneeling position. It seems he has indulged enough in your submission and now it is time for him to try something new, something far more amusing in his perspective.

With both of your statures still standing up, he flips you around, making your back face him. He can examine every nook and cranny of your body in this way, and with a hum of approval, he bends you over slightly, wrapping his arms around your waist and reach for your tits. Your breath deepens, more beads of sweat proceed to trickle down your naked body. "M-Mr. Sunday, are we really going to do it?" you ask as he wraps his hand around himself, brushing his tip on your entrance.

He stops in his movements. "Do you have a problem with that?" A domineering tone laces that sole sentence, one that a person cannot delve deeper furthermore.

With one more stroke, he finally pushes himself inside your velvet walls, molding themselves around the shape of Sunday's dick - wallowing in the pleasure and warmth he emanates inside you. "So . . . warm . . ." He whispers, his breath ghosting a caress on the shell of your ear.

Sunday builds up his pace from a painfully slow one to picking it up, thrusting into you with additional force, pistoning your pussy as he's balls deep. Sounds of skin slapping add onto the lewd tune you two have been playing for the past hour, a whole sixty minutes of pleasure pooling your stomach and arousals seeping out of your holes.

Your legs start to quiver once more, exhaustion gnawing at your bones. But amidst this, Sunday kept you still with his force, hitting your sweet spots with the tip of his cock. If you could beg for mercy as of the moment, you certainly would take the chance. But to who, exactly? To whoever aeon is witnessing this lascivious act unfold in front of them, committed in such a religious place?

Or perhaps to Sunday, who you've knelt to before, received him inside your body in more ways than one. Perhaps. Perhaps it is he who shall show you mercy in the heat of the moment.

"M-Mr. Sunday, please forgive me!"

Interest sparks inside his mind, revelling in the way of being viewed as someone highly, someone sought out, someone in a legitimate authority. "You shall be forgiven." He states as he bites down on the blade of your shoulder, teeth leaving a bite mark and an aching sensation alongside it. You could do nothing but wince in pain, but waves of pleasure start to crush upon your conscious self.

Surely this is too much pleasure to handle for someone asking for forgiveness as they committed a grave sin for partaking in debauchery . . . but to be done this way by a priest is a little too exhilarating.

He picks up the pace, earning himself more moans of pleasure escape your lips, "I'll ▅▅▅ ▅▅▅ inside you." Sunday says as a fair warning, but a sentence you could only form at the present time was a lighthearted "Do as you please, Mr. Sunday."

With one single thrust, strings of satisfaction sprawl inside your womb. It feels warm yet again, but now, comforting in stark contrast to the nervousness welling up in your heart earlier.

"Well done. As you've shown resolution that you're on a path to atone for the sins you've committed in the past, you shall be forgiven."

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。EASY — KAVEH.

✩ — contents ⋮ fluff, gn! reader, established relationship, slight hints to kaveh’s past (but no details), a word vomit of what i think it is to date kaveh bc he has stolen my whole heart soul and mind :,)

“good morning, sleepy head.” you press a soft kiss to the forehead on your chest, moving messy strands of hair with careful fingers. “we really should get up, you know.”

“no.”

“kaveh.”

“no,” comes his protest. he’s stubborn, doesn’t give in even when you pry the sheets off his bare back, feeling him shiver at the cool air as it meets his skin. and yet, you can’t help but soften your gaze as you stare down at him, cheek pressed against you as he sighs before drifting off again.

kaveh is easy to fall for.

he’s a gentle lover, sensitive and delicate around the corners. you find him in the warmth that coats your skin from the sun every morning, in the honey you taste on your lips when tea is ready on the counter before you leave, in the soft sheets that are always freshly washed and ready to lay on when you come back after a long day.

“we have lots to do—”

he groans, tightens his arms around you stubbornly. “it’s not time to wake up yet,” he huffs, digging his head deeper into you and making you giggle.

“maybe you shouldn’t have stayed up so late doing that project,” you poke the tip of his nose, watching as it crinkles at your touch.

and then you trace the apples of his cheeks, feel the familiar indents of his bones through the soft skin, familiarize yourself with every piece of him. kaveh is easy love, and difficult to forget. he’s the quiet voice tucked into your shoulder at night, the pair of shoes you know not to trip over at the door, the mess of tools that are still assorted in their own way on the table that you dare not touch, the pillow on the left side of the bed because that’s the side he prefers, the random sketches in corners of every paper around your home.

kaveh is easy to love, and you find him in every corner, look for him at every turn.

“i had a stroke of artistic inspiration,” he sniffs petulantly, “you wouldn’t understand.”

“oh, i see,” you nod seriously. he opens an eye, raises a brow unimpressed at your faux seriousness. “then of course, please disregard your sleep and health. all for the sake of inspiration.”

“hmph.” it’s indignant, the sound of defiance he makes, it makes you chuckle as your weave your fingers through his locks and scratch gently at his scalp. “i can sleep just fine if you’re not persistently ringing in my ear about waking up.”

“but i want breakfast,” you pout. “wake up.”

“breakfast can wait.” you feel his nose dig into your neck, and then the soft press of lips against your skin makes you melt against the sheets.

perhaps if it’s kaveh who requests, you’re inclined to relent.

“if you ever say i don’t favor you, i’ll burn your sketchbook,” you mumble. and still, even despite the slight grumble against your shoulder, you can’t help but smile brightly, turning your head and planting a kiss to the side of his head.

“how can you favor me if you interfere with my livelihood,” he mutters bitterly—but there’s really no bite to his words.

it’s endearing, the way he’s devoted to his career. it’s the first thing you learn about kaveh when you meet him one night—you watch in awed amusement as he rambles at the tavern about the lacking interior design in his drunken stupor. and then he’s there the next day too, drinking just as heavily as the night before—it makes you quirk a brow as you sit beside him.

drinking this often is not a good habit, you say to him. he glances at you, blinks a moment before he huffs.

well you would too if you had a roommate like mine, he starts—and you’re sure the entirety of the tavern can hear him as he spills his woes to you without even realizing.

kaveh is hard to miss from then on. you see him at the fresh fruit stands when you walk through the market, at the akademiya requesting (demanding) funding from the acting grand sage, at the fields smiling with the children as they play and he ruffles their hair.

he’s nervous when he asks you on your first date, stumbles over his words and rubs the back of his neck, but his smile is earnest and his eyes are kind. he’s clumsy as he takes you to dinner, trips over his own feet as he scrambles to hold the door open. he’s a few mora short, blushing and mortified as he pats his pockets for more, mumbling how he’s sure he’d had enough when you giggle and complete the bill. he’s talkative through the night, rambles about his job and his projects, tells you details you don’t understand but can’t help but catch every word. he’s a bit shy when you hold his hand as you walk home, coughs a bit too loud to hide the hitched breath in his throat. he’s inexperienced when he leans in to kiss you, missing your lips for the corner of your mouth instead and stuttering over his words as he tries to explain he’s never done this before.

and when he takes a deep breath, cupping your cheeks with both hands and looking at you with conviction like he’s now made his life’s purpose to kiss you properly, you know you love kaveh.

you know you love him—somewhere during the first date. maybe the first meet. definitely the first kiss.

because kaveh is easy to love, even if he doesn’t know it himself.

he’s easy to love through soft kisses under the sheets, easy to love through gleaming eyes and animated hands as he speaks, easy to love through those moments of doubt and festering guilt of the past, easy to love through that innocence that wants to see the world for all that’s good and never for what’s bad.

kaveh is easy to love. so you love him. unconditionally so, from when the sun meets the moon and over again. continuing the cycle, holding him in your arms and pressing your lips to the soft skin of his forehead. and maybe, one day, if you continue to love him as easily as you do, he’ll learn to love himself too, to see the way he deserves the tenderness you show him.

“—and just so you know, inspiration isn’t something you can elect to ignore. some artists go months, if not years without an ounce of—”

“i love you,” you interrupt his rambling, voice soft and breathless and seeping with affection that he’s not felt in so long, he pauses with wide eyes.

it’s not the first time you’ve said it, and it certainly won’t be the last, but it’ll never feel quite like this time.

“yeah,” he says shakily, clutching you tighter, “i love you too.”

and maybe one day, he hopes if he loves you hard enough himself, you’ll know you’re just as easy to love too.

your honor he’s my everything 🥹 please i would steal the moon and stars for him 🥹

[answer2jeff]

ready for another lie?

// carmen berzatto x reader

song: Diet Mountain Dew.

pairings: nyc chef!carmen x journalist!reader

mdni!! i'm not responsible for your media consumption.

warnings: smutty smut, VERY DETAILED, fem!reader, oral and fingering (f!recieving), porn with plot, drinking, cursing, kinda subby carmy, praise kink, alludes to piv but it doesn't happen, complete and utter filth, i'm giving the people what they want don't look at me!!!

essentially a prequel, 1 year before the start of season 1 of The Bear.

"Fuck youuuuu! It's Friday, loosen up!" A groggy voice yelled from across the bar, cursing you for declining another drink.

You watched your friends flirt with the bartender over the course of 2 rounds of shots; causing harmless fuckery with the several guys who tried flattering them. You were actually bored for once. It made you sick.

You waited for something, anything else to impress you. You tried convincing yourself you didn't have to leave, that your friends wanted you here, and that nights like these were "good for your soul," but there seemed to be no hope.

"Just two vodka tonics. Oh, and a white Negroni. Uh, yes— yes, thank you." You caught a blonde curl from the stool next to you in the corner of your peripheral vision, and you dared to turn your head. You were met by the sight of an oddly familiar guy—and then it hit you like a semi truck.

The man you wrote your final thesis on "the senses creating art," about. Food & Wines best new chef, as of late.

You'd spent an entire year and a half traveling the world (after finally making a name for yourself as a journalist, and snagging a place in Food & Wines top writers) and interviewing the faces of all forms of modern art, representing one of each of the 5 senses.

Casey French, a fragrance designer as the face of "smell." Christopher Knowles, a fashion designer who specialized in optical wear as the face of "sight."

The list went on, until it ended at Carmen Berzatto, on "taste," just 6 months ago. It was September now, and you almost forgot about the 2 and a half hours you took from your day to sit down and talk to him in that studio. Your heart dropped to your stomach as you felt the pores in your palms release a nervous sweat.

You blinked rapidly, wondering if you were really seeing him— out of all the other Friday nights, when he could've visited all the other bars. But he chose this Friday, at this bar, next to you. You needed to say something.

"I'll take a Negroni too, actually. And you can just close out my tab for tonight." You handed the bartender your card after you anxiously fished it out of your wallet, trying to seem completely oblivious to Carmen's stare. Carmen clenched his teeth, his eyebrows raised in surprise as he kept his gaze focused on you.

"Holy shit! Is that—" A slightly younger man nearly yelped while he inappropriately pointed at you, quickly being shut down by his peer, and being told to "shut the fuck up," but Carmen stayed silent. He was dumbfounded at the sight of you.

"Uh, hi. Funny seeing you here," you croaked, swallowing hard when you realized how much of a horrible excuse of a "hello," that was. Carmen didn't seem to mind, dragging his head out of the clouds and smiling back at you as he received his glass.

"Oh my god, yeah. Wow, I— it's good to see you."

Carmen glanced down at your drink, watching you trace your fingertip around the rim of the short glass. He gazed at your fresh manicure, the beautifully layered rings on your fingers, the diamonds on your wrists, the black dress with a slit that exposed your leg up to your mid-thigh. Carmen always thought you looked nice, only being used to your blazers and gorgeous vintage pants that he was a little jealous of, but this was different.

And as if you weren't already anxious enough, Carmen's "friends" immediately arose from their stools and made their way to an empty table, leaving the two of you alone again. Just looking at him and his clean suit and tie made you nervous, especially with the ink on his hands still visible.

"Good to see you too, Carmen," you smiled, cheeks aching as you tried desperately to hide your excitement. Admittedly, you admired him. That wasn't new. But that feeling in your stomach, that aching, yearning feeling was.

"I don't usually do these things," Carmen mumbled, taking a sip from his glass and licking his lips.

"Me neither. It's kinda— I don't know, icky."

You knew Carmen avoided big gatherings like this, but they were usually tolerable thanks to people who "knew him" enough to let him hang around their groups in silence while they practically screamed at each other. But his free time just never seemed to align with anyone else worth talking to... until tonight.

"Icky. Couldn't have worded it better," Carmen tried not to laugh at your expense, keeping his tongue between his teeth as both of you fought back a smile.

"You get it! God, anyway—how've you been?" You inched closer to him, resting your chin in your palm as your elbows were propped up on the counter. You made sure to keep your stare on him and only him, glancing from his nose, to his lips, and back into his eyes. You knew exactly what you were doing, and it was too late to stop now.

Carmen paused, his mouth gaping open slightly as he thought of what he could possibly say to convey that he could be doing better, without completely ruining the mood. He sucked his teeth as he took a deep breath, his eyes glued to the floor until he finally looked at you again.

"Alright, I guess. Managing. How're you?"

"Managing. But really though. Like, has anything changed?"

Carmen thought about your question, realizing how much he seemed to relax tonight—while simultaneously being the most nervous he'd ever been outside of work in the last year. Was it being out and public after a long week? Was it the fact that he still felt so stupid for not getting your actual number, and instead only having access to your business email which was provided by your agent? Was it the smell of your perfume? Was it just you?

"Uh... yeah. Yeah, I guess some things have changed."

He couldn't help but awe at the way you did your hair and your makeup that night, appreciating the tiny details your jewelry and purse of choice added to the look. He hardly ever thought twice about the attractive women he'd run into; making small talk and watching them get bored with his interests.

But now you were here; his fantasies, his desires were here, right next to him; wearing a dress that flattered your cleavage and cinched you at the waist, black heels that tapped against the footrest of the barstool. It made his head foggy, and he couldn't even wrap his head around the encounter.

After finishing your Negroni's over the course of 3 separate conversations that left you with a cramp in your side and your cheeks hurting from smiling—basically hitting it off like you were actual friends, you decided to pull the classic...

"You wanna get out of here?"

Two successful, somewhat well known adults in their lines of work were allowed to be human, right? They were allowed to share deep belly laughs with someone they didn't originally plan to see outside of a work setting, right?

Wrong. It was unprofessional, inappropriate, unwarranted: everything you promised you'd never be around him.

Carmen knew this.

But he was eye-fucking you in that goddamn interview. His tattooed hands rubbing against his thighs as he sat in front of you in the white light of that studio, his gentle voice contradicting his large, almost intimidating arms—it was all you could think about when you wrote your thesis. And now you were gonna be alone with him.

And despite his worries, despite the nervous sweat beading on his forehead, despite his growing anticipation when he admired your figure like a horny teenager, Carmen agreed. The smirk on your face and your manicured nails in between your pearly white teeth was convincing enough. He knew it was risky, given the fact that you still wrote for Food & Wine every couple of months: being more than capable of ruining his career with one wrong, but so right move.

"Yeah, actually."

Unprofessional, inappropriate, unwarranted.

Fuck it.

Carmen closed his tab, gently helping you down from the barstool by your hand. You held your purse close to you while waving a shy goodbye to your friends, who were drunkenly squealing in excitement for you. Carmen's peers seemed to be out of sight; therefore, out of mind. You felt your cheeks go hot, every part of your body tingling. Neither of you knew where you were going. Just not here, and not with everyone else.

He couldn't even think about the fact that he would be back in the glowing white light of the kitchen that following Monday, and you completely forgot about the paper you had to start by Sunday night. And it was way too late to care about any of that now.

You decided your apartment was best.

"Fuck.." Carmen grunted under his breath, his eyes hooded while he felt his pants tighten against his throbbing length. He spread his legs wider as you palmed him, trying to ease some of his tension. You hovered over him as he lied down, sprawled out on your leather couch. His hands were clawing at anything he could reach; your hair, your thighs, the straps of your dress until he pulled it down to your hips, and finally the clasp of your bra.

His bare chest heaved, red and covered in sweat. His dress shirt, tie, and jacket were somewhere in the mess of your apartment. He was honestly too desperate to care.

"You okay with me takin' this off?" Carmen whispered as he cupped your cheek, keeping his fingers prepared to unclip your bra with your permission. He admired every inch of your flushed face as he waited for answer.

"Mhm," you soothed him as your hand moved up and unbuttoned his pants the second your lips moved onto his. Saliva pooled in your mouths with every kiss, turning into a sloppy mess of tongue and teeth. Carmen struggled, but eventually tossed your bra onto the living room floor, his mouth just centimeters away from yours as he exhaled heavy breaths.

You sat up straight, pulling Carmen up by his shoulders and smashing your lips back into his. He pulled sway to breathe, taking it upon himself to peel the rest of your dress off. His tattooed hands gently caressed your plush thighs, his calloused fingers sliding under the hem of your lace underwear. He practically worshiped you like this, planting open mouthed kisses along your jawline and neck.

Carmen needed to hear you, feel you, taste you.

"I wanna taste you, if–if that's alright," he placed one last kiss of gratitude on collarbone before he looked up at you through lust-blown, half-lid eyes.

Your entire body began to heat up again, and Carmen's words went straight to your needy cunt. You could feel yourself dripping through your panties while you put a hand over your mouth in embarrassment, nodding frantically.

"Please," you begged, a mixture of a moan and a silent cry escaping. Carmen's hands detached from your thighs, your hips writhing up from the loss of contact. Without another word, he nodded his head, letting his hands travel down your hips as he got down on his knees in front of you.

Carmen took a shaky breath, glancing from your pleading eyes and back down to your bottom half. He hesitated, choosing to plant one more line of kisses from your tits down to your navel before giving you one last look for permission. He put his hand between your inner thighs, asking you to spread further. You blinked slowly while he peeled your panties off of you, wondering if he would notice how wet you already were.

Unprofessional, inappropriate, unwarranted.

Carmen licked his lips, admiring the sight of your puffy slit in hesitation. With your body sprawled out in front of him, your pretty face looking down at him...how could he not eat you out right on that leather couch?

"I've got you, baby," Carmen cooed, his eyes wide as he nearly drooled over the glossy puddle in your underwear. He gently placed your calves over his shoulders, his calloused hands scooping the underside of your thighs.

Carmens wet tongue licked a bold stripe from your hole up to your soaked clit, not a drop of your arousal going to waste. You grew impatient, the kitten licks he gave your sensitive bundle of nerves driving you mad.

"C'mon, Carmy, I—" You whined, pleading that he'd pick up the pace. Carmen decided not to hold back, giving your throbbing clit aggressive sucks that he'd later soothe with slow, flat-tongued licks.

You bit down on your hand while the other entangled in his hair to muffle the sinful noises you made. Carmen felt his stomach turn at the sound of his name falling from your gaping mouth.

Carmen took note of how much you loved his tongue diving into your weeping hole, earning whimpers and cries of "please," and "oh, fuck, Carmen." He groaned into your pussy when you caught a grip on his hair, placing his head even deeper between your thighs. He moved his hands from your thighs and up to your waist—forcing your jerky hips down on the couch. He wanted to make sure you didn't miss a single bit of pleasure.

"Can I.. uh, can I try something?" He stammered, picking his head up with his chin shiny with your liquids as his hand crept back down, prying between your folds. Carmen needed to keep every part of him busy so he wouldn't have to focus on the aching bulge, already leaking precum in his boxers. He felt his thighs clench as he fucking whimpered beneath you.

"S–sure.." You nodded frantically again, tossing your head back as Carmen carefully inserted a digit into your core. You whimpered in slight discomfort as he stretched you out, which he immediately reassured softly.

"Shhh... you're alright. Jus–just relax f'me, yeah?"

Carmen waited until you whined again; his fingers started at an agonizingly slow pace until he heard your moans getting a little too quiet for his liking. He picked his pace up, sliding another thick finger into your hole and ramming into your g-spot. He hesitated, afraid to hurt you—but you quickly dismissed his worries when you urged him that you needed more. Carmen aligned his tongue back with your pussy, sucking hard before comforting your desire with lapping at your clit.

"Oh my god, Carmen," you felt that familiar knot in your stomach, your grip in his hair tightening while your moans grew louder and louder. You didn't care if your neighbors could hear you through the thin walls of your apartment. You didn't even think about what this would look like the morning after—because none of it mattered. Not with Carmen's head between your thighs.

Carmen could tell you were close, prioritizing your pleasure before he could even register how badly he wanted to cum into his boxers. He couldn't help but buck his hips forward, begging for friction while every noise you made just inched him closer to his release... but he needed this to last.

"You close? Let me take care 'f you," he mumbled, breathing heavily against your pussy while he tried his best to stay still. It sent shockwaves through your body, and you tried desperately not to scream his name.

"So... so close.. Fuck, it's too much," your useless protest was cut short by a loud moan, muffled by the sweaty palm of your hand. Your heart pounded in your head as your walls clenched around Carmen's fingers. You weren't used to anything feeling this good in months.

"C'mon baby, you can handle it. You're alright. You're doing so good. Takin' my fingers so fuckin' good," Carmen's raspy voice comforted you. His tongue finally came back to relieve you, his fingers slowing down so as to not overstimulate you, as much as he wanted to.

"Carmy!" Your eyes screwed shut as your thighs shook. You chased your high, practically grinding into his face as his nose bumped your clit while his fingers remained at work.

—

"Jesus..." You panted, grunting in disappointment when you felt Carmen slide his fingers out of you. He licked them clean while your eyes were screwed shut as you tried to recollect yourself. Carmen planted a kiss on your temple the second he sat back up onto the couch, pulling you into his lap by your waist. You felt his erection against your crotch, his already sticky mess combining with your wetness yet again.

"You okay?" Carmen cupped your cheek, pushing any sweaty strands of hair out of your face. And just when he thought he couldn't have felt more proud of you, he melted into the feeling of your lips against his.

You didn't know if you'd ever see him again, you didn't know if this night would magically become niche hot gossip within your respective groups; all you knew was that you wanted him. His lust blown eyes on you, his hands gripping your waist as he bent you over your kitchen counter and fucked you dumb, the sound of sex echoing through your apartment.

Maybe some other Friday night.

[iwas-princess]

iwaizumi hajime • wedding bells

“wait- what’s that?”

the question was seemingly harmless, just a simple ask of misunderstanding and curiosity. but to you, it made your heart stop momentarily and you swore that you felt your soul dying and leaving your body to die.

“um, what? what’s what?” you asked, acting as if he wasn’t pointing right at the very obviously titled pinterest board of yours.

you both were snooping through each other’s phones, giggling about dumb photos or apps you both had and creating teasing inside jokes that would become meaningful in your relationship, when suddenly, he found the one thing that slipped your mind when you handed him your open phone— the wedding pinterest board.

you created it the moment you knew you loved him, hand selecting every detail that you desired your big day to include, even going as far as pinning lingerie that you wanted underneath your dress for him to rip off of you at the end of your reception.

it wasn’t unusual for women to go this, you’ve heard of it being a very common interest that most have when in love, so you’ve never felt insecure when showing your female friends or looking at whenever he sent you a text that had your heart bursting late at night— but you knew that men didn’t feel the same.

you’ve seen girls all over social media venting about their boyfriends calling them weird or obsessive when they discovered the ceremony plans, making a reaction of disgust and shattering their romantic girl’s dreams. you were utterly terrified of hajime reacting that way, for your relationship was practically perfect and you didn’t want something so… trivial to get in the way of that.

“this, baby. what’s ‘me n iwa’s wedding’?” a smirk quirked on his lips as he read the title out to you, his chest feeling full and stomach leaping with butterflies as he realized how much you loved him.

the cover photos were of floral arrangements on a long table outdoors, most were shades of both of your favorited colors and beautifully organized set tables. interested, he clicked on the board, ignoring all of your meme collections and driving his attention to your romantic interests.

“nothing!” you defensively answered, snatching your phone out of his hands but he was quick to grab it back.

“baby, c’mon, let me see.” he chuckled, his eyes flicking to your stunned and embarrassed face before retorting back to your phone.

you whined, nervous and humiliated as he carefully inspected each photo, taking in your preferences and custom selections.

most didn’t surprise him, having already known that you would favor certain colors and styles when it came to designs, but some were so gorgeous that he couldn’t believe they existed. your hopes for your wedding were high, leaving impression that he was who you were happy to tell stories of you both to your future grandchildren.

the ceremony matched every photo that was meant for it, proof that you had your little heart set on one idea. it was beautiful, he thought, and just your taste. but what really caught his eye, was the dress.

he could picture it all now, you walking down the isle in your dream dress, holding the bouquet you had already picked out with a smile on your face as he stood at the alter, teary eyed as he watched you make your way to seal forever with a kiss. your throughly thought out wedding was the setting, every detail he just discovered being in his vision.

“iwa, come on. stop it, i’m already embarrassed.” you whined before finally forcefully yanking your phone out of his hand.

he snapped out of his imagination as soon as your phone left his hands, the dress his eyes were trained on disappearing into only your eye sight.

he blinked for a few moments, trying to gather his thoughts on what exactly just occurred within a few minutes time.

a blush spread across your cheeks as you watched in horror his stuned expression. this was it, he was going to say something heart wrenching and left you crippled in your bed for days after at his denial.

instead, a smirk spread across his face as he turned to you.

“so, you wanna marry me huh?”

you rolled your eyes, although very embarrassed that the words flew so recklessly in the air. as if it was some big secret that you wanted your long term relationship to turn into a marriage.

“no, i wanna marry your hunky arms.”

he laughed, a genuine rawr of laughter as he crossed his bulky arms over his large chest.

you would be lying if you say that you weren’t looking at the way they bulged out of his hoodie.

“oh, princess. always so obsessed with my arms, aren’t you?” he teased, but his voice was airy and sweet, as if he adored you.

“sure.” you mumbled as you tried not to boost his massive ego too much in one hour.

you both were silent after, you contemplating whether you not you should delete the wedding board or not, while he stared at the floor smiling faint as he thought about how lovely that vision was.

you thought for sure that his silence meant something awful, that he wasn’t as flattered as he seemed to be or that was all he felt of it, flattery. he couldn’t have taken it as serious as you did, you were positive of that. no man did, not even your loving hajime.

the silence was killing you, the uncertainty of what his real reaction was eat you up with each passing moment until you finally couldn’t shut up anymore.

“i know it’s weird, and seems obsessive that i already sort of planned out our wedding. i mean, you haven’t even proposed and we never really spoke about marriage, i don’t why i put as much thought into it as i have been. i’m sorry you found out about it, i’ll delete-“

“i’m gonna marry you.” he disrupted your nervous ramble, although his attention seemed to be on anything but you.

you blinked for a moment, soaking in what exactly he just said.

“i will.” he said, “i’m going to marry you, y/n. and it’s going to look just like that, maybe even better.”

you couldn’t believe it, couldn’t fathom that this was the result of your teasing evening.

“and i’ll propose soon enough, don’t worry your pretty head about that.” he nodded, eyes still trained on the carpet. “but, we will get married eventually. this i promise you, my princess.”

tears welled in your wideded eyes, both shocked and utterly love struck at his confession.

“i-iwa-“ you whispered, emotions advent in your voice before he cut you off once more.

“don’t delete it. keep it. we’re gonna need it in the future. it’s not obsessive or weird, i promise. it’s so fucking adorable and i don’t think i’ve ever been anymore in love with you then i am now. stumbling across that will be the highlight of my whole life until it happens, and even then not even the birth of our possible children would top that.” he was looking at you now, starring kindly at you as tears started to fall down your emotion-ridden face.

he was quick to lean over and place his hands on both sided of your cheeks and wipe the tears away, smiling at you.

“don’t cry, baby.” he cooed. “i love you, and this is everything i want too. you’ll marry my biceps soon, and you’ll never have to worry about going without them.” he teased, sealing it with a wink.

you laughed breathlessly through tears.

“i love you so much, hajime.”

“i love you too, princess, now kiss me.”

[sgiandubh]

What happened with Barbour ?

Dear Barbour Anon,

My favorite kind of Anon, even if I know the question has recently been asked again and not in this corner. Never mind, I think it's time to talk about it, too.

I bought my first Barbour (entry-level, so olive) Bedale wax jacket 25 years ago, from their (long gone, now) shop on Boulevard Raspail, in Paris. It was a mandatory clothing item to own if you wanted to properly mingle with the law school crowd (it still is) and it ended up being one of my most prized possessions, possibly a part of me. I still have it somewhere, back home. Two more followed, along with a fetishist array of shirts, scarves, beanies and even one of those sturdy crossbody bags you can fit half a house in. So you can imagine my absolute thrill when I found out, very very late, that S had had a rather substantial collaboration with them, from 2016 and until 2019.

I am very bad with timelines, as you probably know and possibly even cackle about, but still: S was appointed as the company's first ever Global Brand Ambassador on July 16, 2016. His mission statement was very precisely defined by the brand and for some reason we'll analyze a bit later, this is important:

(Source, heh: https://www.astonbourne.co.uk/is-barbour-a-luxury-brand-unraveling-the-mystique-of-classic-outerwear/).

A shirt and vest signature collection followed in 2017 and 2018, with the contract being renewed. Advertisement was absolutely gorgeous and designed to shape a very positive image, both for S and the brand. Last autumn's SS Gin promo retained some of that irresistible aesthetic DNA and I discussed it at length.

See for yourself, Anon. The fandom endlessly discussed the first long clip (with the chocolate labrador), but I have no idea if these two have been seen, let alone debated. If they did, let that be my nostalgic mistake.

Spring/Summer 2018:

Fall 2018:

And then disaster stroke, with S's trip to Ha-wa-wee 1.0, in the spring of 2019. A short reel, featuring a rather agglomerated boat trip, was posted on socials. Unfortunately for S, it also featured an allegedly horrifying scene involving the 'traditional' bludgeoning to death of a tuna fish. Emotions ensued and as it often happens here, they spun out of control. Many people, including some of the most vocal S haters, tagged Barbour in their diatribes, filled with environmentalist indignation. They suggested this guy (who did not participate to the savagery and I would be even unsure he realized what was going on) was, by no reasonable means, a proper 'embodiment of the brand's identity, values and aspirations' (remember that mission statement?).

Tone deaf as ever in the midst of a serious PR crisis, S put friendship above anything else, and publicly praised the boat's owner, calling him 'the heart and soul of the island', if I remember well. I still would like to think he has no idea what the hell exactly happened. And then, when somebody finally (August 2019) asked Barbour on Insta about their collaboration with S, they got this politely dry, but clear answer:

"We don't have any plans for a collaboration with SH in the near future" means, in my book and to my understanding, "we are never going to work with this guy again". Truly, some people in here who dare to give morality lessons to others, should be proud of themselves: they did it knowingly and in a very organized way, using multiple sock accounts, to give the impression of a collective retching reflex. To cut the story short, the dread of any ad campaign on this planet.

The effort was genuine. The result of that collaboration was very good. Take, for example, this somewhat heartbreaking customer review by an American guy who has no idea who SRH is and who bought one of those jackets from a Barbour factory warehouse, in 2021, with a hefty rebate (70% off). Clearly something Barbour wanted to get rid of at all costs - what a pity and really what a SHAME on all those hypocrites who will never admit to a public assassination by the book:

This time, I am absolutely not sorry for the length, Anon. This is something that still makes me boil. Unfairness and cheap nastiness simply disgust me.

(Thank you, sweetheart, for the screenshot, always. You know who you are 😘😘😘).

[cottagecheese1]

Helo could do part two of Surprised, Tony Stark x little sister reader wherein the reader couldn't take anymore pain and the cancer is strong it means the reader is dying to make her is being comfortable. She has wishes and tony and Avengers were determined to make it true. Also the reader seems dead by the end. Of it and make the avengers and tony sad and devastated especially tony who practically raise her

Nice surprise (part two)

a/n: This is part two for however wanted it! you can find part one right here

Everything seemed to be going great a few months after the avengers came to visit you, or that's what Tony thought at least. He had decided to visit you today just because you were his only little sister and he thought you might wanna see someone, Tony couldn’t bear the thought of you just sitting in that bed all alone and rotting in that damn hospital with no company, but even though he was sure you were used to it, since you’ve been sick for your pretty much your whole life.

As Tony walked through the hospital doors and did the routine check in and signed the visitor sheet, then proceeded to walk to your known hospital room, he opened the door to stick his head in expecting to see you, but you were nowhere to be found. While Tony stood in front of the door pondering where you may have gone, he only seemed to be thinking the worst, one thing Tony did know is that you didn’t deserve this. You were the sweetest living soul and you just happened to get the worst of it.

Tony's worries seemed to be interrupted when he heard a deep voice behind him speaking

“Mr. Stark, may I have a word with you in private..it’s about your sister”, Tony looked at him with confusion then that feeling quickly turned to fear but he didn’t want to believe what he was thinking.

“Is something wrong? I thought you said she was okay.”, Tony stated with an exasperated tremble in his voice.

The doctor looked at him with a sympathetic frown, “Mr. Stark..I’m afraid she won’t make it much longer, she is in a great deal of pain and unfortunately it is just too late to go forward with any other treatments.”

Tony looked down at his feet and clenched his eyes shut, he could feel his heart drop to his stomach and tears began to swell in his eyes, “I..can I atleast see her”, Tony responded with a noticeable tremble in his voice, the doctor frowned at him and nodded his head, “Yes, follow me this way, Mr. Stark”.

As soon as Tony stood in front of your room, he quickly went inside and placed himself right next to your bed, where he peered down at you and saw how tired you were from fighting. Tired of being in pain. At this point the doctor made himself out of the designated room to give you both some alone time.

There seemed to be a pregnant pause in the air as Tony took both of your hands in his own and cried, Tony couldn’t hold down any of the emotions that he attempted to keep down. He wanted to be strong for you, but the thought of losing you just put him in a harrowing state of mind. You looked at him with tears in your eyes as you managed to croak out, “I don’t wanna die Tony..please help me, it hurts so much..I..I just want you to help me”.

Tony shook his head “I’m sorry..I..I’m sorry I couldn’t do more for you, I love you and I want you to know that more than anything in the world.”

“I’m going to die aren’t I? And I’ll never get to see the things I wanted to see..because I’ll be gone, and nobody will remember me..I’ll just be gone” you cried out

As Tony lifted your hand off the bed and shook his head in denial, “No, don’t talk that way, everyone will remember you..a..and I’ll make sure of it okay? Hang in there okay, please don’t leave me yet..please don’t” Tony’s voice trembled as he stroked your head, attempting to calm you down.

“Can I ask for a favor Tony?..please”

Tony nodded his head quickly “Y-yes, anything”.

“I wanna go outside and see the world..just one last time before I leave, please”

“Yes, absolutely..I’ll make sure that happens today, if it’s the last thing I ever do”

You gave a half hearted smile and closed your eyes, tears silently running down your cheeks. You never told Tony how you were feeling or how you were actually doing, in your mind your brother was a busy man, and you were sure he didn’t need anymore stress on his plate then he probably already had, so you kept your mouth shut for the greater good.

After Tony spent a few more hours with you, he jogged out to the hall and quickly made his way outside through the automatic sliding doors. He felt like if he didn’t get the team to help him with your last wish, the world might come spiraling in on him. As quick as he got into his black BMW the quicker he got to the compound to make an emergency meeting.

As soon as everybody made themselves into the conference room, Tony quickly started to speak, too fast. Natasha hesitantly interrupts Tony in the middle of his tirade, “Hey hey, slow down, what's wrong? We're here to help you” the rest of the team silently agrees and looks at Tony as he takes a deep breath and rubs his temples.

“I..I’m sorry, it’s just my little sister doesn’t have much time left, and I want her last wishes to be perfect..while she’s still here, and I really need your guys help. It would mean the world to me.”

Everyone looked at Tony sympathetically, while Bruce got up to try and hug him, which quickly led to Tony pushing him away with a “Don’t touch me” Bruce silently nodded and awkwardly put his hands in his pockets, everyone let out a laugh at Bruce's embarrassment until Steve smiled “of course we’ll help you Tony, what kind of friends would we if we didn’t”, Tony smiled at them thankfully and gave a quick thank you.

When the team and Tony of course finally got you out of the hospital for the day, after piles of paperwork. The first destination that you wanted to go to was the ice cream parlor, then go eat at the park. Which of course Tony happily obliged with your request. You happily got your mint chocolate chip ice cream and made your way to the park, with Bucky pushing your wheelchair by the bench. You thought it was a wonderful day outside, sunny warmth radiating off your skin and the sight of children playing on the playground, which made you a little sad since you couldn’t do that, you never could since you were always sick. Tony sensed your discomfort and quickly moved you under some shade.

“So what would you like to do next? Remember that today is about you.” Tony sternly but softly spoke as you got the last phrase.

You pondered and quickly spoke “Hmmm..Oh! How about we go to the zoo!”

Tony chuckled and patted your back lovingly “like I said, Anything you want”.

After you made it back to the bland hospital, that you were disappointed to return to. But you had one more request, “Tony?” he looked at you inquisitively then responded “yes?”

“can you stay with me tonight? Just for tonight..I-I promise”

“Of course, let me check in first, alright?”

You smiled at him brightly then nodded happily. Waiting patiently for Tony to come back, you felt a throbbing pain in your chest, and you knew that wasn’t good. Tony came back starting a sentence but stopping when he saw you clenching your chest and your face twisting in agonizing pain. He ran out your room and grabbed the nearest doctor by the shoulder and attempted to drag them to your room. If one word could describe how he felt right now it would be panic, just panic.

The doctor led Tony out of your room and into the lobby where he was made to sit, with anxiety pouring down on him.

As hours and hours went by, Tony’s worries were yet to cease, until a doctor came into the lobby and called his name. He popped up out of his seat, following the doctor into the mostly vacant hallway.

The man began to speak “Mr. Stark..I am so sorry to inform you that your sister is deceased, we tried everything but..there was nothing we could do to help her, it is very unfortunate you had to find out like this Mr. Stark..but you may go see her for the last time”

At that moment in time, Tony’s world came crashing down on him. And that was only because you were his world. The reason he still had that glimmer of hope, that maybe the world wasn’t all that bad, but apparently it was. He was wrong, but more importantly you were gone and there was nothing in the world he could do about it.

[disruptivevoib]

Incase the lot of you thought the homestuck au thing was a joke and also dead no. and no. !! Explanation here is that Soul makes troll version dolls of heart and mind, then a doll of himself as a human. He gives Heart and Mind each the codes of the opposite (Heart gets the mind doll code, and vice versa) (or he ships them to them somehow? idk. stuffs rough lol) and they make those and throw them into their sprites at behest of Soul. And also because they don't really realize they are dolls of troll versions of the other until its.. a little late.

Both sprites, M1ND5PR1T3 and <3sprite are over-exagerrated and bastardized versions of the other.

M1ND5PR1T3 speaks in all caps, <3sprite all lowercase.

Soulsprite facilitates between two extremes of "I want to die" and "I have had at least ten monster energy's in the last 12 hours and im going!!!!!! CRAZY!!"

When M1ND5PR1T3 and <3sprite meet, they are basically built to hate one another- and thusly do. M1ND5PR1T3 or <3sprite attempt to punch the other and... well, second prototype each other.

Soulsprite will get mixed in later.

@calamarispiderart made the <3sprite and M1ND5PR1T3 designs and is also responsible for a lot of their characterization stuff!!!

[starcrossedreaders]

Grossly Dependent

Azriel x Reader

Warnings: Angst with fluff at the end, self doubt, injury

Authors note: YOU GUYS MATTER! Don’t let anyone else convince you other wise.  There will always be someone out there that loves you. <3

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

I never meant to get myself in this situation. Being noisy had it’s perks till it didn’t, and currently I was suffering from the down fall of Fae hearing. 

“Honestly, my condolences go out to whoever her mate is, it must be hard to be putting up with such a dependent mate.”  Hushed voices turned into giggles that escaped their lips.

 I never knew my co-workers to be so cruel. Was I really that dependent on Azriel? Does he hate it? He never seemed to hate it, but he isn’t the shadow master for no reason. 

My mind was processing 100 thoughts at once, like waves coming up and washing away any self respect I had. I let out a sadden sigh, threw up the wall to the bond and got to shelving books. 

I had worked longer tonight in hopes to clear my mind before I face my mate but all attempts had failed miserably.  If anything, it made it worse. I thought to every time I had needed his help and how he reacted, this only resulted in me to drop the books in my arms, or almost fall off of the stool I needed to use to reach the highest shelves. Maybe they were right. Azriel had been the soul reason I left my bed when the sun rose. The reason I had worked so hard to make a better life for myself, the reason I was living not just existing. But maybe, just maybe I’m only living because of he has helped me every step of the way, from wrapping my hand when I burned it, to holding me through the late hours of the night when I was having a hard day.  

As I was getting ready to close the bookstore a notably handsome male walked through the doors. Tall, somewhat well built with blond hair that swept his face and blue eyes. Nothing he has would beat Azriel and all of his artistry. I often found myself comparing my mate to the art we would see on our dates, nothing can beat him; the art was as close as one could get.

“Hi welcome in, may I help you find anything?” I smile at him as he walks up to register. As I walked up he eyed me up and down taking in my figure, creep.

“Well of course, do you guys have any history books?”  He tilted his head to the side taking more time to observe me.

“Right this way. Are you looking for a certain book?” I started walking towards the designated section as he stated the title of his book.

When we made it to the spot I scanned the binds of the books to, of course to find the book to be on the top shelf.  As I go to reach it on the tips of my toes my fingers nearly grazing the thick bind, I lost balance.  As I began to tip backwards and tripping on my own feet  the male behind me braced me by the waist. I clenched my eyes shut hoping to hide from my embarrassment. After a few heart beats I began to back away only for the male to strengthen his grip of me. 

“You can let go now,” I looked up to him giving him a deadpanned look. He looked back at me grinning slightly.

“No ‘thank you’ for saving you?” His arrogant manner was starting to get on my nerves.

“Thanks. You can let go now,” I tried to push his hands off of me. Everything about his hands on me gave my stomach a twist. It’s not my mate, in no way shape or form.

He tried to pull me closer until shadows swept pass us going straight towards my ankles and arms to protect me.

Azriel.

“She said to let go. You have 3 seconds to let go or your hands are mine.” His cold voice sent shivers up my spine. 

The male growled, ripped his hands from my waist and angerly walked out.

He had saved me once again, I was truly and utterly defenseless. Being oh so dependent on my mate, once again. The chills from my spine soon felt like hot lava pouring down on my spine. Anger, blind rage and anger surged through me.

“Are you okay my love? Did he hurt you?” His protective, yet warming words reached my ears.

“I’m fine.” I curled my fists and walked past him to close the store. I know I shouldn’t be so cold towards my mate, especially after he saved me. But my co-workers words kept repeating in my mind. 

Dependent.

Dependent.

Dependent.

“Are you sure? You seem kind of upset,”  

“I said I’m fine Az, let me close the store and then we can go home.” I left no room for him to try again as I began my closing duties. Azriel just sent a warm loving feeling down the bond that I embraced. I sagged my shoulders as I counted the money.

As my mates feet touched the ground I was off to the kitchen to start dinner. I didn’t really want to talk about today, or how I was feeling for that matter. I went  to occupy my mind again in hopes to better myself for my mate. 

Starting dinner took a lot of work and restraint to not just go fall into our bed and sleep for the rest of my immortal life. I truly don’t know why I was feeling this way, Azriel was the best mate I could have ever asked for, even if he was little overbearing and protective. He can’t help it, working for the High Lord is never easy and his work brings a lot of threats around but still. Nesta and Feyre are never this dependent on their mates, in fact most of the time they were the ones to wear the pants in the relationship. Rhys gave Feyre time and knows she can handle herself. Cassian knows how Nesta is and respects that she is as independent as they come. Azriel...

Before I could finish my thought a sharp wave of pin surged through my hand. Lost in my thoughts I hadn’t realized that the knife was so close to my finger and I sliced it open. It took a minute to fully understand what happened and then the strong copper sent wafted up in the air. The shadow Az left to make sure I was okay was gone before I could blink and Az was booming down the stairs after I opened my eyes. 

I stood up straight and faced my back towards him as I began to rinse out the wound.

“Y/N, are you okay, is the cut deep, what happened?” So, so, many questions

dependent.

dependent.

dependent.

The words rattled throughout my skull.

“I’m fine, I can handle it on my own. You don’t have to be protecting me all the time Az. Nothing is going to happen to me if you look away for one second. S-So just go finish your work or whatever you were doing, I can do this myself.” The words stumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them, and soon after the air become still.

“Love...” Love rushed down the bond as he face turned from concerned to hurt. I couldn’t handle that look. 

I go to walk past him but he flung his wing out stopping me in my tracks.

“Talk to me, Love. Why do you feel this way,” His shadows left to get the first aid-kit leaving us to each other. His beautiful hazel eyes bored into me. My bottom lip began to quiver as tears rose to my eyes and my throat burned. Az was quick to bring his hand to my cheek, wiping the running tears away. I place my hand on top of his and leaned into his touch. He connected his forehead to mine in hopes that my thoughts would pour into his mind.

“Talk to me.” He whispered hot breath ran down my face as he slide his thumb back and forth on my cheek.

“Every day, all I hear is how reliant I am on you. For the longest time I refused to listen to their words. I thought you enjoyed being there for me as much as I do for you but then, you introduced your friends to me. Gods they looked so happy with their mates. Both sisters being strong and independent, if anything their mates needed them. Sometimes I wonder if you want something like that, a person to lean on.... not a burden,” I took in a deep breath and closed my eyes. How did I just confess that to my mate...

Az pulled back letting out a sigh and he began to work on bandaging my finger.

“My mate, my lovely mate. How could you ever be a burden, I don’t think you realize how much you  lift me up as much I lift you up. We help each other in different aspects of our lives. You helped me with my insecurities, my hands, self destructive thoughts, showing that I do deserve your love. Remember when we first met?” He lets out a small life and I grinned a little.

“Yea, I do,” 

“You tripped on cauldron knows what with a coffee in one hand and books in the other. You just so happened to be graced by my chivalrous acts and I saved you. That day I knew, just knew you were my mate. Even if you fall hundred times over I would never change you for the world. Mother has blessed me with you and I could never thank her enough. You are enough, you are wanted, and you are most certainly not. a. burden. So get those thoughts out of your head,” Az finished wrapping my finger as he placed a soft kiss on the cut. 

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

[justanerdy-gal]

An Ascendant’s Love

-> pairing: A!Astarion x Vampire!Tav -> content: fluff, emotional, pro Ascendant Astarion, vampire bride Tav, sfw -> summary: An ascended vampire’s love is obsessive. An ascended vampire’s love is possessive. But it is no less true. In fact, there was perhaps no truer love than that of the Ascendant.

-> notes: My firm belief has always been that Astarion’s love for Tav becomes so intense after his ascension that he does not know how to contain it. That he would go from the heavens to the hells to protect them, cherish them, and keep them by his side. To this end, I wanted to write a fic that briefly expositions how I think (headcanon ofcourse) Astarion feels about his love for Tav after he has ascended. Those who think ascended Astarion is abusive may not like this fic 🙈 But I hope you all enjoy it anyways ❤️

————

An ascended vampire’s love is obsessive. An ascended vampire’s love is possessive. But it is no less true. In fact, there was perhaps no truer love than that of the Ascendant.

Astarion ponders as he watches his love staring out the window of the palace, her skin as radiant as a pearl. As radiant as the day he turned her. He leans against the wall across the hall, enamoured by his consort’s beauty. She was wearing a ballgown he had specifically designed for her. He had made sure to spare no expense - much to Tav's hesitation early on. However, upon seeing Astarion's heady stare when she first put the gown on, she had decided that maybe it wasn't so bad.

It was hard for him to explain the feelings that turmoil through him when he stares at his beloved. Everything had changed when he chose to complete the Ascension ritual - for himself, not for his late master. Every sense, every feeling he had, had grown much more intense. It was almost too much for him to absorb at first. His edges had dulled over the past 2 centuries of slavery that he endured - and to just feel so much at one time - it was a feeling quite overwhelming.

And then there was her. His companion. His friend. His lover in a way that no past lover had ever been for… as long as he could remember.

Oh yes, he loved her before the Ascension - the first real connection he'd ever made in his life. The one who broke through all the walls he had built over the past two centuries, as if they were made with nothing but cardboard.

But it was as if his feelings before his Ascension were… minute. Puny.

They could not capture or describe the essence of what his little love truly meant to him. They could not do it justice.

She was the one who had saved him from his slaver - who had gone through thick and thin to ensure his happiness. Who never pushed him - not with intimacy, not with feelings. She let him make his own decisions. For the first time in his life.

When he first ascended, he had wanted to devour her whole. To devote himself to her, and have her devote herself entirely to him. Anyone else would have been terrified - scared off by the show of such intensity, such need for possession, a need to hold them close - in fear that in the blink of an eye, they would fly away, leaving a gaping hole in his undead heart.

But not her. Not the one who had opened her mind to him - allowed him to see himself for the first time. Who was locked by his side as he carved those wretched runes on the bastard’s back. It was an adjustment at first, but even without the tadpole in their brains, it's like they could read eachother's minds. It was not an intensity born out of control - Astarion had many things he could control, he did not need to control her. He did not ... want to control her.

It was a shock to him as well, to be frank. He was unsure how everything would play out after he had ascended - during that brief amount of time between his Ascension and before he had turned her. His mind was a whirlwind - the world moving too slow, his senses moving too fast. The strength of 7000 souls coursed through him, and his need to dominate was palpable. Intense.

But somehow....somehow she had seen through all that. Through the lust for control, for power, for revenge. She grounded him. Brought him back down to earth.

There was no doubt in his mind that he would have turned to the worst without her there. There was so much he was capable of - and the natural urges he had did not point towards good. But when he held her - when she melted into his embrace - he was reminded of that sliver of goodness, that had been the key to unlocking the world. He remembered their good deeds along their travels, the way he would fuss and fight, but would then softly smile as he saw the ones he helped thank Tav with joyous praises. He was enraptured by it. It made him wonder if maybe it wasn't so bad .... if he could make that smile appear on his love's face all the time.

It would take time, he found. As he settled into his new body, his new powers, his urges settled too. He found it easier to make good decisions over bad. His overwhelming desire calmed to an eternal adoration. Whenever he strayed in his natural urge to dominate, just a little nudge from his sweet was all it took to guide him back to the right path. Except for perhaps in their bed. It seems she rather enjoyed him dominating in that respect.

Time would never be enough for him to express his adoration of her. He longed to cherish her every moment of everyday. Hold her close as she blushed while he dragged his hand over her curves. To feel her shivers as he fed upon her blood. To lose himself in her lips, to ravish her with his touch, to feel her against him as she unravelled beneath him every night. To never let her go. He would never let her go.

He wanted to give her everything. He made her his bride. He would not allow her to suffer the torture he did. He would make sure she would want for nothing. Her every desire fulfilled. Her every need met. As long as she stayed by his side, he would give her the entire world.

He was now free to love her without fear - without fear of Cazador, without fear of the Absolute, without fear that he did not have the power to protect her. For the first time… he was without fear.

“What’s the matter, Astarion?” Astarion was taken out of his thoughts to see that Tav had walked over to him, her head quirked to the side as she wondered about what was bouncing through her love's mind at the moment.

“Nothing, my little love,” Astarion said, smiling as he pulled Tav in for a kiss. Tav was caught off guard by the intensity with which his lips met hers, almost set off balance as he crushed her body to him. He wrapped one arm around her waist, another lifting into in her hair, pulling her head in closer as he deepened the kiss for a moment, before he allowed her to breathe again.

“If that’s nothing, then nothing might have to happen more often,” Tav giggled, a blush creeping upon her face. Astarion face lit up with a grin at the twinkling sound of her laugh. He held her tight to him as he stared out into the setting sun.

You have given me everything.... thank you.

————

My AO3 and Twitter 🙂

MASTERLIST

Taglist:

@volturisecretary @myaastarionshenanegans @leatherboundriot

[k-liight]

some random Mojo Jojo headcanons because I've been brainrotting over him so much lately

he's very well-groomed and takes good care of his hygiene- probably uses the fanciest fucking shampoo to make his fur nice and soft, keeps his hands moisturized (the gloves prevent him from getting them dirty), hell maybe he even uses those face masks with the cucumbers over his eyes and everything LOL

at the same time though he doesn't mind getting his hands dirty if it means his work comes out better- sometimes if he's working on something in minute detail he'll take the gloves off so he gets things more precise

he'll never admit this but he enjoys dressing up and donning disguises whenever the situation calls for it. he's a fashionable monke

sometimes he has to be forced to have fun because he's usually so focused on his work that he feels he doesn't have enough time to let loose. he can be a bit of a stick-in-the-mud sometimes even if he denies it

at the same time though being evil kinda is his idea of fun which like... yes but also no. he gets so stressed out by constantly trying to keep up with the Puffs somebody help him-

on a related note, he's a good dancer but it's not exactly something he brags about often

and if he lets himself, he will kill it at karaoke

his passion is so strong that he never half-asses anything he does, he always puts his heart and soul into it even if he doesn't really want to do the thing LOL he always has to flex at every opportunity

he isn't aware of his tendency to repeat himself/paraphrase the same thing he just said- he is, however, fully aware of the fact that he overexplains everything and, as shown in Mo'Linguish, considers such speech more proper and eloquent than simple sentences where one could more easily be misunderstood or misheard

he actually is a good chef and skilled at the hibachi- he just doesn't make the kind of food that children typically enjoy (hence why the Puffs didn't care for the fish and shrimp he cooked for them LOL)

I like to think that, because he got to be the way he is due to the same Chemical X-plosion (haha) that created the Puffs, he can occasionally gain some of their same powers- most notably flight- but he can't control it as it only happens when he really loses his temper and flies into a fit of rage. this would explain how he suddenly appears able to fly and punch the shit outta a giant alien robot in Forced Kin lmao

however, he's already stronger than he looks even without any sudden effects of Chemical X; he can easily lift things that are more than even his own weight

personally I like to think he's more built than the cartoon lets on- he's not insanely ripped of course but like, I feel his legs would be a bit thicker than they're drawn to be (I know he's meant to have an exaggerated top-heavy design but shush) and if you squeezed his arm you'd feel some pretty solid muscles under all that fur. this monke is fit

this is something else he'll never admit but he loooooooves being complimented. tell him how good he is at his villainy and mans is just glowing

he enjoys classical music but he also likes oldies crooners (think Frank Sinatra or Harry Belafonte) and early rock n' roll from the 50s. he's not entirely sure why he enjoys the likes of Elvis Presley or Chuck Berry but he just does

he likes to take things apart just to see how they work. he's a naturally curious chimp, okay?

despite his villainous nature, Mojo Jojo is, if you can believe it, a gentleman at heart- if you get on his good side and treat him with basic respect he will repay you and then some

[imnotasuperhero]

Look into my eyes (search your soul)

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: Your love for Wanda could make you go the distance and more, just to see her happy. 

A/N: A day late, but in my defence I had a packed friday, lol. I woke up after a night out with the need to finish this part and post it, so here it is! BEware of any mistake since.. hehe.. I partied all night. Also, blame tumblr for any weird design on the post.

A/N 2: For now, this is planned to be four parts with the chance to growing. So it’s on you, guys. Hope you enjoy this and gets you wanting more (:

If not tomorrow, next weekend part 3 will be out.

Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX

Wanda stirred, waking up to an empty bed, before looking over at the sleeping babies beside her.

Her heart couldn't grow bigger at the sight in front of her. Those two little humans were finally in this crazy world, and the fears she could feel start growing at the back of her mind were doing little to help her breathe. She just wanted for you to hurry, to be by her side like you always were.

But all hopes of you being away in search of coffee dissipated when she saw her husband sleeping on the chair at the far end of the room.

'He finally dared to show up,' she sighed to herself.

What would she give for Vision to be more like you. To be present when she needed him, to show how much he cared for her.

A few months till now, she started noticing how Vision would go on longer trips, almost as if escaping their life together. And she would be lying if it didn't hurt her. Part of her still loved him. But a bigger part told her she just missed what they were.

She could only hope he would be present in their children's lives, at least. 

The tone of her phone going off signaled her of a new message and her heart jumped at the thought of you.

Seeing your name on the screen, Wanda smiled brightly as she hurried to open it.

'Good morning, Witchy. How are the twins treating you? Hopefully, they're not too much. How are you?'

'Good morning. They surely love to sleep.. still waiting for them to wake up so I can feed them. I am alright. How are you?'

After a few seconds of her message being unread, she just lowered her phone, basking in the warm feeling burning up inside her. The way you made her feel was something that -secretly- she enjoyed deeply.

Just as her phone went off again, the twins started to cry, demanding her attention. It was at that moment that Wanda made her peace with knowing her kids became before you.

Sitting up in her bed, she tried to wake up Vision. But decided she was better without his help for it was in vain.

Slowly stepping up, she maneuvered both babies in her arms as a grunt escaped her, her whole body begging her not to move. Sitting in bed, she shifted and shifted until she found a comfortable position.

Once she was settled, she placed each boy on each one of her breasts, hissing at the pain that sprouted from the latching.

Holding back her tears, she remembered the words you'd said the day before, as the first feeding happened.

“No no, let me,” You demanded as you quickly stood up from the chair, almost running the short distance to the crying twins’ crib.

Picking Billy up, you carefully placed him in Wanda’s arms. “Here you go, baby,” you spoke softly before you picked Tommy up, cooing at him as you patiently waited for Wanda to find a comfortable position.

“I know, sunshine.” You calmly spoke against the baby’s head as you rocked him softly. “Mommy needs a little more time for two beautiful babies like you need only the best. And you know the good things need time,” you smiled as you checked Wanda, busying herself with his brother before you lowered your voice to a whisper, “But don’t worry, you can always count on me to feed you the goodies.”

“I’ve heard that,” 

Looking up from the fussing baby in your arms, you found Wanda’s eyes staring warmly at you as she tried her best to stay put, waiting for her son with open arms.

Giggling at her words, you kissed Tommy’s head before placing him against his mother’s chest. “I stand by my words,” you whispered before kissing his forehead.

The pain that ran through Wanda’s chest got her in tears. Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply as she bit her lips, trying to stay still.

Looking up at the weight by her side, she couldn’t help the sob that escaped her at seeing you wrapping your arm around her shoulders.

“I know, Wands.” You kissed her head and she just let your body be the one who held her in place. “But this is part of the process, and you have to endure it for your babies,” you coed as you caressed Billy’s head.

“It’s for my babies,” she whispered, gathering the patience it took.

But said patience was running thick as the twins started crying at the lack of breast milk, and Wanda just felt defeated. She wanted her old life back.

Trying in vain to hold her cries, Wanda settled both babies’ heads on her shoulders, rocking them the best she could to try and calm them.

“Ugh. They’re too loud.” Vision grunted as he stood up, walking towards the door leaving Wanda with rage building inside of her.

A few minutes passed by when Vision walked back in with a nurse hot on his heels.

“Good morning, Hon,” the nurse walked to the redhead with a soft smile on her lips. “What’s the problem?” She asked as she quickly checked the charts at the feet of Wanda’s bed.

"I don’t know," Wanda spoke on the verge of more tears running down. "I tried to feed them but they started crying." She looked up at the nurse with hopes she could help her calm her kids.

"I see," The nurse paused as she checked the bag connected to Wanda's hand. "Did it happen yesterday?"

"No." Wanda sighed.

"There's an easy solution for that," the nurse smiled brightly, caressing Wanda's head, and she would lie if she didn't think about her mom at that moment. She should be here with her, guiding her.

"Let me go get some formula, yes? You're not producing much to feed both of them," she explained calmly, making sure Wanda calmed down before she walked away.

She laughed sardonically when Vision started gathering his things. “Are you really leaving now?” The redhead spits out venomously as she tried to calm her crying boys.

“Work is calling, baby. I need to make money to provide for you.” Vision nodded as he picked up the call, walking away for God knows how long, this time. And that action alone was enough to make her cry alongside her babies. The excruciating pain in her chest making it harder and harder to breathe. This was just too much.

But the nurse didn’t take much and as soon as she entered the room, she hurriedly took one of the babies from Wanda and gave her one of the bottles in her hands, calmingly feeding the twin in her arms.

“Where’s the dad?” She asked confused.

Wanda didn’t dare to look up. “He had work to do,” she whispered. Her eyes never leaving Tommy, as he happily sucked from his bottle.

“Is there someone I can call? Doc will be here soon and you might be able to go home today,” the nurse smiled as she rocked softly.

“I-” Wanda paused, thinking of you. Quickly picking up her phone, she paused before dialing your number. “Could you… Could you talk to her?”

And Wanda’s secret prayers were answered when the nurse nodded softly, locking the bottle under her chin so Billy could keep feeding and hurriedly grabbed Wanda’s phone, bringing it to her ear.

“Hi, I’m Wanda’s nurse. N- no, everything is alright,” the nurse giggled something warm. “It’s just her husband had to go away and she might be able to- Oh, okay. Be safe, though.” 

“She’s on her way,” the nurse smiled as she left Wanda’s phone on the table beside her bed.

Truth to your words, you walked through the door in less than 10 minutes.

“Sorry I’m late,” you placed the small gift in your hand on the table beside Wanda’s phone before you quickly kissed her forehead.

“I’ve got him,” you smiled to the nurse as she placed Billy in your arms. “Hi, baby,” you coed as you automatically started to rock him, continuing the nurse’s ministrations on his back.

“Hi,” Wanda spoke softly and frowned when she saw you freeze at her words for a second too long.

“You’re not the only baby, from now on,” you joked.

“You are the only asshole in this room, though.” Wanda couldn’t help the smile at your giggles.

“Touché.”

“Are they strictly to bottles, now?” The worriness in your voice had Wanda concentrating really hard on making Tommy burp, avoiding looking in your way.

“No need to worry, sweety,” the nurse jotted some things down into her notepad before giving you her whole attention. “Wanda just can’t produce enough milk for both of them, so she can either complement her breastfeeding with it or just go for the formula.”

“Ohh, I see.”

Wanda could feel your eyes on her and her whole body burned with shame.

“The doc will be here in a few, though. He’ll talk you guys through it,” the nurse smiled before walking out of the room.

Once you both were alone, Wanda felt the side of the bed shift and the releaving sigh that escaped her when she felt your body against hers had her cheeks heating up.

“How are you holding up?” You asked as you caressed Tommy’s head.

“Not gonna lie. This is a rollercoaster full of downs,” Wanda allowed her body to rest against yours, seeking the comfort she needed.

“Is there anything I can-” 

“Way to go, dude.” You interrupted your previous thought as you faked disgust at the warm feeling on your shoulder. “It’s only right that you love me, but you don’t need to be so explicit about it.” You shifted the baby from one arm to the other as you took your jacket off.

Wanda couldn’t help but laugh at your words. “I told you karma was coming back,”

“Karma is a smelly bitch,” you scrunched your nose as you walked to the baby’s bag, taking some wet wipes to clean your jacket.

Seeing you so harmonically moving with her son in your arms had her heart warming up. And she made sure to thank the Universe or whichever God out there for having a friend like you in her life.

As always, likes, comments and reblogs are highly appreaciated :)

Taglist: @summergeezburr @wandabear @red1culous @inluvwithfictionalwomen @aliherreraaa @kiancorpse @whitewidowsbite @xxxtwilightaxelxxx​ (If you wanna be added, just let me know!)

[isshua]

Breaking the Wall (Find Comfort in Those Who Might Hear You)

Sagau Xiao x Reader

I haven’t been feeling great lately, so I decided to write this little story to cheer myself up. I had this idea about what might happen if Teyvat’s environment were to reflect your emotions whenever you logged on, and by extension whatever character you are currently playing as. I also wanted to write my own play on a character “breaking the fourth wall” in order to communicate with their player. This story follows the more classic sagau trope of how the characters are semi-aware of the fact that they’re living in a videogame but view it as a sort of boundary between their world and ours.

Xiao is a huge comfort character to me and I mostly wrote this for myself as a way to cheer myself up. I thought it came out okay though, so I decided to share it here. Hope you guys enjoy! :)

To break the Wall meant instant termination.

  Teyvat made this clear. It would not allow its people to make contact with the divine world. Forging a connection that extended beyond the mechanics of life was simply not meant to be. The Vessels could communicate with the Creator within the bounds of Teyvat’s laws; that was what being a Vessel was all about in the first place. For non-Vessels, then such hopes for communication with the God Above All Gods was impossible. That was how Teyvat was designed. That was how things were meant to be.

  Xiao, typically, did not mind following the rules. After all, he was an immortal being with thousands of years of experience in his belt. He knew attempting to break the Wall would result in his death. Long ago, before he had been chosen to be one of the Creator’s envoys, he hadn’t even cared about the Wall. Why would he want to break it? Meddling in such matters was not of his concern. His duty was to protect Liyue, nothing more.

  But then he got to know you. And his feelings for you only grew. When you chose to, you guided him through his daily tasks with kind words and praising whispers. When your golden light possessed him, his karmic debt would dissipate and he would feel a thousand years younger than he really was. You took him to places he never dreamed of seeing: the peaks of Dragonspine, the streets of Inazuma City, the dunes of the Sumeru desert. With you, there was a sense of adventure. With you, there was excitement. With you, he felt whole.

  You did not speak often, not that he was bothered by it. He was an introverted soul, one who appreciated the silence between the two of you whenever you would travel together. Occasionally you would comment on the environment or the enemy he was fighting. Sometimes you grew frustrated after completing domains-not with him, he understood, but rather with the horribly mediocre artifacts the two of you would receive. He liked it when you laughed. The noise was so clear and invigorating, he found himself hoping to hear it every time you appeared. He liked when you would softly hum some unknown tune from the faraway land you inhabited. He loved it when you acknowledged him, how he was a stronger and better version of himself only because of your dedication to him despite knowing the many sins he has committed. If you could have known the impact you had on him, you might find it amusing to see how easy it had been to steal the aloof Yaksha’s heart.

  There were so many things about you that he loved. But there was one single thing he hated.

  He hated it when you cried.

  The day began as a typical one. You had not possessed him for the entire week, not that this was something to be worried by. You typically did disappear due to some strange thing called ‘college,’ but you always came back. Xiao largely spent his day patrolling Dihua Marsh, slaying monsters, and saving the occasional mortal from dying at the hands of hilichurl tribes. He did not interact with anyone beyond stiff acknowledgment; the only person he did talk to on a regular basis was the Traveler, and the last he heard of them, they were somewhere in Sumeru, ever exploring, always curious.

  Your presence was not anticipated, but it was welcomed. When your golden light descended upon him during late afternoon and he felt your presence tugging at his mind, he felt contentedly unsurprised. Your voice echoed his name: “Xiao. Let me in.”

  He did not resist and allowed your influence to settle within his body. “You called?” he murmured, halfheartedly hoping for a reply. You never did answer him whenever he greeted you, but that was due to the Wall. Conversations were strictly one-way.

  He waited for you to take control. Whether it meant being teleported somewhere or just taking off into Dihua Marsh, he knew the two of you would be off eventually. He waited. And waited. A minute went by. He did not move.

  “Your Grace?” he called out, puzzled. He could feel you, he knew you were there. So why weren’t you interacting? Surely you didn’t appear just to stare at him, right? What is going on?

  Something wet fell onto his hand.

  He looked up at the sky and immediately noticed the ugly gray clouds gathering overhead. A filter of mundane color cast out the light of the sun. Droplets of rain started pattering down onto his face, his hair, and his clothes, leaving him drenched. But he did not stop staring. Because within his head, he could hear soft sobbing.

  The Creator was weeping. And so Teyvat weeped along with them.

  The first thing he felt was anger. Who hurt you? he wanted to ask. Who would dare make you cry? But as he listened to your cries and watched the rain come down, he realized that anger would do nothing to help. He could not solve your problems. After all, he was in Teyvat, and you were somewhere else entirely. His second reaction was to comfort you, but he could think of nothing to say. The issue of you two being separated was still in effect. The Wall would not allow him to offer you any consoling words. He had no choice but to let you suffer alone.

  But by the Archons, you were making his heart ache. Xiao was one to usually think that tears were for the weak, but he could not make himself see you in a pathetic light. Would it not be pitiful of him to deem his Creator as a lamentable coward? He didn’t even know why you were crying. You could be in danger!

  That’s when he decided. I have to make contact with them.

  It was a nearly impossible feat. But he knew he could do it.

  Break the Wall. Establish communication.

  He had never heard of anyone doing it before. Not even Rex Lapis, the strongest god he knew, dared mess with such an unpredictable, mysterious force of power. The Wall was not hard to find, but it took willpower to face it. Xiao didn’t know if he would perish the moment he did, or if it would take time for him to dissolve away. There were too many possibilities of failure. He could think of no way this sudden plan of his would lead to success.

  But your crying was like a million arrows piercing into his heart, and the pain of his karmic debt was rising as he continued to soak in your negative emotions. He was hurting right along with you-but if he could only talk to you, things could be made right.

  Xiao held out his hand, and his jade spear materialized. He braced himself and raised the polearm high into the air. Focusing on the ground beneath him, he concentrated and felt his surroundings. The energy of Teyvat came to him quickly, most likely due to being exposed to your power for so long…and then he pinpointed it. The moment of weakness. He brought his spear down with every bit of strength he had and tore into the fabric of reality. A gaping hole of darkness ripped right under his feet. He did not scream when he fell in, nor did he grunt in pain when he slammed into a glass-like surface after his short freefall. Everything was dark, except for the millions of green bolts of  electricity racing all around him at the speed of light. Your golden glow encompassed him and fended off the overwhelming power this Abyss-like area radiated.

  He looked at his hands. His weapon was nowhere to be seen, and the tips of his fingers were…glitching. In fact, his entire body seemed to be crackling-falling apart and knitting itself back together with technic shrieks. It was a sure sign that he was in a place not meant for him. He had done it; he had broken through the Wall. Now he was beyond it, but where, he did not know. Surely this can’t be the Creator’s domain, he thought. This place was far too dark, and there was no hint of your aura anywhere except for within him. But it had to be the realm in which he would form a connection with you.

  He could still hear your crying, but now, it was less ‘in his head’ and much more clear. Xiao walked forward, his footsteps echoing against the glass floor. “Your Grace!” he called. “Can you hear me? It’s me, Adeptus Xiao!”

  No answer. He was utterly alone in this place…but the sound of your crying was getting undeniably louder. Xiao pinpointed on the direction in which it was coming from and took off. With each step he took, the glow of your light grew brighter. He took that as a sign of goodwill.

  And then, he saw you. You were sitting at a strange looking desk with your head buried in your arms. Xiao slowed to a walk and crept tentatively up to you. He had never seen your physical form before, and only had a minor grasp of your appearance from the various statues of you scattered across Liyue and the abstract depictions of your form in history books. To be honest, he had been expecting you to be a bit more…god-like. The person in front of him did not look like an all-powerful deity. They were ordinarily mortal, and possessed no external qualities that differentiated them from the average human being.

  But then you lifted your head to scrub your tears away, and his breath was lost within his chest. Within your eyes he could see countless stars, and flecks of gold were scattered through your hair. All around you, there was an explosion of light, and Xiao was exposed to the warming feeling of your aura at an even greater intensity than usual. This was you. You might have looked human, but you were undeniably, most definitely his god.

  “Your Grace,” he uttered, kneeling at your side. “It’s alright, I’m here now. I heard your cries. You called out my name. Please, let me speak to you.”

  You didn’t respond. The connection still wasn’t there. Xiao tried again. “Your Grace, can you hear me?”

  You let your head flop back into your arms and continued to sob. Xiao leaned back on the balls of his feet and couldn’t help but growl in frustration. That damned Wall was still keeping you and him apart! What more did he have to do in order to simply talk to you?

  His eyes flitted to the strange device set up on your desk. It had the appearance of a box, but at its front there was a screen, and on it was displayed a shrunken image of Dihua Marsh. This must be a divine mechanism. It’s a way for you to forge contact with Teyvat. What…what would happen if he touched it? Would that finally allow him to communicate with you? He had his doubts, but it was worth a shot.

  Without hesitation, he pressed his palm over the screen. There was a jolt of energy that started at his fingertips, then rocketed through his entire body. He shuddered at the electrocuting sensation and refused to allow himself to flinch away, even when every instinct in his body was telling him to do so. The Wall was trying to repel him; like hell he was going to allow it to do that.

  With his other hand, he reached out to you. At first, he was nervous to touch you, for why should a creature tainted by karmic debt and innocent blood be allowed to embrace the God Above All Gods? He shakily slipped his hand over your cheek and raised your head. Your cries stuttered, and your eyes widened open in confusion. You were not looking at him, but rather at your divine mechanism’s screen.

  “Don’t cry,” Xiao whispered. He swiped your tears away with his thumb. “There is no need to cry. I’m here. I’m with you.”

  He desperately hoped you could hear him. He hoped even more that you would reply.

  You had no idea what the hell was going on.

  Today was a horrible day. A day filled with anxiety and embarrassment and ruined expectations that things might go right, only for them to go wrong. When you returned to your room and let yourself collapse into your desk chair, you thought playing your favorite game might cheer you up. After all, losing yourself in a fantasy world was practically the best way to forget what the real world was like.

  You logged into Genshin Impact and found yourself where you left off last time you played: in Dihua Marsh. Your current character was Xiao, and he stared blankly out at you while you waited for the game to catch up with your internet and for everything to load in. But you did not feel any happier. In fact, you felt worse. The events of the day were just too much to simply forget, and pretty soon, your hand slipped off of your mouse as you slumped forward onto your desk and started to cry. It did not feel good to let your emotions out. The sobs shaking your body were ugly, and the tears staining your cheeks made you feel gross. But you couldn’t stop, and frankly, you didn’t expect to for quite some time. These were tears you had been holding in all week; it was only a matter of time before the dam broke and the water came rushing out.

  You did not expect to feel a sudden intuition to lift your head. You did not expect for your body to automatically follow that intuition, either. It was like someone was lifting it for you, and when your blurry eyes raised to focus on your computer’s screen, you were shocked to see that the in-game chat box had a message in it. It didn’t make any sense. You weren’t in a co-op world, and you were pretty sure you were far too preoccupied with crying your eyes out to accept someone’s co-op request. Could it be a glitch? Far too curious for your own good, you clicked on the chat box and opened it.

  Two words had been sent to you by an unknown entity with no icon. “Don’t cry.”

  “What…?” you mumbled.

  More messages appeared. “There is no need to cry.”

  “I’m here.”

  “I’m with you.”

  This had to be some sort of joke. Someone hacked your account. This had to be a real person.

  It was then that you noticed Xiao was gone.

  “I know what it feels like to break. I understand what you are feeling.”

  “Just know that I am here for you. I will always be here for you. All you have to do is call out my name.”

  “Xiao?” you breathed.

  You felt the phantom sensation of someone wiping your tears. The scent of Qingxin flowers wafted fainty around you.

  “Yes,” the chat-box answered. “I am here.”

[kollux748]

A Bond of Ice and Fire

(Jacegan ABO-fanfic idea rewrite)

(I finally learned that there’s a “read more” option so I don’t take over your fyp with this long-ass timeline fic…)

Set-Up Details:

ABO Westerosi dynamics

Most dynamic presentations occur around the age of 10-14. The earliest recording of a presentation was actually Aegon the Conqueror, at the age of 8 as an Alpha.

Valyrian Alphas and Omegas are rare; a class where the old Valyrians would (with magic at the time) change their sexes accordingly to match the ideal parts of their presentation (Alphas with cocks, Omegas with cunts).

The change is most painful for a male Valyrian Omega, as it often involves castration and months-long process of the body developing a female productive system. The change often made it easier for male omegas to handle birthing.

In regard to politics and power…

Alphas and Betas typically hold the positions of power; where Alphas are seen as leaders and wise protectors, and Betas are their advisors.

The Hand of the King is typically a Beta-held position. They provide an even mind that may sometimes think clearer and have more patience than their Alpha lords or King.

Omegas scarcely hold such positions. It is oft only after they are married to an approved Alpha that they are recognized and uncontested as a leader. Female Omegas are deemed less than optimal for leading, while Male Omegas tend to be reluctantly accepted.

Dorne is of the few that do not see Omegas as such weaknesses; all designations are given a fair chance.

True/Fated Mates

A sort of “you know when you know” feeling at the time of mating. Commonly occurs in Alpha and Omega pairings, which are the most desirable and admired bonds. Rare in Alpha-Alpha, and Omega-Omega pairs. Almost non-existent with Betas; it is often believed by the Faith and bigots that Betas are deemed unworthy of such a distinction.

It is most evident when biting mating glands. When the bonding is true, nothing is secret between the mates. They feel as if they are “one flesh, one heart, one soul”; which is where that phrase from the Septon’s blessing originated. It feels otherworldly, an experience that one would dare to compare to be of the final paradise, or even greater. If one was to ever be unfaithful to their true bonded mate, they would feel a great pain in their soul reflecting that of the unforgivable infidelity committed.

There is very rare chances that a person might have more than one true mate, and experimentation is often avoided considering that should particularly an Alpha’s soul reject a bonding, they’d tear apart their attempted mate. One such example of an Alpha having multiple mates is Sharako Lohar.

Unfortunately, amongst higher-borns, finding one’s true mate is next to impossible due to the restrictions of status. While true bonds are well-respected and treasured, status matters more to most. As such, those who may have found their true mate in a mere commoner go without them. This particularly true for Targaryens, considering they oft tend to marry within the family.

Valyrian Alphas:

Baela Targaryen (b. 116 AC - presented at age 12, mid 128 AC)

(Notable) Alphas:

Viserys I Targaryen

Daemon Targaryen

Rhaenyra Targaryen (presented at age 12)

Rhaenys Targaryen

Aegon II Targaryen (b. 106 AC - presented at age 12)

Aemond Targaryen (b. 110 AC - presented at age 10)

Joffrey Velaryon (b. 117 AC - presented at age 12, early 129 AC)

Cregan Stark (b. 108 AC - presented at age 11)

Harwin Strong

Simon Strong

Criston Cole

Alyn Velaryon

Alysanne Blackwood

(Notable) Betas:

Corlys Velaryon

Laenor Velaryon

Larys Strong

Otto Hightower

Addam Velaryon

Valyrian Omegas:

Jacaerys Targaryen (b. late 114 AC - presented age 13, early 128 AC)

(Notable) Omegas:

Alicent Hightower (presented at age 12)

Helaena Targaryen (b. 109 AC - presented at age 10)

Daeron Targaryen (b. 114 AC - presented at age 12)

Lucerys Velaryon (b. late 115 AC - presented at age 11, late 126 AC)

Laena Velaryon (presented at age 12)

Rhaena Targaryen (b. 116 AC - presented at age 12, mid 128 AC)

Arra Norrey (b. 112 AC - presented at age 12)

Sabitha Frey

Non-presented/Children:

Jaehaerys II Targaryen (b. 123 AC)

Jaehaera Targaryen (b. 123 AC)

Rickon Stark (b. 128 AC)

Aegon III Targaryen (b. 120 AC)

Viserys II Targaryen (b. 122 AC)

(Late 114 AC): Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen gives birth to Jacaerys Velaryon (Strong). Aegon II Targaryen has (age 8) and Aemond Targaryen (age 4) dote upon their young nephew despite Alicent’s reservations towards them bonding with their future rival for the throne. Viserys I Targaryen sits with the babe on the Iron Throne and tells him “One day this will be your seat, lad” and he has him share a wet-nurse with Alicent’s own babe Daeron Targaryen. Alicent is wary due to Jacaerys’ plain features (lack of silver hair or purple eyes). Harwin Strong visits him in secret every now and then, and stays by Princess Rhaenyra’s side as much as is publicly appropriate of his station.

3-4 months/moons pass, and rumors have grown loudly, telling of Rhaenyra’s infidelity towards Laenor due to Jacaerys’ looks, originating from a few maids and knights in service of Rhaenyra. Although she adores her firstborn, Rhaenyra is heavily agitated and upset by the rumors, though she soon learns that she is with child again. In the hopes that this new child will bear the colorings of a true Targaryen, Rhaenyra considers ridding herself of Jacaerys. After one particular blowup with Alicent, she decides at the dead of night to pay one of her maids heavily to take Jacaerys away from the Red Keep, and pays the Kingsguard men who were guarding Jacaerys’ nursery for their silence. Jacaerys’ bonded hatchling, Vermax, leaves with the maid and her precious cargo as he refuses to part from the babe. The maid goes to a brothel on the Street of Silk, which is about the last place anyone would think to look for a babe, abandons Jacaerys in a random room. This room turns out to be the occupancy of Lady Mysaria, the proprietor of the certain brothel.

Ser Harwin Strong learns of the treachery later in the morning and begs Rhaenyra to allow him to find and keep the babe at Harrenhal, to raise him as his own in secret. However, it is too late and Jacaerys is lost to them. While Rhaenyra is in depressing turmoil over her grave decision, Ser Harwin raises the alarm and the Red Keep is sent into turmoil as Viserys I demands his beloved grandson to be found. Lady Mysaria hears of the Kingsguard searching for a babe and his dragon, but knows that she could be accused of stealing the young Prince and killed for treason against the crown; for who would listen to the cries of a common whore?

Weeks pass, and the royal family and Ser Harwin mourn the loss of their youngest. Alicent suspects Rhaenyra, despite her visible grief, plotted the loss of her child to hide her affair but she cannot speak on it to anyone but her father and Ser Criston Cole.

(Late 115 AC): Lucerys Velaryon is born. Viserys increases the guard on his rooms, and Ser Harwin Strong is assigned his sworn shield. Rhaenyra is warned by Ser Harwin not to abandon Lucerys too, otherwise he would bring them both to ruin with his reaction (telling Viserys or Alicent that the rumors of Jacaerys, and now Lucerys’ parentage were true. Harwin would be put to the sword immediately, and Rhaenyra would lose her inheritance as heir to the Iron Throne at the least. At worst, she would also lose her head). Rhaenyra soothes him, telling him that she would never dare again to rid herself of any of her sweet children. Aegon takes a liking to Lucerys, however Aemond is wary of getting attached to another babe.

Rhaenyra takes permanent residence on Dragonstone a few months after Lucerys’ birth due to her and Alicent’s dangerously souring relationship.

(119 AC): Vermax, having grown as a free dragon and being the unknown cause of the missing sheep, lives hidden away on the beach of King’s Landing. Jacaerys (age 5) makes nightly visits to him. Jace takes his first flight one night in the summer, albeit saddle-less. He learns to wear gloves after having various cuts from clinging to Vermax’s scale and neck spikes. They sometimes fly as far out to Driftmark and Dragonstone, but never close enough to be seen by anyone or any dragon. Vermax expands his hunting ground to nearby lands across the bay, where he may be less discrete in his hunt for food, and his taste palette grows to include wild game.

At the brothel, the Blue Pearl, Jacaerys is known by most of the working prostitutes as Mysaria’s son and in shared secret, the lost Prince of the Red Keep. He works around King’s Landing during the day for spare coin to buy new clothes and food, and during the evening he is either confined to his bedchamber with the door locked or stays the night on the beach with Vermax. Mysaria dislikes the thought of Jacaerys witnessing the depravity of the brothel during the night, especially when the oath-breakers of the Kingsguard men and the Gold cloaks come.

(120 AC): Ser Harwin Strong is removed as Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Lucerys’ sworn shield after a confrontation between Ser Criston Cole and him at King’s Landing. He is murdered by fire at Harrenhal with Lord Lyonel Strong. Larys Strong inherits Harrenhal. Aemond Targaryen presents as an Alpha.

Laena Velaryon dies in childbirth and her funeral is held on Driftmark, along with Ser Laenor Velaryon who was killed by his companion Ser Qarl.

Joffrey Velaryon, at age 3, is named heir to Driftmark.

Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen marry by the Old Valyrian tradition in the Spring and do the dirty on the beach (bruh, that’s wild though that she moved on so fast to Daemon after Laenor and Harwin’s deaths).

Aemond Targaryen seizes the opportunity to claim Vhagar and is taken on his first flight. Jacaerys and Vermax happen to be flying overhead near the shores of Dragonstone when Vhagar surprises them, and in his fright Vermax loses balance (experiences turbulence) and crashes onto the beach. Aemond has Vhagar land so that he can check on the fallen dragon and encounters Jacaerys for the first time in years, though he does not recognize him. Aemond being only 4 at the time Jacaerys was named does not remember his first nephew’s name.

Aemond apologizes to Jacaerys for scaring him and Vermax, and they resolve to be night riding friends when he learns that Jace lives in King’s Landing and takes nightly flights around Blackwater Bay. Aemond returns to Driftmark while Jace stays on the beach of Dragonstone for the night, allowing Vermax to rest a bit after his crash.

Upon his arrival, Aemond is confronted by Lucerys, Baela, and Rhaena, and loses his eye by Lucerys. In the morning, the Targaryen-Hightower family leaves for King’s Landing.

Aemond slowly recovers from his injury and learns how to navigate with one eye. A few months pass before he feels well enough to anxiously meet with Jacaerys on the beach of King’s Landing. Jace was upset that Aemond never came in those months and resigned that his new friend had forgotten about him. That upset turned towards the people who dared to hurt Aemond once he explained the reason for his absence to Jace.

Aemond teaches Jacaerys High Valyrian, starting with simple greetings and dragon commands. Vermax and Vhagar forge a bond liken to that of a grandma and her hyperactive grandson. Since Vhagar is too big for the dragonpit, she is Vermax’s constant companion on the beach of King’s Landing. Vermax likes to climb on top of Vhagar, and sleeps on her or under her wing at times.

Aegon grows curious of his brother’s nightly disappearances, but Aemond does not want to tell him of his only friend for fear that he will steal Jacaerys and turn him into another one of Aemond’s bullies (as he did with Lucerys and their own youngest sibling, Daeron). Although, most of their source of torment originated from Aemond lacking a dragon…

Rhaenyra gives birth to Aegon III Targaryen in the Winter.

(121 AC): Alicent finds out that Aemond has been sneaking away at night to the shore of King’s Landing and questions him, though he tells her that he is simply enjoying his possession of a dragon after so many years without. Sensing he is withholding something, she has the twins Ser Arryk and Ser Erryk follow him one night, and they find out about Jacaerys. Alicent has him seized the next night he and Aemond meet, much to Aemond’s dismay. Vermax tries to protect Jace, but he and Vhagar are kept back by a few dragon-keepers.

Alicent meets Jacaerys, and comments on his features, recognizing some of Rhaenyra’s traits in his face. With Otto’s support and much to Aemond’s content, she decides to foster Jacaerys. The first step is to re-introduce him to Viserys, who is very delighted to reunite with his first grandson. He has a letter written to Rhaenyra about Jacaerys’ reappearance, however the raven is never sent and the letter is burned. A letter from her is forged by Alicent and read to Viserys by a maester, saying that Rhaenyra wishes for Jacaerys to be raised in the Red Keep and to be given the inheritance of Harrenhal for his troubles. Larys Strong is pressured by Otto Hightower to relinquish his lordship over Harrenhal so that Jacaerys may have it with no contest, and Viserys grants the request of his beloved daughter, despite the rumors that may rise.

“King Viserys I Targaryen and his Queen Alicent Hightower hereby recognize Prince Jacaerys Targaryen, son of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen of Dragonstone, Heir Apparent to Dragonstone and Harrenhal.”

Viserys likes to steal Jacaerys away to his bedchamber and talk to him about histories and architecture while working on his diorama. Alicent is relieved that Viserys is distracted by his grandson; that Jace can keep his attention and provide him company while others scheme unbeknownst to Viserys.

To Aemond’s relief, Aegon and Jacaerys’ “friendship” (which is non-existent because Jacaerys does not like Aegon due to him being a lecherous drunk half the time their in company with each other) does not evolve into bullying him. Jacaerys likes to spend more time with Helaena, but he enjoys Aemond’s company most often whenever he is not otherwise occupied by Viserys, or the maesters who teach him how to be a proper prince and well-educated, future ruler. Helaena and Aegon occasionally join Aemond and Jacaerys on flights around King’s Landing; Vermax, being the smallest of the dragons, dances in the air around Dreamfyre, Sunfyre, and Vhagar. Tessarion is still too young to bear the weight of Daeron, so the young prince enviously watches them until one of the riders (most of the time it’s Helaena or Jacaerys) takes notice and lets him on their dragon to fly with them.

After Helaena and Aegon’s twins are born, Jacaerys keeps Helaena company in the nursery. He loves to hold them in his arms and they in turn adore slobbering his curls in their mouth. There is a small moment of conflict when Jaehaera’s first word is calling Jacaerys “dada”. They have to shove Aegon into the babes room because it becomes clear Jacaerys is visiting and holding them more than their own father is.

Jacaerys is set to move into Harrenhal when he is ten-and-three so that he may transition into being the Lord of Harrenhal when he comes of age at ten-and-six. Until then, he will be educated by the maesters (and Viserys in history), trained in weaponry by various knights and Aemond, and assigned Viserys’ cupbearer during the council meetings.

On a rare occasion, Jacaerys makes his way down to the Street of Silk and visits the Blue Pearl. Mysaria is thankful that he is no longer living in the brothel and he did not mention having been raised by anyone, lest the King or Queen send their Kingsguard for their heads.

Dragonstone and Driftmark remain ignorant of Jacaerys’ presence in the Red Keep.

(127 AC): At the beginning of the new year, Jacaerys bids farewell to King’s Landing and takes residence in Harrenhal, where he immediately begins to plan out reconstruction and renovation of the damaged castle.

Cregan Stark has held lordship over Winterfell for over a year now with his mate, Arra Norrey, after overthrowing his uncle and three cousins.

Viserys’ health begins to decline in late Summer, but he invites his daughter Rhaenyra and her family on Dragonstone to King’s Landing for a celebration and merriment with Alicent and her sons. Much precaution is made by the Greens to make no mention of Jacaerys, and Viserys believes that Rhaenyra does not need any updates on her son as he has sent letters (that have all been never written or were burned), though he does come close at one point concerning the renovation of Harrenhal. The mention of the largest castle in Westeros causes Rhaenyra to flinch, thinking of it only as the scourge that took her one of her true lovers.

After the festivities end with Viserys needing to be taken to bed, a fight breaks out between Aegon, Aemond, Lucerys, and Joffrey, and causes Rhaenyra to send them back to Dragonstone. Fueled by the toasts of reconciliations, Alicent thinks to inform Rhaenyra of having found Jacaerys, but holds her tongue when remembering that he was gone because of her in the first place.

(128 AC): In Spring, around the third moon of the year, Jacaerys falls ill due to presenting and transitioning as a Valyrian Omega. Castellan Simon Strong sends word to King’s Landing, having no knowledge of what ill Jacaerys suffers. Aemond Targaryen goes to Harrenhal with a few of the Red Keep’s maesters with more knowledge of the Old Valyrian histories and traditions. He oversees the protection of Jacaerys whilst he is vulnerable for nearly 6 months/moons. During this time, he meets Alys Rivers and feels interested in pursuing her once Jacaerys is well.

Within the 6 months, Arra Norrey gives birth to Rickon Stark, but sadly dies in childbirth.

Lady Baela Targaryen presents as a Valyrian Alpha while residing in Driftmark under Princess Rhaenys’ care. Daemon and Rhaenyra hold a feast when she arrives on Dragonstone to celebrate. Lady Rhaena Targaryen presents as an Omega a couple days after.

In late Autumn, Lord Corlys suffers a grievous injury in the Stepstones that causes turmoil over the inheritance of the seat of Driftmark. Vaemond Velaryon openly contests against Prince Joffrey Velaryon for the claim to the throne of Driftmark and Lord of the Tides. Larys thinks to use Prince Jacaerys to support Vaemond Velaryon’s claim, however with him still weak and recovering from his transition, he cannot come to King’s Landing in time for the petitioning and provide proof to back Vaemond’s claim that Rhaenyra has committed adultery. Vaemond Velaryon is beheaded after insulting Rhaenyra and confidently claiming her sons to be bastards.

During the petitioning, Rhaenys announces her acceptance as the grandsire (mother) of Baela to betroth her Prince Lucerys. Rhaena’s hand is open for marriage on the condition that Prince Joffrey Velaryon does not present as an Alpha.

Unbeknownst to Viserys, no one of Dragonstone and Driftmark know that Jacaerys is the heir apparent to Dragonstone, which would mean Lucerys would properly be the heir to Driftmark, and Joffrey heir to Harrenhal, should Jacaerys permit it so.

It is this missing information that causes quite a stir of confusion when Viserys announces that Prince Lucerys is the unquestionable heir to Driftmark.

(129 AC): Joffrey Velaryon presents as an Alpha and his official betrothal to Rhaena Targaryen is announced. Lucerys and Baela reside on Dragonstone, preparing to be the future King and Queen of the 7 Kingdoms, while Joffrey and Rhaena reside on Driftmark.

While Prince Jacaerys is visiting King’s Landing, he witnesses the trial of several knights of the Kingsguard who have been declared to be oath-breakers (their vows of chastity being forgotten for the whores of the Street of Silk). Viserys offers the dishonored men two options: death by the sword or serving up North at The Wall in the Night’s Watch as repentance for their transgression. A majority of the accused chose the Night’s Watch. Having heard Viserys’ tales of the North, Jacaerys wishes to go to the North with them. Viserys is hesitant to send his favored grandchild so far away, still haunted by his disappearance so many years ago; however, he relents it as an experience every Targaryen should have at least once in their life. Viserys tells Jacaerys to meet with the Warden of the North, Lord Cregan Stark at Winterfell before proceeding to the Wall and has a raven sent to said lord as the escort leaves King’s Landing.

As Jacaerys and Vermax escort the party of dishonored and their keepers through the Riverlands to the North. They are offered rest at a near-completely renovated Harrenhal before going further. Vermax only ends up eating two of the company of 22 ex-Kingsguard men.

Upon their arrival, the company is greeted by Cregan Stark and other lords of his host. Cregan offers to the weary, exhausted, and cold men of the escort to rest in the castle while he takes the oath-breakers seeking repentance to The Wall. Only Jacaerys is interested in continuing up North, as a Prince of the Targaryen dynasty should. Before they are to leave, Cregan has Jace change into thicker clothes appropriate for battling the Northern chill; noting that even with the heat of his dragon and the blood in his veins, the prince was shivering like a leaf in the wind under the cover of Vermax’s wing.

Vermax is notably irritated by the cold, and his temper grows worse the more North they head to Castle Black. As they arrive, Jacaerys does not think to land Vermax yet, seeking to see beyond the Wall. All who take notice of the rare sight of a dragon in the North watch as said dragon flies closer to the Wall until Vermax suddenly shrieks as if he was struck, and veers away to land a few kilometers away from the Wall.

After having a brief visit to the top of the Wall and upon returning to Winterfell, Cregan and Jacaerys discuss various histories and traditions of their cultures, as well as partake in hunting, feasting, and training together. What was originally thought to be a brotherhood fostering turned into something else the longer Jacaerys stayed in Winterfell and bonded with Cregan. Despite the bitter cold, he could not find any desire to ever leave Winterfell and the Lord Stark behind. Jacaerys is not alone in this feeling; Cregan discusses his feelings regarding the prince with many of his lords who are close friends of his, including Lord Cerwyn, who suggests Cregan to follow his heart and jests for him to be careful not to hurt this dragon, or else others may follow and burn them all to the ground.

Cregan decides to officially begin courting Jacaerys in the summer; writing to Viserys I for his permission and blessing to do so before he hails Jacaerys with beautiful custom trinkets, weapons, and clothes; as well as bountiful meals of game provided for he and his ill-tempered dragon that resides in the crypts below Winterfell. He also opens the doors to his private life to Jacaerys, including getting to know his son, Rickon.

Viserys delightedly agrees with the marriage and the people residing in the Red Keep bear witness one of his last few great fits of joy and happiness. For several nights, Alicent is subjected to Viserys’ reciting of Aegon the Conqueror’s dream, the Song of Ice and Fire.

Jacaerys is embarrassingly oblivious to Cregan’s way of courting because in the South, at least with the Greens, courting is not practiced. Aegon and Helaena did not go about courting, rather they were betrothed and kept separate until the day of their marriage. He resolves to start giving Cregan small gifts of his own, whatever he can think the lord would like, which greatly pleases Cregan. That is until one day—it is now approaching Autumn, Cregan has been courting Jacaerys for a whole two months now, though he believed Jace was knowingly reciprocating the courting—Jacaerys asks Cregan innocently why he is honoring him with so many gifts, and the question renders a few eavesdroppers (including Lord Cerwyn) speechless as Cregan, confusingly astounded, answers “I’ve been courting you…my prince.”

Suffice to say, Cregan Stark and Jacaerys Targaryen mate under the Heart Tree of Winterfell a few nights later, after preparations for a wedding feast are complete—to take place before the actual wedding because bonding tends to take a while…several days in fact. At the time of the exchanging of bites, Cregan and Jacaerys discover they were bonded by fate; a true bond.

While Jace and Cregan are preoccupied in their days-long mating, the castellan of Winterfell takes the liberty to write to King’s Landing of their official mating. Viserys I expresses his congratulations and wishes for the newly bonded couple to come to King’s Landing; to hold a tourney and invite all the kingdoms and their houses to come and celebrate the true bond of a Prince of the Targaryen dynasty to the Warden of the North; a pact of Ice and Fire sealed by love and fate.

Unfortunately, Winter is looming over Autumn’s end, and the North must finish their preparations for it with unbroken focus. As such, the festivities in King’s Landing are postponed until Spring.

In late Winter, around the eleventh month, Jacaerys visits the maesters after a particularly bad day of not being able to keep down anything he eats, and is informed he is with child (has been for 2 months/moons now). Although delighted by the thought of having another child, Cregan grows increasingly troubled with worry that he may lose Jace to the Old Gods in the throes of childbirth, just as he did Arra.

(130 AC): In the second moon—as Winter subsides from the North—, King’s Landing is in a slight chaos preparing for the tourney and other various wedding celebrations for Lord Cregan Stark and his beloved true mate, Prince Jacaerys Targaryen. Preparations include the cleaning of chambers for the arriving Lords and Ladies, and other representatives.

Jacaerys is four moons with child, and Cregan would rather them stay in the North comfortably until he gives birth so as to not risk putting a strain on his body, but Jace is stubborn and wants to ride Vermax to King’s Landing anyways. And that is how Cregan ended up as the first and only North men of the century to ride a dragon. Jacaerys’ pregnancy has also caused both Vermax and Cregan’s protective instincts to ramp up, so naturally any perceived slight or attack towards Jace is responded with either a near biting of the head or with Ice shoved in the face.

The protection detail only worsens in Jace’s opinion when he arrives in King’s Landing and sees his Green family for the first time in months. Being so far North, the envoy of Winterfell are the last few of the great Houses of Westeros to arrive in King’s Landing.

This is the first time Rhaenyra sees her lost son, and she is visibly shocked by his name and his faces that reminds her so of Ser Harwin Strong. She longs to reach out to him, to hold that beautiful boy that was hers, but not hers anymore, in her arms—to whisper, shout, scream a thousand and more apologies for her impetuous abandonment.

Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys are also shocked at the reappearance of their first claimed grandchild, and resolve to speak to Rhaenyra after the welcoming is finished.

Viserys is ecstatic over Jacaerys’ pregnancy, yet another celebration in the festivities. Alicent, Aemond, Aegon, and Helaena congratulate Lord Stark in their own ways before doting over their beloved step-grandson/nephew. Helaena remarks that pregnancy is not terrible, but it wasn’t fun for her, but Jacaerys is taking to it quite well.

The grand feast is a show of great splendor. Game of all kind are provided, and some of the Northern men remark at having never seen so much bountiful harvest in all their life. Viserys insists for Jacaerys and Cregan to sit with the royal family at the high table. Due to the occasion, Viserys has Jacaerys sat directly to his right, instead of Rhaenyra as would be customary. Cregan is sat between Rhaenyra and Jacaerys. Viserys especially enjoys speaking with Cregan the entire dinner and suggests for the Lord of the North to visit his chambers in the next few days so that he may share his diorama with him.

Later in the night, Rhaenyra manages to pull Jacaerys aside, although he is not thrilled to be in her presence. A small quarrel of words breaks between them.

“Did you think I would have dark hair, mother? When you took Harwin Strong into your bed, did you think I might favor him, or did it not cross your mind?”

Nothing Rhaenyra says soothes the fire raging in Jacaerys’ heart, and his angered grief causes Cregan to look for him and intervene before he loses control of his emotions, which is not good for their unborn child. They retreat to their bedchamber where Cregan can go about soothing Jacaerys with cuddles and kisses, while listening to him rant about Rhaenyra’s audacity to ask for forgiveness after all this time.

Lucerys and Joffrey question Rhaenyra about Jacaerys while the hosts of Dragonstone and Driftmark are gathered in one room. Corlys and Rhaenys tell them of their older brother who was lost to them a year before Lucerys was born. It shocks both brothers; where Lucerys begins to feel ill, Joffrey asks why they were never told they had an older brother. The answers come variously: “It brought too much grief to our hearts.” “I didn’t know when to tell you.” “It never seemed to matter. We thought he was found by the Stranger.”

The matter concerning the succession of the Iron Throne, Dragonstone, and Driftmark is discussed between the adults in the room (Daemon, Rhaenyra, Corlys, and Rhaenys) while Baela and Rhaena are asked to escort their betrotheds away. Rhaenys reminds them of Viserys’ odd comment that is now not so odd to them: Lucerys was the unquestionable heir to Driftmark. It meant that it was Prince Jacaerys Targaryen who was the heir apparent to Dragonstone, Rhaenyra’s true heir to the Iron Throne.

A Stark will sit on the Iron Throne.

Corlys, ever grasping for placing his house, his blood in the succession line for the Iron Throne, is seemingly frustrated as Jacaerys is no longer claimed as a Velaryon before the people of Westeros, rather he is only recognized as a Targaryen. Jacaerys in position as the Lord of Harrenhal, unofficially Lord of House Strong, only makes matters worse as it casts speculation that Viserys underhandedly recognizes him as the son of a Strong. This causes the shaking rift between Corlys and Rhaenys, and Rhaenyra.

Rhaenyra realizes that the Greens—Alicent—have known about Jacaerys for years and kept him a secret from her. At this revelation, she storms through the castle to find her ex-friend, and Alicent and her shame each other for their actions, neither giving the other true forgiveness. Before leaving the argument, Alicent tells Rhaenyra that she has no one to blame but herself.

For her adultery that she does not lay claim to fault for.

For her ridding of her own babe that she does not lay claim to fault for.

For having two more children of the same nature as him.

“Did you ever think that perhaps his anger lies in that you abandoned him, only to turn around and have two more plain-featured bastards just like him?”

The tourney commences the next morning with Jacaerys bestowed the honor of the Queen of Love and Beauty. Cregan and Jacaerys are sat with the royal family, this time separate from Viserys. Jacaerys sits between his mate and his estranged brother, Lucerys. Despite their circumstances, Lucerys decides it is best to get to know his newfound brother and his lord husband.

Jacaerys has mixed feelings about Lucerys. On one hand, he has gained four younger siblings (Lucerys, Joffrey, Aegon III, and Viserys II) whom he feels drawn to connect with. On the other, Lucerys is the reason Aemond is known as “One-Eye” and he is Rhaenyra’s claimed heir to Dragonstone, although this last part is really only acknowledged by Rhaenyra and Daemon. In the eyes of the majority, Jacaerys is the only legitimate of Rhaenyra’s bastards who holds claim to her titles and inheritances.

Jacaerys goes back and forth from conversations with Lucerys and Joffrey to Cregan the entire tourney. At some point, he begins to fall asleep from his spent energy and its effects on his pregnancy. Cregan carries him to their chamber to rest on a proper bed, and Aemond takes Jacaerys’ seat to warn the brothers, mostly Lucerys, to stay away from him. Lucerys does not understand why, as they are brothers by blood—which Aemond remarks that unlike them, Jacaerys is legitimized. They are not worthy of calling Jacaerys “brother”.

Joffrey, as quick to anger as his sire was, proceeds to start a brawl amongst the royals by punching Aemond in his missing eye, which halts all other activities in the tourney in favor of watching the princes of the realm scream and fight. In private, Viserys admonishes all of them for embarrassing the royal family in such a way. Never has the kingdoms seen the Targaryen dynasty as shattered as they are. He punishes all four (Aegon, Aemond, Lucerys, and Joffrey) by refusing them to participate in the remaining festivities for the day and denying them dinner.

Jacaerys is not seen the rest of the evening either as he is having a rare day of peaceful slumber that Cregan does not want to wake him from. They are provided a basket of dried meats, cheese, and bread for when he does wake up in his hunger.

The next day, Viserys, Jacaerys, and Cregan are not in attendance among the royal host as the addled King managed to grab hold of them passing his chamber. Jacaerys learns of the Song of Ice and Fire, which Viserys believes to be the child or future descendant of Cregan and Jacaerys. Cregan is familiar with the prophecy, as it is a tale told from one Stark to another. His own father beckoned him before his deathbed and recited it to him.

“With your true bond, House Targaryen and House Stark will forever be tied together. Your children of ice and fire.”

Jacaerys and Cregan find more meaning to their fated bond, a marriage of love and duty that is often lacking one or the other in royal marriages.

They take to relaxing under the Weirwood Tree in the evening, skipping the tourney viewing of the day, so that they may delight each other in a different climate than the cold they fell in love in. For one, Cregan much appreciates being able to see Jacaerys in less thicker clothes than the furs he must pile onto the shivering dragon at times. The clothing of the royals and other high-borns of the South are far more extravagant than Northerners like Cregan are used to. He admires to fine fabrics, styles, and jewels that accentuate Jacaerys’ beauty in the lovely Spring.

At the end of the tourney, a grand feast is held to celebrate the champion who upheld Prince Jacaerys’ honor as the queen of love and beauty throughout the battles. This honor belongs to that of Ser Davos of House Blackwood.

Jacaerys and Cregan are requested by Viserys to stay in the Red Keep until Summer’s end, though Cregan is slightly hesitant to do so in consideration of Winter preparations, as usual. Still, his wits cow-tow to the desires of the feeble old man who happens to be his grandfather-in-law and King. Part of it is driven by the strain the pregnancy and travel are putting on Jacaerys, and by Summer’s end, their child should be born.

The downside is that Rhaenyra and her family were also invited to stay at King’s Landing until then, meaning there was more opportunities for Rhaenyra to upset Jacaerys with her very presence, and Daemon constantly glaring at them didn’t help any matters. Daemon plots how to get power back into his own lineage. It is bad enough that his daughter Baela is clearly no longer to be the future Queen of the 7 Kingdoms, lest he find a way to rid the world of the complication that is Jacaerys Targaryen and his hulking mate, Cregan Stark, who walks around King’s Landing with a Valyrian sword on his back. His most effective plan would be to send Jacaerys into early labor, effectively causing him to lose the babe and potentially his own life in the process. The biggest problem standing in Daemon’s way of going through with it is the constant presence of either or both Cregan and Aemond in Jacaerys’ vicinity, ready to dispose of any potential threat to his health.

Jacaerys finds himself not wanting to hold onto his grudge against Rhaenyra for the rest of his life. Cregan advises him to either try his relationship with his birth mother, or set the boundary for them as a Princess and Prince of the realm, nothing more. Rhaenyra gladly accepts the former route and they have a great emotional dump on each other that results in Cregan and Daemon finding them cuddled in each other’s arm with red eyes and puffy cheeks. The relationship between her, Lucerys, Joffrey, and Jacaerys grows strong, while Daemon sulks about none of his plans being able to be implemented (not without the support of Rhaenyra, who would never let anyone harm a hair on his pretty head).

“I cannot forgive you for abandoning me. But I do not want to live with this haunting me until my dying day. If you are willing to respect me as your son, I will claim you as my mother in more than name.”

Jacaerys goes into labor in the sixth month of the year on the 25th day. Cregan finds that he’d much rather face the threat over the Wall than to see anymore of his mate(s)—Cregan is having flashbacks to Arra’s birthing of Rickon—in such pain during birthing, but he dutifully stays by his sweet prince’s side and gives him the support and strength he needs through their bond. Rhaenyra sits on his other side, comforting him and herself as best she can (running her hands through his sweat-soaked hair, holding his hand, whispering endless encouragements and reassurances to him).

Outside of the labor chamber, Aemond and Helaena anxiously pace around each other while Alicent prays to the Faith of the Seven, specifically the Mother for Jacaerys and his child. For once, the princes of the realm gathered do not fight, for they are all preoccupied by the occasional loud cries of labor.

A few hours pass before the babe is born completely, much to the relief of the royal family. A couple of maesters had been bodily thrown out of the room by Cregan after suggesting they perform the more intrusive and defiling surgery on Jacaerys when they had grown impatient and worried the babe was stuck; Aegon had spat a mouthful of wine onto them (some also spraying onto Joffrey and Daemon, much to their displeasure) as Rhaenyra’s loud remark of “sniveling cunts!” followed their leave.

The babe is a girl named Alysanne Stark, firstborn of Cregan Stark and Jacaerys Targaryen. She is brought to Viserys, who revels in her grey eyes and dusting on dark on her head.

(131 AC): As soon as Spring begins anew, Jacaerys and Cregan return to Winterfell with their newborn daughter. Rhaenyra leaves for Dragonstone with her family following their leave.

3 year old Rickon Stark takes to his new sister with jubilance and adores her in the cradle. Winterfell has their own celebration of the birth of Lady Alysanne Stark, which is wilder than the royal stiffness of King’s Landing, much to Cregan’s comfort of the familiar chaos that comes with the Northmen.

In the third month, Viserys I Targaryen dies. Prince Aegon II usurps Princess Rhaenyra as the King of the 7 Kingdoms, and under the advisement of the Dowager Queen Alicent and the Hand Otto, he offers Rhaenyra the title of Queen of Dragonstone, and to legitimize her sons Lucerys and Joffrey so that they may hold the titles and inheritances of their claimed and birth fathers. Lucerys would be officially acknowledged as a Velaryon, and heir as Lord of the Tides to Driftmark. Joffrey would be named Lord Strong of Harrenhal upon his coming of age, as Prince Jacaerys Targaryen lives in Winterfell and has chosen to reside permanently by his mate’s side as the Lord Consort of Winterfell.

The war of ravens begins, and Cregan has received several letters from each side as his silence to both of them continues. Jacaerys remains conflicted in joining the war, as he is beloved by both the Greens and the Blacks now. Rhaenyra sends Lucerys to the North to personally speak with the non-responding Lords and Ladies of the great Northern houses, while Prince Joffrey is sent to Storm’s End.

Prince Aemond was sent by the Greens to the North nearly a week in advance, as the House Baratheon declared for the Greens after arranging a marriage between Prince Aemond and Lady Floris Baratheon by ravens. Aemond is treating at Winterfell when Lucerys arrives on Arrax. Cregan and Jacaerys are deeply troubled at having both of them in the North, in Winterfell, considering their troubled relationship.

Cregan and Jacaerys decide that the North and the ever-looming threat beyond is far too important than a war of succession, especially since Viserys assured them that their marriage assured the Song of Ice and Fire to be true. As such, they send Aemond and Lucerys back. Jacaerys begs both their forgiveness for not being able to choose between who he loves more, but ultimately his loyalty now lies in the North with his Lord husband.

“I will not fight you. I came here as an envoy, not a knight.”

“You came here as a craven and a traitor. I will have your eye or your life, Strong.”

As they leave, Aemond confronts Lucerys about his daring treason and chases him through Winterfell to their dragons. Jacaerys notices the sudden ill atmosphere and sees Arrax fleeing above Winterfell with Vhagar tailing him. Worried, he rushes to ride Vermax to ensure they don’t harm each other as they are both messengers.

Cregan has a group of men saddle up with him quickly to follow them, to provide ground support should it be necessary. Lucerys loses control of Arrax above Winter Town, and Arrax turns around to attack Vhagar when she comes too close to him. Both Aemond and Lucerys attempt to regain control of their dragons while Jacaerys tries to help by flying Vermax around Vhagar, reminiscent to their old days when they danced in the sky.

Cregan witnesses as Vhagar breaks through the clouds and lunges for Arrax. Before her jaws clench down on the white pearl dragon, Vermax bulldozes into his side, sending the frightened dragon with Lucerys crash-landing into the snow a couple kilometers away from the outskirts of Winter Town. Meanwhile, Vhagar bites into Vermax’s right wing, tearing it off while Cregan and Aemond watch in horror as the emerald dragon free falls to the ground, his scorching blood melting inches of snow below him, painting what’s left in dark red before he crashes.

Jacaerys, having neglected to tie himself down to Vermax’s saddle in his hurry to meet Vhagar and Arrax, is thrown a couple feet from his mount and rendered unconscious by the rough landing. Aemond desperately lands Vhagar to check on his friend, but by the time he reaches them, a distraught Cregan has Jacaerys cradled in his arms. He draws his great sword at the sight of Aemond, and Lucerys a few feet behind him, and demands for them to leave Winterfell at once and to never return, lest they wish to taste his steel.

Vermax is carefully guarded by trusted men and fed a decent amount of game as he heals. At night, fires are built around him to provide him more warmth until he can move himself to the hot spring pools. When he wakes, Jacaerys regularly checks on him. He falls victims to morning sickness and dizzy spells again a few weeks later, with his and Cregan’s second (third, counting Rickon) child, Sara Stark.

Neither the Greens nor the Blacks gain Lord Cregan Starks support, and a few other Northern houses stay neutral with the Warden of the North.

(Late 131-132 AC): News of Rhaenyra Targaryen’s death is announced, and Jacaerys travels South with Cregan to retain order of King’s Landing. Despite their lack of involvement in the war, they received information regarding the events transpired and the ever-rising death toll.

Lucerys Velaryon and his dragon Arrax were felled in the Battle of the Gullet.

Joffrey Velaryon dies attempting to ride Syrax away from the Dragonpit

Daemon and Aemond Targaryen die together in the God’s Eye, which is on the shores of Harrenhal.

Aegon II Targaryen is poisoned by his own council, and Helaena Targaryen commits suicide in her grief.

The remaining Blacks wish to crown Jacaerys as the King of the 7 Kingdoms and Cregan as his Prince Consort, however in his grief, he abdicates the throne to his young brother Aegon III. Cregan accepts the (temporary, in his intentions) role as the Hand of the King. Cregan puts traitors (regardless of alliance) to the sword (the Hour of the Wolf), while Jacaerys mourns his broken family with Alicent, Jaehaera, and Aegon III being the only survivors.

Lord Corlys is condemned by Cregan as a traitor, along with Larys Strong. The Blacks contest Corlys’ impending execution, as he played a role in ending the war however devious his route was. It is only after Alysanne Blackwood confers with Jacaerys, and the prince expresses his desire to end the killings and return to Winterfell, that he is convinced to spare the Lord of the Tides.

Prince Jacaerys Targaryen and his Lord husband return to Winterfell and greet their three children. The Winter Fever hits Westeros, taking Alysanne and Jacaerys’ unborn child when he falls ill. Jacaerys is lucky to survive, and it takes him nearly a year to recover fully from the sickness.

By his death in 158 AC, age 44, Jacaerys has given birth to 11 of Cregan’s children, at least two of them twins. The maesters report the cause of his death unknown, but he suffered from eclampsia (seizures and coma) and slept to his death. His daughters and sons spent their days watching him wilt away either weeping by his bedside or busying themselves in hunting and training as outlets for their anger towards the Stranger (born of their Omegan parent’s religion) for having them suffer so. Vermax bonds with Jacaerys’ gentlest daughter, however, he remains bound to the land having lost his right wing at the start of the Targaryen War of Succession.

Cregan Stark passes in 160 AC at the age of 52. It is said that he fell ill in mourning Prince Jacaerys’ passing and could no longer bear living without him.

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